#not sure if this would have been true even a year ago

[prythianpages]

Hopelessly Devoted | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader x Azriel (?) | You're hopelessly devoted to Azriel, suspecting he’s your true love. Meanwhile, Eris is hopelessly longing after you. aka Eris being your mate but you're too infatuated with Az to notice.

warnings: slight angst, reader being a bit delulu

*also disclaimer that I am no expert in astrology and my knowledge is usually what I gathered from friends or tiktok so if I'm wrong, please correct me but do it nicely pls bc I am sensitive lol*

a/n: I wasn't sure whether to include Az or not in the pairing but I liked the idea of leaving this fic up to your interpretation. Anyway, happy reading! <3

As you entered the Night Court’s observatory, you traced your fingers along the edge of the great celestial map laid before you. You could feel the soft hum of magic beneath your fingertips, still smell the faintest hint of sage–a remnant of your father’s last ritual here. For centuries, your father has served as the Night Court’s astrologer. He’s guided and advised High Lord Rhysand and on occasion, Keir, the steward of the Court of Nightmares.

Above you, constellations and planets danced across the domed ceiling, the stars gleaming as though they were ready to whisper secrets just for you. You took a deep breath, centering yourself, and placed a palm flat against the massive zodiac wheel etched onto the floor. It began to glow, a warm golden light tracing symbols of the zodiacs and planets.

“Stars above and stars below, reveal the path I seek to know,” you quietly murmured.

The markings on the wheel shifted in response, aligning and realigning with clicking sounds, the warm golden light following. Then, your own chart had appeared, shimmering above you. It was a translucent web of stars and planets connected by silvery lines. You’ve read your birth chart many times, become so familiar with it that you knew it by heart even.

But tonight, you needed the extra reassurance. So you looked up, watching as the planets moved slowly. Your heartbeat a little faster as you spotted Jupiter making transit through your seventh house. The promise of growth, abundance, luck and most important of all, love filled the air. 

You slipped a small vial from the hidden pocket of your cobalt blue dress. The words Love Potion No.9 gleamed on the glass, the dark red liquid swirling. It was the enchanted perfume you’d bought from a witch last week—a little love potion designed to make you irresistibly alluring to your soulmate.

You felt a bit foolish, seeking a witch for guidance on love of all matters. Witches were frowned upon in the Court of Nightmares, after all. But impatience had finally nudged you to venture beyond the court’s dark mountain and into the surrounding forests, in search of someone who could help.

“Seek the one who walks between light and shadow with a mask of cool indifference, where fire meets the edge of night. There your heart shall find its match,” she had told you as she handed you the enchanted perfume.

Her words had only confirmed what you had been suspecting for years, centuries even.

Azriel was your soulmate. 

Azriel, the very embodiment of cool indifference, wore a mask of stoicism in the Court of Nightmares, just as High Lord Rhysand did. But his hazel eyes always seemed to burn with a hidden fire. And when you were alone with him, away from the cold nobility of the Night Court, Azriel would let that mask slip, revealing a kinder side that laughed and smiled with you. He was your friend and not only did he literally walk among shadows, he wielded them. It had to be him!

And then, there was your birth chart. Your seventh house lay in Taurus—a sign ruled by Venus. With Venus positioned in your twelfth house, everything pointed to the idea that your future soulmate would bring your happiness and pleasure. And since you met Azriel all those years ago during a counseling your father led, happiness had been an emotion you'd grown more familiar with.

The stars couldn’t have given you a clearer message!

**

There was a flutter in your stomach as you approached Azriel. The two of you had been stealing glances at one another, as you usually did anytime you found yourselves in the same place. He looked as beautiful as ever. As dreamy as ever. 

Though your High Lord and High Lady had moved to the center of the ballroom for a dance, he had stayed by the dais. “Hello,” you greeted him with a small smile.

Azriel turned to you, that mask of his slipping for just a brief moment to smile back at you. He took the extra wine glass in your hold, murmuring a small thanks. He turned his head back to the dance floor, attentive to his High Lady’s whereabouts. But he shifted closer to you, the coolness of his shadows caressing your bare arm and you couldn’t help but wonder if the perfume was working.

“You look nice,” he commented.

“Thanks.” A blush rose to your cheeks. You’d taken care to match your dress to the exact shade of his siphons. And he noticed. “So do you.”

“I wear this all the time.” Azriel replied drily, referring to his usual Illyrian leathers.

“Yeah, I know.” You cursed yourself inwardly for the awkward response, then shifted closer, leaning toward him. “Do I smell to you?”

Azriel paused, his shadows brushing close, as if curious themselves. “No,” he said after a moment.

“Oh.” Disappointment seeped into your voice despite your best efforts, and his gaze shifted to you, a hint of a frown in his brows.

“Do you want to smell?”

There’s a teasing edge to his tone, a subtle quirk of his lips. You shook your head, letting out a small, nervous laugh. "No. I just wanted to know if I smelled any…different…,” and then, in a much quieter tone, you murmured, “to you.”

Azriel considered your words. He looked to you in what seemed like permission. You gave a nod of your head and he leaned in, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. “You smell the same to me.” At the breath you let out, he quickly added: “which is good by the way. You smell nice.”

“Oh, okay,” you smile, albeit a bit awkwardly, the flutter you had felt in your stomach earlier twisting into a knot. 

“Y/n, is everything alright?” Azriel asked softly.

“Yeah, I just thought—” You stopped, not sure how to explain without sounding foolish. It wasn’t like you could admit to feeling disappointed over the lack of reaction from an enchanted perfume you’d spent quite a fortune on. Especially when he was the sole purpose for it. Had the witch scammed you?

Azriel waited for you patiently, concern flashing in his eyes. Maybe the perfume hadn’t worked, but the stars and planets had never led you astray. That still had to mean something, right? 

“I’m fine.” You finally said.

“Are you sure?”

The way he was looking at you had warmth creeping up your neck and settling deeper in your cheeks. “Yeah.”

A single shadow curled around Azriel’s ear and in the blink of an eye, his head turned. Your gaze followed his, to where Rhysand and Feyre were standing. Rhysand sent him a slight nod and with a sigh, Azriel returned it.

“Sorry, I have to go.” Azriel said, quickly downing the remaining wine from his glass.

You held out your hand, offering to take it for him.

“Thank you. I’ll be back. Don’t have too much fun without me, alright?”

“I’ll try not to,” you replied.

You watched Azriel disappear into his shadows before turning away from the dais and making your way to the refreshments table. You were eager for a refill on your glass. Perhaps a little more wine would help ease the sting of disappointment. But he’d said he’d be back, hadn’t he?

As you scanned the room, you noticed your father in conversation with one of Keir’s sons and your mother eyeing potential suitors for your older brother. As an elite warrior of the Darkbringers, he had no shortage of admirers, and it was only a matter of time before your mother secured him a match—perfect or not.

You suspected you’d be next on her matchmaking list, so you busied yourself with small talk among familiar ladies. Conversations were always a mind-numbing, the ladies your age exchanging beauty tips that centered around the male’s eye or fawning over this season’s most eligible males. Which this season just so happens to be your brother. Gross. If only they knew him the way you did….

Second to him was Bret—or some equally uninspiring name. A Scorpio, of all things, which clashed miserably with your chart. Not that it mattered. You had no interest in any noble of the Court of Nightmares. Or any male here. Most, if not all, were cruel and narcissists, only viewing females as child bearers and nothing more. 

There was a reason why this court was burdened with the title “Nightmares.”  And to marry someone from here would mean never waking up from this darkness. No stars to light your night skies, only endless shadow and despair.

So, you’d taken fate into your own hands. You’d turned to your birth chart, hoping the stars would lead you somewhere beyond Hewn City, beyond this never-ending nightmare. And they had. They led you to believe it was Azriel. Azriel, who was not only honorable and single but also, technically, part of the Court of Dreams. He’d been your friend for centuries, seeing you for who you are rather than an object or prize like most males here. 

As you sneak away from the conversation, you bump into something–someone. Behind you, a deep voice huffed a low, mocking chuckle. “Easy there, librarian.” 

You could recognize that voice anywhere, could recognize the heat radiating from him. It pressed down on you, leaving you simmering with irritation.

“I’m a libra, not a librarian.” You bit out. It hasn’t even been a minute and already you were exhausted by the searing presence behind you. “And besides, to you, it’s Lady Y/N.”

When you turned, you found Eris looming over you. His amber eyes gleamed with a familiar, infuriating mischief. He gave you that signature smirk of his, the one that made his sharp features all the more arrogant. “Such a harsh tone. Hardly fitting for a Lady.”

Your gaze hardened into a glare, only to have it stray toward a movement across the ballroom.  A flicker of shadow caught your attention, and your heart gave a small, hopeful jump as your gaze softened. There he was—Azriel.

He had returned to the ballroom…but he hadn’t returned to you…

Eris raised a glass to his lips, amber eyes flicking lazily between you and Azriel. “Disappointment doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not disappointed.” You muttered hastily.

He gave a scoff, his smirk widening with dark amusement. “Please. I can practically feel it.”

“Liar,” you shot back. 

“Azriel said he’d find me again and unlike you, he’s a male of his word,” you continued, not sure why you were telling Eris this. “He’s…”

Your words trailed off as you watched Azriel, who stood next to Nesta and Elain. He laughed–actually laughed!-- at something Elain had said, shadows absent from his frame as his focus remained solely on her. You couldn’t miss the soft smile playing on his lips, nor the warmth in his gaze. Did he do that with every female he knew? You thought he reserved that just for you…

The bubble in your chest slowly deflated.

“Keep dreaming,” Eris huffed out. He seemed to take special pleasure in your reaction. It prompted your cheeks to flush but this time, with irritation.

“Oh, go away, you prick,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?" he replied, leaning closer, his sharp gaze burning into you. You missed the flash of longing in his amber eyes, too focused on Azriel. Or the way the words that had been on the tip of his tongue faltered as your scent suddenly overwhelmed him, his breath hitching slightly.

 "You smell.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled absently.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice gruff and pupils flaring. “You smell different tonight…good...”

You blinked, barely processing his words. Was he actually being nice to you? In all the years you’ve known him, he’s always had snark remark after snark remark for you. The way it would roll smoothly off his tongue always left you wondering if he’d rehearse them for his visits to the Court of Nightmares. 

You fidgeted, fingers grazing your wine glass as you cast a hesitant glance back at Azriel. Your chest tightened as he remained engrossed in conversation with Elain. Turn around, please. But he hadn’t even looked your way once. 

Eris stepped in front of you, drawing your attention back to him. His gaze roamed over you, your dress. He took in the shade and he knew why you had chosen it–and for whom.  "You know," he said, his gaze lingering on your face.  "Red suits you far better.”

“And there he is, you’re back…”

"I’m serious. This—" He gestured to your gown with a slight grimace, his fingers brushing the silk fabric in disappointment. "This color washes you out. Red would bring out the color of your eyes…”

Your jaw clenched but you remained silent, refusing to admit that his words stirred something within you. Eris was insufferable, arrogant, and yet you couldn't deny his eye for detail. He, after all, was always dressed impeccably in the finest Autumn attire. But you would never give him the satisfaction of admitting he might be right.

His smirk widened, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Do you want to know another thing?”

“No,” you said immediately.

But he leaned in anyway, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re hopelessly devoted to a male who doesn’t even look your way.”

Your mouth opened, brows furrowing in protest, but he went on. His smirk softened, fading into a half-smile. One that didn’t reach his eyes, dimming the fire that usually burned so brightly there. And then, in a much quieter, reluctant tone, he murmured, “And I am no different, it seems.”

"But…" You stammered, resisting the urge to steal another glance at Azriel. "He does look my way…sometimes.”

Eris’s smile faded, his expression tightening. A flicker of pain crossed his face. So brief, you almost thought you imagined it.  "You’re delusional.”

“And you’re insufferable.” You scoffed, heart pounding.

“Better than being a fool.” 

The mocking tone was there but the usual sharpness had been softened by a strange, subtle sadness. Was this… pity?

You swallowed, lifting your chin defiantly. “The stars wouldn’t lie to me,” you said, though the conviction in your voice wavered. “He’s the one for me.”`

You met his eyes then and Eris held your gaze. His amber eyes warm and molten, the intensity of his stare prickling at your skin. An unsettling flutter erupted in your stomach, rising to your chest. A feeling you quickly dismissed when you felt something cool brush against your arm.

“Is he bothering you, y/n?”

Eris scoffed at the sudden presence beside you. It sickened him to see that sweet, adoring look on your face, the triumphant gleam in your eyes as you looked up at Azriel. The sight made Eris grit his teeth. His instincts roared at him, the fire in his veins was scorching.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze, realizing both males were waiting for your answer. “No,” you said but the way you shifted to stand behind Azriel said otherwise.

Azriel’s gaze hardened as he looked toward Eris. “Stay away from her,” he seethed.

A low growl rumbled from Eris’s chest as he took a step forward, his amber eyes flaring with rage. Though not as tall as Azriel, he seemed to tower over him at this moment. His teeth flashed as his lips curled into a snarl. “I do not take orders from bastards like you.”

Azriel’s wings tensed, threatening to unfurl and the movement of his shadows quickened. Like a storm ready to unfold. But before it could, you placed a hand on his arm. Right over one of his glowing siphons that seemed to be growing hotter and hotter, daring to match the fire coursing through Eris’s veins.

“Az, don’t,” you told him gently, not wanting to draw any attention to the three of you. You felt his muscles ease under your touch, his shadows brushing over your hand in agreement.

Eris’s gaze dropped to your hand on Azriel’s arm, his expression darkening into something unreadable. He exhaled sharply, turning his head as though trying to shake off whatever thought had crossed his mind.

When he looked back, his features had shifted into his usual cool mask, that infuriating smirk sliding back into place. He looked right at you.

“When you wake up from this deranged dream of yours, come find me.”

You watched him, feeling a strange, unwelcome tug in your chest as he turned to leave. Perhaps, one day you’d realize that the enchanted perfume you had bought was not a scam. 

And that the male you searched through the stars and planets for was not the one standing beside you, but the one who’d just walked away.

a/n: sorry if you're not a libra, I just thought it'd be funny for Eris to purposely say reader's sign wrong as he knows astrology is a huge influence on her.

[Eris masterlist]

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[senascoop]

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 + crack, angst (slightly)

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.

© senascoop | tumblr

[solavelyan]

I have. so many feelings about Mythal

I don't buy that they were doin' it (or if they were, it didn't last and was not very important). I was ready to be onboard with that! That's usually my jam! But the way they interact with each other physically - both during the atonement ending and in the Inquisition stinger where he kills Flemeth - comes off, like... it's intimate, obviously, but it's not an equal relationship

Solas seems to worship her, long before she ever declares herself a goddess, even. He openly decries the declared godhood of the Evanuris, but holds Mythal herself sacred. He bows his head, avoids looking her in the eye, consistently finds reasons why their shared sins are fully on his shoulders, because her mistakes couldn't possibly be her fault - and if even Mythal the All-Mother's mistakes are his fault but not hers, then why wouldn't Solas feel responsible for everyone else's welfare?

Mythal is portrayed as the ultimate mother goddess, for good and for ill. She loved and protected her children, but her Benevolence was turned to Retribution when her (arguably foolish) attempts to temper the other Evanuris rather than stop them from becoming people that needed tempering inevitably failed. A mother loves, but she also disciplines, lectures, punishes.

She hates nothing more than being wrong or contradicted. She asks a creature of Wisdom for guidance - possibly even one of the first such spirits to ever exist - while being impossible to actually convince when it matters the most, because Mother Knows Best, even thousands of years ago

I think Solas viewed her as an equal when it was true, as it may once have been, and was blind to the change when Mythal coaxed him out of the Fade and duty-bound him to betray his nature with war and atrocity. He shouldered the guilt for both of them and lived most of his physical life as both her best friend and her best servant. He worshiped her without recognizing the behavior in himself - and perhaps he did, eventually, see it, but was in too deep to stop, so devoted to her that he would trigger an apocalypse before turning away from the path she would have wanted him to follow

Boiling her down to Solas's bitch ex is just... so, so boring. Maybe it was sexual. It was clearly something, a lot of somethings. They don't act like lovers, they act like two people in a very intense relationship with a fundamentally unequal dynamic that the more "powerful" person had no interest in balancing out. Even the shade of her in the atonement ending treats him like a goddess to her champion, releasing a perpetual servant, rather than an ex finally signing the divorce papers

It just more interesting if it's religious mommy issues, I guess is what I'm saying. That says something about me, I'm sure lol

[skkfujoshi]

His work and nothing more

“Dazai can I ask you a question?”Chuuya muttered against his neck “Yeah?”

The two were in their Agency apartment,post coital,Chuuya’s body warm on top of him,the redhead’s feet cringing away from his.

Chuuya’s lips pressed lightly against Dazai’s throat.The brunette hummed,stroking his back.

“Yeah?”Dazai repeated 

Chuuya hummed,mouth moving to be under Dazai’s ear.

“If I killed your loved ones,could you forgive it?” “Chuuya we have the same loved-“ “Do we?”he asked

Not in an overly rushed,snappy manner Dazai expected from Chuuya when being interrupted,but rather…It was something a bit more playful ,teasing.There was a chuckle to punctuate it,just like when Chuuya would say “Can you now?” whenever Dazai would make an outrageous boast about his own abilities. 

Except…Dazai didn’t think that tone made any sense.Chuuya and Kunikida got along well,he was sure of it.Chuuya had never been the subtle type when it came to his displeasure.

And all of the interactions he’s seen Chuuya and Kunikida have had never been anything but positive.

Like that one time…

That one time when…

He hummed.Actually that was a bit blurry.But there was that other…

Dazai hummed again.He couldn’t really remember that one either…

He glanced at Chuuya’s right shoulder,which up until that point had been bare.Now where his shoulder and shoulder blade met  was a thick text.Dazai couldn’t make it out,but it didn’t matter.He understood what was going on now.

It was one of those dreams.He hadn’t had one of these since the night he found out Chuuya became the boss.

They were inconsistent.Sometimes,they’d take place the night Dazai left.

In others Chuuya was sent to kill him by Mori and couldn’t manage to pull the trigger.

In the last one Dazai had,two years ago,he managed to convince Chuuya to turn his back on the mafia the night of that party.

It always ended the same way,though.Him and Chuuya in bed,making love,Chuuya’s skin piping hot to the touch.His breathing and mannerisms were so true to memory that it had Dazai fooled.

Until he’d fall asleep in the dream and wake up in his dorm ,either alone or next to someone who was decidedly not his ex partner.

One thing that had never happened though was them changing midway.If Chuuya’s hair was short in one of them,it would not grow out halfway through.

“Osamu?You alright?” “Yeah,I’m fine.”he said,reaching to stroke Chuuya’s hair

His ex partner stared at him unconvinced.But he allowed Dazai to touch his hair regardless,not leaning away.

“Why are you asking?” “Because you were kinda drifting off and-“ “No,the first thing.Why are you asking me that?” “Just a hypothetical.I just wanna know how far your love for me goes,that’s all.” “Ok so,if it’s a hypothetical…I’d prefer not to answer .” “Because you don’t have an answer or because you don’t like the one you do have?”

There was a newfound coldness in Chuuya’s voice as he said that.Not icy,exactly,but there was a certain detachment that wasn’t there before,a matter of fact quality to it.

Dazai was taken aback for a moment.He,pushed his own hair back and sighed.

“Well I guess it would depend on the context…”Dazai muttered,skirting around the subject  “Just…Conceptually..”

Chuuya’s tone was still cold but it had taken the turn towards the somber as he nuzzled into Dazai’s shoulder.Dazai sat in the silence for a bit,trying to actually think on the question.

Admittedly he had never thought of it.Him and Chuuya had been on the same side initially and had only been back in one another’s lives on opposing sides for a month or so tops.

The concept of Chuuya as the enemy didn’t quite settle yet.He had thought about it but…Not that far.

It existed in the macro.The broad strokes were clear and so obvious even a five year old could grasp them.

Hostility was no longer optional and discouraged,it was expected and if you had any principles,mandatory.

Undermining Chuuya at every turn wasn’t personal and petty as it once was.As far as Dazai saw it,that was just another part of the job.

However…Things got murkier once people got involved.

Realistically it shouldn’t have mattered.People were expendable ,Dazai told Chuuya as much after his ex partner asked to tutor Akutagawa alongside him.

That,from a certain point of view,was also just work.If someone or something was in the way it would make sense to…get rid of it.

However…He had discarded that way of thinking along with his black coat.After all,if that was true then Oda’s death wouldn’t matter,shouldn’t have hurt.

But it did.

Dazai closed his eyes and sighed.

He supposed Chuuya was right to not give him context.It wouldn’t have mattered.

Dazai wouldn’t have hated Mori any more or any less if he had gotten Oda killed out of malice rather than to get that dumb permit.

He opened his eyes and looked at Chuuya.

Chuuya’s expression was cold,but  also somewhat damp and melancholic.His eyes were distant,narrowed yet downcast,brows relaxed but in,from what Dazai could tell,a sense of resignation rather than calm.

“You’ve finally realized it,haven’t you?” “Suppose so…”

He’d always want Chuuya.His temper,his violence,his infuriating loyalty…All of it.

He still wanted him even after that Q stunt,even if he denied it to himself.But…Dazai hadn’t forgiven him for it.

He understood,of course.

“Tell us your life story.If it’s really sad,my dog here might just convince me to go easy on you.”Dazai would sometimes taunt an enemy they had just taken down

And a few seconds after he’d get smacked by Chuuya for calling him a dog again.

Despite the years,getting into Chuuya’s heart didn’t seem to become any more challenging of a task.He was an empathetic man and so the bar for entry into his good graces was quite low.

He could admit that he was wrong to label Chuuya cruel.Spiteful yes,but the stunt with Q was hardly as dangerous as he had considered it at the time.

Clearly Chuuya knew Dazai was there,otherwise he wouldn’t have left him that pre recorded message,so he probably figured Atsushi would be fine if a little traumatized.

So Dazai was wrong there.Chuuya wasn’t a monster.He was just desperate to get back at him for everything.Even if there was some collateral.

Chuuya’s lack of cruelty would only make that concept worse.He could see it.

Chuuya becoming so desperate that he decides to put Dazai’s loved ones in danger,just because he wants to hurt him.It going horribly,horribly wrong.

He’d tell Dazai that he was so sorry,that it was an accident.There’d probably be tears in there somewhere and Dazai would tell him he forgives it,that Chuuya didn’t mean for it to go that far…

But he wouldn’t mean it.He wouldn’t hate him for it,he’d understand,but…God,he’d resent Chuuya for it for the rest of his life.

“I couldn’t forgive you.”

He expected Chuuya to sadden further,to shake his head in slight denial.

What he hadn’t anticipated was for Chuuya to lift himself up slightly, loose hair cascading down his shoulder,small smile on his face.

He leaned closer,stroking Dazai’s cheek,that coldness thankfully having left his eyes or at least it seemed that way.

“Then,I suppose we both know what has to be done here,right, mon amor?”he said,inches away from Dazai’s mouth

The press of their lips wasn’t as uncomfortable as Dazai had remembered.There was no initial fumbling or awkward angles,just their mouths slotting together smoothly.

He supposed that made sense.Dream and all that,of course it’d be perfect.He still leaned into it,closing his eyes.Dream or not,it was still the closest he’ll get to kissing Chuuya,probably for the rest of his life.

His fingers dug into Chuuya’s back,as if that could hold him if he truly wanted to just leave Dazai there.

The intake of breath from Chuuya was sharp as they separated,his hands squeezing at Dazai’s shoulders.

Dazai still kept his eyes closed,if only to let the moment rest a bit.That was a hard thing to say,to admit and after the whole Guild thing he just needed…a minute.

Then he felt something warm drip onto his lower lip.He scrunched his nose and that’s when he smelled it.

Blood.Dazai knew the scent of it by heart,sickly sweet and metallic.

He didn’t know what he expected when he opened his eyes.

What he did know is that the sight of Chuuya,blood dripping out of his mouth,eyes bloodshot and vacant like a corpse with a bruised,snapped neck made him scream so loud that it woke up the short red haired woman he slept with last night.

He declined to tell her why he screamed and tried to avoid looking at her face as much as possible.He got dressed,lied that he’d call her later and went to work.

If anybody at the Agency found anything strange about how much he was touching his lower lip they didn’t say anything about it.

First overall AU info post

Previous fic part <— Next fic part—>

[starkwlkr]

there’s love if you want it (sv5)

there’s love if you want it don’t sound like no sonnet, my lord — the verve

I wait for you masterlist

DECEMBER 2010

The FIA Gala was starting to bore Sebastian. He didn’t want to seem disrespectful, after all it was him who was being honored. He kept looking down at his watch wanting time to go by faster. Why? In a couple hours, Sofia Barrett was leaving Monaco and he didn’t want her to leave without saying goodbye.

“You’re doing it again.” Christian Horner whispered to Sebastian. He was of course referring to Sebastian’s foot tapping.

“Sorry.” Sebastian apologized. “Listen, I don’t want to see rude . . .”

“I’m sure no one will notice if you leave a few minutes early, Seb.” That was all it took for the German to excuse himself and make his way to the nearest exit.

From his seat, Mark Webber chuckled and sipped on his champagne. “He is so whipped.”

Luckily, Sofia’s hotel was near the gala so Sebastian had the ‘brilliant’ idea of running in his dress shoes all the way to her. If it was any another person, he would no even try, but this was Sofia Barrett and for her, he would run like his life depended on it. When he finally did make it to her hotel, he ran to the elevator, but the door had already closed in his face.

“Fuck! Fuck! No!” Sebastian shouted. He felt like he was running out of time so he started pushing the button for the next elevator. As he kept pushing it, he heard his name being called by the sweetest voice ever.

“Sebastian?” He quickly turned and saw Sofia with her suitcase by her side. “I’m pretty sure the gala is still happening. Why are you here?”

“You were leaving. . .” Was all he managed to say. “I wanted to see you before you left.”

Sofia’s lips turned into a smile. “Are you going to get in trouble for leaving early?”

“Probably, but I think it’s worth it if I got to see you.” Sebastian replied.

“The world champion getting in trouble just so he can see me? You’re something else, Seb.” Sofia laughed.

“Are you going to Iceland?” Sebastian asked. He remembered her mentioning Iceland a few months ago, something about a family member getting married there.

Sofia slowly nodded. “Yeah, but I’m going to London. I’m spending Christmas and New Years with my boyfriend and his family.”

Her words hit him like a truck. Boyfriend. Since when? She never brought up that word ever. He was beginning to think it was some sort of prank set up by Mark to get him to confess his true feelings. It had to be a prank! When did she find a boyfriend?

“Oh. You’re dating an Englishman?” Was all he could say. Out of all the words in the world, he decided to say that.

Sofia laughed. “I promise he’s a good guy. He’s already met my parents and sister. They like him.”

“That’s . . . Good. But what about that MotoGP guy? What’s his name? Casey?”

“Casey is a friend. Always had been.” He noticed a little anger in her voice. Sofia got annoyed whenever someone brought up her friendship with Casey Stoner. The media assumed it was more than a friendship, but her and the Australian were simply friends.

“I’ll see you soon. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, champ. Love you.” Sofia placed a kiss on Sebastian’s cheek as she gave him a hug.

“Yeah, you too.” He cleared his throat. “Have a safe flight. Call when you land?”

“Time zones, Seb.” She reminded him.

“I’ll wait. You know I always wait for you.”

And he did. No matter what, Sebastian Vettel always waited for Sofia Barrett.

@forza-pastry @distancedss

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Was never a doubt in my mind, red. I know how much your kind enjoys your luxuries above all else. Created us in the first place so they wouldn't have to get their hands and fancy attires stained in monster gore and muck. Or have to wade through sewers, swamps and crypts."

Eskel's low tone chuckled under his breath at the thought, knowing all too well the vanity of the mages, men and women alike. The looks of horror some had given him over the years, when he had returned to them, monster head in hand, and covered in monster blood and gore. So ready to get their hands dirty against people and during schemes, but not the true horrors of the world. Vanity personified, of which she was one of them. He considered her suggestion, knowing she was trying to find an in, seduce him into it. If he did agree to it, he knew he could take measures to make sure she didn't try anything, knowing the keep and surrounding valley far better than she did. And with her portals, nothing could stop them from going back on the Path, in any kingdom, anytime they wished to. As important as the journey was, going around on foot and horseback, there was nothing in the Witcher Codex forbidding travel by portals where possible... even if Geralt had always had his misgivings about them. Misgivings Eskel did not share, among their many similarities and differences. Someone to talk to, and far more, even if it was her, would also not be unappreciated. Conversations with his goat and horse tended to be one way... though maybe that was a blessing in disguise. Fingers still slowly moving within her, smirk on his marred features deepening, he shrugged his shoulders slightly, seemingly noncommittal for the moment.

"Hmm... perhaps, if you're on the level. Carla Demetia Crest, also of Aretuza, did have a spacious tower room made for herself at Kaer Morhen long ago... Yennefer, Triss and Keira enjoyed staying in it during their visits... reckon you Aretuza women are of similar tastes. Wouldn't hurt to have a portal summoner around as an option as well, making travels quicker, when need be. And a bit of company. We'll see. I'll consider it. For now... I can think of other enjoyable things for us to attend to... between you and breakfast. To tide me over, for the contracts ahead of me, later."

The Witcher's deep, aroused and amused voice suggested languidly as he aligned them closely atop the bed in a spooning position, hands continuing to roam her perfect, pale body. Already he couldn't seem to get enough of it, of her, even as he took the time to enjoy it... she was intoxicating and addicting, the bond between them, of magic and destiny. Rubbing against her, slowly, grinding his hips forward, he at last slipped his hard manhood back gradually and deeply within the crimson haired Sorceress's wet womanhood, uttering a low, aroused breath as her tightness encompassed him. His grip on her tightening. He began kissing her again, tongue meeting hers and tasting her as he started likewise moving his hips, moving inside of her. Not rushing any of it, taking his time. Already the heat in his blood was growing, one he intended to share with her, to make her lose further control. Making of her a breakfast before they both ate. His mouth moved between hers and her neck, kissing, biting and suckling along it, his hands rubbing both her breasts and between her legs, fingers gliding along her wet clit in unison with the movements of his pelvis. He would build her up gradually, as she did to him... there was no rush with the day ahead of them, and he wanted the morning to be as memorable as the prior evening's reunion had been.

@fallesto

“Well despite all that has happened, I have my standards and I have my tastes as well, it all means a great deal to me, to cling to the little things that bring me joy within my life, so you have my thanks then, that you like them, I don’t intend to change for anyone, despite my situation.”

She was once a revered figure within the opulent halls of the royal courts, the witch now finds herself cast out, her once-glorious life reduced to mere whispers of the past. The grand tapestries that once adorned her chambers have been replaced by the tangled vines and gnarled roots of the forest, where she seeks refuge from those who once celebrated her talents. The vibrant colors of her former existence have faded into the muted greens and browns of the wilderness, a stark reminder of her fall from grace. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a far cry from the sweet perfumes of the court, as she navigates this new, treacherous world. It was horrid, but with him here, a taste of the life she had left behind. “Keep doing that.” The movements from him, the light touches, the experience of it all, was pleasurable beyond words, to the point her concentration would break, the pans and plates would fall and shatter, clattering onto the ground as she hummed, whatever he was seeking to do, was working for the time being.

In the depths of the forest, the witch is not alone; she has him with her now, despite her being pursued relentlessly by witch hunters, men and women driven by fear and a thirst for vengeance. They roam the underbrush with torches and pitchforks, their eyes gleaming with a fervor that speaks to the age-old belief that her powers are a threat to their very existence. Each rustle of leaves sends a shiver down her spine, a constant reminder that danger lurks just beyond her sight. The witch, once a master of spells and enchantments, now relies on her cunning and knowledge of the land to evade capture, weaving through the trees like a shadow, her heart pounding with the rhythm of survival. Now with a witcher, they could be unstoppable, did he have any idea how powerful they were, how good they were, how much they could do with one another, as she would sink into his embrace, back against his own, covers over them, maybe then, breakfast can wait for the time being, as she would close her eyes and sigh, as he set to his task, touching, exploring, but at the same time, despite it all, he never said no to her sly little request, to gauge his interest, to allow her to come with him.

“Think about it, me and you, there, we can be alone and we can work, no doubt many monsters lurking there, hunting the lost, travelers, merchants, money to be made, and monsters for me to work on, could help your work, besides my enemies are looking for me here, they will not expect me to go there, they expect me to remain here and try and make a comeback, not seeking to cause issues, somewhere to read, somewhere to work, somewhere to continue my understanding, and more time together, you don’t have to worry, not plotting to take a kingdom and collect kings crowns, just need time to work without being hunted.”

[mxtxfanatic]

The fact that my two most popular mdzs posts on this blog are “wwx is a literal genius” and “jc is an abusive uncle” reminds me that the loudest people in a fandom may not actually have the most popular commentary, and also maybe people can separate fanon additions from canon commentary.

[bunnihearted]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

[lycanthian]

explosion.gif

[nomairuins]

i do need 2 work on rewiring my brain so that my immediate very first thought whenever i dont do a small task (like brushing ny teeth taking a shower picking up my room etc) isnt 'We Should Kill Connor ." this would be pretty good for me to do. putting this on the list

[foone]

Bad idea: Age gap discourse but in a fantasy land where there's multiple races who have vastly different lifespans and life styles.

Is it wrong for a 27 year old human to date a 140 year old stone elf, considering most stone elves don't get out of diapers till their 30s?

Is it wrong for a 80 year old dwarf to date a two year old fire wisp, when fire wisps only live up to 5 years (between the eruptions) and have memories of their past lives, so in a way they're "born" at age 400,000+? That octogenarian dwarf is way younger than the fire wisp that's only physically younger than some of the socks the dwarf has!

Is it wrong for a chronomancer who was never born to date, well, anyone? They are zero years old and infinity years old and negative one hundred and seventeen years old all at once. They look like an old human, sure, with the long white beard and the wrinkly skin, but as far as anyone can tell, they've always looked like that. We've seen the cave paintings.

Is it wrong for a 30 year old lizardman (that's old in lizardman years) to date a human who is 60 years old in biological years (because of aging spells), 26 years old in lived-experience years, but only 13 years old in calendar years? (ie, they were born 13 years ago, but spent some of that time in sideways timelines, so they've lived more years than have passed in their home timeline?)

Is it wrong for a 12,000 year old dragon date a pile of 400 kobolds when kobolds only live like 10 years on average, but reach full maturity in one year? And if you disagree, can you do anything about it? You do know what happened to the last policeman who tried to arrest a dragon, right? Their city is still smoldering, 50 years later.

Is it wrong for anyone to date the time worm? It's the same age, every year. So the age gap can only intensify. If you start dating the time worm when you're both the same age, when do you break it off because you've become too much older than them?

And most confusing of all... What about the fairies? They could be anything between a thousand and a day old, they would lie about their age either way, and they can look like whatever they want. There's fairies we know for a fact have been around since the founding of The City of Towers, who met the silent mother herself, and also look like they're at most ten years old. Is it wrong to date them, or just really uncomfortable for everyone who sees it? And on the other side there's fairies who are "born" (hatched? They come from plants, I'm not sure what the verb even would be. Seeded? Sprouted, maybe) this week who are already appearing like middle-aged men and dancing with widows in what looks like a scheme to run off with her fortune but they never take the money, because what would a fairy want with worthless metal discs? Maybe fairies have a hive mind or genetic memory or reincarnation with full memories, they'd never tell you or give you a straight (or consistent) answer anyway.

Stonefolk are really the only inter-race dating situation anyone can agree on. They're unthinking & unmoving solid rock during the day, so those hours don't count. Thus their "real age" is a nice even half of their true age. So if you meet a stonefolk who was dug out 30 years ago, watch out: that's a 15 year old, and if you're a 25 year human, that's too young for you, even though their dig-date is five years before your birth-date.

EDIT: 2024/01/12: Changed the name of the Stonefolk

[reyalvr]

SHE'S MINE | 01

I'M ALL IN, I CAN'T REVERSE IT-

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers. 

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, chaotic fluff, mild smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan

word count ┊  3.2k

author’s note ┊ WOOHOO part one finally out! thank you so much for all the love on the prologue, it made me so motivated to make this as good as possible hehe >.< each chapter title is based off of a lyric in my writing playlist for this series, lmk if you guys would like me to drop it  ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶. happy reading!

prev. | next

KEN KNEW HE WAS IN DEEP SHIT. Knee deep, even. If you asked him what was going through his head thirty seconds ago, he wouldn’t be able to tell you even if he wanted to. Everything that happened next was a blur- from shaking hands with the host to walking back to his dressing room, it felt like he was operating on autopilot. Who wouldn’t be, though? He had just announced to the world that he was officially taken; that he was off the market- hooked. Of course, it wouldn’t have been a problem if it were true…

But it wasn’t. 

He had just lied to an audience of a hundred people- not to mention the millions throughout the various streaming platforms the show was being aired on. His nails dug into his palm as he neared his dressing room, the bold, black letters of his name growing larger and larger each step he took. His heart was pounding, and he swore he felt chill down his spine the moment he opened the door. No one could blame him though, not if they knew the inevitable wrath they were about to face. 

You were stood there, eyes narrowed and resting all your weight on your hip. Your arms were crossed, your lips were pursed. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, staring at each other as you waited for the other to speak up. Ken swallowed nervously, tapping his foot as he tried formulating an explanation. He wasn’t entirely sure as to why he was so overstrung, it was just you. Why should he be terrified of your scolding on his recent screw up? 

“Special someone, huh?” You said through your teeth, finally breaking the tense silence in the room. “So special that nobody on your team knew of her prior to your public love confession?” 

Ah. That was why. The way you were able to see right through him scared him sometimes. He never outwardly showed his reactions, though- at least he tried not to. He cleared his throat before finally moving to plop down on the couch, doing his damndest not to show his jitters. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I lied, so what?” He replied, his cocky tone masking the unsureness in his words. “It’s not the first time I’ve done it.” 

Strike one. As if you couldn’t have been any more pissed off, that seemed to be the tipping point. You paused before letting out a deep breath, circling around him. He closed his eyes when he knew you were behind him, and he waited for you to berate him; to remind him of the consequences of his actions. He waited, but it never came. He opened one eye, and he relaxed when you moved to sit on the opposite couch. He was spared… for now.

“What, no scolding?” He decided to test, tilting his head to the side as he watched you. 

You only let out a small laugh, and somehow that was worse than any scolding he’d ever received from you. You were oddly calm, like all your anger had just melted away. Leaning forward, you slid an enclosed piece of paper across the table towards him. 

“Can you guess what this is, Ken?” You ask, your eyes finally looking back up to meet his. 

Ken knew not to answer. He was ready to spit out some witty reply, but the look in your eyes told him that this was going to go down another route; one that he definitely didn’t want to aggravate. 

“It’s my resignation letter.” You say nonchalantly, causing him to straighten up once more. “I keep it handy.”

Resignation letter? Was this real? Were you actually going to quit over this? He opened his mouth to speak up but quickly shut it when you maintained your soul-searching gaze. He tried to relax, yet the furrow in his eyebrows seemed to stay as you continued on. 

“I’m going to be very clear on what’s going to happen next, Ken.” You say, resting your arms on your knees. “This will be the last time I help you clear up a mishap. After everything is settled, I’m gone.” 

Gone. His eyes widened slightly, the palms of his hands starting to get clammy. He let out a light, nervous laugh, looking at you as if you had just said something absurd. Which, in his defense, you sort of did. Again, he had no idea why this news was so shocking to him, seeing as you’d only worked under him for a year and a half. Surely he couldn’t have been that terrible, right? He stared at the folded paper in front of him before speaking up.

“What, uh, what do you mean gone?” He asked through a breathy laugh. “Gone like a break or something? I’m happy to give you one-”

“Gone as in I quit.” You cut him off, standing up as you adjusted the sleeves of your shirt. “Like I said, this is the last time I clean up your mess, Ken Sato.” 

You moved to walk away, but he quickly caught your arm. “Woah, hold on a sec,” He stood up, looking down at you with stunned eyes. “Quit? C’mon, [Y/N] I know I screwed up but you can’t just leave me hanging like this-” 

You scoffed at him then, yanking your arm out of his grasp. “Oh I can’t leave you hanging, huh? Tell me, Ken, how many times have I saved your ass in the last eighteen months I’ve been working for you, hm?”

He swallowed dryly as he tried to recall. He was used to having his name on headlines, most especially after his move last year. He couldn’t go five seconds without seeing his ads pop up on his platforms, hell he couldn’t even go five blocks without seeing a billboard with his face on it. Which all brought him back to one thing: not one negative scandal under his name. With you, he was perfect; jack of all trades in the MLB and the internet’s favorite spokesperson. 

Shit. Strike two. 

You only hummed in response once you read over his expression. “Exactly. So the next time you even think about downplaying my job, remember how I was the reason for your recent success.”

Ken was at a loss for words. Rarely was he ever left speechless, he always seemed to have a response ready for anything. But now was definitely not one of those times. He watched as you bent down to retrieve that dreaded letter, and you shoved it into his chest before moving to finally walk past him. 

“Our flight leaves tomorrow at five a.m, I'll see you in the lobby at three.” You say, not so much as sparing him a glance as you fixed your bag. 

He managed to let out a quiet ‘okay’, gripping onto your letter tightly as he watched you pack up. Damn Ken, you really did it this time, didn’t you? He thought to himself, wondering how- or rather, if he would be able to make things right with you. For the first time in his career, he was thinking about someone else other than himself. 

“Oh and Ken,” You say, breaking him out of his dazed stance. 

“Hm?” He hummed out, averting his gaze to be level with yours. 

“You had better pray that the next assistant you get is half as good as I am.” You said before closing the door, leaving him alone in his dressing room. All of a sudden it felt… quiet. Too quiet. He sighed, dropping down on the couch once more before closing his eyes and masking his face with his hands.

Strike three. 

THE TENSION IN THE CAR WAS PAINSTAKINGLY PALPABLE. Ken’s leg bounced as the two of you were stuck in airport traffic, the car unmoving for nearly half an hour now. Your occasional sighs and the hum of the car’s engine were the only sounds filling the air. He felt like he was going crazy. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly the night before thanks to your bombshell of an announcement. In comparison, though, he probably shouldn’t be complaining about bombshells when he himself dropped one twice the size of yours. 

Still, he was restless. You hadn’t uttered a single word to him since landing back in Tokyo, and the unwanted solitude was driving him nuts. He glanced over at you through his shades, noting the way you were impatiently tapping your fingers against the wheel. Obviously you were still pissed at his little stunt, and the articles following the incident didn’t aid in calming your anger. 

He knew it wasn’t smart, but he needed to talk to you. The sea of red lights in front of him remained stagnant, and he didn’t want to spend another minute in this deafening quietude. He gnawed at his bottom lip before finally breaking the silence. 

“Can we talk?” He said, looking over at you. 

“No.” You replied bluntly.

“[Y/N]-” He started, but one glance from you was enough to shut him up. 

“I am doing you a huge favor by helping you solve the mess you created.” You said as you looked back at the road ahead of you, lifting your fingers and circling your thumbs around the wheel. “I could’ve left right then and there, leaving you to deal with this on your own. But I didn’t, I don’t know why, but I didn’t.”

You looked back up at him, and only now did he notice the circles under your eyes and the paleness of your complexion. Something inside him twisted; he couldn’t tell if it was guilt or regret. Guilt, probably, for having to rely on you to correct his mistakes, and regret for even causing this whole debacle in the first place. 

“The least I’m asking from you is your compliance.” You say tiredly, the glint in your eyes doing most of the talking. 

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.” He managed to get out, leaning back into the passenger seat. 

And just like that, the dreaded silence was back. By some miracle the traffic started to gain some speed, the taillights of the cars ahead of him dispersing onto the road. His head hit the back of the headrest, and he sat through the entire ride back to the Tokyo Dome contemplating his recent choices. 

It was only when you knocked on the window of the passenger side when he realized he had finally reached his destination. He got out, stretching his limbs after being cramped inside the car for so long. He threw on his jacket lazily, not even bothering to zip it up. He went to put on his cap, but then he noticed something odd. 

It was quiet outside the building, the bristle of the trees and the nearby roads the only sound filling his ears. There was something lacking; the neverending shuttering sounds of cameras and eager voices yelling at him to look or to say something. He realized then the lack of paparazzi and reporters outside to greet him, just like they usually did whenever he came back from a trip. His head turned, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked around. Not a single one in sight.

“‘Something wrong?” You asked as you walked past him to swipe your ID into the security system. 

“It’s just,” He said, still looking around in confusion. He let out an airy laugh as he followed you inside, the expression on his face remaining the same. “There’s no paps or anything.”

At that you laugh, albeit sarcastically, waiting for him to get into the elevator. “You know that might be the first time I’ve ever heard a famous person complain about not being bombarded by ill-intent people.” 

“I’m not complaining, trust me.” He says, putting his hands up halfway in defense. “It’s weird. That’s all.” 

“Well that’s what happens when people think you’re spending time with your special someone after being away for so long.” You say, pulling up a press announcement on your phone. 

For a split second, Kenji had completely forgotten that he had to keep up the fact that he supposedly had a significant other waiting for him at home. He let out an ‘ah’, sliding his hands into his pockets as the elevator went up. Again his heart panged, finally realizing why your eyebags were deeper than they usually were. While he may have had discomfort in his slumber, it didn’t compare to the hours you were up trying to get everything settled here.

You held the door open to your office, letting him in first. Once the lights were on, he was greeted with your infamous whiteboard, different scribbles of colorful ink filling up the space corner to corner. He cringed at the bolded date of the talk show he was on. 

“Your bags will be sent here in the next hour, and valet has your bike ready.” You say, doing the usual routine you did whenever the both of you came back from work trips. He sat down on the sofa, nodding each time you reminded him of something. 

“Now, about the issue,” You walk over to the whiteboard, erasing its contents. “We need to find you a fake girlfriend.” 

He choked on nothing, not surprised by the news but surprised by the continued bluntness of your tone. “I beg your pardon?”

“We need to find you a fake girlfriend.” You repeated, emphasizing the words obnoxiously. 

“Yeah I get that,” He finally replied, a look of uncertainty splashing his features. “But you’re making it sound like all we need to do is shop around.”

“Well unless you can give me a face, let alone a name to your special someone, this is the plan we have.” You retort, resting a hand at your hip as the other points at the board. 

“Why can’t I just be one of those celebrities who keep their relationship private?” He questions genuinely. 

“Oh I’m sorry, who was the one who announced that they were in love on live television?” You remind him, annoyance laced in your words. 

He bites back any sort of sarcastic remark that conjures up in the back of his head. You were right, obviously you were right. But some part of him felt it was… unfair to not have a say in this. Stupid, yes, but it’s how he felt.

“Can I continue or is there anything else you want to unnecessarily add?” You ask, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. 

He only lifted a hand, signaling for you to carry on. You go on to explain that whoever ends up “dating” him will need to have to go through a contract signing, NDA included. You draw up charts on your board, showing him the possible stats of his ratings if he’ll be able to pull this off. 

“Your next playoff season is about to start, I suggest we get all this settled by then.” You scroll on your smartwatch, looking at the calendar. “It gives me two weeks to plan everything out. I need you here tomorrow bright and early so that we can go through a list of potential candidates.”

“Candidates? What is this, speed-dating?” He says, making a face at all the analytical parts of your plan. 

“No, it’s a game called ‘save-my-reputation.’” You answer snarkily, narrowing your eyes slightly at him. 

He takes in a deep breath, starting to get annoyed with your remarks. He knew he had no right to, but to think that you were just dictating away at his choices made him feel like some sort of plaything. 

“I just don’t understand why we even need to find a ‘girlfriend’ in the first place.” He massages the back of his head before crossing his arms. “I mean everyone thinks I’ve successfully hidden my love life up until now, what’s the point of going all out?”

He could see you clench your fingers around the marker, and he knew he was close to reaching your tipping once more. All in the span of twenty-four hours. You pinched the bridge of your nose before you spoke up.

“Ken. You told the world that you were in love.” You say in an eerily calm tone. “You got yourself into this mess, now you have to get yourself out of it. And unless you want to say goodbye to your stardom, this is what you need to do.” 

He opened his mouth to speak up but was cut off by your phone’s ringing. You answered, spewing out a quick and formal ‘thank you’ to whoever was on the other line. You sighed, placing your marker back down on your desk before you walked past him towards the glass door. 

“Your bags are here.” You say, opening the door. “Your bike’s parked outside and everything should be good to go.” 

Your demeanor had changed in a split second, going from PR manager to assistant in the blink of an eye. At times Ken wondered how you were able to juggle everything. It wasn’t the main thing that was on his mind, he had… other, more serious things to worry about. Like the other secret he had kept from you all this time; Ultraman. He shook his head, trying not to focus on his double life on top of the situation he was in. 

Ken knew that your words were a sign to get up and get out, and he did just that. You followed him all the way back down to the lobby of the stadium, handing him his duffel bag and walking him to his bike. Despite your earlier mood, you did your checks on his motorbike that he had grown accustomed to after a while. 

“Tomorrow, bright and early.” You remind him, crossing your arms as he got on his bike. “Please.”

“Tomorrow, bright and early.” He repeats through a huff, slinging his bag into the compartment attached to the back of his motorbike. “Got it.” 

You only hummed in response, turning away to walk back into the stadium. He didn’t know what it was that came over him, but before he knew it he was grabbing your arm softly once more. Your head spun around to look at him, more of your stray hairs spilling out of your updo. At this angle the sunset brought out the shininess of your eyes, the early evening shadows accentuating your features. 

He swallowed before he continued. “You know for what it’s worth, I really am sorry.” 

Instead of another curt response, though, you sighed as you pressed your lips together. He lets go of your arm then, not wanting to invade anymore of your personal space than he already has. He can see you poke your tongue into your cheek, a habit you did when you were in contemplation. 

“Well,” You finally breathe out, your expression relaxing. “If you’re actually as sorry as you say you are, you’ll do as I say.” 

“‘Course.” He says before his face gets obscured by his helmet. He nods towards your direction once more before finally revving the engine. 

Only time will tell what the outcome is, but whatever it is, he hopes he ends up in the one where you don’t loathe his very being. 

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

tags┊@mochminnie, @rreasonablydumbb, @sincerest-one, @fruticake, @lunaryasha, @lovingyeet, @sugacor3, @arrozyfrijoles23, @fennecspage, @mmeerraa, @azryaa, @akiradailylifes, @montybooks, @mmv-ymvm, @hore4ken, @greeniegreengreen, @meikoo, @random-3455, @todaywasafairytale07, @mythicalmoa, @imafangirlofeverything, @astylos, @vynwan-cbq, @rosegiyanabing, @icedberrytea, @ken-zah, @letharue, @chi222, @flooftoof, @c4ttheart, @ymrai, @stxrrielle, @alpha-mommy69, @ewitscat, @lightsinmycity, @furblrwurblr, @ayamago, @sugururawr, @secretlyapartofthisfandom @shellspider, @oh-kurva, @noraimp

[hoshigray]

hello, lovely! is it okay to request a short fic wherein gojo’s pregnant wife (y/n) stole his kikufuku? thank u! (missing soft gojo hours 😭)

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg stoooop this is so cute and sweet, what!?

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x pregnant afab/fem! reader - tooth-rotting fluff - pet names (angel, baby, stars and moon, sweetheart) - Gojo being a big crybaby over sweets - so soft, i was smiling while writing, hehe~.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k

THUD!

“…!” You jolt, immediately looking to the entrance of the living room to see your husband. “Gojo! You okay?”

The white-haired man stands still with a gawked expression, eyes covered by his black blindfold with his usual Jujutsu Tech attire, and you can assume the noise came from the souvenir bags he dropped to the floor.

“…Y/n, my angelic stars and moon,” he finally speaks after a few seconds of silence, and you can see his lips quiver with trembling hands. “Is…Is that my last kikufuku?” 

If there is one thing Gojo loved more than anything other than you, it would be his undying love for sweets! You could never find him without any at his disposal; he’d have a bunch of lollipops in his pockets, be licking popsicles or soft serves while monitoring his first years during their missions, or typically stop by a café and grab some crepes for dessert to take home and share with you. He’s known to have a childish heart, and sweets are his weakness!

His all-time favorite would be the mochi delicacy he often gets during his mission trips to Sendai, and he’s always sure to buy a whole box worth to make the long trip up North worth it. Kikufuku, the crushed edamame and cream-filled mochi, is Gojo’s favorite sweet to eat — you’re a witness to him happily stuffing his face with them lying on the couch after a hard day’s work. He’s the type to eat one every week until he can return to Sendai and get more. 

This week was the very last one he had saved, secured in the cold fridge for him to eat once he got home. And he wasn’t going to Sendai anytime soon, so he planned on treasuring and savoring it the moment he stepped inside and lay beside his pregnant partner to chill on this blissful spring evening.

He could never get over the sight of you whenever he came home. Gojo loved his partner so much that he swears he would burn the world if you commanded him to, which you knew is an exaggeration, but his love is true. The day he got on one knee and heard you say yes to his proposal was the happiest he’d ever been, sweeping you off your feet, putting you in your dream puffy white dress, and officially becoming the spouse of the strongest sorcerer in the jujutsu world! And now you were swole with his child!? Not even God could strike this man to calm him down of his glee.

You were sitting on the living room couch like you always did, waiting for your husband to return, wearing a black maternity one-piece that comfortably molded around your figure and a blue flannel shirt – his flannel – to keep you warm. Gojo came home with souvenirs to share and impress, a huge smile just from thinking about your reactions. 

However, the sight has him gasp dramatically loud and drop everything to the wooden floor, because he saw something in your hand, something that broke his heart noticing the green and white filling apparent from a bite on an undeniable white rice cake. 

You were eating the very last of his kikufuku…How could you!?

You blinked at him, then turned to the sweet in your hand, and the realization of what you were doing finally hit you. “Oh! I’m sorry, Satoru! I was feeling snacky.”

The tall man teeters to where you’re sitting, whining with every step. “So why didn’t you eat your snacks, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know?” You shrugged, licking bits of the edamame cream off your middle finger. “They didn’t seem like what I was craving for. I wanted something sweet, ya know? And I finished my ice cream two nights ago, so this was all I could find.”

“Yeah, but like,” you can tell his eyebrows were scrunched together even if the black material concealed his upper face. “That was my last one, baby! Plus, you could’ve texted me you’d eat it, or I could’ve stopped somewhere to grab you something sweet!”

“I know! But, you were very busy today; a big mission up in Kyoto and a meeting with Principal Yaga, sooo…” you squished the mochi gently, licking more of the filling coming out. “I didn’t wanna interrupt or bother you…”

“But stilllll~!”God, you were so cute when you cared for him, you almost made him forget the whole thing then and there. But you can’t hate the man for being a little upset, right? Gojo sighs and places his cheek on your belly. “Little booger, you hear what your momma is doing to me? So cruel~.”

You gasped. “Hey! Don’t say that to them!” Your free hand tries to yank him off your tummy by the hair, yet he doesn’t budge as he exclaims painfully. “What, are you saying the pregnant love of your life is some villain because they ate one of your sweets? As if I never caught you taking scoops of my favorite ice cream!? Have you no shame, Gojo Satoru!”

He swats your hand off his snowy hair, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Between you and Principal Yaga, there is a scarce few Gojo would allow to beat him up for his foolishness. He turns his head – still above the baby – to face you and releases a sigh. “I’m sorry, I was just really stoked I’d get to have that kikufuku; it’ll be a long while before I go get more…Ughhh.” Another sigh is exerted, and you can only shake your head with rolled eyes. He’s such a baby.

You bring his blindfold down to his chin to free the azure eyes he’s been hiding since this morning, and his hair falls from its spiky appearance. Then, you separate the mochi into two and push one to his lips, “You happy now?” You say with a grin. “I’m sorry, but I wanted to give these a try. Besides, we’ll have a little one to look after soon; wouldn’t it be nice for them to know what their father likes to snack on from time to time?”

Now, how in the world could Gojo still be upset with that logic? Being a father is a foreign concept he’s accepting with open arms, sharing the experience with the person he values and cherishes the most. To have a child with you is the highest honor of all for him. And imagining his small family happy and eating sweets together under his care makes his cheeks show a subtle shade of pink.

He smiles as he accepts the piece of the rice cake, chuckling when you flick his nose playfully. “You’re so sweet, angel.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ✩ dividers by @/benkeibear.

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. THAT’S MY SISTER YOU BITCH

Summary: Despite Sarah and Rafe’s volatile relationship, that’s your sister.

Warnings: Violence, illusions to sex, swearing.

You had a great day so far. You'd woken up to Rafe in between your legs, waking you up in the best way possible before he made you both breakfast as you watched him from the island. Sometimes you just liked to ponder on how lucky you were to have a boyfriend like Rafe. To everyone else, you were far from lucky but you liked it that way- knowing only you got the real Rafe Cameron.

Now, you were on your way back from grocery shopping, planning to make Rafe a romantic meal when he arrived back from work. Blasting music from your car speakers, you were completely in the zone. Until you drove up to the City Hall, glancing ahead you saw Kelce's red truck, which you thought nothing of until you saw him and his idiotic friends surrounding John B and Sarah.

Alarmed, you pulled up next to the truck, gathering the attention of everyone. Despite being a kook yourself, you were far different from the rest of them. You didn't care about pogues, to you they were like anyone else, in fact often you preferred the pogues in the Outer Banks to the kooks. Rafe's circle exclusively consisted of kooks, meaning you often received a lot of respect from kooks even though you spent a lot of your time arguing with them. Rafe didn't mind it, you were his girlfriend and lover, so if you wanted to yell he wouldn't stop you.

"Problem?" You asked, slamming your car door shut behind you. Just as Sarah hit the ground. Immediately you rushed towards Sarah. Yeah, Rafe and Sarah had problems they needed to get past but to you, Sarah was still as important as she was 2 years ago. You were proud of her for finding her true love and true friends, and you always let her know that you would always be there for her. And this time was no exception. Putting two and two together, you saw Ruthie standing much closer to Sarah than the other kooks who looked at her in shock.

They all stood stunned at your arrival, to be honest, you were probably the worst possible person to show up at that exact moment. Everyone knew your opinions on the Pogues were far more empathetic than the other kooks. "No, no problem" Kelce muttered, beginning to pull Ruthie and the others back from Sarah and John B, to which they happily obliged. Not on your watch.

"Oh no, don't stop on my accord guys. Please whatever you were going to do next. Do it." Walking over to them, Ruthie stood stunned at your arrival. Since she started dating Topper, you got a lot of joy out of berating her, publically. For once, she didn't back down at your words. "She needs to watch herself. She pushed me first, it was self-defence." Ruthie said, glancing behind you to see John B pulling Sarah to her feet.

Snorting you replied, "Ruthie, I'm not Shoupe. Don't start pleading your case, I don't care." She stalled at your response, for a moment thinking that you were on her side for pushing Sarah before you pulled her back to reality. Walking closer to her, edgingly slow, you pressed, "You think you're all big and mighty for pushing Sarah? She's 19 Ruthie, you're what? 21? Don't you think you should play with someone your own size?"

Behind you, John B and Sarah smirked at the group. Unbeknownst to you, Sarah was pregnant and John B was far too occupied to make sure Sarah was okay than to pick a fight with Kelce and his goons today. But you happily would, and even better so because who was going to fight back against the kook princess? Definitely not these ones.

“Well?” You pushed, as you stood toe to toe with Ruthie. You were growing impatient, Rafe would have finished work by now meaning that soon he’d come looking for you- and you’d rather give Ruthie a good couple punches before Rafe showed up.

“Okay times up.” Before she could even think, your fist sent her backwards onto the floor, just how Sarah had been when when you arrived. Groaning, she lifted her hands to cover her nose, assumably bleeding- hopefully broken if Rafe’s self defence lessons had done some good. “Oh my god- I think you broke my nose. You bitch.” She shrieked, pulling her hands away to reveal blood beginning to pour from her nose.

Ruthie was nothing but a bully, a bully you’d had enough of tormenting the island. Your legs either side of her chest you crouched over her, “Don’t worry you still look just as bad as before.” You muttered as you flew your fist back into her face that she left unguarded. Idiot. Her screaming began again, as you moved off from her, deciding that your two punches had done enough damage. Wow, you’d really have to thank Rafe for those lessons.

“Just wait until Topper hears about this, he will deal with you.” One of the other kooks muttered from behind Kelce. “Yeah I’m sure Topper will be sure to deal with me.” You laughed, Topper wouldn’t touch a hair on your arm as long as you were dating Rafe- everyone knew that.

“You want to fuck with someone, not Sarah.” You spat at them, watching Ruthie sadly pull herself to her feet, with the help of no one. “That’s my sister you bitch. Now fuck off.” At your command, Kelce briskly walked back over to his truck, as the others followed just as fast, allowing you to turn back to John B and Sarah.

You were greeted to their smiling faces, both as grateful as each other. But you noticed, a twinge of emotion still lingering on Sarah’s face. Hearing you call her your sister in combination with her pregnancy hormones, was due to set her off to cry. Before she could get out any words, you spoke for her. “You are my sister regardless of whatever is going on between you and Rafe. You’re family.” Turning to John B, you continued, “That extends to you, hubby.” You winked looking down at the ring on his finger.

With a red blush covering their faces, they praised you in thank yous. “Don’t need to thank me for doing something I’ve been wanting to do for months.” Glancing back to see the red truck had disappeared.

“Now, you can thank me for warning you that Rafe will be here any minute and I’m not sure you want to see him.”

—————————

“Baby, please be more careful next time.” Rafe muttered, as he wrapped your knuckles in bandages. He was more than shocked to find you outside the city hall- alone- but with bloody knuckles. Only with the explanation, that you had an altercation with Ruthie, surprisingly over Sarah. He was confused to say the least, he wasn’t even aware that Ruthie had a problem with his little sister. But the more he thought about it, of course she did- Topper still hadn’t gotten over her.

“In fact, there will be no next time. Ever.” Kissing your knuckles, he pulled you onto his chest as he lied back on your shared king bed. Stroking your hair, he let his mind wonder. Should he have been there to protect Sarah? But they hadn’t had a good relationship in years, he couldn’t just suddenly start caring for her. He also couldn’t let you get into situations that could get you hurt over protecting Sarah.

You noticed his body still and you knew instantly his mind was wondering thinking about Sarah. Without moving your head from his chest you spoke, “Rafe. I love Sarah. I know you have a difficult relationship at the moment and whilst you can’t protect her I will.” Letting the silence sit between you for a moment, you decided to continue.

“She’s our only family, Rafe.” He didn’t move, but you both knew how right you were. She was all you had left. “I know baby, I know.” He whispered, laying a kiss on the top of your head, before he let his mind slip back into imagining how he can rectify this broken relationship with his sister.

[ms-demeanor]

any thoughts on the new post that staff went scorched earth on which is now making the rounds abt tumblr live? it basically screenshots all the tos and claims if you've ever opened the app (or in some rbs, unsnoozed live) tumblr has gotten your data. on the one hand i feel like this is fearmongering, but on the other its true that MOST sites have your data as is so its pretty standard. you seem pretty knowledgeable abt data gathering so i was wondering abt your take

This is going to be pretty unkind but watching tumblr users interact with staff and live is a great primer on how conspiracy theories happen.

Nobody on this fucking website knows how to read a ToS, nobody on this website knows how anything fucking works (sorry, this is not a dig at you but how would tumblr "get" your data from you clicking or unclicking live; the only data that tumblr has on you is the data that you have put on tumblr what data do people think that clicking the "new" button is scooping up that is anything beyond interactions or posts or IP addresses which are the things that tumblr already has information about like you do not introduce new information into the tumblr ecosystem by clicking a button you haven't installed anything you haven't changed permissions on your browser if everyone is so goddamned scared about live stealing their data i strongly recommend they stop using anything but public internet through an anonymizer and making sure location data is shut off on all of their devices and anyone who is flipping their shit about the type of data that live is collecting but who is using chrome on any device needs to chill the fuck out about live and flip the fuck out about google)

this is like that post about twitter's content policy that circulated the other day or that post about deviantart's content policy that circulated ten fucking years ago nobody knows how to read legal documents and nobody knows how to read technical documentation and this comes together into unholy matrimony on the no reading comprehension at all moral panic website

live never violated the GDPR it was just rolled out in the US first but the entire userbase decided that because it hadn't been rolled out simultaneously in the EU and the US that it was SO UNSPEAKABLY PRIVACY VIOLATEY THAT THE EU HAD BANNED IT FOR ITS CRIMES with, like, nothing whatsoever backing that up because, again, even at its most intrusive Live collects about as much data as Twitter or Yelp, both of which are *capable* of meeting GDPR standards with that level of data collection (even if musk sometimes makes decisions that violate GDPR).

Live is significantly less intrusive than any facebook product, than Amazon, and than any Google product. If you use youtube logged in, don't worry about live, the horse is out of the barn and tumblr is the least of your worries *regardless* of live. If you regularly use Google as a search engine please god learn how to evaluate and compare risks across platforms because Live is like a coughing baby compared to about a dozen things that most highly online people interact with every single day.

If you don't want to use live don't use live. Clicking the button doesn't magically transfer your secret FBI file to tumblr and even agreeing to the ToS doesn't share anything that tumblr doesn't already have if you don't continue to interact - if you don't interact with live after agreeing to the ToS it's not collecting any data except your non-interaction.

For everyone who is losing it over Live just turn off your goddamned location on your fucking cellphone and turn off your location on your goddamned computers and that's it, you're good, you're fine, relax. If your response to "turn off your location" is "but I need it for _____" then don't worry about Live, whatever "_____" is was already collecting and selling your data.

Do you use an activity tracker? Congrats, you have much, much bigger privacy issues to worry about than tumblr live.

Okay but also I yelled about that post and the very many ways in which it was incorrect in January.

And I happened to take an archive of the page at that time because I'm a paranoid motherfucker.

And if you want my guess as to why staff went "scorched earth" on that post it's probably because if you scroll down to the bottom of the page on the archive, OP calls on everyone looking at the post to send a kind fuck you to the CEO then tagged his tumblr.

If you look at the other posts that went scorched earth in relation to tumblr staff they were also posts that very pointedly directed a lot of ire at a single staff member.

I don't think that any individual tumblr staff members are above criticism and I don't think that staff as a whole is above criticism but part of learning to read a ToS is understanding that someone can be shitty and vague and use TERF talking points and skirt the line and be technically okay under the ToS while someone can have a legitimate gripe about another user being horrible and manage to violate the ToS by accidentally spinning up a harassment campaign or suicide baiting someone.

Shitty people like nazis and terfs thrive on being edge cases. They are very good at finding a boundary and standing juuuuuuuuust on this side of it and going "la la la I'm not violating the ToS, you can't stop me!" and that blows and it leads to a lot of people encountering a lot of shitty stuff on a lot of websites but personally I'm pretty glad that there's a lot of gray area because when you cut out gray area that's when you see things like It's Going Down getting banned as extremist content alongside white supremacists. Please continue to report nazis and terfs, and when possible go deep into their pages to report because a pattern of behavior is more likely to get recognized as hate speech than a single post that gets reported a hundred times. Please block as many people who it's harmful for you to interact with as possible because it's clear that staff is not going to do the kind of work protecting users that users would like staff to do.

However I just can't get angry on behalf of a blogger who got nuked for saying "Hey everyone who hates this feature that we all hate please go tell the CEO to fuck himself at this URL specifically" - that is an extremely clear violation of the ToS because it is absolutely targeted harassment.

So now tumblr-the-userbase is going off on its merry conspiracy way skipping through fields and lacking reading comprehension and saying "users are getting banned for reporting the crimes of tumblr live and its gdpr violations" and ignoring the fact that the post was nuked because the last line was saying "hey everyone, let's all individually tell the CEO to fuck off in messages sent directly to him that are certainly not going to include any threats, exaggerations, gore, etc. etc. etc."

If I were to make a post that had 50k notes and the last line was "and while you're at it, please send tumblr-user-ms-demeanor a personalized message telling them why they're a terrible person so they know what we think of them" it would absolutely be reasonable to say that was harassing that user. And that post did it with the CEO. Who is not above criticism (and I have my criticisms! I don't think he really gets tumblr and that's a problem!), but jesus fucking christ don't tag the goddamned CEO or any other staff member in a call to action asking users to send them messages saying "fuck off" this is literally the stupidest thing I've ever seen a tumblr conspiracy theory coalesce around.

Anyway thank you for giving me a place to vent i've been getting more and more pissed about this for three days. Everyone feel free to kindly tell tumblr user ms demeanor to fuck off.

[saerins]

ᯓ ᝰ CRAZY GOOD .ᐟ — itoshi sae

hold up, netizens. you’re in for a treat this time because guess what? out of all people, it’s time for itoshi sae to hard launch his girlfriend: you.

itoshi sae x female reader. content tags pro-player!sae, established relationship, profanity, kissing, kind of a tease here, he likes showing you off, oliver is the matchmaker. word count 1.5k

ᯓ notes .ᐟ hi guys i finally have some sae content for you all !!! >:) yes i’ve missed him , and no i didn’t abandon him :’) heh i hope all my sae lovers that are still here will like this mwah <3

there are many things that itoshi sae is good at.

soccer skills, one of them. snubbing people, the second. (that’s how he got the reputation of being rude—even if it’s not really true!) and three, not last and not least (but still substantially), it’s causing a buzz.

he caused a buzz the moment he debuted on the soccer field. his first game and he already made a name for himself. people started asking where he’d been his whole life (even if he was introduced to the people very early on), equating him to soccer megastars like cristiano ronaldo.

ever since that day, he’d been caught in the spotlight numerous times. mostly related to soccer, but some due to his personal life. more specifically, the media loves to take a guess on who he’s dating.

yeah, he’s had more than his fair share of dating rumours. if it were up to the media, sae would have had about thirty-four girlfriends by now and he’s only twenty-six this year. (go fish!)

but as many people do, almost everyone who consumes media content about sae is particularly interested in one thing that is shrouded in mystery: his dating life.

because despite all the rumours and whatnot, there’s never been any confirmation of any relationships at all. and no one in his circle has ever coughed anything up, so anything in that regard has been strictly hush-hush.

well, until tonight, when your boyfriend of six months invited you to one of his teammates’ high-profile birthday party.

“what, are you nervous?”

your boyfriend’s ever unbothered tone is still the same as when you first heard it a year ago. somehow you find it funny that one year later you’re living with the same guy you’d first found to be somewhat intolerable.

sighing, you try and zip up the back of your dress, looking into the mirror, making sure you have your best face on. “sae, you have fans that number in the millions, of course i’m nervous,” you comment, watching from the reflection in the mirror as sae saunters over to you, taking his hands out of his pocket.

he smirks at you through the mirror, his body pressed against you as he helps you zip your dress the rest of the way up, his lips right next to your ear. “i’ve never even seen you this nervous in front of me,” he says, poking a little fun at you as he gives you a light kiss on your temple.

a soft chuckle comes from him as you deadpan, obviously in much more distress than he’ll ever know. not that he’ll blame you; he’s used to the fame, you’re not. “relax, they’ll love you.”

“sae, they won’t.”

he shrugs. “yeah, you’re probably right,” he agrees, earning a small slap on the arm—and he’s laughing again, though this time he tilts your chin up and gives you a long, slow kiss. the kind that takes your breath away everytime he does it. “but who cares? i love you.”

and there he goes, saying that as if it’s no big deal. making your heart beat so quickly it’s not funny. and before you know it, he’s whisking you away into the lobby where a personal towncar is ready and waiting, with the chauffeur and everything.

“geez, oliver sure loves to go over the top, huh?”

sae gives a sharp exhale at your comment. “hey, that’s your friend right there.”

you roll your eyes, getting in first and sticking your tongue out at him. “and you should be thanking him, without him we’d never have met.”

you look away from him right after saying that so you don’t see it, but sae’s smiling to himself, already thanking his lucky stars.

he thinks meeting you and getting to love you is the luckiest he’ll ever get in this lifetime.

by the time you’ve arrived at the venue—a hotel in the heart of the city—swarms of paparazzi already litter the streets outside. they’ve no doubt had their fill of the other soccer players and mega celebrities that have already arrived and are now ready for the real star of the night (aside from the birthday boy himself): itoshi sae.

of course, everyone’s expecting to see sae all by himself because that’s what usually happens; sae attending any and every event alone and unbothered by the scene. it’s never a surprise anymore, but sae’s a good payday and they’d never miss a single shot.

the moment sae exits the car, it sounds like there’s a million shutters pressed all at the same time, give or take a few milliseconds. (it’s nothing you’re used to.) he stands right where he got out for a few seconds, and even inside you can hear the amount of photographers just begging sae to look straight at them.

and if you think that’s rowdy enough, oh boy you’re in for a treat. because the moment the paparazzi realise that sae’s not, in fact, headed for the hotel just yet, you can hear just a few confused noises before it turns into even more pleading the moment they realise he’s opening your side of the door.

when he opens it and holds his hand out for you, that ever handsome smile on his face (which you forget that he only ever shows to you), you feel like you’re nearly blinded by all the flashes. you brave through it though, taking his hand and getting out of the town car, being greeted by the mass of photographers yelling out to you and sae.

“sae, who is that!”

“hey, girl! look over here! yes right there!”

“what’s your relationship?”

“obviously that’s his girlfriend! hey you!”

you’re a little wide-eyed, stunned at how chaotic this scene is. it’s easy to lose yourself in it, but as it always is, sae realises it whenever you are, and he’s quick to pull you back in.

in this case, he pulls you into his arms, a hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as he rests his forehead against yours.

“hey, focus on me, just me,” he whispers to you, eyes looking into yours, eyelashes fluttering against one another’s.

(the paparazzi are having a field day.)

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you ask him, chuckling because you only now realise what a fucking tease he is.

sae shrugs, pulling your hair away from your face. (he’s actually just really grateful to you for doing this for him when you don’t need to—when you’re happy to just be able to support him behind the scenes but he really just wants the world to know that you exist, because it’s a blessing, really.) “maybe i am.”

and this time your heart’s beating faster than you know it ever could, his teal blue eyes melting into your gaze, lips getting closer and closer to your own, his calloused hand on the back of your neck.

like clockwork, his lips sink into yours, his tongue snaking its way in. (and the crowd goes absolutely wild.) you’re both laughing at the panicked and hurried yells from the photographers, slowly pulling away from each other.

you reach your hand out to wipe your lipstick stain off his lips but he doesn’t let you, winking at you and leaning in to whisper, “let everyone know who i belong to.”

such a fucking tease.

not that you’re opposed, so you let him be, shaking your head and following him as he holds your hand and leads you in.

within the next hour, pictures of you and sae flood the internet. (notifications come flooding into your phone too.)

itoshi sae hard launches new relationship with mystery woman!

soccer world loses another bachelor—everything we know about itoshi sae’s presumed girlfriend

most of them are pictures of your kiss, with a good chunk of it being his lipstick-stained lips.

as you scroll through some of the articles your friends texted to you, you’re probably never going to be used to it. you’re probably going to be anxious over everything you do in public now.

a slight panic bubbles up in your chest, but then sae comes over, pulling you backwards into his embrace, looking over your shoulder at your phone.

“that quick, huh?”

and suddenly it’s like anxiety has never existed. because even if it may not seem like much, a year of knowing itoshi sae has made you feel safer than you ever did, knowing that he’s always there to catch you, to never make you feel alone.

you melt into his embrace, turning your head and giving him a kiss, your lipstick stain still on his lips.

“i fucking love you, itoshi sae.”

his eyes widen a little before they grow soft, arms pulling you even closer. “i love you too, stupid.”

(and while the two of you are getting all lovey-dovey at his party, oliver’s just slightly—a lot—upset that sae upstaged him during his own birthday party.)

“i fucking hate the both of you,” oliver groans.