#the background.... do not ask. i do not know what i was doing

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | pranking the parents

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐) : when you prank your boyfriend’s mom or sister, he plays along a little too well...will they take your side?

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 1208

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : im running out of pics to use for the banner omfg

ʚ・max verstappen

spending time with max and his sister, victoria, was always entertaining.

the three of you were lounging in the verstappen living room, a race playing faintly in the background while max scrolled through his phone, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

you stretched dramatically, looking over at him. “babe, can you grab me some water from the kitchen?”

max didn’t even glance up, completely deadpan as he muttered—

“do i look like your assistant?”

silence.

you barely had time to process what happened next.

victoria’s head snapped toward max so fast, you swore she almost gave herself whiplash.

her eyebrows shot up, pure disbelief etched across her face.

“max, what the hell? be nice.”

max, still committed to the bit, shrugged. “what? she can walk.”

victoria’s expression darkened.

and before max could react, a pillow came flying across the room, smacking him directly in the face.

you gasped, quickly covering your mouth to hold back laughter.

max blinked, stunned, the pillow still resting in his lap. “did you just—”

victoria crossed her arms, unimpressed. “go help her before i make you regret it.”

max groaned, dragging himself off the couch like it was the biggest inconvenience of his life. “fine. but i want it on record that i was forced.”

you smirked as he trudged toward the kitchen, victoria shaking her head in pure disappointment.

“you put up with that?” she asked, exasperated.

you grinned. “eh, he’s useful sometimes.”

from the kitchen, max’s voice rang out. “i heard that.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

family dinners with the hamiltons were always a warm affair, good food, laughter, and anthony hamilton’s unmatched ability to tell stories that had everyone hooked.

you nudged lewis gently. “babe, can you grab me a drink from the fridge?”

without missing a beat, he shrugged lazily, not even looking up from his plate.

“you have legs, don't you?”

the table fell silent.

lewis barely registered the shift in energy before his dad, anthony hamilton himself, slowly turned to him.

“lewis carl davidson hamilton.”

lewis froze mid-bite. oh, no.

anthony placed his fork down with a deliberate slowness that made the whole moment so much worse.

“what did you just say to y/n? ‘she has legs?’ well, so do you, be a gentleman!”

your hand was clamped over your mouth, trying so hard not to laugh.

lewis, already feeling the heat, looked around for an escape route. “dad, it’s a joke—”

anthony didn’t let him finish.

“no, what’s a joke is me raising a son who forgets his manners.”

at that moment, lewis knew he had lost.

sighing dramatically, he pushed back his chair, already getting up. “alright, alright, i’m going!”

anthony nodded approvingly, taking a sip of his drink. “that’s more like it.”

as lewis disappeared into the kitchen, you exchanged a knowing glance with his dad, who simply smirked.

“give him a hard time, yeah?” anthony murmured, and you grinned.

“oh, always.”

ʚ・george russell

you reached for the sugar but stopped just short, looking at george. “babe, can you pass me the sugar?”

george barely glanced up from his tea, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

“what, are your hands broken?”

silence.

dramatic, suffocating, judgmental silence.

then—a sharp gasp.

“george william russell!”

george physically flinched.

his mother had set her teacup down with force, staring at him like he had just committed high treason against the british monarchy.

he looked between you and his mum, instantly regretting everything.

“mum, it’s not that serious,” he tried, hands slightly raised in defense.

alison placed a hand over her chest, shaking her head in pure disappointment.

“it is very serious. where did i go wrong with you?”

you were seconds away from losing it, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

finally, you cracked, giggling as you waved your hands in surrender.

“it’s a prank!” you admitted, barely able to get the words out.

george sighed in relief, running a hand through his hair. “bloody hell, you nearly got me disowned.”

alison, however, was unfazed, lifting her tea to her lips as she shook her head.

“y/n, you could do so much better.”

george nearly spilled his tea.

“mu—are you serious?!”

you grinned, winking at alison.

“maybe.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

reyes sainz effortlessly kept everyone in check without even raising her voice.

which is exactly why you knew this prank would be perfect.

the family was gathered around the table, laughter and conversation flowing easily as you reached for your glass.

you turned to carlos, your voice sweet. “cariño, can you grab me a napkin?”

carlos, not even looking up from his plate, shrugged.

“get it yourself.”

silence.

instant. deafening. silence.

you felt the temperature drop by ten degrees as carlos’ mother, reyes, slowly set down her fork.

then, in the calmest, most dangerous voice, she said—

“perdón?” (excuse me?)

carlos finally looked up, suddenly very aware that the entire table was staring at him.

you could feel the panic radiating off him as he quickly backtracked, already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

reyes’ gaze remained sharp, assessing.

then, with the slightest tilt of her head, she said—

“carlos, go get it before i do something you’ll regret.”

carlos shot up so fast, his chair nearly tipped over as he rushed to the napkin holder.

you lost it, laughter spilling out as the entire table erupted in amusement.

reyes simply shook her head, taking a sip of her wine. “you two are ridiculous, but, y/n, if he ever speaks to you like that again, you tell me.”

carlos, returning defeated, dropped the napkin in front of you with a glare.

you grinned, leaning in. “what's it like getting scolded by your mother, amor?”

ʚ・charles leclerc

spending time with charles and his brothers, arthur and lorenzo, was always entertaining.

three leclerc men in one room meant a mix of teasing, bickering, and an unspoken rule that charles could never win an argument.

which is why you knew this prank would be gold.

“oh, charles, can you grab my sunglasses from the car?”

charles, casually sipping his espresso, waved a hand dismissively.

“that's far, get it yourself”

silence.

dead. serious. silence.

arthur whipped his head around so fast, you thought he might get whiplash.

“charles. that’s not how you talk to your girlfriend.”

lorenzo, who had been calmly eating his meal, set his fork down with purpose.

“apologize. immediately.”

charles’ expression shifted from smug to terrified in under two seconds.

his green eyes darted between his brothers, realization dawning that he was outnumbered, outgunned, and completely screwed.

“guys, relax, it’s not that—”

arthur leaned forward, voice dead serious. “no. apologize.”

you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh, but the way charles was visibly sweating was making it so much harder.

finally, you cracked, bursting into laughter.

arthur and lorenzo turned to you, confused, as you giggled uncontrollably.

“it’s a prank,” you admitted, wiping away a tear.

arthur sat back, sighing dramatically. “i was about to throw my fork at you, charles.”

lorenzo took another sip of his drink, completely unfazed. “the threat still stands.”

charles muttered something under his breath as he begrudgingly got up to fetch your sunglasses.

you smirked, watching him walk away. “i love this family.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[thursdayisbetterthanfriday]

Penguins are very, very cool! Time for some bioacoustics facts about them! Did you ask for it? No. But you're getting them anyway. I WILL MAKE YOU LEARN VIA SHIPPING PENGUINS.

Penguins - The final frontier

Penguin colonies are very large, as you can see from the photos in the first posts. Often you have significant background noise from all the other penguins, and winds, which can reach 95 decibels or more!

As you can imagine, this makes life difficult for communication purposes. So how do our feathered friends find family, fame, fortune and full-time lovers?

Claude Shannon

What! It's black and white, but that's not a penguin!

Correct! This is information theory progenitor Claude Shannon. He's going to help us understand this. There is, in fact, not a tiny Claude Shannon inside every penguin (...yet 👀), but he will help us to understand their lives through information theory.

In information theory terms we can simulate a penguin as follows:

A signal emitter (aka. the beak and bellows)

A signal receiver (aka. the sleek ears)

Think of this as similar to your high school mathematics/physics textbooks with all their lovely assumptions.

To successfully communicate we must use a signal, from a transmitter, to be collected by a receiver which must then be processed successfully.

Ideally there would be a direct transmitter to receiver system with no noise, but life isn't fair and we must all suffer.

Penguins live in very windy areas. This means there's a lot of what we call "noise" which gets in the way of communication. Think of it like going to a concert, or noise restaurant, and trying to have a conversation.

This adds "noise" to signals. If you think of playing a gramophone records, or watching a cassette tape, think of the scratch of the needle or the grain/static on the video screen. The video is still there, but you can likely understand most of it if the noise is low enough.

The aim is for one penguin lover to "signal" itself the other. So what do they do? They create a unique set of syllables which they call out to the crowd. It's like their own penguin serial number - or musical song!

This works! The repeated pattern is like a unique serial number so even if some of the notes are missed, it can be understood by the other penguin. So what if it's really noisy?

They increase the number of syllables if there's more noise! That means that there's more of a chance for the other lover to hear their calls over the cacophony of wind and other penguin calls. A longer melody that

Pretty neat right?

Nerds who study this in more detail find that it's actually the modulations in frequency which the penguin's "receivers" (aka. ears) are attuned to and are used in recognizing each other. Changing pitch doesn't do a thing. (There are exceptions for some penguin species - see the references for more details).

But wait, there's more!

Penguins have social courtesy rules. Like Tumblr users, they too want to ship other penguins as cute couples. When one penguin calls out to another, other penguins within a 7 meter, or so, radius will fall silent.

Remember: There is still some good in the world

But it gets more interesting with certain types of penguins.

Some penguins are BUILT DIFFERENT. Emperor Penguins are, in fact, DIRECTIONAL TRANSMISSION UNITS who use the curvature of their bellies to amplify their calls in one specific direction.

They are literally built for loving.

And this, casual reader, is technically HOW LOVE WINS!

🐧🐧 Now you can resume your usual programming of shipping the cute penguins 🐧🐧

Want to know more?

Most of this I learned from a great book written by a French neuroscientist and bio-acoustics expert, Nicolas Mathevon. Link in the references. There's more I didn't talk about so take a look if you're into this kind of thing.

The animal kingdom is a treasure trove of unique information networks, with creatures specifically evolved to utilize them. It's a real treat to uncover and explore it all.

References:

How do king penguins (Aptenodytes patagonicus apply the mathematical theory of information to communicate in windy conditions? T.Aubin et al (1999)

The Voices of Nature. N. Mathevon (2021)

jesus christ i'm so stressed for him

[spaceistheplaceart]

Body Swap - The Exorcism Part Three

WOW IT HAS BEEN A WHILE! but im glad to be posting this again :) hope y'all are as excited to see it again as I am to make it again!

masterpost

previous

(Please Reblog! Leave a comment in the tags! They make me very happy :)

SUMMARIZED ID: Reigen sees the spirits in the living room, unintentionally zapping them with his powers. He's shocked for a moment, then recovers and threatens them as he typically does. Mob reflects on how it's scary that he can't see the spirits. His percentage goes up to 60%. Reigen does a special move, but it makes a huge explosion. As the dust clears, Reigen looks shocked.

FULL ID:

Page One:

Reigen looks suspiciously at the corner of the room where he just heard a whooshing noise. Then he gasps, getting into a defensive stance and backing up against Mob. His powers flare up, shown as gradients with hexagonal marks and crisscross lines around his head and hands. He addresses the spirits angrily: "I know you're there! come out, evil spirits!". Mob turns around with a surprised expression, looking down at Reigen. The next two panels show Mob staring blankly at Reigen, then looking around nervously. On the far wall, the wallpaper is suddenly ripped into two long claw-like lines. Reigen points to it, his finger extending slightly out of the panel. "There!" he shouts.

Page Two:

From Reigen's extended finger a large bolt of psychic energy is blasted out to the wall. It's shown as a white explosive burst of energy with the word "zap!" on the trail, and "crack!" when it hits the wall. The energy from the blast blows back Mob and Reigen's hair. Both of them shut their eyes. Mob covers his face with his forearms. Psychic energy is shown around Reigen's head and hand. The next panel shows them still in their defensive positions, but now Reigen is lowering his finger and his energy is fading. They both look up, Mob with slight surprise and Reigen pulling his hands to his chest, mouth drawn in a fine line and eyes wide. The wall is shown, now more banged up and sizzling with smoke coming off of it. Reigen stares up at the damage, eyes wide. "Wow, that was..." he says, then trails off and looks to the side nervously/awkwardly, his hair is messy and he has a sweat drop on his cheek. He then gets into a pose with his arms up and fingers outstretched, he says: "That was only a small taste of what I can do! So just make it easy on yourselves and come out!" Immediately, he flinches and backs up into Mob's front as there is a wooshing effect that heads towards him. His powers flare up. Mob looks down at Reigen, eyebrows raised. "Master?" He asks. "Are you seeing something?"

Page Three:

From a high camera angle, we see Reigen still in his defensive position, looking at thin air from Mob's perspective. His speech bubble reads: "..." Mob still looks down at Reigen, brows drawn slightly together now. He thinks to himself: "Not being able to see what's making master so alert... is actually..." A close up shot of his eyes, a worry line under one of them with the background dark. "King of scary..." Mob's percentage raises to 60%. The next panel shows Reigen again at the center, with Mob being in the background up to his slightly parted mouth, his eyes no longer shown. Reigen lowers his hands a bit and says: "So, that's your plan, huh? Well,..." He flips back the side of his PJ shirt and reaches into his pocket, there is a pouch of salt inside. His powers flare as he exclaims "You won't get the chance!" He claps his salt-covered palms together and the effect showing his powers gets darker and more prominent around his hands and head. He glares, hands still together and says: "I'm going to send you back to the Ozone Layer."

Page Four:

Salt splashes down onto his sneakers before Reigen executes his special move. The next panel is highly detailed with motion lines and shading, similar to the "special move" drawings in the Mob Psycho anime. Reigen is doing a roundhouse kick, one hand in a fist and another splayed out with an intense open-mouthed expression. His kick is shown in an arch with salt spraying in it's wake. Bolts of lightning decorate the background, splaying out alongside dark action lines from his face. The words "PSYCHIC ROUNDHOUSE" are at the bottom of the panel. The text box reads: "This is one of Reigen's special moves, where he dribbles salt on his shoes then sprays it at his opponents with a powerful roundhouse kick; now with the aid of his student's psychic abilities." The next panel shows a massive explosion. Clouds of dust obscure Reigen in the next three panels, getting lesser as the panels progress. Reigen coughs, hand up to his mouth and eyes shut. Then he slowly lowers his hand and coughs a little more as he peeks open one eye. In the final panel, he gasps and both of his eyes go wide, mouth agape, and hair blowing back from his face due to his power's flaring up once again.

END ID.

[cosmiclily]

How do you write Vi so well 😭 I love our bby girl and she deserves the world!

Can I ask you for some real-life story with her? I’ve been thinking about reader who startsrking at a local grocery shop, a small one with regular customers and Vi is one of them. And the reader sees her in all states - dressed up for a date, hangover, dishelved after break up, etc.

And somehow her and the reader hit it off after Vi’s one particularly bad day. What do you think about it? And I can imagine an old lady working there as well who knows Vi since she was a little kid and can tell there is something going on, maybe she pushes Vi to make a move? Omg so cliche but that’d be sweet!

under fluorescent lights

wc: 3.1k

notes: thank you so much!!! and my secret to write Vi so well is to be gay ! 😼 also yes she deserves the whole universe 😭

Going to your dream college had its ups and downs. On one hand, it was your dream college—you were studying (mostly) what you loved, the professors were great, and best of all, you had finally moved out of your parents' house.

On the other hand… you had to move out.

Which meant a brand-new city, brand-new bills, and a job at a funny little convenience store owned by the weirdest and funniest old lady, Babette.

Your college was in a ridiculously expensive city, so you ended up renting a tiny one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours. To make ends meet, you picked up a job at the local convenience store, and thankfully, Babette was understanding about your erratic class schedule. She was patient, and let you take extra shifts when you needed—but that also meant sometimes getting stuck with night shifts, which, yeah, you weren’t exactly thrilled about.

The first few days were rough. Learning the register was hell, but you found solace in stocking the shelves, mindlessly organizing cans and boxes while the store’s soft background music played.

And the days had started blending together—uneventful, repetitive—until she walked in.

“Hey, Babette.”

The pink-haired girl strolled into the store like she’d been there a million times before. She greeted Babette like an old friend, her voice smooth but casual, like she belonged.

“Vander asked me to pick up his order” she continued, leaning against the counter. “Said he already paid for it.”

Babette barely looked up from the crossword puzzle she had spread out on the counter. She spent most of her days pretending to work, occasionally glancing at the security cameras like they were more interesting than the actual customers.

“Yes, yes.” She waved a hand. “Y/N, can you grab the green box from the back for me, please?”

You nodded, slipping into the stockroom. The box was heavier than you expected, but you carried it back to the front, struggling a little, and set it on the counter. “Here.”

The girl straightened, rolling up the sleeves of her hoodie as she reached for it. That’s when you noticed her tattoos—inked lines running up her forearms, disappearing beneath the fabric. Her hands looked rough, but somehow soft at the same time, and for a fleeting second, you wondered how they would feel.

She glanced up at you then, her lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. The scar on her lip caught your attention, making it impossible to look away.

“Thanks” she said, voice quieter this time.

Her fingers brushed against yours as she took the box, and your stomach did something stupid.

You swallowed, crossing your arms in an attempt to keep your hands from lingering.

And just like that, she turned, carrying the box out the door like it weighed nothing, and you just stood there, watching her go.

Babette didn’t even look up from her crossword. “You’re staring, sweetheart.”

Your face burned. “I am not.”

“Mhm.” She circled something on the paper. “She’s in here all the time, you know. If you want to make a move, at least try not to look like a deer in headlights.”

You groaned, turning away—but even as you went back to stocking the shelves, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart was still racing.

──────────────────────

And Babette was right.

Vi—you had since learned her name—was at the store all the time.

Every Thursday, without fail, she came by to pick up the green box. On Mondays, she bought two cans of Red Bull and a packet of hot chips. On Tuesdays, she sometimes stopped by on her way to the gym—if her athletic clothes were anything to go by. (And god, were they distracting.)

One time, she walked in while you were stacking cans of beans, and the second you caught sight of her—messy hair, hoodie slung over her shoulder, muscles on full display—they all came crashing down.

She had laughed. Loudly.

You had wanted to crawl into a hole.

And then, throughout the week, she would just… appear.

Some days, she actually shopped. Other days, she wandered the aisles like she had nowhere better to be, hands shoved into her pockets as she examined products you knew she wasn’t planning to buy.

Once, she came in, made direct eye contact with you, and immediately turned toward the snack aisle.

You had stared after her, dumbfounded, until Babette cleared her throat behind you.

“You’re staring again*,* sweetheart.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” She smirked knowingly. “You should say something before she gets tired of making excuses to come in here.”

That thought had never left your mind.

So, after that, you started paying closer attention. Not just to Vi, but to the clock, the calendar. You noted her patterns, tried to prepare—ensuring you looked at least somewhat presentable when she walked through the door.

And if you maybe, kind of, adjusted your shifts so you’d be there when she usually stopped by?

Well.

Babette didn’t have to know that part.

But then exam weeks came, and all your carefully laid plans to finally work up the courage to get Vi’s number came crashing down.

You had to pick up mostly night shifts so you’d have time to study and actually take your exams, which meant going weeks without seeing her. And honestly? That didn’t do wonders for your mood.

“You look like a zombie.” Your friend said, eyeing you with mild concern as the two of you sat in the library, cramming before one of your final exams. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

“No…” You whined, dropping your head onto the open textbook in front of you. “I’m working at night, studying all the time, and I haven’t seen my wife in almost a week. I’m suffering.”

They snorted. “You can only call her your wife when you actually gather the courage to ask for her number.”

You groaned, waving them off. “I was getting there! But then life happened.”

And then, even after your exams were over, Vi still didn’t show up.

At first, you assumed your schedules just weren’t lining up. But then she missed her usual Thursday pickup—the oneconstant you had been able to count on—and that’s when you started to worry.

You wanted to ask Babette if something had happened, but you weren’t sure how to bring it up without making it obvious you’d been paying way too much attention.

That’s when on Friday night she —finally— showed up.

Except she looked… different.

Her usual hoodie and sweatpants were gone, replaced by an outfit that made your brain short-circuit. Her hair was sleeked back, her cologne reached you from across the store, and when she stopped in front of the wine section, scanning the bottles, she looked like she had just stepped out of a magazine.

You swallowed hard, gripping the counter in front of you for dear life.

Where the hell was she going dressed like that?

She made her way to the register, and before you could think better of it, the words were already slipping out of your mouth.

“You look different. Got a date or something?”

You tried to sound casual, like you weren’t clawing at your own insides with curiosity. Like you didn’t care way more than you should.

Vi grinned, setting the bottle of wine on the counter. “Yeah, actually. Do you like the fit?”

She took a step back, giving you a playful little twirl to show off the outfit, and—god—you wished you had just kept your mouth shut.

Because, yes, you liked it. Too much.

“Yes” you said, forcing yourself to smile through the sudden pit in your stomach. “You look really pretty.”

And you meant it. But you kinda wished she was dressed like that for you.

After Vi’s date, she started showing up even less. She still came by every Thursday to pick up the mysterious green box, but she didn’t linger anymore—no more aimless wandering through the aisles, no more pretending not to notice you watching her.

It was pathetic how much you missed it.

“You could look a little less… dead, dear” Babette commented one afternoon, barely looking up from her crossword puzzle. “I told you to make a move on Vi. You took too long.”

And she was right. If you hadn’t been so slow, maybe that bottle of wine would’ve been for you—not some mystery girl she was seeing.

So once again, your days started to blend together.

College. Work. Home. Rinse. Repeat.

Thursdays became the only bright spot in your week, the only time you got to see Vi—hoodie pulled up, hands shoved in her pockets, mumbling something about Vander’s order before leaving just as quickly as she came.

You lost track of how long that routine lasted—until one particular Saturday night shift.

Because Vi walked in again.

But this time, she looked pissed.

Her brows were furrowed, jaw tight, knuckles raw. She stomped through the aisles like she was ready to punch the next person who looked at her funny. Without hesitation, she grabbed a bottle of vodka, a pint of ice cream, and an obsceneamount of hot chips.

You barely had time to process before she was at your register, slamming the items down with a little too much force.

“Rough night?”

You raised an eyebrow at her, and all she did was sigh—loudly.

“You could say that.”

The two of you fell into silence as you scanned her items, the beep of the register the only sound between you.

You hesitated before asking, “Want to talk about it?”

Because, honestly, you weren’t sure if her bruised knuckles were from a fight or not, but she looked like she was ready to kill someone. And if she got arrested, your weeks would go from boring to extra boring. Plus, that very nice face of hers? Yeah, it didn’t belong in prison.

Vi sighed again, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s just…” She trailed off, exhaling sharply through her nose before continuing. “I was seeing this girl, and everything was great. Until I found out she was cheating on me.”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your face neutral.

Vi let out a humorless laugh. “And then there’s the other shit—home, college, everything—and I don’t know. I kinda lost it?” She glanced down at her raw knuckles, flexing her fingers like she was only now realizing how bad they looked. “Guess I needed to blow off some steam.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, scanning the last item before handing her the bag.

“Well,” you said, offering a small smile. “If it helps, I think vodka and an unreasonable amount of hot chips are definitelythe right call.”

That got a snort out of her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You leaned on the counter slightly. “And, you know, if you ever need to not get into a fistfight and just complain about life to someone, I do work here almost every day.”

Vi’s lips twitched, almost like she was fighting a grin.

"Noted" she said, grabbing the bag. But before she turned to leave, she hesitated, glancing at you like she was debating something.

Then, with a sigh—like she had finally made up her mind—she asked, “Do you want to go eat an unreasonable amount of hot chips with me?”

You blinked, taken aback by the invitation.

Your eyes flicked to the clock. There were still a couple of hours left in your shift, but Babette wouldn’t mind if you closed a little earlier. It was for a good cause, after all.

“Yeah,” you said, already reaching for your jacket. “I do.”

──────────────────────

That’s how you found yourself in the back of Vi’s pickup truck, parked under the dim glow of a streetlamp, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you and sharing a pint of cookie dough ice cream with a single, slightly bent spoon she had found somewhere in her car.

The night air was crisp, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. The sound of distant traffic and the occasional chirp of crickets filled the silence between sips and spoonfuls.

“So” you started, leaning back against the side of the truck bed “tell me about this girl.”

After all, that’s what you were here for—to let Vi vent, to be a good friend. Even if you kind of hated that you were asking in the first place.

Vi exhaled through her nose, taking a swig of vodka before passing the bottle back to you.

“I don’t know” she admitted, stretching her legs out. “We started hanging out after you disappeared from work. It wasn’t even serious—we weren’t, like, dating dating—but she said we were exclusive.”

You hummed, swirling the bottle in your hands. “And clearly, she had a different definition of ‘exclusive.’”

Vi let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “Yeah. Caught her texting some other girl when she thought I wasn’t looking. Turns out she’d been seeing someone else the whole time.”

You frowned. “What an asshole.”

“She really is” Vi agreed, stealing another bite of ice cream. “And I feel stupid because I didn’t even like her that much.”

“So why are you this pissed?” you asked, tilting your head.

Vi hesitated, tapping her fingers against the truck bed. “…I don’t know.” Then she looked at you, really looked at you, and something in her gaze softened. “Maybe it’s because I was wasting my time on the wrong person.”

Your breath hitched, but before you could say anything, she smirked.

“Or maybe I just really wanted an excuse to drink vodka and eat an ungodly amount of hot chips with you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “Smooth, Vi. Real smooth.”

She grinned, bumping her knee against yours, the warmth of the small touch lingering longer than it should have.

“And I didn’t disappear from work,” you corrected, making dramatic air quotes. “I had exams. Very important ones. I was basically a zombie for three weeks—working the night shift, studying all day… Life was hell.”

Vi raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “Damn. No wonder you looked like death warmed over that one time I did see you.”

You gasped, shoving her shoulder playfully. “Rude.”

She just chuckled, taking another swig of vodka before passing the bottle back to you. “I was kinda worried, though,” she admitted, scratching at the label on the ice cream container. “But I figured if I asked Babette, she’d just tell me your life was none of my business.”

You snorted because, honestly? That sounded exactly like Babette. “Yeah, she totally would. She’s nice in, like, the meanest way possible.”

Vi laughed, nodding. “Right? I once asked her if she thought I looked good in my red hoodie, and she just went, ‘It’s not the worst thing I’ve seen on you, dear’ and then walked away.”

That made you laugh so hard you almost choked on your sip of vodka. “She’s brutal.”

Vi grinned, watching you with something unreadable in her expression. “Yeah, she’s been like that since i was a kid.” She chuckled “But i’m glad you’re back.”

The words were simple, but something about the way she said them—like she meant them—made your stomach flip. You looked at her, at the way the streetlight cast soft shadows across her face, at the way she was watching you like you were something worth paying attention to.

And maybe it was the vodka, or the way the night wrapped around the two of you like a secret, or maybe it was just her—the way she looked softer like this, cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol and the laughing, eyes a little hazy but still locked onto you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

If you were to die right now, you’d die happy.

Vi tilted her head, studying you. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, her voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. “Sometimes you stare at me, and it’s like you go somewhere else.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s nothing. It’s just… silly.”

Vi narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly unconvinced. “Silly, huh?”

You nodded, but before you could say anything else, she leaned in just a fraction—close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across her nose.

“Try me,” she murmured, her voice low, teasing. “I like silly.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs. She was too close, too Vi—all lazy grins and rough edges, but somehow still soft in moments like these.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how the world had shrunk down to just the two of you, sitting in the back of her pickup truck, a half-finished bottle of vodka, packages of chips and a pint melted ice cream between you, the distant hum of the city as your only witness.

“It’s just…” You hesitated, glancing away for a split second before meeting her gaze again. “If I died right now, I think I’d die happy.”

Vi blinked, her smirk faltering. Something unreadable flickered in her expression—something almost tender.

“That’s a little morbid” she said, but her voice had lost its teasing edge.

You shrugged, letting out a soft laugh. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy, wasn’t suffocating. It just was. Comfortable. Unspoken words and lingering glances filling the space between you.

Then Vi shifted, her fingers reaching out, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen across your face. The touch was light—so gentle that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can I try something?” she whispered.

You nodded, breath hitching in your throat.

And then she kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, careful—like she was memorizing the way your lips felt against hers, like she was afraid you might disappear if she moved too fast.

Her fingers ghosted over your jaw before settling at the nape of your neck, pulling you just a little closer, deepening the kiss in a way that made your chest tighten. You tasted cookie dough and vodka on her lips, something warm and dizzying curling in your stomach.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm against your lips.

“Yeah, I was definitely wasting my time on the wrong person.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes fluttering open to meet hers. “Oh? And who was the right person?”

Vi smirked, her fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt. “Dunno. You tell me.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “You’re an idiot.”

“But I could be your idiot.”

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but when she tilted her head, nudging her nose against yours, you knew you were gone.

“You’re impossible,” you murmured, before kissing her again.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[lostinlovingrevery]

Domestic bliss with Logan 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Hubby

Logan Howlett X Reader

Married life suits him

A/N: Thought of this ask today while I was working on a build project and came up with this!!! Enjoy <3 I want to be married to this man- also any Logan could be imagined, but Origins certainly has hubby vibes doesn't he? :)

Warnings: Married life, a lil short thing about mutants, suggestive ending ;), Logan nesting like crazy

"They're just people, mutants are just people with special abilities. I don't hold that against them! They deserve a normal life as everyone does-"

The talk show host rambled on and on. The usual spiel over mutants and their place in the world. Men in suits talking about the rights of people again; as if they were God and had any choice in what a man did and didn't deserve.

Logan wasn't really listening to it though. Background noise that he tuned out for the most part. He just liked having the old radio playing, kept him from drifting too far into his mind.

Occasionally it would start to static, losing it's connection and he'd reach over and bang on it- mess with the antenna. You've offered a hundred times to buy him a brand new radio, but he's insisted that this was perfectly fine. Why waste the money?

The smell of cigars and cut lumber filled the space- his workshop. Inside what was actually a barn at one point, but no animals to keep in it yet. You want goats and chickens- he plans to surprise you with a few baby chicks around late spring- once he gets a chicken coop built.

He puffed on his cigar a few times, before blowing smoke up into the air, while he examined the drafts he's been working on all morning. Dusty and smudged from multiple times he's had to erase and redraw lines he's messed up. He ashed the cigar on a glass tray, sticking it back between his teeth as he creased his brows in focus- reading his notes, observing his sketches- picking at details he forgot or needs to change.

He's building you a reading room. You don't know that yet. A nice cozy room, with lots of windows for sunlight, and walls with built-in shelves for all your books and knick-knacks you could never find space for. Putting it on the east side of the house- so you can watch the sunrise, your favorite time of day.

Least he could do, after spending the last few weeks building the dining room and driving you crazy with all the dust and bare walls and tools scattered over the floor- alongside some other messes.

He picked up the sound of your footsteps crunching against the gravel outside. Lifting his pencil, he added a few more notes to his drafts as he waited for you to try to sneak up on him- as you always do. Trying- and failing to surprise him, a little game you had with him for years.

You were being awfully quiet. Though the sound of your heartbeat always gives you away. He was always listening to it, a sound that brings deep comfort to him- no matter how far you were.

Once he discerned how close you were, he removed the cigar from his lips, setting it onto the tray and turning to look at you with a quirked brow.

You immediately froze at his stare, a plate full of food in your hand. Your shoulders became hunched and you pout.

"You can't pretend at least once to be surprised by me?"

"Even if you know better?" He asks.

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer and proudly presenting the plate of food that you've been cooking all afternoon for him.

"Lunch."

"Mm." He observes the plate, taking it from your hands and setting it atop his drafts- concealing it from your eyes. His hand went around your waist and pulled you close. "Looks good." He hums, eyes trailing up and down your figure- and you knew he wasn't talking about the chicken salad you made.

You giggled, leaning forward to peck his cheek, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Working hard?"

"Me? Nah. "

"Mm." You smiled, before glancing over at the papers, not paying any particular mind to them. "Don't be out here too long, okay? I miss you."

"Promise." He looks up, and gives you a sweet smile, and leans forward to give you a peck on the lips.

You began to walk away, but he caught your hand and pulled you back to him, pulling you into his lap with ease, eliciting giggles from you as your arms wrapped around his neck. "What was that?"

"Take a look." He reached over to the workbench and moved his lunch out of the way, giving you a proper view of that smudgy construction drafts. You leaned forward, his hands holding you securely in his lap while you examined the drawings and notes.

"Is this..."

"Yeah."

You looked at him, a knowing smile on your face. "I thought you said you were done building for a bit- especially after the incidents with the dining room."

He dropped the circular saw while it was running. Created a big gash in your new flooring- he hasn't fix that yet. Then he accidentally knocked over a can of paint that spread out and leaked into the carpet in the other room- replacing the carpet is on his list. Accidentally broke a window, just have cardboard taped over the panel for now.

He was handy, but he was not agile.

"This is different." He says. "It's for you."

You looked at him in surprise. "Lo, you don't have to-"

"I know. I want to. You deserve it, love."

You bit your lip as you felt heat blooming in your cheeks.

This man always finds a way to make you flustered.

Looking back at the plans again, your fingers fiddled with the collar of his flannel. "Well... If it's going to be outside for the most part, I guess I can't complain."

"I'm sure you'll find something." He teased.

You gasp, hitting his chest playfully, but he caught your hand and pulled you closer so he could kiss you. You both start laughing, mirth escaping you as you kiss.

His hands pulled you closer into his lap, and your pecking kisses melted into something messy and deep. His hand that rested on your thigh traced up your body, down your arm, and over your hand that was pressed to his chest, where he felt the ring he's given you not long ago, resting where it rightfully belonged; his own ring brushing over it.

"Mm." You hum as you parted from him with a soft smooch. "Why don't you take a break from this, spend some time with me?"

"Sounds perfect." He hums, his arms scooped you up from his lap as he hopped down from the chair, carrying you out of the barn, to your country home that you share with Logan.

The radio host droned on in the now empty barn.

"These....people, mutants, they have feelings! They- They hurt, they go through a lot of pain. They love too! They have family, friends, people they care about. So what if they can do special tricks that some of us can't?" The host carried on, "They have a right to live their lives, and to live it happily."

[punkpandapatrixk]

☃️What Typa City Actually Suits You~? ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

We were born into certain Fates, but our Destinies may look entirely different than those circumstances we found ourselves in at birth🚂Where you are in the world right now, if it isn't a place, an environment, a frequency that allows you to maintain balance, integrity and authenticity, perhaps it isn't really your Home⚓️Ain't where you belong, hon.

‘Home is not where you are born; home is where all your attempts to escape cease.’ — Naguib Mahfouz

Somewhere on this Planet your Home exists. Maybe your Soul Tribe can be found there as well☃️Your Home, is a place where you get to feel that you belong, in spite of shortcomings and disadvantages, no matter what, it feels effortless. It's an environment that has everything—well, maybe most things—you need to thrive. A frequency that just makes sense📻

The wind, the water, the earth, are calling~📠

Are you answering?

inspi: London & Madrid | IRENE's Sweet Simple Series

wispy: Kazamidori (Weather Vane) by Sakamoto Maaya

deck-bottom: XI Justice, Priestess of Wisdom, Red Physician (Galen of Pergamon)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – People; Creativity; Intensity

vibe: Paris | IRENE's Sweet Simple Series

fate ain't Destiny – 3 of Pentacles

You were born into a world that has a strong sense of community. Some of you may have liked it a lot; some of you may have felt stifled and unable to focus on what you actually want. You've dreamt of a world where you can be a bit more individualistic. Go at your own pace and do creative shit that actually suits you. But it seems at times, your community doesn't understand your point of view. Generally speaking though, you aren't necessarily a loner—you do like people. You find people terribly interesting and you enjoy hearing their stories.

Essentially, you're a terrific listener. It's just that...where you came from...people are really quite foolish and uninteresting. You could die if you had to pretend any second longer that you actually cared what they have to say. The truth of the matter is, you've always wanted to be surrounded by diversity and meet people from unique backgrounds that wildly differ from your own. That's the kind of 'chit chat' you'd never tire of. When we say that you 'like people', we generally mean that you like extraordinarily interesting people.

You're someone who's quite intense, maybe that's why shallow conversations bore you to death. Where you came from, serious, intelligent, abstract conversations seem to scare the living shit out of most people. To you, people's interactions are mechanical at best. The Normies seem to operate on a very narrow range of selection of acceptable topics or themes of conversations. Thought-provoking discussions? Oh, never! Nobody wants a disaster! Sometimes, it makes you feel like a 52-hertz whale—the loneliest whale in the world.

where do I go? – Queen of Pentacles Rx

You'd like to be in a place where people care a bit less about what others are doing with their lives. Yeah sure, anywhere you go in the world nosy people exist, but a place where generally people keep to themselves would suit you better. At least that'd give you a bit more room to breathe, is what you think as a fundamental priority. A place where people wouldn't ask intrusive questions. A place where people respect personal space and will understand if you need some time to warm up before they can ask weirdly personal questions.

You'd like to go to a place where people wouldn't think ill of you just because you're eating lunch or dinner alone. It seems that you're mostly tired of having to care about or anticipate what people might think upon knowing or seeing this and that which you enjoy doing alone. You hate people being nosy or presumptuous like that. After all, what's so wrong with enjoying reading a book alone? What's so unacceptable about enjoying being indoors gardening or painting alone? It's not like you want to be alone; you just enjoy being creative on your own when there's nobody else to share or exchange interesting ideas with.

It looks like you've often had your gaze fixated on cities, countries and cultures where people appear to be far more free in pursuing their creative hobbies. You want to find your Muse; or perhaps you want to be someone's Muse. Your Soul wants you to make a career out of some wildly artistic pursuit, where the sky is the limit. A place far stranger than where you are now; perhaps one where you can hear the forests share their wisdom with you~

a Home to call my own – 7 of Pentacles Rx

The city that essentially suits your spiritual tastes is definitely a safe one. A high-trust society where crime rate is low and friends can always be relied upon even on your wildest night-outs. A city where it isn't difficult to find your way home or crash at someone's couch when the need arises. Even more importantly, a city where water and air are clean, and foods are aplenty and come in variety. Why is this important? For your mental sanity. You're the type that wants to be productive and creative.

That type of endeavour is surely to eat away at a person's sanity if they aren't surrounded by ease on the most fundamental level! You want to live in a city or country that's pretty~ Where the landscape is generally awe-inspiring; where it's easy to go to places that can immediately soothe your Soul on days you feel stressed out; where the traffic isn't crazy, so you can easily make plans to meet with your friends, for any kind of occasion. You just need a city where everything is there.

You don't mind rude people. You don't mind cold and detached people. All that matters is that most people leave you alone while the interesting ones are easy to befriend. Interesting people are rarely the sanest and creative ones can oftentimes be a little intense, but that's just what you like. You want to be surrounded by intensely powerful, smart individuals with whom the exchange of creative/artistic ideas can feel empowering, even world-changing~!

BELONGING🔻🧡

my Heart's a battleground – Red Astronomer (Johannes Kepler)

manifesting Heaven on Earth – Priestess of Fertility

Access bonus, cards + affs on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Serenity; Independence; Intellectualism

vibe: Amsterdam & Barcelona | IRENE's Sweet Simple Series

fate ain't Destiny – IX The Hermit

I've a feeling, you're generally a quiet and observant one. You are very attentive to the needs of other people. You have a heart that feels deeply and you notice everything. Some of you may have developed this ability, or sensitivity, through surviving a chaotic childhood. Perhaps at some point in Life you were constantly living on edge and had to learn to observe the moods of everybody around you. You became a master at this, but it's cost you a lot of your peace of mind and a general sense of ease.

Since you're incredibly tuned in, you can easily lose yourself in the vibes and moods of the people around you. This is definitely an empath issue hahah You can often be deeply overwhelmed by constantly feeling, sensing, or 'hearing' the thoughts and emotions and desires and intentions of the people you're interacting with. Sometimes you just don't even know which thoughts are yours or others'. It takes a looot just to maintain composure and remain functional. Society is exhausting for the most part.

That's why you've often dreamt of running away to a completely hidden city where no one knows you and live there for a while just to be able to catch your breath. You've wished there could be one moment where you don't get so distracted by other people's thoughts, aenergy, expectations and, judgement. If you could be honest, unfiltered, sometimes you're just tired of being polite to everyone. You wish you could scream in their faces or hit them in the head with a guitar just to shut them up.

where do I go? – 9 of Wands

I feel that you're someone who hasn't gotten enough recognition for your immensely high IQ or EQ. When you were growing up, the adults around you could've deprived you—very, very much—of emotional and spiritual nurturing. I think they just didn't know what to do with you. You often felt like you were much, much older than your parents. You easily noticed the small things they missed. What is essential is invisible to the eye. I guess you didn't always have a clear thought or words for this feeling, but it was...just a sensation.

And in a way, those circumstances could've caused you some degree of disillusionment, maybe even disappointment. Weren't adults supposed to be the better people? You could've thought that. And it was tiring feeling the way you did. In a sense, you never really thought of where you'd want to go, but you just wanted to be in nature. To be near the waters or the mountains. I think you like the company of rocks and plants and bugs LOL At least bugs don't ask you unnecessary questions or bore you with unintelligent conversations.

If you've graduated your First Saturn Return, chances are, your Soul is beginning to pull you towards a simpler lifestyle somewhere quieter, where there aren't that many Humans and nature is aplenty. Some of you may be attracted to the idea of moving to the countryside or even to a satoyama. I sense that your Soul wants to do something more meaningful with the time you have and you honestly don't mind the 'hard work' that may come with rural living, as long as the tiredness from excessive human interactions can be mitigated.

a Home to call my own – Queen of Swords

A place that would make you feel most at home is one where you get to indulge in much more intellectual pursuits. If you did decide to move to very, very rural, underdeveloped areas on the Planet, chances are...people's variety of intelligence may look very different than those living in far bigger cities, exposed to all kinds of foreign cultures. But I feel it isn't the human interactions you deeply care about. It's your own personal activities you are concerned with.

You seem like the type who wouldn't mind living an off-the-grid kind of existence. Maybe then, there you could become a lifestyle blogger/vlogger like nyangsoop or Li Ziqi. Perhaps in a quieter environment you can finally focus fully on that book you've been meaning to write. Stuff like that. You yearn to live, perhaps permanently, in a place where you can rest your tired Soul, where your everyday Life can be, at least, more easy breezy~

There's this calm lifestyle channel called Tomei that I think you may also resonate with. She doesn't live in a rural area (I think), but she manages to carve out her very own unique aesthetic and pace that allows her to live more slowly, reflectively and meditatively. It's a vibe like this I'm trying to illustrate :D Well, where ever it may be, as long as you get to manage a work—could be freelance or remote, too—with minimal human disruption, it seems you'd be plenty satisfied ^^v

BELONGING🔻💙

my Heart's a battleground – Gold Historian (Raphael Holinshed)

manifesting Heaven on Earth – Priestess of Enchantment

Access bonus, cards + affs on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Inspiration; Futurism; Dynamism

vibe: Berlin | IRENE's Sweet Simple Series

fate ain't Destiny – Ace of Cups

There are people in this world with a penchant for romanticising the past. The are also those who possess the natural ability to be utterly present in the now. You? To your own surprise, perhaps, you think constantly about renewal, rebirth and the future of Mankind. At least, since you were a kid, if there were values in your society, nation, custom—or even race—that felt outdated or they simply didn't make much sense to you, deep down... You knew you were meant to break them.

Didn't matter your gender or race, whichever country or city, growing up you felt very restricted in comparison to other people you were observing. This was simply because your mind was that expansive. You felt like a fish yearning for the ocean whilst trapped in a bowl. Thus it was that you developed a yearning for places that would make you feel more alive. You're looking for a sense of dynamism and excitement.

More so, you want to be around strange and unusual people that you wouldn't find at all in your place of origin. You are very much attracted to alien beings. For example, if you had come from an artistic background instead, you'd probably dream of moving to a commerce city like Chicago because that's what you're interested in. And vice versa; you could've come from a high society like Rose in Titanic and dream of wildin' in the West LMAO

where do I go? – 0 The Fool

Basically, you're a textbook rebel. You may not look it on the outside, but deep down, you're always thinking of exploring the world and savouring all sensations and experiences. Which...sometimes could be dangerous if you're reckless. But the funny thing is, this daredevil approach to Life seems to be attracted to you more than you it. Maybe you have strong Aquarius/Uranus or Pisces/Neptune placements in your birth chart that's kinda spelled chaos and uncertainty for most of your Life.

There seems to be a cosmic force that governs your movements, sometime in spite of your wanting to remain static and settle down. That said, it's hard to say exactly what typa city actually suits you, because you seem to manifest on your own a movement towards either chaotic environments or cities that are constantly developing and changing. It's like, from deep within your psyche, you want to be dynamic and constantly growing in knowledge and experience.

I believe this is exactly because you're an Advanced Soul. You have a mission in this world—that's why you thirst for knowledge and first-hand experiences. You want to be in the scene of whatever interests you. You could be interested in music, modelling, acting, designing, whatever, really, and you want to be where the biggest players are. That said, capital cities or places that are called the 'melting pot' of cultures and ideas would suit you the best. Diversity and dynamism are your key interests.

a Home to call my own – 4 of Wands

With you, more than the idea of what kinda city you can call Home, it's what kinda scene you can find there. As long as you can find a community that resonates with you, a culture that for the most part aligns with your values, and making a living there is genuinely exciting, that's your place. Amazingly, I'm getting a sense for some of you that it literally doesn't matter what kinda city you live in as long as the Internet works well LMAO

A high-tech society is probably important for you because you're constantly working on the Net? Some of you could be professional gamers, huh? ;D I also see that you'd generally enjoy big cities that regularly hold massive gatherings like concerts, raves, art exhibitions, sporting events and/or other exciting, maybe fascinating, 'community events' and celebrations of a more 'global' scale. Cities where 'international' or 'multicultural' can really be felt.

Alongside artists and gamers, some of you tuning into this are probably scholars and you're looking forward to be in a city where the universities are famous. Cities that contain old, revered academic institutions are probably very attractive to you. Lastly, some of you are probably interested in being part of the tourism industry! Big cities that are often popular tourist destinations could likely offer job opportunities that feel dynamic and exhilarating for you ^o^/

BELONGING🔻💗

my Heart's a battleground – Gold Magus (Johannes Faustus)

manifesting Heaven on Earth – Priestess of Rebirth

Access bonus, cards + affs on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Now I have to ask- WHY do you hate Pacific Rim?

Okay, fair warning, this is about as bitter and salty and small-minded as day-old caviar. But. My bitter, salty (probably fishy) opinion:

Pacific Rim is only a good movie because it's a well-written story about robots punching monsters.

That's it. That's all there is to the movie.

I started out merely disappointed by Pacific Rim. We went gaga for the preview materials that promised these unique well-rounded character pairs and trios with these idiosyncratic robots from all these different Pacific nations... And then the movie itself is about some bland white American guy who pilots a robot named a racial slur, the second most fleshed-out team is bland white Australian guys, and the Chinese team is there, kind of, in the background, but don't worry they're going to die first. The "character-driven story" turned out to be "various characters take turns punching aliens" but, sure, whatever, I love the MCU so why not.

The day I went from "Pacific Rim is overrated" to "Pacific Rim is the worst thing that has ever happened to human civilization, I'm extremely normal about this" was the day I saw a Tumblr post suggesting we replace the Bechdel test with the Mako Mori test. Because Mako Mori has her own plot and doesn't kiss North Carolina at the end, making her a whole new type of feminist icon.

To which I was like:

We are talking about the same movie here, right? The Pacific Rim that can't even pass the Bechdel test? The Pacific Rim that's all about might-makes-right, the Pacific Rim that has ONE speaking role for ONE female character in its (from IMDB) 50-person cast? The Pacific Rim that repeatedly puts its only female character in danger and has her rescued by first Idris Elba then North Carolina? THAT Pacific Rim?

Is there a different Mako Mori I haven't met? Because the one I've seen a) has a character arc driven by deciding whether to obey her father or follow her heart, which is as inoffensive and stale as an unblessed communion wafer, b) does nothing that Ellen Ripley didn't do 30 years earlier, but with about 5% of the character depth Ripley got, and c) stands there in silence looking sad as two men punch each other over the question of her virtue.

Any post assuming this movie invented the idea of "small Asian woman kicks monster ass" needs to learn its damn history. Especially the ones acting like her being physically small is somehow a feminist bonus. There's something embarrassingly ahistorical about the whole thing.

And look. I get how we got here. I know how easily Tumblr backs you into a rhetorical corner of "calling a story Good can never mean merely 'enjoyable'; calling a story Good must mean 'virtuous'". Until next thing you know you're arguing that actually, shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is a net good for all of society, because gay divorced middle-aged tyrants who use supplemental oxygen and murdered their exes in a custody dispute over the one kid (out of two) they actually care about deserve to see themselves in sci fi too! You only end up in that corner because half the time you're arguing against someone who says that shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is literally the same thing as supporting father-son incest, so your real reasons for shipping them (1. foe yay, 2. old man yaoi) seem wildly insufficient.

Much of what I see about Pacific Rim seems neck-deep in the "it's not allowed to be a Good Movie unless it single-handedly dismantles the patriarchy" fallacy. There's nothing progressive about shipping two dudes best known for chopping off each other's body parts with laser swords. And there's nothing progressive about a movie having its only female character hug the male protagonist at the end instead of kissing him. You're allowed to like a thing just because it's well-made, without acting like a bog-standard normatively-broey action flick somehow invented a new form of feminism. Anyway, "Pacific Rim is a perfectly fine movie" is the hill I will die upon, heretical though it may be.

[lazysoulwriter]

monaco madness - pedro pascal.

Pedro had always known you were obsessed with Formula 1. The kind of obsessed where Sunday plans revolved around race schedules, where you angry muttered driver names in your sleep, and where he once caught you watching an onboard camera video from 2008 just for fun.

So, when he suggested going to Monaco for the Grand Prix, it wasn’t just because of the glitz, the yachts, or the allure of Monte Carlo. It was because he loved seeing you in your element.

What he hadn't expected was to get completely sucked into it himself.

-

From the moment you stepped onto the circuit, decked out in Ferrari red, you were practically vibrating with excitement. The roaring sound of engines in the background made your eyes light up in a way that had Pedro smiling like an idiot.

“You’re going to explode,” he teased, tightening his grip on your waist as the two of you made your way to your seats.

“I might.” You turned to him, grinning, adjusting your sunglasses. “Do you even understand what’s about to happen?”

Pedro scoffed. “I understand that cars go fast.”

You snorted. “Wow, expert analysis. Maybe they should hire you for commentary.”

“I’d do great,” he said smugly. “I’d just point at the screen and go, ‘Look at that one. He’s winning.’”

You rolled your eyes, looping your arms around his neck. “You are so lucky you’re pretty.”

“I am pretty,” he agreed, leaning down to steal a quick kiss before you could pull away.

“Pedro!” you scolded, laughing against his lips. “We don’t have time for this! The race is about to start!”

Pedro groaned dramatically but let you go, watching as you practically bounced in your seat.

The cars lined up, the lights went out, and the moment the engines roared to life, you grabbed his hand without even thinking. Pedro barely had time to process the chaos before you were on your feet, screaming alongside thousands of other Ferrari fans.

“GO, GO, GO!”

Pedro had never seen you like this. Eyes wide, face glowing, shouting in frustration when someone overtook a Ferrari like they had personally offended you.

“Are you serious? That’s a penalty!” you cried, throwing your hands up.

Pedro leaned in, amused. “I have no idea what that means, but I love how angry you are.”

Before you could reply, a Ferrari made a daring overtake, nearly brushing the wall. The entire grandstand erupted, and Pedro felt something shift inside him. A thrill ran up his spine, and suddenly, he got it. The speed, the tension, the sheer insanity of it all. His fingers gripped the railing, and before he could stop himself, he was shouting,

“OH, SHIT! THAT WAS INSANE! FORZA FERRARI!”

You whipped your head toward him, stunned. “Wait. Are you—Are you into it now?”

Pedro ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I think I just saw God.”

You burst into laughter, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him full on the mouth. “Welcome to the dark side, tifoso.”

For the rest of the race, Pedro was in it. He booed strategy calls, cursed at pit stops that took too long, and even found himself gripping your thigh when things got too tense. Every time Ferrari made a move, you both jumped out of your seats, yelling like lunatics.

At one point, he turned to you, slightly out of breath. “I swear to God, if we don’t win, I’m—”

“You’re what?” you challenged, grinning.

Pedro narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know yet, but it won’t be pretty.”

You laughed, pulling him down for another quick kiss. “You’re so dramatic.”

He smiled against your lips. “And yet you love me.”

When the checkered flag finally waved, Pedro collapsed into his seat, exhaling like he’d just competed in the race himself. You giggled, straddling his lap, running your fingers through his hair.

“So?” you asked, tilting your head. “Worth it?”

Pedro smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I’m never missing a race again.”

You grinned. “That’s my baby.”

And just like that, Monaco had gained another die-hard Ferrari fan.

---

requested! loved thissss.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ Heyyyy, Not much to say just thought if this }~

•Deadbeat•

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Klarion was acting weird.

He had been attacked the YJL more often than usual and has been dragged it out for as long as he can and instead of his usual “Do what I need to and cause as much chaos as possible” it has changed to “Take as much time as possible to do what I need to do and cause even more chaos” so yeah Klarion has been a pain in their side for weeks at this point.

And today was no different, Klarion had showed up and brought some of these tar things that if you punched it they would explode in your face and cover you in the tar things (But don’t worry the tar doesn’t work it just feels and smells really weird) so well the YJL where fighting off the tar things Klarion was tinkering with what looked to be a puzzle box but Tim doesn’t really care about that right now he just needs to get to him after beating the tar things.

After about 19 minutes the YJL finally got to where Klarion was sitting looking at them but before Klarion could say anything someone suddenly yelled.

“KLARION YOU FUCKING DEADBEAT” Looking to where the voice came from and was met with a very pissed off and a very pregnant being looking at Klarion with the rage of a thousand suns.

All Klarion had time to say was “Oh shi-“ before being thrown more an a hundred feet than started to get thrown around like a rag doll well the being yelled at him in a very strange language.

And while the YJL watch as one of the biggest pains in there sides get thrown and Tim doesn’t know to step to help Klarion or start recording so the team could watch this later for fun, but Tim didn’t really have the chance to choose as a young voice from his right side.

“GET HIS ASS MAMA!” said what looked to be an 8 year old boy who looks like the perfect mix of the Being and Klarion and in his other hand was a camera and a small bowl of popcorn.

After a few minutes of watching Klarion get his ass kicked by the Being before Klairon is yeeted into a Lazarus green portal with the still very pissed off Being hot on his tail.

And the Kid follows close behind and walks through the portal as it closes behind him.

And now the YJL are just standing there covered in weird tar stuff and wondering what the hell just happened.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

Background

Dusk was just having a regular day ( well as regular your day can be when you are basically the prince of ghost and chaos ) when Papa ran in and shut the large black iron door behind him like his life depended on in, papa looked at him and Dusk looked back at him and just asks “What did you do to piss off mama?”.

“Well… you know how your mamas been making that new galaxy and how he absolutely adores the thing?” Papa says with a very nervous smile while he looks for the object Mama gave him to hop from one world to another without making Clockwork upset.

“Yeah of course mamas just showed me a few days ago” Dusk says while thinking his papa is avoiding the reason mama is mad when it dawns on him “…Oh you didn’t” Dusk says with horror, Mama says it takes a lot out of him to make a new galaxy and with him holding Dusk’s baby sister it takes even more so Mamas just been sleeping in the nest of his room.

“Well I went in there while your mama was asleep and I was trying to grab something from the new galaxy and I tripped and pulled the whole thing down….and that was what your mama woke up too so now if you excuse me I’m gonna go find something so your mother doesn’t beat the shit out of me” was the last thing papa said before hoping to one of his favorite worlds and at the same time is when a very sleepy mama walks in still in his nightgown and robe he hasn’t even put his hair up yet but he’s still looking like he’s going to kill a man before he turns to dusk and asks.

“Starling where is your Father?”

Well Dusk has always been a Mama boy

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

Little Facts

•Short summary of why the hell is going on with Danny it’s the classic GIW and bad Fentons, Clockwork grabs him with the help of Dan and Dani and takes Danny to the ghost zone and now Danny is a full ghost but Dan and Dani were hurt in the fight to get Danny back but there are two problems one he can’t hold both cores at once as he is still a baby by ghost standards and his cores not powerful enough for that and he needs some DNA to help stabilize both of there cores and Clockwork calls a favor from Klarion to help Danny and Klarion falls in love with the very pretty ghost boy who can beat his ass and after Dan now Dusk has been born Danny lets himself fall in love with Klarion and now we’re here.

•Danny has a Space core and Dusk has a Moon core and Dawn has a Sun Core

•Klarion finds Danny being able to beat his ass hot and because Klarion is an immoral being it doesn’t really hurt or injure him Danny makes sure of that no matter how angry he is 

•Dusk likes making fun of how much of a SIMP Klarion is than immediately starts acting like a mamas boy the second Danny walks in a room

•The room that the new Galaxy was in is made of all black marble for the pillars and floor the nest I’m talking is a very large circle mattress in the middle of the room with dark blue almost black thin see through fabric around it with a lot soft and comfortable blanket in there for when Danny is making new things and sleeps in there if he’s tired enough for mad at Klarion and brings Dusk in there to show him Danny creations but Klarion always finds them later with Danny holding dusk like a baby in his sleep and ends up joining them

•Dusk has white hair like Danny while Dawn will have black hair like Klarion

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

Appearances

Danny’s Appearance

[Ok so take the full dress and the fur arm thing and add on the middle part of the first one and than make the white hair from the third pic and make it into the first hairstyle than change the dresses color to black and green with silver]

Dan’s Appearance

[instead of red it green, black and silver]

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

~{And that’s it! Also I was helped by @villainmirabelmadriga for the outfits and i love what they come up with so go check them out anyway byeeeee}~

[biteyoubiteme]

Im so ready to lock into this ive been waiting and it wasnt even that long bc rain is amazing but still im on the edge of my seat omfg- also i love pregancy trope im not even sorry its like a comfort fic i swear i cant turn them away- Your breath catches in your throat. A dull roaring fills your ears, like the moment before a crash, when you see the impact coming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You blink once, twice, waiting for the second line to disappear, for reality to snap back into place. It doesn’t. It stays. EEEEEKKKK THE WRITING ALREADY ><

Your mind flickers through the memories—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered jokes between kisses, the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was fun. Easy. No strings attached. Except now, there are strings. Big, life-altering, impossible-to-ignore strings. STTOOOOOOOPPPPP I LOOVEE IT SM- 

What are you supposed to do? You’re in your second year of college. You have plans, dreams, a future that doesn’t include cribs and lullabies and tiny fingers clutching at yours. You can’t be a mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. And Jake? Is it too soon to say i love this so so so so so so much already??? Because i do ;-;-;--;-;- tiny fingers clutching agt yours- stop im going to cry- 

Except he was too busy pulling his girlfriend into a random room to really celebrate much. Heeeey its my pookies from collide- 

A breathless laugh escaped you between kisses, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins. “I just came to say congrats.” Jake grinned against your lips. “This is how you say congrats?” You smirked. “I was gonna buy you a beer, but—” His hands slid down your sides, rough and familiar, pulling you flush against him. “This is better.” I LOVE THEM OMG- 

And now, in just a few hours, you’ll be lying on an exam table, hearing a doctor tell you how far along you are. How long ago your life changed without you even knowing. The thought makes your stomach twist, nausea curling in your throat. You’re so lost in your thoughts that when your phone rings, the sudden sound makes you jump. It’s Jake. Your heart stops. His name flashes on the screen, bold and unmistakable, and for a second, you consider letting it ring. But that’s suspicious. You never ignore Jake’s calls. That would only make him ask questions.So, you force yourself to breathe, force yourself to steady your voice, and answer. “Hey.” “Hey,” he echoes, his voice easy, warm. There’s the faint sound of voices and clattering sticks in the background, and you picture him in the locker room, probably shoving his gear into his bag while talking to you. The image is so painfully normal that it makes your chest ache. “What are you up to tonight?” he asks, casual, unaware of the chaos inside you. “Practice should be done around eight. You wanna come over?” stop i love how the world is falling apart for reader but jake is just like ‘hi’ lmao like the normality mixed in the angst is killing me i love it sm and im just eating it up uuuughghgh

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you. Okay supposed mr. friends with benefits…..

Jake exhales, his expression softening as he reaches up, brushing his fingers over the side of your face like he’s trying to pull you back to him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” OMGOMGOGMGOGMGOMGOGMGOGMOGMGOGMOMG

“Did I… do something?” His voice is quieter now, more cautious. NOOOOOO what if i screamed and cried and threw up bc no no no he is just a boy pleek “Because if I did, just—tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His jaw clenches. “I just—fuck, I don’t know—I miss you.” Your heart stutters. You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs, making it even harder to breathe. “I’ve wanted to run here to you all week, tell you about my game, watch movies with you. Anything, but you're shutting me out.” This is Jake. You’re jake. And suddenly all of it feels so much worse. ILL FIX IT OMFG HE WILL BREAK ME- 

“This is your only chance to take the out.” Jake’s brows pull together slightly, but he still says nothing. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want to be responsible for a baby, you can walk away. Right now.” Your voice shakes. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you.” Jake blinks. Still silent. Still motionless. Your heart slams against your ribs. You hate this. Hate this. Hate that you don’t know what’s going through his head. Hate that you feel this vulnerable, this exposed, this small. You force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I know hockey is your life..” You trail. “ I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now. You forget that before..this, we were friends. good friends. I know what hockey means to you and I would never in a million years ask for you to choose. So I'm giving you a choice. be a dad or walk away. Neither of those involve not playing hockey. but i’m telling you right now. if you choose this, if you’re all in you better be all in because this is your only time to tap out. don’t get my hopes up then crush them when it gets too hard because i’ll never forgive you for that.” STTTTOOOOOOOP IM ON MY KNEES PLS NO- also if he took the out i wouldnt forgive him whoops- but gosh i love this sm uuuuughgghghhgh

“You’re in?” You ask with a strained voice. “I’m in.” ><EEEEEKKKK me when i know the outcome and still act shocked lol- 

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

And then, before he can even stop it — He’s crying. Right there, in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates, Jake fucking breaks. STTTTOOOOOOPPPPP you know i love it when they cry- 

“I just—I need to see her.” okay so i love him- 

He’s sitting on your bed like he belongs there, UUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH

“Are you gonna sleep with other girls?” you know what she is so real for this bc i would be asking the same thing lmao- 

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

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

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.” The words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You don’t mean to let it slip out, but suddenly, it’s there.The fear that’s been clawing at you, the doubt that’s been growing like a weed. “Because I don’t know if you can do it, Jake.” Silence. Oh no no no no no no no it hurts why would you do this to me pleek no no no no no no- 

You can’t just say it, Jake. You have to prove it.” Jake flinches like the words sting, like they land somewhere deep inside him GIRL HAS HE NOT BEEN DOING THIS THE WHOLE FIC WTF- PLSSSS

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

The moment it happens, you feel it, the wrongness. The guy comes in too fast. The check is too high, too hard, too reckless. And Jake never sees it coming. Your breath stops. Jake’s body is airborne before he crashes into the boards with a force that shakes the glass. The sound of it is sickening,a violent collision of bone, plexiglass, ice. His head snaps back. His helmet slams against the wall with a brutal crack. And then he slumps. He doesn’t move. SSTTTTOOOOPP THIS PAIN THIS MADNESS YOU HATE ME JUST SAY IT JUST SAY YOU WANT ME TO FEEL PAIN- 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he murmurs. “I’m staying. I’m gonna be here for you, for the baby… for us.” The words resonate deep inside you, a wave of warmth flooding your chest. You don’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, you believe him. You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the world seems to slow down. The hurt, the uncertainty, all of it seems to fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync. “I love you,” you whisper. And this time, it’s not a question. It’s not something you’re trying to convince yourself of. It’s just the truth. He smiles, the familiar glint of something unbreakable in his eyes. “I love you, too.” In that moment, you realize that everything’s been leading to this, a moment of vulnerability, of surrender, of knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ve got each other. And maybe that’s all you really need. SSSSOOOOBBBBIIINNNGGGGG

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

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” he asks, his voice full of tenderness, vulnerability slipping in beneath the surface. You nod slowly, your hand resting over your belly as you meet his gaze. “We already are, Jake. I already know we are.” stop they are so cute ;-;-;; 

“Win or lose,” he whispers, echoing the words he had said to you weeks ago. “I’ll always come home to you.” ;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;; uuuuugggh i loved this sm i wanna sob and beg you for 20k more pleek- no but seriously i loved it sm 

OFF THE ICE s.jy

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

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

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

crossing the line series.

read heeseung's story here.

Two pink lines. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two months ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Present day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake: You feeling any better? 

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

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you. 

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

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

Jake: You good? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuna—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach knots. “Jake—” 

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

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

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

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

So you just say it. “I’m pregnant.” 

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

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

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

Jake just stands there. Still silent. Still unreadable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in.” 

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

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

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

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

It keeps happening. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah.” 

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

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

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

“And you’re sure about that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yunjin snickers. “Sure, babe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung snorts. “You say that every year.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Room 214.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AFTER. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Two)

A/N: You guys your notes have sent me over the moon! I'm really glad you like this fic and will try to keep up with you guys. Now, uh, to the bad news, I think I might avoid the typically "reader" insert fic style and keep it as logs, records, and documents. Just to stay consistent. If you hate it, that's fine I probably won't try this type of style of writing again after this. OKKAYBYE--

Checkout @cheust's Ghost Caretaker AU, it's the best!

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

Session Date: [REDACTED] Session Type: Individual Therapy Therapist: Dr. Johanna Hoffman Patient: Casey Wayne, Age 5 Location: Gotham Pediatric Clinic Recording Start Time: 4:30 PM Recording End Time: 5:30 PM

[VIDEO BEGINS]

(The camera feed opens to a warmly lit therapy room. The walls are painted pastel blue and sage green, decorated with a meadow mural. A plush rug covers the floor, and shelves stocked with fidget toys, kinetic sand, and art materials line the room. A small, child-sized table sits in the center, topped with a tiny vase of artificial flowers. Soft instrumental music plays in the background. Seated at the table is CASEY WAYNE, a small child with tightly coiled hair and striking blue eyes, their hands resting neatly in their lap. DR. JOHANNA HOFFMAN enters the frame, taking a seat across from them with an open, relaxed posture.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Hi, Casey.

CASEY: Hi, Johanna.

DR. HOFFMAN: You look happy. Did something good happen?

CASEY: [nods eagerly] Mmhmm, I’m five now!

DR. HOFFMAN: I heard! That’s very exciting. How was your birthday?

CASEY: It was fun! I got to eat cake and stay up late!

DR. HOFFMAN: Wow, that sounds fun! What flavor of cake is your favorite?

CASEY: Chocolate! It’s really yummy.

DR. HOFFMAN: That’s my favorite too.

CASEY: [gasps] Really?! Do you like the kind with sprinkles?

DR. HOFFMAN: I do! Sprinkles make everything more fun. Did your cake have sprinkles?

CASEY: [nods] Mmhmm! And a big number five candle! I got to blow it out all by myself.

DR. HOFFMAN: That’s a big deal! Did you make a wish?

CASEY: Yep! But I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.

DR. HOFFMAN: Of course! It’s a secret wish. But I bet it’s something really special.

CASEY: [giggles] It is!

DR. HOFFMAN: I love birthdays because they’re all about celebrating you. Did you get any special presents?

CASEY: [nods excitedly] Uh-huh! Alfred gave me a tea set.

DR. HOFFMAN: A tea set?

CASEY: Yep! It’s really pretty and has flowers on it.

DR. HOFFMAN: That sounds beautiful. Do you have tea parties?

CASEY: [grins] Yeah, I had one with Yaya!

DR. HOFFMAN: I see. Does Yaya like tea?

CASEY: Yep! She taught me how to pour it! Did you know that a long time ago they used “tea bowls” instead of cups? And if you didn’t want any more, you had to put it on the little plate—

DR. HOFFMAN: The saucer?

CASEY: Yeah!

DR. HOFFMAN: You know a lot about tea parties, Casey. Did Yaya teach you all that?

CASEY: [nods] Mmhmm. It’s a real tea set, but we drank pretend tea. I said it was chocolate tea though, 'cause that’s the best!

DR. HOFFMAN: Wow, that sounds delicious. You have quite the imagination!

(CASEY giggles and leans forward in their seat.)

CASEY: Thanks!

DR. HOFFMAN: Do you think you’ll have more tea parties?

CASEY: Uh-huh! You can come too!

DR. HOFFMAN: I’d love that! I’ll make sure to dress really fancy too!

(CASEY laughs happily.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Do you think your family could come to one of your tea parties?

(CASEY suddenly falls silent. They look down at their hands, fingers fidgeting slightly.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Casey?

CASEY: [softly] I dunno.

DR. HOFFMAN: You don’t know? Why’s that?

CASEY: [shrugs] They’re busy all the time.

DR. HOFFMAN: All of them? Have you ever asked them to come to your tea party?

CASEY: I asked Daddy but he said he was busy.

DR HOFFMAN: Well, what about your siblings? I’m sure they’d like to come.

(CASEY frowns, thinking)

CASEY: I don’t want Damian to come. He’s mean.

DR. HOFFMAN: Well, it doesn’t have to be him? What about your other brothers?

(CASEY pauses to think)

CASEY: Jason’s scary.

DR. HOFFMAN: He’s scary?

CASEY: (nods) He’s angry and it scares me.

DR. HOFFMAN: Is he angry at you?

CASEY: (shrugs) I dunno.

DR. HOFFMAN: That must be really hard for you, Casey. Do you ever talk to Jason about how you feel when he's angry?

CASEY: [shakes head] No, I don’t wanna talk to him when he’s angry. He gets loud.

DR. HOFFMAN: That sounds tough. It’s hard when someone’s loud and angry. Do you know what makes him angry?

CASEY: [looks down] He’s angry about stuff. I dunno what.

DR. HOFFMAN: It’s okay if you don’t know. Sometimes people get angry about things we can’t see. Do you think it would help if you told him that his anger makes you feel scared?

CASEY: [quietly] I don’t think he’d care.

DR. HOFFMAN: Hmm. You might be right. But it’s okay to tell him how you feel, even if he doesn’t understand. You’re allowed to feel safe and not scared at home.

CASEY: [nods slowly] I guess.

DR. HOFFMAN: You know, Casey, you have a lot of courage. Not everyone can talk about their feelings like you can. And sometimes it’s okay to ask for help if someone is making you feel unsafe. Do you think you could ask someone in your family to help you talk to Jason?

CASEY: [hesitates] Maybe... like Yaya?

DR. HOFFMAN: Yaya cares about you alot. Maybe you can talk to her about how you feel with Jason?

CASEY: [pauses] I can’t…

DR. HOFFMAN: Why’s that?

CASEY: Jason doesn’t think Yaya is real. He says she’s imaginary.

DR.HOFFMAN: Like your Daddy?

CASEY: [nods and points at head] He says she is here and not real.

DR. HOFFMAN: That must be very hard for you, Casey. You know, sometimes people don’t understand what’s real for others. Yaya is real to you, and that’s what matters. But I can see how it might be confusing if others don’t see her too.

CASEY: [Frowns] No one believes me though. But she’s really nice and helps me.

DR. HOFFMAN: Sometimes, it’s hard for others to understand. But I can tell Yayais very important to you, and would want you to talk to someone about how you feel. Do you know anyone like that?

CASEY: [Shrugs] Maybe Dick. He’s nice.

DR. HOFFMAN: That’s a good choice! Have you tried asking him?

CASEY: [Shakes their head] No…

DR. HOFFMAN: Well, maybe you can ask him next time?

CASEY: [quietly] Maybe.

(Dr. Hoffman watches Casey for a moment, noticing their fingers still fidgeting with the hem of their sleeve.)

DR. HOFFMAN: You seem unsure. Is something else on your mind?

CASEY: He’s gonna be busy too.

DR. HOFFMAN: He is? How are you so sure?

CASEY: (Frustrated) Everyone’s always busy!

DR. HOFFMAN: Really? Everyone? 

CASEY: (Nods) Dick is always with Daddy, Alfred’s gotta clean, Tim’s in his room, Steph and Cass don’t talk to me cause I’m little, Damian’s mean a-and–”

(Casey stammers, before stopping suddenly and lowering their gaze)

CASEY: ….and no one likes me. 

(Silence. Dr. Hoffman watches as Casey shrinks slightly, their small hands gripping the edge of the table. The soft instrumental music plays faintly in the background.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Casey, why do you think no one likes you?

CASEY: … cause no one wants to be with me. Only Yaya does.

DR. HOFFMAN: [softly] Casey, I’m sure that’s not true. 

CASEY: [nods] It is. Everyone is always gone. Only Yaya stays.

(Silence permeates the distance between them once again. The soft music continues to play, undisturbed.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Casey, I know it’s hard to understand right now, but I want you to know that people care about you and how you feel. Even if they’re not always around, they still want you to feel better. I know it might not feel that way now, but please trust me—you’re not alone.

(CASEY remains silent, looking at the artificial flowers in the vase.)

DR. HOFFMAN: I think that’s enough for today.

[VIDEO ENDS]

THERAPIST’S OBSERVATIONS: During the latter half of the session, there was a distinct shift in the patient's demeanor. What initially appeared to be the typical presence of an imaginary friend seemed to evolve into something more complex. Yaya may serve as a coping mechanism, a response to the neglect and lack of emotional support the patient has endured. Of particular significance was the patient's final remark, “Only Yaya stays.” This statement seems to carry deeper implications, suggesting that Casey’s emotional detachment may be rooted in more than just familial neglect. The comfort they find in Yaya, someone others dismiss as imaginary, points to a more profound and perhaps darker emotional struggle—one that might not be easily addressed through conventional therapy or rationalization.

A/N: oh boy I'm tired I wrote all of this after work so it might be rushed.

[butterflyslinky]

The thing about Tommy is that he doesn't HAVE to have any narrative significance outside of Buck, endgame or not. The fact that he does indicates that someone cares about him beyond that.

How do I know?

Let's look at Lonestar.

Marjan's husband (I think his name is Joe?) made two appearances. One where they met and started dating, and one where they got married. He was mentioned in between, but didn't really do anything.

Paul's girlfriend (don't ask me what her name is) showed up once. She had a little more plot impact in her episode, but not past that. She was also mentioned as attending group functions, but didn't actually appear (or if she did it was in the background) or do anything.

If the writers just wanted Tommy to be a disposable love interest, they wouldn't be putting any effort into him. He could just be like Joe or Paul's girlfriend, or even Allie from the main show, a boyfriend who exists in Buck's orbit but never actually shows up or does anything. Instead, he's out doing firefighter things and having a breakup/makeup arc with Buck.

So no, I don't think it's unreasonable to assign narrative significance to him, because the show does.

[tok0yqmi]

𐙚 ⋮ᴀᴄᴛ ɪ ꒱ ‧₊˚

⋮ ♯; ⤷ KATSUKI BAKUGO headcanons .ᐟ

⋆˚࿔ what would he be like as your boyfriend?

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

⌗ he won’t admit it, but he always keeps an eye on you. if he thinks someone is bothering you, his first instinct is to throw hands, but he reins it in (most of the time) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ this man is ride or die for you. the second he’s in a relationship, you’re his and he’s yours—no one else exists in his mind ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ he’s not the biggest fan of PDA, but in private? he’s all over you. loves holding you in a way that makes you feel his warmth, whether it’s spooning you from behind or resting a hand on your waist absentmindedly ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ he’s a doer. if you’re feeling down, he’ll yell at you to take care of yourself, but when you’re genuinely sick and he can’t just fix it? he gets frustrated and sulky, pacing around the room while forcing you to drink water like it’s a life-or-death situation. he’ll even let you rest your head on his lap while pretending he totally doesn’t enjoy it ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ before dating, he never thought much about sleep. but after? if you’re not in bed with him, he tosses and turns all night. if he’s away on missions, he hates it because no matter how exhausted he is, sleep just doesn’t hit the same. if you ever find out, he will deny it to his grave ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ he doesn’t go for the usual “words of affirmation” or “acts of service.” instead, his love language is teaching you things. whether it’s self-defense, cooking, or fixing something, if he’s taking the time to teach you his skills, it means he trusts you enough to know what he knows ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ you could be doing the most mundane thing—reading, scrolling on your phone, folding laundry—and he’ll just watch you without realizing it. if you catch him, he’ll grumble and look away, but he was totally zoning out admiring you ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ you wouldn’t expect it, but one day, you’re struggling with a messy ponytail, and he just sighs and fixes it perfectly. turns out, he used to help his mom tie up her hair when he was a kid. he still acts like it’s no big deal, but if you ask him to do it again, he secretly loves it ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ his hands are constantly moving—tapping on the table, against his leg, drumming on random surfaces. but if he’s thinking about you specifically, his fingers will start mimicking the rhythm of your heartbeat (which he totally memorized without realizing) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ he notices the tiny things. the way you always stretch before standing up, how you hum before you fall asleep, the specific way you take your coffee. if you ever forget something in your routine, he’ll absentmindedly remind you before realizing damn, I really memorized that, huh? ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ that dumb doodle you left on his notes? tucked in his wallet. the random trinket you gave him from a vending machine? sitting on his nightstand. he acts like he doesn’t care, but he never throws away anything that reminds him of you ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ it doesn’t matter if you can lift a building, he is carrying the groceries, the luggage, and anything remotely heavy. you could be a pro hero, and he’d still be like, “shut up and let me do it.” ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ mitsuki loves you, but she also loves embarrassing her son. she’ll tease him about how whipped he is, telling you embarrassing childhood stories while bakugo fumes in the background. secretly, he’s glad she likes you, but he’ll never say it out loud ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ everyone knows bakugo laughs in that aggressive, cocky way. but when he’s with you? sometimes, he lets out a real, genuine, soft laugh that no one else gets to hear. if you ever mention it, he’ll turn bright red and tell you to shut up ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ who can fold laundry faster? who can chop vegetables better? who can get into bed first? he turns everything into a competition, and if you beat him? he’ll sulk for five minutes before demanding a rematch ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⌗ he won’t gush about you outright, but if you do something impressive? his friends will hear about it. “yeah, so what if they did that? they’re badass. of course they pulled it off.” he plays it cool, but everyone knows he’s beyond proud of you. if anyone even slightly doubts your abilities, he’ll shut them down instantly ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

[mysteriousxgirls]

Harmony stood there, her body trembling, her heart beating erratically in her chest. She had been so lost in her thoughts, so overcome with doubt and fear, but when she heard his voice, everything else faded into the background. His presence was grounding, steadying her in a way she hadn’t expected. She slowly opened her eyes, trying to focus, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside her. Jonas’ words were like a balm, softening the jagged edges of her panic, giving her space to breathe again. His gaze was so kind, so gentle, that for a moment, she thought she might break into a thousand pieces. But instead, she stood still, her heart heavy, her throat tight. She couldn’t speak for a long moment, not because she didn’t want to, but because she was still trying to process everything, trying to make sense of his words.

Finally, she found her voice. Quiet at first, unsure, but it grew stronger as she spoke from the heart. “I… I never stopped loving him,” she whispered, the words shaky, but undeniable. “Never. And I will never stop loving him.” Her tears started to fall again, but this time, they weren’t the desperate, painful tears from before. They were soft, full of emotion, of truth. There was no doubting her love for Nate, no hiding from it anymore. It was a part of her, woven into her soul, and it always would be. When he asked what she would say to her younger self, Harmony pushed herself off the wall, standing up straighter. She wiped her eyes, her voice steadying as she spoke, her gaze locking with his. “I would tell her that she needs to hold on just a little longer... because the love of her life, the father of her child, isn’t so far away,” she began, each word carefully chosen, each sentence weighted with the depth of her feelings. “I would tell her that she deserved real love. A love so deep, no one would understand it but her and him. I would tell her that he is all she ever wanted and needed, and that she has to start changing her life now.”

More tears rolled down her cheek, but there was no sadness in them now. Only the truth of the love she felt, the love that had shaped her life. “I know I’ve made mistakes,” she added softly, the weight of her past still lingering. “But I can’t undo what’s happened. All I can do is love him the best I can. And I promise you, sir, I will. I will love him with everything I have.” Her voice wavered slightly, but her words were resolute, like a vow she would never break. “Nate is all I have ever dreamed of. And I want to raise our son the way he deserves to be raised—like his father, with a big heart, a heart that doesn’t stop loving, even after everything.” She took a shaky breath, but there was something in her heart that was more certain than ever before. She might have questioned herself for a moment, but not anymore. She knew what she wanted, what she needed—Nate, and the life they were building together. And that was enough. That was everything.

Nate’s entire body went rigid the moment the words left his mother’s mouth. A sharp, cold silence settled between them, but beneath the surface, a storm was brewing. His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides, not out of anger—at least, not entirely—but out of sheer disbelief. His first instinct was to laugh, a short, humourless sound, because surely she wasn’t serious. Surely she hadn’t just stood there and told the love of his life—the mother of his child—that she should walk away. To leave the man who fought so hard for her, to leave and let a child be fatherless. But one look at Harmony, at the way she stood there taking it, at the way those words landed, and any trace of amusement died instantly. His eyes darkened, something steely and unwavering settling into his expression as he turned to face his mother fully. “No.” The word came out low, final. “You didn’t get to decide that. Not for me, and sure as hell not for her.” His heart hammered in his chest, anger simmering just beneath the surface, but he held it back—for now. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “I love her. I chose her. And if you thought for one second that I’d be better off without her, then you never knew me at all.”

But then, Harmony pushed back her chair and walked away from the table. Nate exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he shook his head at his mother. He turned to follow, instincts kicking in before his mind could catch up, but a firm hand curled around his wrist, halting him mid-step. His breath hitched as he glanced over his shoulder, only to find his father walking past him, heading in the same direction Harmony had gone. Nate hesitated, concern flickering behind his eyes, but then his father cast him a brief nod—silent reassurance, a quiet let me. Something in his chest loosened just slightly. Still, the weight of the moment pressed against his ribs, restless and unshakable. With a murmured excuse, he turned on his heel and slipped away, disappearing into the bathroom, where, for just a moment, he could breathe.

Jonas stepped outside, exhaling a long breath as his gaze landed on her. She was pressed against the wall, her entire body folded in on itself like she was trying to make herself smaller, as if she could disappear into the brick. The sight twisted something deep in his chest. He had seen this kind of pain before—the kind that didn’t just sting, but settled in your bones, the kind that whispered you are not enough over and over until you started to believe it. For a long moment, he said nothing. Not out of hesitation, not out of pity, but because some aches needed space to breathe. Then, with the quiet certainty of a man who had lived long enough to know the weight of words, he stepped closer. "You know," he said, his voice steady but carrying the weight of something deeper, "I’ve spent a lot of years watching my son figure out what he wants. And for the first time in his life, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing. It’s you, Harmony. It’s always been you." His words hung in the air, settling between them, but his gaze never wavered. "You don’t have to prove anything," he continued, his tone softer now. "Not to me. Not to his mother. Not even to yourself." A breath left him, slow and measured, before a wry smile touched his lips. He pressed a hand to his chest, tapping just above his heart. "All I ask is that you love that man with everything you’ve got in here." Silence stretched for a beat. Then, Jonas glanced toward the door, his expression unreadable as he turned back to her. "Now, you tell me," he said, "What would you say to that seventeen-year-old girl who lived on the streets, who had to fight every day just to survive? That girl with no family, no one to look out for her. The girl who was used by men and took whatever attention she could get, because at least it was something?" His eyes searched hers, not with judgment, but with something far deeper. "What are you telling her about the man sitting in there?"

[howlingmod]

elliot x reader where he's introducing them to his parents except reader is REALLY unsettling (as in two time levels of unsettling) elliots being a huge sap while reader just stares at his parents they fear for their dumbass son being murdered in his sleep but tough it out (barely) because they love him and he seems happy "me and the bad bitch i pulled with my autism" type dynamic

summary - elliot x reader, pre-forsaken, reader's associated with Something i will not clarify because it is a fun reference for Me. </3

misc - oh this is so cute i love aut4aut love .... accidentally focused on the reader and the parents more but just know you two are being stupid and giggling the whole time

-Elliot spoke so fondly of you to his parents. Everytime you were the subject, he'd go on excitedly about all the things you guys were up to, a cute gesture you'd done for him the other day, how you were working on something for your own family. Recently, he'd gone and visited your parents for the autumnal equinox, and he couldn't let the favor go unreturned, something you and his parents happily accepted.

-They were excited to meet you, happy to see the special someone who had made their boy such a happy man. He'd never shown them pictures of you, saying you were camera shy and didn't like sitting down for photos all too much, so they had no idea what to expect. They were only a little startled at the door.

-There wasn't anything extraordinarily alarming, you weren't actively on fire or immediately threatening, just a little ... odd. You had a wide-eyed look to you, one they'd initially taken as you being nervous but, confirmed by Elliot himself and the passing hours, seemed to just be a constant feature of your appearance. Neither of you were particularly dressed up, but you had both worn the sweaters that they'd sent you for Christmas the previous year, Elliot's warm red contrasting your deeper neutral starkly. (A detail which had brought a tear to his mother's eye, knowing you two had remembered and appreciated them ... she'd had to ask Elliot what you usually wore, wanting to make something that'd fit you well, she was touched to see her efforts weren't in vain.)

-You'd stuck you hand out to shake his father's hand a little earlier than he'd expected, almost as soon as the door had fallen open. A strange decision, sure, but he figured you may have come from a more formal, mannerly background, as your stilted, flat speech matched it.

"It's nice to meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine!"

-Your hands were extraordinarily cold, grip a little tight. It was fall, that could explain the temperature and, again, you may just be more accustomed to formalities. It made sense, even if he was a little unnerved by how you seemed to stare through him. He wasn't going to make fun of you for being nervous, he understands! He probably wasn't much better meeting his wive's parents. Probably.

-As you all settled in at the dinner table, Elliot largely took over the conversation. Catching up his parents on everything that'd happened since he'd visited last and answering the usual 'how have you been?' type small talk. Not wanting to leave you out, his mother had turned her attention to you.

"How's your family doing, dear? Elliot told me the ... solstice, went well," she smiled, folding her hands on her lap.

"Equinox. The solstice is in a few weeks, for winter," you started, voice stiff, "My family's good. I missed them, Risio especially."

She'd flinched a little, internally wincing at the stiffness of your voice and the correction. She hardly wanted to make a bad impression, especially if she came off as careless. "Ah, my apologies. We've never celebrated the coming-and-goings of the season much. Risio is your...?"

"Dog. I found him when I was younger."

"Oh, you have a dog? Well, isn't that just adorable! Elliot always wanted one when he was a kid, we just never really had the time for one."

You'd smiled at that, a small little crack in the neutral expression you'd kept from the moment you came in, "He told me about that. Risio likes him too, he told me he was happy I found someone to support me in life."

She'd been about to say something else when she'd halted. 'Told me,' weren't you just talking about your dog? Maybe she got lost in the conversation. She looked over at her husband, meeting an equally confused expression. You didn't seem to notice, digging around in your bag for something.

"I have a photo of him, I meant to send you an email with it a while ago but um," you pulled a Polaroid from your bag, sliding it across the table to them, "you guys don't have one and the mail doesn't work."

"Do you mean you can't send anything from your house? I'm pretty sure Elliot sent us a card from there," his father spoke up, confused by your wording once more. You only shrugged.

"It doesn't work the same. He told me as much."

In the time that he'd asked that, his mother had already gone pale looking at the photo. It seemed normal enough, a little poor in quality but not everyone has the same ease of access. It looked like a living room, an older style of home given the short, stained carpeting and bay-and-bow window showing an equally dark lawn, illuminated only by a far off, orange streetlight. There were two taller figures, presumably your parents, but neither of their faces were in frame, neither was illuminated very well either, almost fading into the background. A much younger version of you was sat on the floor, one of the few easily visible figures. You had a wide smile on your face, one that was almost shared by the large dog you had your arms thrown around. It was a bulky, old looking husky, strangely peachy in the face.

"Wow," came his mother's breathless reply. One mimicked by her husband seconds later under his breath, decidedly more grim.

You seemed to frown for only a split second, a small twitch more than anything. "This doesn't really work either. I'm sorry."

His mother was quick to shoot up, waving her hand, "Oh, no no, don't worry about it dear. I'm ... how old is your dog, anyhow?"

You'd paused, looked down in thought for a few moments. "Um," you started, quieter than before, "I think ... maybe 50? Older? I don't know. He never really told me when he was born."

The two of them stopped at that, equally as lost in what to respond with.

"Hey mom, I think there might be smoke coming from the kitchen ..." Elliot spoke up, timidly breaking the silence.

-Safe to say, they were unsettled by your history, even more so by how regularly you conveyed it all as plain, normal facts of your life. His father had stopped Elliot a little later, asking if your parents knew about the whole 'talking dog' thing. Something which Elliot confirmed.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, no! They all seem to understand him, or something like that, at least ... I didn't hear him make a peep while I was over, so I'm not really sure. I mean, there was this one time where I woke up in the middle of the night and (Reader) was out in the living room and I thought they were talking to their Dad but it sounded a little weird so ..." Elliot trailed off, only shrugging a little in conclusion.

-The rest of the night they couldn't help but be unnerved. They didn't want to be rude but ... well, it was a little hard for them to accept. Elliot seemed happy at least, you talked with him the most, referencing inside jokes between the two of you freely. They had to be happy about that, any parent would be glad to know their child found someone that makes them Smile.

-Once the night came to an end, you'd all exchanged your goodbyes. Elliot leaning on you as you turned and walked out the door to your car. They'd waved you two off, sharing a look once you pulled out of the driveway onto the road.

"They seem sweet."

[steveseddie]

winning shot

written for the @steddiebingo get lucky mini event | prompt: green | wc: 1,4k | rating: t | tags: basketball games, getting together, background lucas/max

read on ao3

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Eddie says, looking down at the jacket that Steve gave him when he showed up at the trailer.

“I’m not making you do anything,” Steve says with a snort. “You said you wanted to make up for how much of a dick you were to Sinclair before Spring Break.”

Eddie rolls his eyes even if he did say that. “Yeah, but I was thinking more like, letting him roll with advantage on our next campaign or something.”

“Supporting him during the first game of the season is better,” Steve says snobbishly.

And it might be. After all, the whole thing happened because of a basketball game.

But–

“Do I really have to wear this?” Eddie asks with a whiny tilt to his voice.

“Depends. Do you own anything green?” Steve throws back, his hands settling on his hips.

“No,” Eddie mumbles.

“Then yes.”

Throwing his head back, Eddie groans. “Steveeee, it’s your letterman jacket.”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. Doesn’t he get what Eddie is saying?

“It has your name on it.”

“I know.”

Eddie sighs, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Won’t it– it might make people think– you know–”

“What?”

“That you and I are– you know–” He sputters awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Steve says in a bitchy tone. “So?”

“So?” Eddie repeats, baffled. “Do I need to remind you that we live in a small town with small-minded people that already hate me?”

Steve’s face softens at that. “Nothing’s gonna happen, Eds. Jason Carver is gone and the charges have been dropped and everyone will be focused on the game anyway.”

“Fine, let’s say no one tries to burn me at the stake, they still might think we’re together.”

“I don’t care.”

Eddie shuts down the little flutter he feels in his chest. Just because Steve doesn’t mind, it doesn’t mean that it’s something he wants. “That won’t exactly help you score any dates, man.”

“So?” Steve repeats, making Eddie roll his eyes.

“You’re being impossible, Stevie.”

“No, you are,” he says, grabbing the jacket from Eddie’s hands and pressing it against his chest. “Put this on and stop whining.”

Eddie glares at him half-heartedly. “This is going to ruin my reputation worse than the murder charges,” he says but dutifully shrugs the jacket on, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat when he smells Steve’s laundry detergent.

When he looks up, Steve is watching him with a weird expression that makes Eddie fidget. “That bad?” He asks jokingly.

Steve shakes his head, swallows thickly and averts his eyes. And people call Eddie weird. “You’re so dramatic. Come on, we’ll be late.”

And with that, he starts walking to his car. Eddie sighs and follows him. Sinclair better fucking appreciate this.

**

They arrive just as the game is about to start. The bleachers are packed, but Steve makes a beeline for the two spots that Max saved for them.

Clearly she didn’t believe that Eddie would actually show up because her eyes widen a little when she spots them. Then they dart down and her lips tug up into a smirk.

“What are you wearing?” She asks when Eddie flops down next to her.

“Nothing,” he mumbles.

"Is that Steve’s letterman jacket?”

“No,” Eddie lies through gritted teeth.

She sniggers. “You’re so lame, man.”

Eddie splutters indignantly. “Shut up! You’re wearing Sinclair’s jacket!”

Her cheeks pink up a bit, but she still acts smug when she says, “Yeah, because he’s my boyfriend. What’s your excuse?”

Eddie growls, which only makes her smile turn even more smug.

The game starts shortly after. A few minutes in, Sinclair glances in their direction and Eddie sees him make a double take when he spots Eddie. He smiles and waves and Eddie begrudgingly waves back even if he can’t help but feel a surge of affection for the kid.

“Told you he’d be happy to see you,” Steve whispers to him.

Eddie knocks their shoulders together. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Are you gonna explain to me what’s happening, big boy? Or are you just gonna act smug?”

Steve’s eyes sparkle and then he’s explaining basketball to Eddie with the same patience and enthusiasm that he has explained his campaigns or his books or his music. Eddie is instantly endeared.

He catches Max’s eye while Steve is going on and on about something called a ‘shooting guard’.

“Lame,” she mouths, probably because of how whipped Eddie looks right now.

He manages to flip her off without Steve noticing.

**

Near the end of the game, the two teams are tied and it’s up to Sinclair to score the winning shot.

Or at least that’s what Eddie gets from Steve’s hurried explanation.

Everyone at the gym watches with baited breath as Lucas prepares to make the shot. Even Eddie. Though in his case it’s not because he’s invested in the game, but because Steve’s hand is currently wrapped around his wrist, his thumb absently rubbing circles over Eddie’s pulse. Holy shit.

A whistle blows and the shot is made, but Eddie keeps his eyes on their hands, tucked into the space between their legs. Lucas must score, winning the game, because suddenly everyone around them jumps up and starts cheering and clapping.

That includes Steve, who drags Eddie to his feet with the hand that’s still holding Eddie’s.

When Steve finally lets go so he can join the celebration, it takes a moment for Eddie to remember how to move and when he starts clapping too, he can still feel the phantom press of Steve’s thumb against his pulse.

**

They take Max and Lucas out for ice cream after the game.

The kid is on cloud nine, recounting the game as if they didn’t just see him play it. When they drop him off, Lucas thanks Steve for the ride and Eddie for showing up, even if he knows just how painful it must’ve been for him to step foot in the gym.

When it’s Max’s turn, she makes sure to call Eddie ‘lame’ one last time before heading inside.

There’s no need for Steve to move the car with how close Max’s house is to the Munson’s trailer, but he insists on backing up and parking on Eddie’s driveway anyway.

“So what did you think?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Eddie mumbles, and looks up to find Steve smirking. “Don’t expect me to go to every game now, I still think people throwing balls at laundry baskets is stupid.”

“But I could talk you into coming to a few games at least?”

Steve could probably talk him into attending church, Eddie thinks. “Maybe,” he says.

His smirk turns into a lopsided grin that makes Eddie feel a little hot under the collar.

The collar of the letterman jacket he’s still wearing. Right.

“Anyway thanks for the ride. And for letting me wear this,” he says as he starts to shrug it off, but Steve stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Keep it,” he says, biting his bottom lip. “For the next game.”

“You know,” Eddie says, cocking his head and giving Steve a calculating look. “I saw a lot of people not wearing green at the game. Thought that was like, mandatory or something.”

“Uh, no but if you really wanted to show your support to Lucas then–” He trails off with a shrug.

“Mhm, but you know what I did see?” Eddie says, slowly starting to lean over the console. “A lot of girls wearing their boyfriends’ letterman jackets.” He lets his lips stretch into a grin and watches as Steve’s eyes dart down to his mouth. “Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Was that an excuse to get me to wear yours?”

Steve gulps guiltily. “Yeah. I don’t think I was ready for how it would make me feel, though.”

“How’s that?”

“Like this,” he says, grabbing the lapel of the jacket and pulling Eddie towards him, all but crashing their lips together.

Eddie makes a noise of surprise but wastes no time before cupping Steve’s cheek with his hand and kissing him back. He’s glad it’s late and the trailer park is quiet and empty so no one can see them making out.

They eventually pull away, both their lips red and slick with spit, and both stretched into a grin.

“I think I’m gonna have to wear this more often,” Eddie says, smoothing the jacket over his chest. “If that’s how it makes you feel.”

“I thought it was ruining your reputation,” Steve says with a snort.

Eddie laughs. “It is,” he says before fluttering his eyelashes at Steve. “But you’re worth it, sweetheart.”