#the last thing i want is for the people i hold dear to suffer a civil war

[dryemiddi]

To all my American followers out there: stay safe. Please. The outcome of this may very well be a disturbing one.

There is still a chance to disarm this grenade, however. Go vote. Do whatever you can to make sure you can vote. Convince anyone you can and do whatever you can to make sure they can go vote too.

Your vote matters more than it has ever.

The world is watching.

[5sospenguinqueen]

A Million Kisses | Arthur Leclerc x Reader

Summary: You and Arthur have spent your entire life terrorising Charles. But when he turns the tables on you, bringing up a topic you’ve largely ignored since your teenaged years, the dynamic changes.

Warnings: Swearing. Fluff. Bullying Charles

2024 timeline. Pinterest pics. Childhood friends to lovers trope

F1 Masterlist

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scuderiaferrari just posted

liked by its_yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and others 

scuderiaferrari just friday things 

1,997 comments

pierregasly you all know what’s coming

user1 oh dear, not a charles post

its_yn_ln another day, another thirst trap. bet he posted this himself

arthur_leclerc not what i wanted to see when i opened up my phone 

→ its_yn_ln agreed, i think i’ve gone blind 

user2 every charles post summons yn and and arthur

arthur_leclerc where’s the carlos content? only reason i followed

→ charles_leclerc i’d like both of you to piss off

→ its_yn_ln that’s not a nice way to talk to your fans 

alexandrasaintmleux 💕

→ its_yn_ln did charles force you to write that so that it seemed like somebody liked him?

→ arthur_leclerc don’t be silly, yn. he took her phone and wrote it himself 

user3 not the terror twins at it again

user4 poor charles has been suffering from this ever since he joined f1

→ user5 and prior, it just wasn't as well documented lol 

user6 i bet charles begs admin to cancel his posts because he lives in fear of the comments

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, pierregasly and others

charles_leclerc beach days 

1,616 comments 

pierregasly looking good, brother (but i’m praying for you for when they see this) 

its_yn_ln and i thought narcissus loved himself 

→ charles_leclerc i miss the days before arthur befriended you 

→ arthur_leclerc so before we were both born?

→ charles_leclerc exactly 

scuderiaferrari making the most of summer break

→ user7 he’s actually begging for you to take him back so that he doesn’t have to spend another minute with yn and arthur 

its_yn_ln put your chitties away 

→ user8 when people ask me what my fav part of f1 is, i show them yn’s comments 

arthur_leclerc not shown is charles eating waves every two seconds 

→ charles_leclerc still did better than you. you wouldn’t stop staring at yn long enough to concentrate on the waves 

→ user9 what did he sayyyy

→ user10 my ynarthur heart is screaming

→ user11 um, guys, who else thinks there’s truth to this

→ user12 no because they have NEVER let charles have the last comment yet neither clap back at this??

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its_yn_ln just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and others 

its_yn_ln as charles once said, beach days ☀️ although my post is better because it has me and arthur in it 

965 comments

arthur_leclerc anything is better with us and not charles 

→ its_yn_ln more fun too 

→ arthur_leclerc that’s just me, chérie

→ user14 i’m not screaming, you are 

alexandrasaintmelux belle fille

→ its_yn_ln pas comparé à toi. still not sure what you’re doing with charles

→ alexandrasaintmleux doesn’t she look gorgeous @/arthur_leclerc?

→ arthur_leclerc you and charles deserve each other

charles_leclerc and no thank you to the brother who lent you his yacht for your date? 

→ alexandrasaintmleux bébé, it is not a date? remember they made it quite clear

→ charles_leclerc all i’m saying is i do not look at or touch my friends like that 

→ joris_trouche be weird if you did

→ charles_leclerc see @/its_yn_ln weird 

→ its_yn_ln blocked 

francisca.cgomes stunning

→ its_yn_ln marry me?

→ pierregasly @/arthur_leclerc come get your girl 

→ its_yn_ln don’t you fucking start 

oscarpiastri was he holding your hand so you didn’t fall into the water?

→ arthur_leclerc it’s what any good friend would do 

user15 yn and arthur seem to be getting awfully defensive lately 👀

→ user16 no. they’ve always talked about how annoying it is to be accused of being more than friends so how about you don’t contribute to that 

→ user17 yeah but things between them seem to be different lately and now the drivers are publicly commenting on it? 

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arthur_leclerc just posted

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and others 

arthur_leclerc from 2 months to 22 years. it’s been a delight to share every special moment with you. happy birthday, mon problème 🥳🤍

1,027 comments 

its_yn_ln i can’t believe you dug out that baby photo 😭 i look forward to another year with you by my side x

its_yn_ln although waking up to find out you had broken into my apartment and filled it with balloons was a bit of a shock

→ charles_leclerc you might need to get used to seeing that ugly mug first thing in the morning

→ user1 what does this mean?! 

lilymhe okay but the tiara and the shades? iconic

→ its_yn_ln i’m an icon

→ charles_leclerc that’s not how you translate diva 

alexandrasaintmleux happy birthday, yn. can’t wait to see you at dinner later

→ its_yn_ln can my birthday present be you leaving charles at home?

pierregasly happy birthday, yn. drinks on me later

→ its_yn_ln okay, you’re forgiven for teaming up with charles

→ pierregasly i’m not team charles. i’m team ynarthur

→ charles_leclerc we had shirts made

→ arthur_leclerc not today, guys. 

→ user2 oo he used a full stop. he’s pissed

user3 guys, do we think the baby is just a phrase like ‘chaos baby’ or a pet name?

user4 arthur truly is the epitome of ‘if he wanted to, he would’

→ user5 never saw him put in this much effort for any of his previous relationships but yn gets the full princess treatment 

user6 anyone else see that arthur liked @/PastryMan’s tweet about yn

→ user7 okay but let’s not read too much into it. he could just appreciate the compliment fans are giving to his best friend instead of the usual hate people associated with drivers get 

→ user8 also, he was likely highly intoxicated last night lol. pr training vanishes at that point

→ user9 or, hear me out, like his brother and close friends are suggesting, he’s in love with yn 

user10 okay but proof or it didn’t happen @/NoRizz. you wouldn’t be the first one to spread gossip about drivers 

→ user11 okay, i take back my previous comment. i have since seen proof

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by pierregasly, francisca.cgomes and others

charles_leclerc let’s take a moment to appreciate my photography skills. (oh, and the fact that i am a genius and should not be doubted or ridiculed again) tagged: its_yn_ln, arthur_leclerc 

2,024 comments 

its_yn_ln insert ‘i am stupid’ charles radio here. even YOU think you’re stupid and like you said, we shouldn’t argue with you 

→ charles_leclerc i hate you 

→ its_yn_ln okay but i distinctly remember you asking to be my maid of honour yesterday so…? fake news 

arthur_leclerc can’t really boast about your photography skills when these are all grainy/blurry 

→ charles_leclerc i hate you 

→ arthur_leclerc you literally cried when you caught us sleeping

→ its_yn_ln so loud that it woke us up 

→ user12 he really is their #1 stan

francisca.cgomes the cutest couple 

→ pierregasly what about us?

→ its_yn_ln you don’t deserve her

→ pierregasly what did i do? 

→ pierregasly you should be thanking us! if not for our torment, you and arthur never would’ve been forced to confront your feelings

lilymhe tell that man to get his hands off my wife

→ its_yn_ln look away! it was a moment of weakness 

→ arthur_leclerc she’s loved me for 22 years. she’s only known you for 5, back off

its_yn_ln bébé, why is your brother so obsessed with us?

→ arthur_leclerc he has nothing better to do

→ charles_leclerc merde, i thought sucking each other’s faces would keep you too preoccupied to attack me

→ arthur_leclerc never

→ its_yn_ln well, maybe if you stopped taking pics of us when we did, we’d be more inclined to 

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Requests for F1 smau's are open. You can see who I write for on my masterlist :)

[shaisuki]

❝ BITTERSWEET BEGINNINGS. ❞

✞ FEATURING. BULLY! GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU

▶ SERIES MASTERLIST

CONTENT WARNINGS. past mentions of being bullied + harassment + injuries + mentions of death + chapter's short.

NOTES. we're getting nearer. thank you for the comments and the reblogs and the notes. you're all the best.

SYNOPSIS. you finally started what you want.

a brush with death's hands and it given you the life to start again or maybe it was the help of your two new friends. nanami and haibara gave you the chance to maybe enjoy life and be just gone with it. put all things behind since you consider it as your second life. if only it was that easy. never been it was easy for someone like you.

bright-eyed you entered the university dead eyes is when you leave it. must be hard that you have to endure all that humiliation for some godforsaken dreams your parents didn't achieve. first in the family they say. you hold no grudge for them. after all children are the extensions of the parents dreams and you were like any of it. you have to achieve it and then you endured. what would they say that their child who wasted their money for a selfish reason. was it still selfish that it was starting to kill you in that position and you wanted to protect yourself. if only you could disappear. you were granted of it. sort of. it only took you a trip to the hospital and almost meeting your creator.

you overdosed. that's what they said and how you could that happen. you never done it your entire life but who cares about it now. you were getting your freedom back. with a heavy heart you have to say goodbye in silence to your parents. apologize that you were never a good daughter to them and for wasting their efforts. in due time, you will pay back for all of that. you need to suffer first to get things your way and to get things on your way now, you needed to disappear.

getting to another university proves to be difficult not when you want to disappear to people like gojo and geto. first thing when they started to make your life hell is to get to know all the important people in your life. they made you remember that you were in no place to fight them. they hold everything dear to you in their palms and what powerless you could do? stand in shame and let do it their way to you. and you know that they will find you after your sudden disappearance.

when satoru and suguru started to show their interest to you and when things started to get extreme and the people that you asked to helped you started disappearing, you knew you have to slowly plan your escape from them but how could you that you were locked under their gaze. they even show how far things can escalate when one of those who believed you got beaten in front of you.

“this is what happens to people you asked for help, (y/n)-chan.” gojo whispers to you. holding your shoulders while you were forced to watch as suguru helplessly beat him. tears welling up in your eyes as he helplessly took every punch. harder than the last one and when suguru sees you with tears rolling down your eyes, he smiles as the man he beat up falls to the ground. face bloody and eyes swelled shut.

he holds both of your cheeks in bloodied hands. “i don't see the reason why they'll go out of their way to help you. what they would gain from you. certainly you have but you're not what pretty should look like. unattractive and stout. how would you match the girls here? you're only good when we fuck you.” suguru explains it to you like it was the reality you needed to wake up to. “try to reach out someone for help and they will get worst than this. understand, hmm?” he hums, smearing your round cheeks with blood. you look up to him. dried blood in his cheek and you nod. understanding that he can do it again and again if he'll have to. he's more of a brute than satoru when angered and you took his anger many times you can count and it always ended with you having to take classes off to recover.

they spun you around. slowly walking away from where your almost savior lays down. you craned your neck to look at him. he managed to open one of his eyes and looks at you and more tears poured from your eyes. mouthing him with i'm sorry, i really am. your lips trembling as remorse took you over. repeating the same words again and again and hoping that it would reach him. you should never asked for help. you should never put someone in danger. it's all your fault. it's all your fucking fault.

you blink the tears away, remembering the day how it ends up to someone who helps nor approach you in anyway.

“i appreciate it but you can't. please yuu, don't.” you tearily told him about your decision. haibara explains it to you what he can offer to help you with nanami by his side.

you thought about it but you won't be accepting any help but haibara shakes his head. “i promise, they won't find out. nanami and me are good at hiding secrets.” the brunette offered you a smile. “but why? you never have a reason to help me, nanami. haibara.” looking at the both of them. nanami kept silent. drinking his can of coffee from the vending machine. “you seem nice.” was haibara's reason to you and you cry harder. tears blurring your vision and haibara panics at your crying expression. “are you kidding me!? nice? nice won't cut it out for you offering me this! helping me!” you cry harder. “i can't do anything for now! a-and i don't have anything for me to offer to both of you!” you sob and haibara softens up. you were like his sister and even though he knows the consequences of what will happen if they were about to find, he does not care. they only recently find out about your situation but he wants to help in any capacity he can do and nanami must surely wants the same.

“we don't want anything from you but your trust, (y/n).” his voice is somewhat sincere and comforting and he was like a big brother from how he is acting towards you. “you can start a new life, away from them.” your tears stops to roll down on your cheeks. “we're your friends and this is what friends do.” haibara said to you and for the first time in your life, you could finally breath.

with nanami and haibara, they helped you transfer hospitals. sooner or later that gojo and geto where about to find where you are. they can't afford to see you cry and be hurt because of them. you were really grateful and somehow was ashamed of it, but nonetheless you wanted to be away, away from what their madness can do to you.

that was the start. nanami and haibara took care of your papers for your transfer to another university. one that they wouldn't suspect of you transferring. far away from a maddening crowd but enough to provide you a good education and a degree that you would find useful later in life.

there wasn't a day where you didn't cry. first when you said goodbye in secret to your parents. simply disappearing in their lives like you didn't exist. promising that you would come back when the time's right and when all dues are paid and the last is when you stand in front of the university's main entrance. a final tear for the memories you desperately wanted to forget and for them. there's only an end to where you tolerated them. it's your time to play now and what makes it right is you're now standing in front of the building as the new employee. a multinational corporation hailing at a time where japan started to be a first world country after the war. the company's name in sleek and in big bold letters glinting in the sunlight.

this would be the start of your life.

TAGLIST. @missakward123 @lupitalove @i00bear @socialanxietyvictim @tourmalxine @labelt-san @ghostlyworld @kashxyou @chiiiiiiiiiiifuuuuuuuu @cute-sucker @skii-high @boyimjustaloserforyourlove @jossayuuu @bubblesandsand1-0 @ply4vnce @witchymermaid12 @luna-v-roiya @mariyumemi @sinfullygay @higurumapet @kvk6433gkcigv @s-j320 @bts-skz @imcreepininyourheartbabe @hazzelle-kento @cashcadaver @n1vi @kiruupon @vebbiewuzhere @its-princessmara @ssetsuka @unicornqueen05 @idkwhattfimdoinghere2 @sunnytyun @tomriddles-wh0re @ya-mamaaaaa @wateriswhatiam @red-writes @saltyladyflower

[vintagetvstars]

Alexander Siddig Vs. Jeremy Brett

Last Poll of the Quarter Finals!

Propaganda

Alexander Siddig - (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine) - The very first actor I ever had a crush on.

Jeremy Brett - (The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, The Three Musketeers, BBC Play of the Month) - "Listen, I fell in love with One Man when I was 16 and have never regretted it. Jeremy Brett is Everything. Handsome, charming, sweet, amazing voice, delightfully eccentric. Shakespearean actor best known for playing Sherlock Holmes in the 80s, he is widely considered the definitive Holmes and for good reason. Bisexual and bipolar, devoted husband, he was known to serenade friends at restraunts and hold scavenger hunts in his home, where he hid the plunger in a chandelier. Often pigeonholed into period pieces, he owned them. He was a pretty young man who became not just handsome but arresting. He was one of those people who walked into a room and instantly commanded attention, and I for one have never regretted giving him my attention." Full text propaganda included below the cut

- No Negative Propaganda Please -

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Alexander Siddig:

“At my first meeting with Garak I became visibly flustered. That was entirely my choice. It wasn’t written into the script. So I set off in that direction right from the get-go. And Andy (Andrew Robinson) obviously loved it, and that character became a series-long character because of that first scene. It’s an innocuous little scene on one of the little replimats on the station, and it only lasted like five seconds but it packed a punch because of the visible, kind of a charged, discomfort. That really made it. [...] I subconsciously keep that door open with just about every character that I play, and I always keep it as ambiguous as possible. One of my first roles was in [the TV movie] A Dangerous Man: Lawrence After Arabia with Ralph Fiennes and I played Feisal and again, not in the script, but that was charged with homoerotica and implied homosexuality. I’d just come fresh off that project. And I’ve done it numerous times since, characters that are written straight I just make sure are not quite straight. That’s just one of my things, probably because I’m not quite straight myself and that’s probably perfect." - Alexander Siddig in a recent interview with comicsbeat.com

Jeremy Brett:

“The superbly handsome Jeremy Brett, the regularity of his features made dramatic by a broken nose, the mellifluousness of his voice made arresting by a slight vocal impediment, presented a ravaged and romantic Holmes, a man who had suffered deeply and whose recourse to the syringe was the compulsion of a self-destroying temperament. His relationship with Edward Hardwicke’s transparently decent Watson was that of a drowning man clinging to a raft. The authenticity of the performance was unmistakable.” — “The man who created a monster; Conan Doyle hated the fame of his suave hero, but he couldn’t kill him”, Simon Callow, The Times, 18 December 2009.

Listen, I fell in love with One Man when I was 16 and have never regretted it. Jeremy Brett is Everything. Handsome, charming, sweet, amazing voice, delightfully eccentric. Shakespearean actor best known for playing Sherlock Holmes in the 80s, he is widely considered the definitive Holmes and for good reason. Bisexual and bipolar, devoted husband, he was known to serenade friends at restraunts and hold scavenger hunts in his home, where he hid the plunger in a chandelier. He also practiced archery in the middle of London. He could sing, he acted alongside Audrey Hepburn twice. He wanted to be a jockey when he was young but then grew a foot too tall. He had rheumatic fever as a child and was told he would never climb stairs. Dear Reader, he jumped over couches on film. In War and Peace he is very clearly the only actor riding a real horse, and is one of few actors who played both Sherlock Holmes and Watson. Often pigeonholed into period pieces, he owned them. He was a pretty young man who became not just handsome but arresting. He was one of those people who walked into a room and instantly commanded attention, and I for one have never regretted giving him my attention.

[eufezco]

Hi. Are you still doing Bridgerton requests? And if so, can you write something about the reader discovering she's pregnant but deciding to wait after twenty weeks to tell Colin because she's worried about the risk of a miscarriage and at their engagement party the reader faints (similar to Penelope) and the family doctor confirms reader's pregnancy and Colin is shocked and a bit betrayed but the reader tells him why she did not tell him right away and Colin understood.

SHOULD'VE SAID

english isn't my first language. no use of y/n

One of Colin's arms was around your body, hugging you against him while he happily talked to your mamas about your plans after the wedding. You stopped taking part in the conversation a while ago, was it too hot in the room or did it just seem that way to you?

The smell of the food turned your stomach, the tight corset that barely let you move now seemed not to let you breathe either. The voices of the people talking so loudly and their laughter gave you a headache and you blinked slower and slower each time.

Colin noticed how you moved restlessly under his arm.

—Are you feeling well? —He asked you.

You nodded. —I just need some fresh air.

You left Colin's side to walk to the door but your feet felt too heavy and you found it increasingly difficult to focus on keeping your eyes open. The air entering your lungs was not enough and your breathing was very slow. You tried to reach Anthony, Kate and Benedict Bridgerton who were by the door or you thought it was them, you could hardly recognize them anymore because of your blurred vision.

Your legs felt very weak and when you tried to take another step, they gave up. Colin had not taken his eye off you so when he saw you collapse, he dropped his crystal glass on the floor and put his arms around your body before you hit the floor. The last thing you heard was the gasps of shock from the guests and Colin asking for someone to call the doctor.

When you opened your eyes you were in your room, lying comfortably in your bed with Colin sitting in a chair next to you, holding your hand. His eyes lit up once he saw you awaken and he kissed your knuckles. —How are you feeling, my dear?

You hummed and rubbed your eyes. —I feel well. What time is it? How long —. You hissed in pain when you tried to sit up on the bed and you placed your hands on your belly. You looked at Colin in panic and he squeezed your hand. He put his other hand on top of the one in your belly.

—Everything is fine. —He assured you.

—Colin, I am so sorry, I—

—How long have you known?

You swallowed nervously. —Two months —. Colin's face broke down as he removed his hand from your belly. You grabbed the hand that held yours tighter so that he couldn't let go. —But I promise, Colin, I was going to tell you eventually.

He frowned. —Eventually? Why did you not tell me the moment you knew?

You were getting nervous and tried again to sit up in bed, this time the sharp pain that you felt was much worse. You hissed again and squeezed your eyes shut as you let go of Colin's hand to take them both to your belly. He quickly got up from the chair in case he had to call the doctor, but you grabbed his hand one more time to stop him.

Colin was upset, disappointed with the decision you made to keep it from him but there was no way he was going to let you go through pain. He sat back down next to you and let you squeeze his hand as the pain passed. He looked at you, with his big dark eyes making sure that the pain did not go any further, he did not care about the explanations, only that you were well.

Your eyes filled with tears, you were worried about the baby and you were afraid you had disappointed Colin. —I wanted to be sure before you knew. The doctor told me that miscarriages occur very frequently up to week twenty. If something bad had happened, I would have rather that you-

—If something bad had happened I would rather have gone through it with my wife than have her suffer alone —. Colin used his thumb to wiped away your tears.

—I am sorry, Colin, I should have told you —. More tears slid down your cheeks but Colin was quick to catch them.

Carefully, he made room in your bed and helped you lay your head on his chest. He murmured the sweetest words of comfort as he caressed your hair with one hand while his other one went to rest on your belly. Once you had relaxed, you asked him who else knew about the baby and Colin told you that only your families knew.

There were a few seconds of silence caused by everyone's surprise at the doctor's announcement, but that silence was broken when Hyacinth and Gregory gasped and immediately rushed to ask the doctor thousands of questions about when they could see you, how was the baby after what happened, and whether it would be a girl or a boy. Your mamas were so happy that the two women hugged each other. Benedict and Eloise patted Colin on the back which brought him out of the shock of the news while Kate and Anthony looked at the father-to-be with big smiles on their faces

—You know? Anthony was very happy when the doctor said you were pregnant but I truly believe he is also a little jealous that I am going to become a father before him.

You giggled and hugged Colin tighter.

Colin wanted to scream to everyone that you were carrying his child but he had to wait until after the wedding, until then he could just lie there caressing your belly and feel it grow little by little.

[himasgod]

Kinich x r4ped!reader

Scaramouche x family issues!reader

(I finally finished this request! I've tried to make it as non-specific as possible, I know this is a sensitive subject. If any of you, dear readers, have gone through a similar experience, I want you to know that this is a serious subject, and that you are not alone. You have many things, many people, many laws and entities protecting you. Feel free to express yourself. You can count on me if you need anything.)

Kinich

Where you find comfort on him after being sexu4lly 4bused.

It was a thick night in Natlan, and the heat was barely able to alleviate the weight you felt in your chest. In the last few days, you had tried to return to your normal life, pretending that everything was fine; but the reality was that the shadows of your pain continued to haunt you. You didn't want to talk, not even to Kinich, afraid that your words would fail to convey the hell you had lived through. However, the concern in his eyes convinced you that tonight you could no longer bear your suffering alone.

Kinich was at your side, silent. Not asking for explanations, not pressuring. Despite his pragmatic personality, he was perceptive and knew when someone was carrying more than they could hold. He watched you for a moment, his eyes serious and attentive, without traces of judgment, only open for whatever you decided to trust him with.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to say," Kinich murmured softly, breaking the silence gently. His rough hands, accustomed to combat and hunting, sought yours with unusual care, as if he were afraid of breaking you at the slightest contact. “But I am here, for whatever you need. You know I love you, forever”

You felt the calm strength in his touch. A shiver ran through your skin, as if Natlan’s warmth was not enough to calm the coldness that had remained inside you since that fucking day. The words were stuck in your throat, and although you wanted to answer him, your voice seemed to have faded. But Kinich understood, as if your silence spoke for itself. He gently pulled you towards him, and without saying anything else, he let his arm surround your body with a protective warmth, gently, as if he were leaving you enough time to react, in case you did not want to have any contact.

“I know that what they did to you…” he began to say, his voice low and full of a weight that he rarely showed, “is something that no human being should endure. I can't undo what they did to you, or erase that pain… but I'll be here, even if you just want company without words."

You squeezed your eyes shut, and at last, the knot in your chest began to give way. Tears ran free, and Kinich didn't look away for a moment. He stayed by your side, like an immovable pillar in the middle of the storm that was hitting you. There was no rush, no attempt to change or minimize what you felt. He was simply there, sharing the weight in silence.

When you finally found your voice, you could barely whisper through your tears:

"I'm scared… scared that I'll never feel whole again, that this has taken a part of me away forever. I feel dirty, I've been taken away…"

Kinich looked at you, his gaze filled with an empathy rare in him. With a deliberate slowness, on purpose in case you didn't feel comfortable, he placed his hand on your face, gently wiping away the tears with his thumb.

"You're so much more... you are stronger than you think,” he replied, with a conviction so deep that he almost managed to make you believe him. “They haven’t taken anything from you. You will overcome it, and you will be the same as always. It is just a process that you will face… and I will be there throughout the process, helping you. You will overcome it. I promise you that.”

His words were like a balm, sincere and firm. Although the doubt and the pain were still present, Kinich’s presence enveloped you in a feeling of security. He did not promise that everything would be fine, but he did promise that he would be there, ready to accompany you in every step you took to heal.

You both stayed like that, sharing the silence under Natlan’s starry sky, and you understood that in Kinich you had found a refuge.

Scaramouche

Where he comforts you after you've told him your family's expectations of you.

The mood in Sumeru was gloomy, reflecting the weight of your thoughts. You had had a heated argument with your family earlier that morning, a conflict that seemed to repeat itself in an endless cycle. It was differences of expectations, impossible demands, and a constant comparison that drained every particle of peace you tried to build. You didn't know how to explain to them your desire to live on your own terms, without the weight of their expectations on your shoulders.

You found yourself walking aimlessly through the city, trying to clear your mind. However, a familiar shadow appeared in your path, and looking up, you saw Scaramouche, arms crossed and a disdainful expression you knew all too well.

"Are you done ghosting around town?" he asked in his usual scathing tone, but something in his eyes revealed more concern than contempt.

You sighed, trying to keep your composure, but the tension in your chest was too strong.

“If you’ve only come to make fun of it, then you might as well leave it,” you replied in a dry tone, hoping your words would drive him away.

To your surprise, Scaramouche didn’t move. Instead, he stared at you intently, as if he were trying to decipher the shadows behind your words.

“I’m not here to make fun of you, fool,” he murmured, his tone softening only slightly. “Though sometimes it seems like you don’t even understand what you need.”

His words made your barriers crumble, and without knowing how, you found yourself telling him everything. The overwhelming expectations, the rejection of your decisions, the constant criticism that felt like daggers in your heart. As you spoke, Scaramouche’s expression changed, a mix of contained rage and dark compassion that only he seemed to possess.

“So… you can’t live up to them and they know it,” he finally said, after listening to you in silence. “Why do you have to mold yourself in their image?”

You looked at him in shock, tears threatening to spill out. It was the first time someone had said it out loud, like a truth you hadn’t allowed yourself to believe.

“Because… they’re my family. I’m supposed to make them happy.”

Scaramouche snorted, his gaze turning icy.

“That’s absurd,” he muttered, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Family shouldn’t be a burden that crushes you. They don’t have the right to decide how you live. If they truly loved you, why would they hurt you this way?”

His words were harsh, but they carried a sincerity that cut through every one of your doubts. You moved a little closer, seeking refuge in his presence. Though Scaramouche rarely showed affection to you, eben if he was your boyfriend, this time he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let you lean on him, his hand resting gently on your back as the weight of your tears fell silently.

“You don’t need to live up to their expectations to be worth something. If they don’t see it, it’s their problem, not yours,” he murmured, almost in a whisper. “And I… well, I’m the last one who should say this, but… you’re not alone in this fight.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt like someone understood you without judging you. Scaramouche, with his reticent nature and his own history of pain, knew more than he let on.

And in that instant, you realized that even if your family would never understand your choices, maybe you had someone at your side who could support you without asking for anything in return.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[fanbasetwo]

TIL DEATH DO US PART , RICKY

PAIRING: husband ! ricky × wife ! afab reader

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

GENRE: fluff + angst

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

WORD COUNT: 16.2K

FEAT: JAY from ENHYPEN + some ocs

MASTERLIST !!

NOTE FROM SENA , this kinda flopped on my enha blog but I still wanted to reach more people, so here it is. an ricky version of the same fic, if you find ‘jake’ instead of ‘ricky’ in some paras please mention so that I can edit it out. hope you have fun reading this <3💗

DEAR RICKY,

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

With regret, Y/N.

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

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

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

Why couldn't you have waited?

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

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

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

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

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

“She suits me well enough.”

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

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

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

“Please... Ricky. I'm sorry...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you gave up.

A smile, then another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the fall hits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What on earth just happened?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But today isn't anything special.”

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

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

“Will this do?” she asks.

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

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

He doubles down. “We are.”

“Ricky, no.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heck, it was funny for you to watch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should he lie down first?

Wait for you?

Or speak?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For Ricky though,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

November 4th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[yilingpatriarchscvnt]

They were too late to get you back.

Warnings: mention of death, arguments, angst with no happy ending, neglected reader, jealousy.

Diluc x reader, Alhaitham x reader

"Never got the chance to apologize.."

DİLUC

Diluc and you were not the type of people who would fight often, been a relationship with him almost 4 years. Sure, everything is going well.

Well... it was going well. For the past 1 year everything changed for you and him. He barely came home, interact with you, ignoring you most of the time... and kept arguing, fighting over small things.

You never opened your mouth or fight back, you loved diluc so much that it was starting to hurt. Your shared room started to feel cold, no more morning kisses or hugs before diluc went to work, cold breakfasts and dinner all by yourself. Even if he did join the diner he would be quiet all the time, not even looking at you.

You did kept your mouth shut, holding for a hope... a hope for your future with him. Until you heard the conversation with Jean. The last knife that would break you.

"She's so useless, I cant keep up with her annoying presence all the time. All she do is stay at home and distract me from work... she keeps finding noneless things to argue with me. I just want to break the ties with her already, being with her is so tiring."

"Am I... that bad?" Who knew your dear lover was thinking of you like this for the past 1 year. All you wanted was too be like the past relationship you both had. Warm bed, morning kisses, happy breakfast and dates. Covering your mouth trying not to make any sound you left there sobbing quietly.

You did everything, I mean really everything. That all arguing was really nothing for him? You just asked for him to stay by yourside for more. You were slowly draining from inside, you had no one but diluc. Only his presence was keeping you sane but this cold mansion was making you crazy.

You returned back to the mansion, you had enough. Talking with him would go nowhere after all. You wanted his attention, you wanted him to see your worth. Going to the storage room picking up the sword once you held before moving in with your so called lover. Taking a mission from katheryne, you walked to the lawachurls camp.

You were going to show him that you are still worth for something, that you could help him with everything if he asked for it. Even if it meant death. Standing in front of the big creature holding your sword tightly you ran towards to it.

..Oh how wrong you were, thinking you could defeat that monster. Laying on a pool of blood coming from your head. Suddenly feeling peacefull for the first time after 1 year of suffering from neglect. Looking at the shining stars above you. Your head ringing from aches, sword a meter away. Faint screaming noises from back. You couldn't bother to look that way.

"Please..." a faint voice big hands caressing your cheek, weird it wasnt raining but you could feel wetness on your cheeks. Turning your eyes to the voice. Hands wiping away your blood.

"Diluc.." your throat dry, coughing the blood. Your beloved, your future. How could you hate him when he was the only one left in your life? İs this really how you were going to die? As a pathetic advanturer? Few tears sliding from your face as your blurry vision tried to capture every beauty on his face.

"Jean is coming here so... please... please dont leave me now..I wont neglect you anymore...I will beg on my knees once you recover... so dont leave me here all alone.." Ah... was he also holding a hope on his hands too? A future would be great with him. Your eyelids feeling heavy, heart beating slowly as the seconds passing, his voice becoming more and more faint.

"Sleep...Can I sleep in your arms?" Your head falling to his chest, inhaling the scent for the last time you missed for so long. Diluc holding your cold body close to him, screaming and crying cursing to the celestia as you drift away from him.

Alhaitham

Alhaitham was no bad guy, I mean if it is you, he actually is willing to do anything for you. He is sure workaholic, but you guys were making sure spending time.

You met him in akademiya when you guys were like 18-19. İt wasnt a love in first sight infact you hated him because he was a cocky man. He barely cared for any situtations, always one step ahead of you, teasing you even if other cant really understand his way of teasing. But overall because of kaveh you guys did get along sometimes.

Suprisingly he was the one who confessed with a valentines card, it was cute since he was shy about it and now its been 7 years.

Alhaitham is good at fighting so sometimes he takes dangerous missions other than being scribe and that worries you a little. You were just a researcher in akademiya so you cant always be with him. First time meeting with The Traveler your mind was at ease since they were with Alhaitham and helped him with secret missions in desert.

From 7 years to this day he is also not the type of person who really shows affection towards to someone but you, it made you feel speacial. But after all that archon saving missions he invites traveler to dinner, hanging out with her more and more. You told yourself that you were not jealous and its normal to hang out with people they like.

This became so often that you were feeling so neglected, you couldnt even talked about this with alhaitham since you felt like he wouldnt care about it.

You were in your room with kaveh, he was trying to finish his desings as you were staring at the ceiling. "Saw alhaitham with a woman today while coming here." Kaveh broke the silence. "Do you know her?" He turned to you.

"You mean the traveler?" You asked tilting your head. "Uhm no? Traveler left to fontaine almost 1 week ago..." he was cold sweating, your eyes widened from shock. Then who he was meeting up with for 1 week?

"Kaveh... tell me your joking?" You laughed. İt was probably one of the jokes he was making right? But he remained silent looking down. No you wouldnt believe it until you see it with your own eyes. "Y/N wait-"

You stormed off to the Sumeru City streets heart beating like crazy. You stopped 20 meter away from alhaitham, hiding in the corner. You saw him... his betrayal as he caressed another womans cheek. She was beautiful, long silky hair and shining eyes, thin and elegance body. Your eyes watering slowly as you watched him lean for a kiss.

You ran from there. As fast as you can, till your lungs gave up. Entering your shared home to pack things up, you looked at youself on the mirror. Hair that looked horrible, sleepy eyes, body that looked like a frog in your eyes. But her... she was beautiful unlike you. You cried for the first time after years, wiping your tears as you packed your things. Leaving your room with no trace of you.

Kaveh on the other hand, explaining alhaitham that you saw everything. Panic rising in him he ran to the shared house. Walking inside slowly, trying to hear if there were any noise. "Y/N? I.. I came home?" He shouted. Feeling weird like the house got colder and quiet. His heart still beating like crazy he rushed to your room only to be faced with a tidy bed, empty warddrobe and empty studying desk.

This was a cruel joke on him right? You were joking, pranking him to make him regret for not telling you sooner it was for a mission right? His hand covering his face as he falls on his knees calling out your name a few times before breaking down.

Looking around trying to find anything that belonged to you, walking inside the house he spotted a letter.

My beloved lover,

I had to leave our home because my heart was hurting too much. Sometimes, I saw things that made me scared—little moments that maybe meant nothing but felt big and heavy to me. I've always struggled with feeling good enough, and these fears made me feel even smaller.

Leaving wasn’t about anger; it was about being so overwhelmed by sadness that staying felt impossible. I never wanted to run away, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I wasn’t what you needed.

I'm really sorry for any pain my leaving has caused. I hope one day we can understand each other better, but for now, I need some space to work through these feelings.

Take care,

[Your Name]

That was it, you left without giving a hint where you went. Guilt eating alhaitham up. For him you were perfect, you were everything he needed. Even your silence made him happy and peacefull. He was never good at showing his emotions and expressions but when you were with him he felt like he didnt need to force himself. You understood everything about him.

He lay down on your bed, a faint scent inhaling as he slightly squezzing the letter in his hand. Murmuring your name, begging to the teyvat to bring you back to him.

[sonotpattismith]

My Lost, Fearless Leader. (yuta okkotsu x reader)

As the men masqueraded, I hoped you’d return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’d learned, because love’s never lost once perspective is earned.

word count: 9k warnings: angst, me never making it easy for poor Yuta a/n: inspired by Peter by Taylor Swift. Lowkey a self-insert as I too am a therapist, tee hee. I hope y’all enjoy it, I absolutely love writing for Yuta even though I make him suffer every time 🥹🫶🏻

masterlist.

Dear Okkotsu,

I know you only landed last week, but you left me with so many questions when you said goodbye. At the risk of sounding too forward, I thought for a moment that you would kiss me before you left. You had a look in your eye, one I’d never seen before, and I even thought I saw you square your shoulders like you were about to charge into battle.

Inumaki offered to give me your number when I asked about you, but I feared too quick of a response if I were to text you. After all, I love to torture myself. Somehow a letter felt safer, more disconnected. Still, I hope you have the time to write back to me while you’re out there growing as you so desperately wanted to.

You still have me in your corner here in Tokyo.

With kind regards,

L/N.

Dear L/N,

I hope this letter gets to you soon, though I know it has some way to go— I don’t want to leave you waiting again. I wondered if I should just text you, but you’re right, maybe this is best for wimps like me who were too scared to kiss the girl they like before traveling oceans away. There’s more courage in me hiding behind a pen than I ever had standing in front of you.

No matter how badly I wanted to show you how I felt, I didn’t feel worthy enough when I looked at that scar on your face— one I should have been able to prevent. There’s so much for me to learn about this world, and Gojo-Sensei says Kenya is where I need to be. I trust him implicitly, and I only hope here I’ll be able to grow into someone worthy of coming back to all of you at Jujutsu High. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I hope to become someone worthy enough to indulge myself in you as well.

I hope you can find it in you to wait for me all the way in your corner of Tokyo.

Respectfully,

Okkotsu.

Dear Okkotsu,

You were right, your letter did travel far, and after two weeks, I feared I may not ever hear back from you.

What happened with Geto Suguru wasn’t your fault, and, if I remember correctly, you were the one that saved all of us that night. It breaks my heart that you feel you don’t have a place here with us. I never thought you needed to prove yourself, and if that’s the only reason you went thousands of miles away— then you should board the next flight back over.

If I had known it was the scar on my face that stopped you, I would have covered it just for you. No one else around here is willing to take the blame for me when I break one of Maki’s spears— that alone should earn you a spot right beside me over here. Speaking of, I hope the bump on your forehead has gone down.

Luckily for the both of us, patience is my best virtue, but I do hope you don’t make me wait terribly long. You don’t have to be the strongest.

Holding my breath,

Y/N.

Dear L/N,

Maybe eventually I’ll work up the courage to call you, but our weeks of waiting in between will just have to do for now.

I think you’re beautiful— regardless of your scar, and I hope I didn’t send the wrong message when I said it’s what stopped me. I only meant that it reminded me of the kind of guy that deserves your attention, one that has brought about more good than he has bad in his life.

I’ve hurt so many people, and it wouldn’t be right of me not to try to make up for the wrongs I’ve caused. It’s only been a month, but Miguel has taught me so much, and I’ve seen so many wonderful things. I’m not sure if you’re interested, but I’m sending you some pictures of all my favorite parts.

I hope Maki has been merciful to you, and, yes, my bump is gone. Still, the little scar there reminds me of you each time I see it. So, I suppose I should thank her.

We’ve been talking so much about me, but I want to hear how you’re doing back in your corner of the world. How have your classes been going? I almost miss hearing everyone arguing with Gojo-Sensei every morning.

I don’t want to be the strongest, but I want to be strong enough to be worthy of you. The last thing I want is to keep you waiting too long, but however long it takes for me to be able to make a mark on those who have shown such faith in me.

Thinking of you,

Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

Surely that’s not you in that picture beside the giraffe? It’s only been two months— what are they feeding you over there? I had to do a triple take. You look well, Okkotsu.

I’m starting to wonder if it’s really you behind that ink. You were never so bold when you were here. Do you have a ghostwriter? I have my doubts, but I still hope all those thoughtful words really are coming from you.

I can see how hard you’ve been working, and I hope you’re beginning to find in yourself the pride I and all us here at home have always had in you. I don’t think anyone blames you for the unfairness that’s clung to you thus far, and no one expects you to make up for any of it— at least I know I don’t. If you really insist on doing so though, maybe you can start by giving me a call every once and a while? I’m sure you're busy, but I’d love to hear your voice again.

Classes have been going well. We’re almost going into our second year now, and everyone still talks so fondly of you. We wish you were here to start the year with us. I certainly miss having someone who was equally as clueless when it came to this world— it felt like you were the last shred of normalcy I was hanging onto. It’s okay though, I suppose I have some growing to do too.

Also, you don’t need to be so formal with me, I think you’ve earned the first name basis. Unless of course, you need to build up the courage for that, too.

I only felt it was fair to send some pictures of all of us here as well— though they’re nowhere near as badass as your safari photos. Please keep sending them— I’ll cherish the ones I have here for now though.

Still waiting for you,

Y/N.

Three months following Yuta’s departure from Tokyo, you first received an actual call from him. You had just turned in for the night, muscles aching from the mission you and Maki had just returned from only an hour or two prior. Truthfully, you were having a difficult time with the added responsibility that was accompanying your new year at Jujutsu High.

Last year, at the very least, you had Yuta there who seemed on a fairly level playing field with you. Still, he held more of a determination to move forward in his life as a sorcerer than you did. After your encounter with Geto Suguru that had left you partially blinded in your right eye, it was difficult for you to find that gusto you had when you first arrived.

The deep lulls of slumber had just begun to penetrate your exhausted mind, and you could swear a more pleasant dream was just beyond your reach. When your phone began vibrating underneath your still cool pillow, your brows furrowed at the intrusion. The sound caused an electric-like jolt in your body that had you shooting up as if someone had just pulled the fire alarm. Calming your racing heart, you reached down to snatch the device up. Your eyes squinted to adjust to the blue light emitting from the screen, and you saw a number you didn’t recognize. Under the caller location though, it indicated that it was coming from Kenya.

Sitting up with a gasp, you gaped down at the device, uncertain excitement bubbling in your stomach and up your chest. Without a second thought, you swiped to answer the call. Amidst your anticipation of who you thought might be on the other line, you forgot to greet the caller.

“Um… uh- hello?”

A smile spread across your cheeks at the sound of his timid voice.

“A call from Kenya,” You began teasingly, your voice still hoarse from sleep. “I wonder who it could be.”

There was an abrupt shuffling on the other line, and you could already picture him pacing around whatever space he was currently occupying.

“You got me!” Yuta quipped nervously, quickly checking the time on his phone upon hearing the sleepy tone that laced your voice. It wasn’t too late over in Tokyo, and he figured if he didn’t call you now while he still had the nerve to do it, he never would. Okkotsu had determined during his time in Kenya that his confidence somehow peaked right after a successful mission. Naturally, this was when he calculated it would be the best time to call you with the lowest possibility of making a stuttering fool of himself. “Di-Did I wake you? I can call back another-”

“After you took three months to gather all that courage up?” You joked with a fond smile, reaching down to toy with the corner of your pillow. Despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. “I think I can stay up for a few minutes.”

He was grateful, so eternally grateful that you couldn’t see the way the blood rushed up his neck and into his face. Pressing a cool hand against his cheek as if it would make the heat die down, he forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It had been too long already since he last spoke, and the silence on the call was becoming overbearing as he thought of anything to say.

“You there, Yuta?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m, uh-- still here.” The boy chuckled pathetically, pounding his balled up fist against his thigh, willing himself to quit being such a loser. Shooting up to begin his short trek around his room once again, he took a deep breath. “I-I wanted to thank you. You know, for writing to me the past few months. I think they’ve been kind of motivating me, actually.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, lying back down on your pillow to stare stupidly up at the ceiling of your dorm. In hearing that shy voice that you had been missing for so long, you had forgotten about the aching, abused muscles that had been assaulting you just minutes prior. In its place was the rushing endorphins of your child-like crush on the boy on the other line. “So, when you come back strong enough to beat Sensei’s ass, I can take partial credit, right?”

His soft laugh filled your once silent room, inciting the overwhelming butterflies in your stomach to erupt in a fluttering haze.

“It’ll all be you.” Yuta joked halfheartedly, rubbing the back of his neck in relief that he’d gotten past the awkward silence unscathed. He flopped back down onto his bed and looked out the window at the slowly setting sun. “Uh… speaking of Sensei, how is everything over there? The exchange event is coming up soon, right?”

This made your smile slowly wane.

“Yeah, it’s next month. There was some drama with the first years, but everyone else seems to be pretty excited.”

“Everyone else? It sounds like you’re not including yourself in there.”

You sighed gently. Yuta was always so determined about growing as a sorcerer, so these types of events were always right up his alley. Not to mention the manner in which he absolutely wiped out the sister school at last year’s event. It actually caused a bit of second-hand embarrassment to watch the whole ordeal play out— no matter how quickly it concluded. After the atrocities of the past few months though, you couldn’t find it within yourself to be excited for the goodwill event.

It wasn’t that long ago that you watched all your friends meet near death at the hands of Suguru Geto, and you weren’t too far behind. They had all seemingly moved on from it all so fast— all of them except for Yuta Okkotsu. It seemed that all it had done was given him more ammunition to spark his journey of self discovery. You wished it had had the same effect on you. In truth though, all it sparked was a fear that your life, along with your friends, was constantly at the mercy of a crueler fate than most your age would be subjected to.

It felt wrong. Yuta shouldn’t have felt the need to bear the weight of you and your friends’ injuries all on his own. He shouldn’t have needed to go off to search for some unknown answer to all the insecurities his grueling life had thrust upon him. Still, it was so important to him. You could see the way it gave him purpose, a will to keep going despite all that he’d been through. It wasn’t his fault, but you always wished you could have found that same purpose within slaying curses and putting your life on the line.

A soft call of your name on the other line pulled you from your self-depricating thoughts. Shaking your head, you attempted to lighten the mood.

“Last name again? So formal. I thought we were past that, Okkotsu.”

“Oh-- right, sorry.” He stammered out before trying your first name out on his lips. It was delicate in the way it rolled off his tongue, sending warmth straight through your chest. Recalling your sudden silence once his nerves subsided, his lips pulled pensively into a thin line. “Um, have you been doing okay? You know, since…”

Brows rising just a hair, you were shocked at how easily he read through your sudden change in tone. Your lip quivered into a slight frown. A deep breath was suddenly pushing down that biting urge you had to tear up.

“Yeah, I’ve been okay. Just… wish you were still here is all.” You confessed into the dark, lonely dorm room. “I think you were the only one who understood how overwhelming this all was.”

Yuta felt his chest constrict at your earnest confession. Part of him felt guilty for not being there, but he knew deep down that he was doing the right thing by building himself up before he allowed himself to come back— especially to you. Still, the boy knew where you were coming from. It wasn’t easy being the newcomer in a world where your peers had a fifteen year head start on.

The two of you understood each other—empathized with one another. You both strived to make sure the other was doing okay; whether that be sneaking out late at night to practice with one another in hopes you both wouldn’t make fools of yourselves in training the next day, or just being someone that the other could glance knowingly at when one of your classmates mentioned something it seemed that everyone else was privy to, except you two.

“I’m getting stronger everyday.” Yuta offered earnestly, a soft, empathetic smile playing on his lips— the kind you could just hear through his gentle tone. “And I know you are too. We’re gonna kick some major butt one day, y’know?”

The boy was relieved when your glittering laugh filled his speakers, and he found himself laughing along with you. A comfortable silence blanketed over you two, and for a moment it felt as though you were laying right beside him, your gentle breaths lighting a fire within his soul. The courage that he thought he had lost upon hearing your voice for the first time in months was slowly flooding back to him, and he began pensively rolling his bottom lip between his fingers.

“Hey,” Okkotsu called out feebly, resting his hand down on his chest and feeling his heart pounding against his fingers. Reaching down to your discarded letter beside him, he picked up the picture you’d sent along with it. It was of all the second years, and he wondered with a smile if you had Gojo-Sensei take it for you all, and, if so, how much he complained about not being included.

You stood in the middle of Inumaki and Maki, Panda standing proudly and towering behind you. His thumb reached out to graze softly over your face. In the photo, one of your hands was teasingly covering your right eye, and he blushed as he remembered your earlier conversation about that scar. You hummed in acknowledgment on the other line. “Did you mean it? You know… when you said you’d wait for me?”

“Did you mean it when you said you were gonna come back for me?” You countered quickly.

Yuta exhaled nervously, the churning in his chest making him feel as though he might pass out. Staring back at your smiling face in the photo, he nodded breathlessly.

“Of course, I meant it. I meant every word.”

“Then so did I.”

Yuta Okkotsu’s reassuring promise helped ground you in your studies of jujutsu for a while longer, but you could still feel the aching insistence in the back of your mind that told you this wasn’t where you were meant to be. Your friendship with the sorcerer continued to grow even over the thousands of miles that separated you.

He’d call you whenever he had the chance to, and you’d text him about updates on what all his friends had been up to without him. Although both Inumaki and Maki kept up with him regularly, he allowed you to retell stories he’d more often than not already heard from them.

He could tell that you were struggling to find and hold your place as a sorcerer. You always listened enthusiastically when he’d tell you about the new techniques he was learning or the missions he’d been sent on, nodding along on the other line and hanging onto every word he said. Still, when he’d await to hear the progress of your training or how your latest mission had gone, you didn’t have the same enthusiasm in your tone.

It had been almost a year since he’d been gone. The two of you had never implicitly discussed the nature of your relationship, but your lingering promise to each other seemed to be enough to keep your hearts locked safely away for the other’s return. As the months dragged on though, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth staying in the world of jujutsu that seemed to so expertly traumatize you and your peers.

You insisted on video calling him for once, eager to once again put a face to the voice that had been filling your every night for the past few months. Maybe, you thought to yourself, if you saw those warm, inviting eyes again paired with that timid smile, you’d find it in you to hold out just a bit longer.

“Ca-Can you see me?” Yuta’s ever anxious voice filled your quiet room once again. The palm of his hand briefly covered the camera before it was moved away, and it appeared as though he had propped you up on a dresser of some sort. He stepped back, hunching over so his face was still in the frame, staring hesitantly into the screen.

A brief exhale of disbelief left you at the sight of him. He had changed so much over the past year; from the inches he’d sprouted up, to the new broadness of his lean shoulders, right down to his more maturely parted hair as it swayed in his face.

His features appeared sharper than when you’d last seen him, a testament to how much he’d grown physically as well as mentally. The dark circles you remember being everpresent under his long, midnight-blue eyes seemed even more pronounced now, and you wondered just how hard this Miguel character had been working him. Despite his apparent lack of sleep though, he grinned cheerfully upon seeing your face.

Forgoing your previous concern, an ecstatic smile of your own lit up your face as you took him in. You had always thought he had a sort of innocent, gentle cuteness to him, but time and knowledge seemed to have morphed those characteristics into the sharp, hauntingly striking ghost of the boy you once knew presented before you. For the first time since knowing him, you thought you felt more nervous than he did at the moment.

“Wow! You look--” He paused, a slight flush filling his face, and suddenly he was that timid boy again, staring down at you with the false promise of a kiss. Your heart melted at the sight. Yuta was still looking nervously back at you, mouth hanging open as if his mind was running faster than his tongue could process. You raised your brows expectantly at him, hiding your amused smile. “Uh—pretty! You— you look really pretty.”

A soft blush fell across your cheeks.

“Thanks, Yuta.” You laughed softly, eyes fluttering across his face admiringly. “You look like you’ve… grown.”

“Oh, me?” He laughed skittishly, hand coming up to rustle through his jet black locks. His brows were furrowed slightly as he looked down at his own appearance as if he was only just now noticing the growth spurt he’d had in the past year. “Yeah! I guess—”

“Is that blood on your shirt?” You suddenly noticed, leaning forward so your squinting eyes could get a better look at the dark matter that clung to his white top. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and in an instant, his fumbling hands were working to unbutton his uniform shirt. It was no use though, the white t-shirt underneath was also stained through.

“Sorry, I just got back from a mission.” He admitted dejectedly, grabbing the phone and sitting on the floor, resting his back against the bed behind him. “I would’ve showered, but I didn’t want to keep you up too late.”

You sat back against your headboard tentatively. It was incredible to you how he was never phased by the violence and bloodshed that shrouded this lifestyle. There were so many nights that you lay awake, eyes unblinking as you tried to forget the horrors you’d witnessed just long enough to get some sleep.

“How do you do it, Yu?” You asked timidly.

Yuta took in the way your wide eyes glimmered with the threat of unspilled tears. There it was again— that underlying fear in your tone and demeanor that told him that something wasn’t quite right, and it hadn’t been right since you came so close to death.

“What do you mean, love?” He wasn’t sure where that term of endearment came from, maybe from the concern that had been pooling in him for months and had now suddenly burst upon seeing that broken look in your eyes. Either way, it was too late to take it back now.

“Act like everything’s normal when you come home covered in blood and guts and watch people die— watch your friends—”

“I’m doing this for my friends.” His response had a defensive edge to it, but his wide eyes were gentle, taking in your vulnerable state carefully. “And for the people I’ve had to watch die. Bad things will happen whether I’m a part of them or not. How can I sit back and do nothing when that’s all I’ve done my entire life?”

You suddenly felt small in your corner of the world. He was selfless, fearless, purposeful in his mission as a sorcerer, and you couldn’t fault him for it. Moreso, you faulted yourself for lacking that same drive.

“I just– sometimes I feel like this isn’t for me. I’m not like you, Yuta. I don’t think I’m strong enough for this. I’m not strong enough for this.”

Yuta continued to insist upon believing in your growth, just as you had believed in his. His persistence in your strength of character only served to break your heart more. You knew the deeper his faith in you ran, the more crushing his disappointment would be when you inevitably let him down.

In the weeks following your dismayed conversation with him, you weren’t answering his calls as often, afraid he would be on the other line hoping to hear of your growth and the things you’d overcome— but you had none to show for. You usually texted him with false excuses that you were on a mission, or that you were simply too tired to talk that night. No matter how hard you tried to pride yourself in your little victories, your faith in your abilities as a sorcerer was waning quickly before your eyes.

He had always said that he was the one undeserving of his place in this world— of his place beside you. The stronger he grew though, the more you only noticed the opposite.

It was a month after your phone call that you received a small package from Kenya, recognizing the stamp immediately as one of the various animal themed ones Yuta seemed to keep stockpiled just for you. Chewing at your bottom lip, a sense of guilt washed over you, knowing you hadn’t been keeping up with him as much as you once did. Despite this, he continued to try, desperate to get through to you somehow before you slipped from between his fingers all together.

Ripping open the orange, padded envelope, you overturned the contents onto your bed. The wooden beads of a bracelet clacked softly against one another as they fell upon the comforter, a letter landing gently atop it. You ran your fingers along the thin bracelet, thinking maybe if you concentrated long enough, you’d be able to feel the warmth of his fingers lingering from when he’d carefully placed it into the envelope for you. You picked up the accompanying letter.

Dear Y/N,

It seems like they’ve been keeping you really busy over there in your corner of the world! I had so much I wanted to tell you, but I thought maybe it’d be best to put it all into a letter so you could read it at a time that’s best for you.

Gojo-Sensei says that I’ll probably be coming back soon, maybe in the next couple of months even. If all goes well, I hope to be joining everyone for our final year. It’d be nice to all be together again. It’d be nice to actually see you again.

You don’t have to tell me everything, but I know you’ve been going through a hard time recently, and I’m sorry I’m not there to help you. You were wrong the other night on the phone— you are stronger than you think. This life isn’t easy, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not fit for it just because it hurts you right now.

When I felt I had no strength left in me to keep going, it was you who lent me some of yours until I could stand again. I’m sending it back to you now, so please use it to keep moving forward until I can lend you some of mine. Please, keep waiting for me.

The beads on the bracelet I sent you represent all the things I wish for you. The red represent bravery and strength, the kind I know you have in you still. Until you find them though, let these be a reminder. The yellow are for growth, and until you can see it coming your way, let these motivate you.

I got one just like it for myself, so I can be reminded everyday of the things I love about you. I’ll keep it on me always, and I hope as you’re waiting that you’ll do the same.

Still yours,

Yuta.

Tears were streaming freely down your cheeks and staining the precious letter before you. With wobbling lips, you bit back a quiet sob as you carefully slipped the thin bracelet onto your wrist. Strength. Bravery. Growth. They were all pillars that seemed so far away from you, but Yuta was convinced you held them just within your grasp. If anything, the beads would serve as a reminder that someone important was counting on you, and you’d rather suffer the uphill battle than disappoint him.

The next morning, you woke early to speak with Gojo. He was lounging lazily in his large, plush chair, laptop sat carelessly on his lap when you came in. As if expecting you all along, he looked up from his bored typing to offer a sly smile— the type that told you he was always steps ahead of you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gojo greeted, closing his laptop and setting it haphazardly on his desk. Leaning back, he laced his fingers casually in his lap, jutting his chin toward the seat in front of him.

Hesitantly, you sat down. Your posture was rigid as you stared back at his half-covered face. Although your sensei had never given you a reason to fear him, you couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of how he might react to your request.

“I… I don’t know how to say this.”

He stayed silent, allowing you to collect your thoughts. The small smile tugging at his lips said he already knew what was plaguing your mind. Fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, you were reminded of the importance that you stand your ground here.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for being a sorcerer.” It was out there, and it hung heavily in the air around you. Looking down at your twiddling fingers, you felt that familiar lump building in your throat. Your sensei was silent before you. Glancing up at him through tear soaked eyes, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat. “I’m not like the others. I can’t bounce back like they do. It scares me; the death, the fighting, the loss— it terrifies me, Gojo. I can’t do it anymore. I-I just—”

“You’ve been struggling for a while now, haven’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question— an observation he’d been holding onto for some time. The older man wasn’t oblivious, he could see when his students were beginning to slip away; physically and mentally.

“How did you know?” You briefly wondered if Yuta had mentioned something to him during their regular check in calls, but you doubted it.

Standing abruptly from his chair, he strolled leisurely around the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You remind me of someone, is all.” Gojo’s cryptic message left more questions than answers. Though you had grown used to his dodgy answers and coded messages, now was really not the time. Before you could express your annoyance, he continued. “You’re not stuck, you know.”

Your mouth hung open as you stared at him in disbelief. Standing up to face him as he stared out the window, your mind was racing at the possibilities.

“You mean— I could leave? Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’d talk to the higher ups today for you if that’s really what you want.” Still, the edge in his tone indicated that he wasn’t about to let you off that easily. As if sensing your apprehension, he tilted his head playfully toward you, a fond smile on his face. “I’ve seen what this gig can do to people. I don’t need to see you fall victim to it too.”

“I mean— I…” You were stumbling over your words. For the past few years, you were sure that your future was set for you— one you were apprehensive about living, but one that was secure nonetheless. Where would you go from here?

Gojo hummed pensively— invitingly. God, how you wished he would just spit out what he clearly wanted so desperately to say. Of course, he always wanted his students to come to their own conclusions, set their own fates.

“The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.” The sensei announced dramatically, taking another lap around the room. You shivered at the mention of that night. He leaned toward you with a raised brow. “That’s when this all started, am I right? You almost died, if I remember correctly.”

“I would have if it hadn’t been for—”

“Yuta Okkotsu.” He cut you off, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, and for a moment you thought you saw his head tilt down as if to look at the bracelet you were currently rolling between your fingers. Nodding softly, he continued. “Still, you cut it pretty close. Must have been traumatizing. Partially lost your sight, almost lost your friends, your life.”

You nodded silently, unsure of where he was going with this long winded rant. Of course, him giving you a simple out was just too easy for Gojo-Sensei’s ‘everything is a life lesson’ style of teaching.

“Tell you what, why don’t I set up a meeting for you to meet with a counselor? Someone who specializes in all our creepy-crawly problems?”

“Like… like therapy?” You questioned with furrowed brows. A therapist for sorcerers? You didn’t even know such a thing existed. Still, the prospect sparked a certain hope in your chest, one that the six eyes saw instantly. He didn’t bother to conceal his victorious smile.

“Yup. Nice, comfy couch and everything.” He advertised as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. His long fingers began typing purposefully against the screen before he looked up at you again. “Of course, she’s kind of running a one-man show, so her schedule is pretty tight. I can pull a few strings for you though.” His words rang in your mind with a faint echo. That suggestive, underlying tone in his voice, it was beginning to seep through, and your gut was telling you his suggestion was a lot more calculated than you would ever give him credit for. “That kind of work is in high demand, you know— what with all the new curses popping up since Itadori came along.”

Gojo was continuing to drop hints, but you had already heard him loud and clear. This was something he thought you could do— somewhere he knew you would fit within this hectic world. As a teacher, it was his job to train the up and coming sorcerers for the perils that lay ahead of them. In the same prospect though, he had also become incredibly adept at discovering their potential and nudging them toward it— even if it wasn’t as gently as he thought.

The following week you met with the therapist Gojo had supposedly pulled so many strings to get you in to see. She had a small office just minutes away from the school, and you wondered why she wasn’t on campus. She hadn’t suggested it to you first, though she was well aware of what Gojo was trying to do when he set up this meeting.

So, amidst your explanation of everything you had been experiencing since that night, you dropped in questions. How did she know this was the right path for her— how closely did she work with Jujutsu High— how did she get where she was?

By the gentle and encouraging manner in which she answered all of your questions, you had a gut feeling once again that Gojo had already been three steps ahead of you. You were set to transfer out of Jujutsu High the following week.

Your sensei funded your education through an outside university, who’s higher ups had connections with the school. Kaori, the god-sent sorcerer counselor who’d seemingly fallen from the heavens right when you needed her, was more than happy to take you under her wing as well. In truth, she was relieved to have some help around the office given the influx of referrals she’d been receiving recently.

Everything had been falling into place, yet there was still one last loose end you had yet to tie up from your life as a sorcerer. You looked down at the box of letters you’d kept over the past year or so from Yuta.

Following his last letter, and how determined he seemed to be that you would make it as a sorcerer— you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you had given up. After everything he’d done to grow himself into the man he was now, a fearless and loyal sword to his friends and the innocent— and you had given up. In the end, despite his insistence that it was him not worthy enough to stick around, you realized it had been you all along.

You weren’t worthy of Yuta Okkotsu.

Your trembling finger hovered over his contact, but you couldn’t do it. Clicking your phone off, you stared up at the ceiling of your now empty dorm room and allowed the hot tears to burn your cheeks, dripping down your neck and into the hem of your shirt. He was still finishing up his training, growing into a man he could be proud of, experiencing the things that made him feel alive. It would be selfish of you to drop this on him now.

Setting down the box on your desk, you pulled out a spare sheet of paper and sat down to draft your last prose to Yuta Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

By the time you’re reading this, I’m sure you will have already heard about my departure from Jujutsu High. I wanted to call you and tell you everything that’s been on my mind, to give you a proper goodbye, but I didn’t want to interrupt your progress overseas.

I wanted to thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me over the years. I’ll cherish each bit of it as long as I live. You kept me holding on through my lowest points, even if it wasn’t the life of sorcery that I was holding onto.

I know I’m cowardly, but I just couldn’t look you in the eyes and tell you that I had given up. You’ve worked so hard and sacrificed so much to hold your place here, and I suppose a part of me feels foolish for giving mine up so easily.

Your passion for undoing the wrongs in this world is so beautiful, and although I couldn’t share it with you, it only ever made me love you more. Please never take it for granted. Continue to fight to hold your place here, because you hold more power than you could ever come to know. I can feel it, even when you’re not here.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t wait for you.

Forever yours,

Y/N

When Yuta Okkotsu arrived back at Jujutsu High three months later, he had already been sitting on the news of your departure for two weeks. His friends thought it best to at least prepare him for when he returned, but he figured so much when you stopped responding to his calls and messages. No amount of preparation could have stopped the hole from opening up in his chest upon reading the letter you’d left in his dorm room. It sat neatly on his untouched pillow— a ghost that haunted him the second he stepped in.

He tried with fervor to be excited for his return, smiling along half heartedly when his friends shoved a party hat on his head and insisted upon celebrating all the birthdays they’d missed. Those haunting blue eyes only stared lifelessly at the cake before him, his soul still sat on the edge of his bed where he’d read your letter.

Forever yours.

Yuta wondered if those simple two words meant the door was open for him to swing in and come find you as he so ardently promised he would. Gojo-Sensei said you were happy though— working toward your place in the world. It was one he no longer felt he had a place in— not when his life consisted so wholly of the very things you were running from.

Months passed, and the both of you tried so desperately to move on. Despite being content in the roots your lives had sprouted, there was always a missing piece that stopped the both of you from blossoming. You always held your breath in hopes he’d come back to you like he said he would, and he always hoped you were still waiting for him despite his insistence that you were happier without him. The both of you were only kids when you’d carelessly thrown out such a vow, after all.

Gojo felt whole-heartedly confident in his whim to have Kaori train you. There was a spark in you, one that wanted to heal those that this world had so carelessly wounded, even if that meant you having to heal yourself first. In the end, it was the right decision, and he prided himself in the fact that there was a happy medium to keep your talents within the jujutsu world still while also fulfilling your purpose. There was a missing piece of the puzzle that lingered ever present though, and that was the infuriating case of you and Yuta Okkotsu.

It was getting depressing— watching the boy mope around pretending to not have the very obvious chip on his shoulder all the damn time. Your old sensei still kept up with you and your progress often, seeing as the school worked closely with Kaori to refer in need sorcerers on a regular basis.

Each time he’d pop in for a visit or called unexpectedly, you’d always ask how everyone back at the school was doing. Sure, you really did hope your old friends were doing okay, but you were really holding your breath for when he’d mention Yuta. Gojo always spoke of him so highly, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly each time, thinking of how proud you were at how much he’d accomplished— just as he said he would. Still, the six eyes never missed that morose glimmer in your eye as you’d nod along to his stories.

“Have you ever tried sleeping at night, or are those dark circles just a part of you now?”

Yuta was snapped from his stupor when his sensei dropped unceremoniously beside him as he looked on at his friends ahead of him. As if having just been reminded of his perpetual exhaustion, he reached up subconsciously to rub at those aforementioned dark eyes.

“Oh, haha,” Yuta’s halfhearted attempt at a laugh only served to drive Gojo’s purpose right home. “Yeah, guess my sleep schedule never really adjusted back to normal, huh?”

“You aren’t performing like you should be, Okkotsu.”

He gaped exasperatedly at his sensei, blinking a few times as if maybe he just hadn’t heard him correctly. Frankly, he had been kicking ass lately, and everyone around him knew it too. Still, if Gojo-Sensei was telling him he was falling behind, it was seemingly the only opinion that mattered. Even if it wore him down till only his skeleton remained, he would keep getting better until he could prove himself to the man who took a chance on him.

Already picking up on the look of determination on the boy’s face, Gojo put out a solemn ‘slow your roll’ hand in front of him. Sighing in amusement, the sensei thought the boy would crush a semi-truck between his hands if it’d make him grow— meant he could prove himself.

“Your mind isn’t here. Hasn’t been since you got back. I can tell, you know.”

Okkotsu’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. No matter how much he worked to train physically, to learn to control his cursed energy and techniques, there was always that one lingering barrier that seemed to keep him from reaching his potential. Of course, he knew he had been more distracted since your departure, but he figured— hoped— it would pass eventually. He thought maybe if he ignored it long enough, pushed down that frenzy to rip his hair out by the roots and bellow out every frustration he’d held in for allowing you to slip away, each day as the urge melted away into dreams of you at night that woke him with a crater in his chest— maybe eventually it would fade just as you did.

“Try to get some rest, clear your mind. Do what you gotta do.” Gojo emphasized, leaning down to tower over his apprehensive prodigy with a knowing smile. His covered eyes flicked down to where Yuta’s fingers were rolling the beads of his colorful bracelet pensively. He hummed in amusement. “You know, I know someone who has that same bracelet.”

His student perked up ever so subtly upon hearing this. The prying man quickly moved to grasp his wrist and inspect the bracelet closer. It made Yuta feel exposed, wanting to crawl under his covers and not come out again if it meant no one else would lay their eyes on the one connection he still had to you. Gulping thickly, he snatched his wrist back, covering the wooden jewelry protectively under his other hand.

“Oh, you know her, don’t you?” Satoru feigned remembrance, snapping his fingers dramatically. “She used to go here.”

The stunned boy stammered out your name in question. It still felt so natural, so effortless rolling off of his tongue despite the prolonged period that had passed since he’d uttered those syllables.

“Yeah! Saw it on her just last week.”

All the blood seemed to drain from Yuta Okkotsu’s face. His wide, haunting eyes suddenly transfixed hazily on the smiling man before him in a manner that would have been terrifying had it been directed at a stranger. You still wore the bracelet he got you? The prospect had his mind spinning, and his stomach churning anxiously. The poor guy looked as though he would short circuit at any moment; brows twitching into a deep furrow, the corners of his lips fluttering in uncertainty. He blinked a few times before looking up at his sensei with a new sense of determination clouding his eyes.

“Where did you say she went?”

Bingo!

The clock’s ticking mocked you menacing as you raced to finish your assessment notes within the hour. Kaori was always merciful with you, understanding that you were still learning and would likely take more time with things, but you couldn’t help but urge yourself to do better.

It had been almost a year that you had been studying while working alongside the counselor, and you had blossomed in a way you never thought would have been possible. Granted, you weren’t able to do any of what you had lovingly labeled as ‘the fun stuff’ yet, you had adjusted surprisingly well to the countless intake assessments and documentation your mentor had entrusted you with. Of course, it wasn’t the same as having a second counselor there with her, but anything helped ease the weight of her overwhelming caseload. She knew it was good experience for you too.

Despite her hectic schedule, Kaori still found time to meet with you often to check in regarding the struggles that brought you to her in the first place, insisting it would be a crucial step in your training as well. Slowly but surely, you were beginning to rebuild that confidence in yourself and your own purpose in this monstrous world. It felt cathartic, being a part of the process of healing for those torn down by the very things that hurt you so long ago as well. It was meaningful— fulfilling.

You wondered if this was how Yuta felt when he was out there, helping people as well, just in his own way. A sharp pang struck you each time your mind wandered too far though, and you were always quick to reel it back in.

Your bottom lip was caught ruthlessly between your teeth, and it seemed the clacking of your keyboard was fighting against the ticking of the clock for dominance. A small spark of defeat struck you as you heard the door of the office creak open. Looking up at the time, your brows furrowed in confusion. You were sure that you had already completed the last intake Kaori had scheduled for you today. Scrambling into the drawer beside you to pull out a new form, you hoped you would at least look somewhat prepared whenever the unexpected patient came to your desk.

“Hi, there!” You called out from your tucked away cubicle, fumbling to save the document you were working on. “I’m back here, you can come on in.”

Slow footsteps approached closer and closer before pausing in front of your desk. Pushing the hair from your eyes, you looked up with a warm, inviting smile.

Oh.

The smile on your face slowly faded as Yuta Okkotsu towered over your desk. It wasn’t the version of him you once knew; this one was taller, more refined, more calculated with the manner in which he held himself. His wide, midnight-blue eyes regarded you carefully, but his face revealed nothing. Your mouth opened and closed pathetically, your mind desperately trying to catch up with the way your day had suddenly progressed. Stepping forward, he calmly sank down into the chair in front of you, hands gripping the arms casually.

“Yu—”

“I heard you offer counseling for sorcerers, right?” He was suddenly smiling sweetly at you, but there was a controlled glint in his eyes— holding him back. Not allowing you to respond, he continued. “Well, I have some things to get off my chest, so it’s lucky I found you, huh?”

You sank back into your chair, allowing the papers in your hands to slip from your fingers and swoosh softly onto the desk. Nodding gently, you urged him to go on, anxiety balling up in the pit of your stomach. He launched off on a long-winded story, one you already knew like the back of your hand— you lived it, after all. Your already knowing the climax didn’t stop the furious blush that overtook you as he recalled the letter he’d found in his dorm upon his arrival back to Tokyo.

“She always had this sweet way of signing off all her letters to me.” Yuta recounted with a soft smile, eyes glimmering as they looked back at you. Yours, on the other hand, were holding back the dam of tears that had been building up for countless months. As the first tear slipped down your cheek, you saw his resolve start to crumble, gaze chasing the drop as it raced down your skin. His bottom lip trembled. “She signed that last one— she signed it off ‘forever yours’, but I never saw her again.”

“Yuta—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t happy?” He finally snapped, his own tears swimming in his eyes. Bracing his hands on the desk, he leaned forward desperately. “I would’ve understood, I would’ve—”

“I tried! I tried to tell you, but you were so sure that I was going to get through it. How was I supposed to look you in the eyes after you gave up so much of your life to train to be better? How was I supposed to tell you I was giving up?”

“You promised me!” His cry rang out in the quiet office, shoving his chair back to stand over you once again. You heard Kaori’s office door open abruptly, likely startled by the perceived altercation. Despite his dominating presence and lingering stance, you couldn’t find it in you to be intimidated by him. You shook your head softly toward your mentor, letting her know you were fine. As the door hesitantly shut once again, Yuta was sinking closer to you despairingly. “I would’ve come back for you— I wouldn’t have cared where I had to look, okay? I wouldn’t have cared that you left everything— but you weren’t supposed to leave me.”

His wounded tone finally caught up to you, and you let your head fall down onto your crumpled hands as you cried. Yuta sighed softly, almost regretting his stinging confession. Quickly looping around the desk, he settled down on his knees in front of you and turned you to face him.

“I’m sorry, Yuta.” You cried, falling into him as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you from your chair. He was stronger than you last remembered him being, but his touch was just as delicate. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. We’re here now, right?” He assured gently, pulling you away from his chest so he could look at you with a smile, tears still clinging to his lashes. His cool hand ran down from your shoulder to your wrist, and he traced the bracelet that hadn’t come off your wrist since you received it. A soft flush covered his cheeks. “You kept it, huh?”

“You kept yours, too.” You laughed breathlessly, wiping at your cheeks with one hand and grasping his bracelet with the other.

“I told you, I always meant everything I said to you. I still do.” His words almost made you break down again, but you worried if you started boo-hoo crying again that Kaori might just burst through the door with more determination than she had last time.

So instead, you took a moment to glance over his matured face, shaking your head in amusement upon seeing those familiar dark circles still hanging under his eyes. Your heart clenched as your eyes ran across the small scar that Maki left on his forehead. When you met his gaze once again, it gave you pause. Yuta had that look in his eyes— the same one he had all those years ago before he left for Kenya. The rapid patter of your heart could be felt in your throat.

Despite your nerves, your lips twitched up into a knowing smile. You reached up tentatively to place a hand over your right eye, covering the scar that had stopped him all those years ago. He pursed his lips at this action and shook his head. In an instant, his long fingers were wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face.

“Don’t.” Yuta said simply before leaning down to capture your lips in his, more assuredly than his sixteen year old self ever could have dared to, but just as sweetly as the boy who promised to come back to you would have.

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[urgonnaneedabiggership]

And All The Fears You Hold So Dear

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara (Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language. Angst. Unplanned Pregnancy. Mild violence. Also there's like a smidge of nsfw talk there but thought I'd let you know beforehand just in case.

Word count: 4.3K

A/N: Part Three and Final Installment of something that started as a one-shot and somehow escalated into this¿¿

I just want to thank you for all your very kind comments and let you know that I got a couple requests that I'll be working on, so this might not be the last you see of me. Ily <3

also i cried so much writing this now you have to suffer like i did. xo

Right after the tears finally stopped coming, the emotional exhaustion translated into an intense weariness that made you collapse on the sofa. That hour spent out of consciousness was a blissful interlude in the pain that had your chest hurting and leaving you unable to breathe.  You’d once read somewhere that there was something called “phantom limb syndrome” in which people could feel pain in an amputated hand, arm, or leg. When you woke up, you looked out at the now dark sky and thought of giving Miguel a call to tell him about what an awful day you were having until the memories came back like a harrowing tsunami that had you tearing up when you wondered for how long you’d have to keep reminding yourself that he wasn’t there anymore. This time, however, you became angry. And oddly self-assured.

You didn’t need him. You’d given him a choice, and if a sad, pitiful, lonely life was what he wanted, then good riddance. His loss.

You could do this. Jessica’s pregnancy hadn’t stopped her after all. Sure, it would be challenging but there were mothers out there who took care of one or more children and balanced several jobs didn’t they? So what if you moonlighted as a vigilante whose life was on the line every day? What if you’d have to spend the rest of your life protecting him or her from the bunch of fairly dangerous enemies you’d made in the past months?

Or maybe you didn’t have to.

Your eyes wandered off to your suit which you’d mindlessly thrown on the floor the second you’d arrived home, scrutinizing the details and the care that you’d put into creating it. You wondered what it would look like inside a box, hidden in the back of the closet for years, or until your kid stumbled upon it and asked about mommy’s dutifully hidden past.

An obnoxious beeping sound coming from between the cushions snapped you out of your fantasy as you fished your watch. You hadn’t even realized you’d taken it with you and now it was issuing a warning concerning an anomaly with an amazing timing that had decided to pop into your dimension.

Placing a hand on your stomach, you looked out of the window and doubtfully pressed your lips together.

“Shit. Please, let it be a Vulture that’s literally a vulture, please,” you pleaded with whatever deity chose to listen to you as you picked up your suit and rushed to the bathroom, mindlessly throwing the test into the trash can before pulling the mask over your head.

Unfortunately, you didn’t arrive at the location to find a confused scavenging bird flapping around. You weren’t even sure of what you’d been sent to capture. At the scene, several police cars had formed a barricade outside of an empty warehouse and seemed to be lying in wait, aiming at the door with their guns. Good. That meant you could get in there and set things straight with the unwanted visitor before anybody got hurt.

You stealthily made your way from a nearby ledge to the roof, finding your way in through a broken skylight and landing on top of a pile of metallic crates solid enough to hold your weight but making your entrance noisier than you would’ve liked.

Whatever you were looking for, it was nowhere to be seen. The warehouse was in such darkness that, if it wasn’t for the night-vision lenses Miguel had fitted into your mask, you wouldn’t be able to see further than your own nose. They had come in pretty handy, and you couldn’t believe you’d been so opposed to getting them.

“(Y/N) it’s just one small modification, give me one reason not to.”

“Because you’ve already done too much!”

“Oh come on, it will take me what? Twenty minutes?”

“No, I don’t mean it like that. I mean you’ve done too much to my suit, Miguel. First, the emergency parachute, next the spine and nape reinforcements, then you literally said ‘You know what? How about we just redo the whole thing with fireproof fabric?’ and now another modification?”

“He added memory foam insoles too, said you wouldn’t notice, I’m with you on this one” Lyla chimed in.

You pressed your lips together to fight back a satisfied smile while Miguel glared daggers at the AI assistant, who refused to back down.

“She still remembers please and thank you, alright?”

“Lyla, will you please go check if there’s a faulty connection or a leaky pipe somewhere? Thank you.”

After throwing a sickly sweet smile his way, she vanished.

“Alright then,” Miguel continued arguing, “I’m sorry for offering to install state-of-the-art, potentially lifesaving enhancements to your suit. What was I thinking, not wanting my girlfriend to die?”

He lifted his hands in defeat and retreated to the other side of the room, minimizing the digital blueprints of the new glasses.

“And for the record,” He continued, “I didn’t do all the work for your new suit, you designed it, remember? I had no idea of what a ‘basque waistline’ was,”

When he finished talking, he was surprised to hear absolutely nothing coming from your side. Furrowing his eyebrows, he turned to see you still leaning against the metallic table on top of which your suit rested. You were staring at him with a surprised expression that only baffled him further when he noticed the bright blush spreading around your cheeks and down to your neck. Then it dawned on him.

“Oh shit, I’ve never called you that before, have I?”

“No, you haven’t,”

Of course, that small window of vulnerability was all he needed.

“Please let me put the lenses on your suit?”

What he didn’t know was that you can see both ways through a window. When he earnestly pleaded with you to let him install the stupid attachment, his true motives were as clear as if you’d heard them straight from his mouth.

Last time I wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t plan ahead. If something happens to you and I have the slightest notion that I didn’t do absolutely everything in my power to keep you safe…please. Do this for me, would you? For my own, selfish peace of mind?

And he’d been right. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw something dart from behind one container to the next one.

“I see you,” You announced, rolling your shoulders as your Spider-Sense began acting up, “Listen, you’re probably feeling confused right now and if you come out we could…”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence as something heavy and cold tackled you onto the ground. Instinctively, you rolled over just in time for something sharp the size of a harpoon to stab the ground next to your head strong enough to pierce the concrete. Without wasting one more second, you jumped on top of a container to take a better look at whatever the hell that was just to find that same spot completely empty. Whatever it was, it was fast. Wincing at the sharp pain in your shoulder, you reminded yourself you had to be more careful and avoid taking strong hits like that.

However, you couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. And, as if to affirm that thought as quickly as it came, your sense warned you of something coming at you from behind. Before it could take you by surprise again, you swiftly moved out of the way and shot webs twice to try and pin it down so you could at least take a good look at what you were up against.

“What in the…?” You gasped as you stared at what you’d captured. Before you, a 20-foot-long pale yellow scorpion furiously trashed about as it tried to free itself from your webs. Not even five seconds after you spotted it, the critter broke free of its restraints and disappeared behind another container. Well, reasoning and trying to bring him in peacefully wasn’t going to work with this one. For now, you knew that it was going to try and keep attacking you, so the best you could do for now was to keep an eye on him before he could plunge that hideous stinger through your forehead. Especially since the little shit was remarkably fast. What was that thing Miguel always told you to do?

“No, remember. You’ve got to think further, think two steps ahead,”

“You know, Miguel, repeating that a million times isn’t going to suddenly give me the ability to see ten seconds into the future,” you muttered, taking the hand he reached out to help you get up. With a wince, you placed a hand on your shoulder and rolled it until it popped.

“It’s not about seeing into the future, (Y/N), it’s about finding unprotected spots and patterns,”

“How come outside I’m love, gorgeous or mi chiquita preciosa de ojitos bonitos, but the minute we’re in here I’m back to being (Y/N),”

“First of all, that last one never happened, we agreed on it, I was in…a vulnerable…”

“You were drunk, you can say it, I won’t tell,”

He glared at you in a way you knew meant ‘won’t you?’. Hopefully, he’d never find out you’d told Peter every last detail of his drunken silliness as soon as you had the chance.

“Second of all, here you’re just like anybody else. You mean nothing to me and I mean nothing to you because that’s how the attackers are going to see you, as an obstacle to get out of the way. Now focus. I’m going to attack you again,”

While knowing beforehand he was going to come at you gave you some advantage, you managed to block the blow he launched at your head. Before he could try again, you noticed his next attempt at an attack was leaving his legs completely exposed. Then, you did what Jess had taught you to do whenever you faced somebody taller than you: go for the knees. You crouched and, with a classic foot sweep, managed to make him lose his balance just enough for you to hook your legs on either side of his and take him down.

You were so tired you couldn’t even gloat properly, instead settling for smiling to yourself and releasing a short, triumphant, ‘ha!’ with your last breath before crawling over to him and sitting next to his lying body.

“You know, if I’m supposed to think two movements ahead,” You say, a beckoning look in your eyes, “I think it’s safe to predict you’re going tell me that there’s nothing more you can teach me, and then carry me to your quarters to do absolutely unspeakable things to me,”

Honestly, it had been stupid of you to think he would give up that easily. Not even two seconds later, it was your back that was pressed against the floor as his large frame covered you, and his hand held your wrists on top of your head. Then he leaned in, painfully slowly, until he was close enough for you to feel the heat that radiated from his skin, a low chuckle left his throat.

“Chula, you don’t know half of all the things I can teach you. But this isn’t the place for most of them. Let’s get moving.”

Thankfully, you forced your brain to focus on the matter at hand before it could replay the entire memory.

Two steps ahead (Y/N), come on.

That thing always attacked with the stinger first. Then it would probably try to immobilize you with its pincers. Quickly tracing a plan inside your head, you started to roam the dark warehouse looking for the missing critter, your spider-sense as sharp as ever as you looked behind every crate and container only to find nothing. Maybe it had left the building without you noticing? Outside, the police still remained alert and in wait. There was no way it could have left without being seen.

Fine. If you couldn’t find him, then he could come and find you. Making your way to the center of the empty space, you remained perfectly still and waited for your sense to tell you where the beast was coming from. The wait was short-lived as you felt a sharp wave of shivers running down your right arm, your entire body shifting to face that side just in time to shoot enough web to completely wrap the entire stinger and leave enough web for you to jump and throw over a beam, leaving the scorpion hanging upside down while aggressively pinching the air around him with its pincers. Unwilling to take any risks, you covered them as well. You had to stand there and catch your breath for a few seconds before looking over to your watch to report you’d successfully captured the anomaly. Only then you had the chance to see that you had several missing calls from Peter.

“(Y/N)?” Peter asked when the call went in almost immediately, “Where have you been? I tried calling but you didn’t answer,”

“Yeah, sorry for going AWOL. I’ve been…busy. I caught something back here. I just reported it,” Behind you, you could hear the scorpion still struggling to free itself, “It’s an ugly one, Mayday’s going to love it.”

“(Y/N), listen, I think you should come back here. You and Miguel should try to talk…”

“P.B., I love you but I really don’t want to talk about that right now. Okay? How about you come over here and help me drag this feisty little shit back to the HQ so we can send it home? You won’t believe it; it has to weigh at least…”

When you turned around to proudly stare at your prisoner, you were met with nothing but a lone stinger, eerily dangling from the ceiling. Your proud smile faded as quickly as it had arrived. Before you could open your eyes to say anything else, you found yourself trapped between two cold surfaces that painfully squeezed all the air out of your lungs as you let out a painful yell. You desperately grabbed each side of the pincer, trying to pry them open to release yourself to no avail. With your brain already starting to run low on oxygen, your strength began to fade. You heard Peter questioningly say your name from the device still attached to your wrist, but he sounded as if you’d been submerged underwater. And his voice sounded as if it was further, and further away. You were falling into a deep and dark lake, air deprived and without enough strength to swim to the surface. So you let yourself sink further, close your eyes and let darkness engulf you as you keep going down.

You’d wondered once or twice what would come after life. Since there was no way for you to be certain about anything, you decided to believe what sounded the most comforting. You would wake up in a beautiful place, full of light, that smelled like freshly baked cookies all the time because you would be sitting at a kitchen table with all the people that you lost along the way, and it was time for all of you to have cookies with whatever you wanted to drink, maybe you just hung out in silence, or you would discuss all the wisdom that the act of passing away seemed to come with…the point was that in no scenario did heaven smell like antiseptic.

This discrepancy was what made you start slowly blinking as you furrowed your eyebrows, the intense white light surrounding you making your head spin. Eventually, you were able to discern some shadows that slowly morphed into a familiar face.

“Hey, welcome back,” Jessica gently greeted you from a chair in the corner of the room. The hospital room. Like they’d done hours before when you woke up from your nap, a new wave of unpleasant memories came crashing down once more as you tried to sit up with a worried expression.

“Is…are we both okay?” It wasn’t until you tried to ask that you noticed a certain reluctance at saying the word.

“Yes, don’t worry,” Jess immediately assured you. Then why did she look so troubled?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked, rolling her chair closer and grabbing your hand gently, “Honey, of all people you know I would’ve understood,”

“Jess, I’m so scared,” Was all you came up with before shutting your eyes and clamping your lips together to keep the sobs inside, tears already beginning to fall from your cheeks, “This wasn’t supposed to happen, I don’t know how I’m going to handle this, how am I supposed to do this if I can’t even take down a lousy scorpion without getting myself killed?”

With a reassuring smile, the woman tried to hug you as much as her pregnancy allowed her, comfortingly running one hand down your hair and rubbing your back with the other.

“See? You’re great at this already and your kid isn’t even here,” You sobbed against her shoulder, too exhausted to return the embrace.

“What makes you think you won’t be?” She asked, pulling away to give you some space and much-needed room to breathe.

And you knew the exact reason. It came to you so fast and with such clarity that it scared you. But maybe she would understand that too. However, right as you opened your mouth to speak, a soft click coming from the door interrupted you right before it opened, leaving you completely exposed to the thorough, scrutinizing look of the man that hours ago you thought you’d never lay eyes on again.

You turned at Jess, hoping she’d create an excuse for him to leave you alone. You weren’t done talking to her. You desperately wanted her to stay. However, she’d already turned to look at him and left her chair.

“I’ll give you a moment,” She said and, after gently caressing your shoulder one last time, left the room.

And then there were two.

For the life of you, you couldn’t think of one single thing to say, much less anticipate what his next move would be. Yet, your eyes never left his. Your jaw hurt from how hard you had to clench it to keep yourself from bursting into tears again. Fuck, could the hormones be acting up already? Right when you were starting to wonder if, should neither of you say something, you would just stay there in this staring contest until the end of time, Miguel spoke.

“How long have you known?”

“A day. Or so.” You blurted out so quickly that he wasn’t done speaking when you replied. It wasn’t until his eyes left yours and wandered down that you realized you’d been clutching your pale blue gown the entire time. As you slowly let go of it, you realized your hands were shaking.

“And you didn’t say anything?” He asked again, his voice turning one octave higher right in the middle of the question.

“Well, I found out not so long ago, and immediately after I was called here to help so I thought we had bigger problems and this could wait. But then you said we had been a mistake all along so I imagined I was on my own for this one. And I think that pretty much covers it.”

Silently, he took a seat on the chair next to the hospital bed.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” He replied, not looking at you but at an empty spot on the wall, “Back there, when I realized you were gone something didn’t make sense. You’ve pushed back much harder for less important things and now you just turned around and left? And with this, it makes even less sense. Even out of spite, you would’ve told me before leaving.”

You hated how well he knew you, and how right he was. And how what he said didn’t make you angry, but instead make you confront the harrowing confession you’d left unfinished before he walked in.

“What if you were right?” You asked taking a deep, shaky breath, “I didn’t intend for this to happen, you know? It just did. What we had was manageable because at least it was just between us, no third parties affected, if anything went wrong with the timeline and such we could call it off and that was that. But now there was something tangible real coming out of this and I panicked because what if it messed everything up? What if we’d made a mistake? But I just didn’t want to think about it until you sort of confirmed it,”

You weren’t going to cry. You refused to cry in front of him while having this conversation. You tried to focus on anything else to cope with his seemingly endless silence, anything but his slouching shape next to you. The soft fabric of your sheets, or the faint whirring of the monitor next to you displaying your vitals. Now you focused on your breaths. Long, deep breaths.

“So,” He finally spoke in a hoarse voice you were sure you’d never heard before, and you were so taken aback by it that you turned to look at him before you could stop yourself to find a strange, oddly endearing sight. He was crying. Well, maybe that was a bit of a stretch but there were definitely tears in his eyes and even if he was better at hiding it, you were sure he was struggling to keep them confined there as much as you were. Suddenly self-aware of the change in his voice, he cleared his throat before continuing.

“So, we’re having a baby?”

He sounded so expectant, and yet so afraid of the answer. He was absolutely terrified. You could see it in his eyes. This man, who faced life-risking challenges every day and had seen enough for several lifetimes, had never seemed so frightened. The thought, for some reason, made you laugh as you shuddered when you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Seems like it,” came the reply in such a croaky voice that it left you no choice but to laugh a little bit more.

This time he laughed too, although you could barely catch a glimpse of his smile before being engulfed in a hug that made you wish you weren’t in such a state so you could pull him as close to you as you really wanted. Instead, you settled for resting your forehead against his shoulder as he pulled away enough to plant several small and warm kisses on your temple.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, “God, I swear I didn’t mean one single word. Whatever happens next, we’ll deal with it as it comes, I don’t care, right now all I know is none of this would’ve been worth it if it hadn’t brought me here to you,”  

“Hey, don’t get sentimental on me, O’Hara,” you jokingly said, pulling away to be able to look into his eyes, “We’re going to be just fine,”

“I won’t if you keep doing stupid shit like this, (Y/N), ¿qué carajos te pasa? ‘we’re going to be just fine’ Claro, si por tu culpa no me da un infarto primero,“ He scolded you, leaving his seat, “You know you’re benched, right? You’re staying right here, where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you stay out of trouble,”

“What about my dimension? There are plenty of non-interdimensional criminals there desperate to be caught,” You complained.

“Well, I’m afraid the NYPD’s going to have to figure it out for themselves for the next few months. Might even teach them to appreciate you a little more.”

“And if there’s another anomaly?”

“Dios mío, mujer,” He impatiently argued back, “I’ll go then. Or we’ll send somebody else. You’re staying here. Period.”

“Fine,” You huffed, not pleased at all with the order despite knowing you’d been very lucky this time, “But just for three months,”

“Six,” He stubbornly insisted.

“Five, but Peter’s going to be the godfather and you have to tell him.”

A disgruntled sigh echoes throughout the room.

“Fine,”

Taglist: @anywherebuthere @khaleesihavilliard @spookyboogyuniverse @sunshiines-stuff @letharue @withbeautyandrage

[midnight-bay-if]

How would the Ro's react to finding out Mc who is hiding their injuries? (Say it's a bruise rib) the Ro's only found out bc they saw Mc slightly left up there shirt to check the rib. 🫢🫣

(One day, I will learn to do these nicely and quickly, haha.)

S: S sighs. They feel the exasperation pouring from their pores. You have yet to notice they have noticed, so they scrutinise from a distance. How long have you been doing this? It took Taj a great many lectures for them to learn keeping such things hidden only becomes a detriment in future endeavours. How are they supposed to place you in the most advantageous position in missions if they cannot factor in every variable? Wait, no. That isn't the issue. The issue is you're hurt.

Gently, they take hold of your wrist to keep you from pulling away. Then, they slowly raise your shirt. "You shouldn't do this. I understand you have been independent a very long time. Much too long. But there are people around to help you, now. Let us."

Rain: It hurts to see you hurt. It hurts more to see you hiding it. They aren't human like S; they don't know how serious such an injury could be, but they have learned enough to know it will take time to heal.

They broach the subject as delicately as they can: "MC, if you are hurt, it would be best to be seen by a doctor. It isn't wise to hide injuries. They could be more serious than you believe. I would hate if something were to happen to you."

Taj: Taj spots the bruise, and immediately, they are annoyed. "What is that?" They bark, pointing directly at the offending mark.

"It's nothing."

"Bullshit," they snap, irritating, causing their ears to twitch. "You humans always think you're so indestructible. Get it seen to, Koel, otherwise I'll make you suffer a long lecture from S. Then you will be sorry."

They reflect on their anger later on. It shames them a little; there must be a reason you insist on hiding those marks. It's something they understand well. But if the goal was to have you seen by a doctor... Well, that was achieved. So, job done.

N: It concerns them a little, though it would shame them to admit it. Once, with a click of their fingers, they could have snapped that bruise out of existence. Now, they roll their eyes as you desperately try to hide it.

"My dear, that pathetic display is doing you no favours. You should be resting. If you ask very nicely, I will even give you a massage..."

They try not to think too hard about why you insist on hiding such injuries. It wouldn't do to fall too deeply.

Umbra: They hate it. They see it, and they hate it. It isn't fair; it should be their bruise. You don't deserve to carry it.

With misty eyes, they take the hand holding up your shirt and replace it with theirs. "If we hadn't already dealt with the cause of this in that last fight; I would hunt them down all over again."

"I don't want you to hide, MC, but I know why you do."

[radical-revolution]

In Memory

After I got the call that Ram Dass had died yesterday, I closed my eyes.

He is still here.

I could feel the vast field of love that was shining from Ram Dass when Trudy and I taught with him just a couple of weeks ago. And I always will.

On the final day of this last retreat, called “Open Your Heart in Paradise,” Ram Dass was frail and didn’t have access to many words. But he was there in the most powerful way. He swam delightedly with the group in the ocean, chanting “Oh Joy, Oh Joy.”

And on the retreat’s last morning, he put his hands on a basket of 350 wrist malas, each tied with a thread of his guru’s blanket, to tenderly bless them. Then, as participants came by slowly to receive their malas, he silently looked into each face, offering to all what is sometimes called “the glance of mercy,” a gaze so full of love that it left many of us speechless and weeping, drunk with blessing.

I have known Ram Dass for 48 years, as master teacher and inspiration and role model, as a dear friend and benefactor who helped me begin to teach, as a companion on the path, as a truth teller and prankster, as a profound healer and whisperer of souls, as a kind of prophet for a generation. Out in public with him across the years, over and over people would come up to him and speak lovingly, tentatively, urgently, offering thanks, “Ram Dass, I just want to let you know you changed my life!” And he did… for so many of us.

Yes, his book “Be Here Now” changed countless lives. Yes, his work with Seva Foundation cured 5 million people of blindness. Yes, he taught almost nonstop for 50 years, spreading wisdom and humor, wild devotion and love and a vast timeless mystical perspective across the world. His obituaries will be filled with his many other accomplishments.

For me he is family and Sangha, even now still spreading his playful, tough, delicious love everywhere, connecting with our hearts. “Yum, yum,” as he would say.

He was so ready to leave the wheelchair and skinny and broken body, to go home.

Home is not somewhere else.

It is here, in life and death, in the eternal dance of consciousness, weaving together form and the formless mystery from which it all comes.

Ram Dass is the vastness reminding us that in the end, there is only love.

~ Jack Kornfield, two years ago🙏

Be Here Now

Please read aloud, pause in-between, and listen to the poetic heart-words of a Great Teacher...a Beloved Guru, and a true inspiration for so many of us throughout this life.

_________________________________________

We're fascinated by the words--but where we meet is in the silence behind them.

The quieter you become, the more you can hear.

It is important to expect nothing, to take every experience, including the negative ones, as merely steps on the path, and to proceed.

The most exquisite paradox… as soon as you give it all up, you can have it all. As long as you want power, you can't have it. The minute you don't want power, you'll have more than you ever dreamed possible.

I would like my life to be a statement of love and compassion - and where it isn't, that's where my work lies.

In most of our human relationships, we spend much of our time reassuring one another that our costumes of identity are on straight.

The heart surrenders everything to the moment. The mind judges and holds back.

Your problem is you are too busy holding on to your unworthiness.

As long as you have certain desires about how it ought to be you can't see how it is.

Treat everyone you meet like God in drag.

The most important aspect of love is not in giving or the receiving: it's in the being. When I need love from others, or need to give love to others, I'm caught in an unstable situation. Being in love, rather than giving or taking love, is the only thing that provides stability. Being in love means seeing the Beloved all around me.

Suffering is part of our training program for becoming wise.

What you meet in another being is the projection of your own level of evolution.

The spiritual journey is individual, highly personal. It can't be organized or regulated. It isn't true that everyone should follow one path. Listen to your own truth.

Let's trade in all our judging for appreciating. Let's lay down our righteousness and just be together.

Only that in you which is me can hear what I'm saying.

Everything changes once we identify with being the witness to the story, instead of the actor in it.

We are all affecting the world every moment, whether we mean to or not. Our actions and states of mind matter, because we are so deeply interconnected with one another.

A feeling of aversion or attachment toward something is your clue that there's work to be done.

The next message you need is always right where you are.

I would say that the thrust of my life has been initially about getting free, and then realizing that my freedom is not independent of everybody else. Then I am arriving at that circle where one works on oneself as a gift to other people so that one doesn't create more suffering. I help people as a work on myself and I work on myself to help people.

I'm not interested in being a "lover." I'm interested in only being love.

The game is not about becoming somebody, it's about becoming nobody.

Learn to watch your drama unfold while at the same time knowing you are more than your drama.

If you think you're free, there's no escape possible.

Every religion is the product of the conceptual mind attempting to describe the mystery.

It's only when caterpillarness is done that one becomes a butterfly. That again is part of this paradox. You cannot rip away caterpillarness. The whole trip occurs in an unfolding process of which we have no control.

We're here to awaken from the illusion of separateness

We're all just walking each other home.

~ Ram Dass now, just as before,

at home with Divinity

[waynewifey]

aporia — b.w

part one : dear mr. wayne

part two: aftermath

part three: aporia

epilogue

sumary: aporia suggests “an impasse”, a knot or an inherent contradiction found in any text, an insuperable deadlock, or “double bind” of incompatible or contradictory meanings which are “undecidable”. [reference]

pairing: battinson/bruce wayne x reader

genre: drama & romance

warnings: mental health struggle, miscarriage, car crash, a lot of internal dialogue

word count: 2k

A/N: the more i write, the more i put myself in this story. i feel like this ‘you’ is so complex i can’t help but try to explain her further. part four will be bruce’s perspective on all of this + an epilogue. i’m so grateful for the amazing feedback given on the last two parts and for the new followers, thank you so so much. i hope you enjoy this. (also this gif??? HELLO???)

GOTHAM. USA.

— bargaining.

the uncomfortable silence makes you want to scream. she told you that was a normal reaction and they couldn't get rid of those moments, they were essential for your self reflection. the problem was being alone with your thoughts, even for just one minute. they keep deciding you won't recover any time soon. everyone keeps holding you like a cracked vase. even negligence was better than being put under the microscope.

"i don't know what you want me to say" you respond, your gaze anxiously shuffling between the objects in the room. the woman's eyes, however, don't ever leave your face. she holds that journal like a scientist analysing a mutation. like you're some weird thing.

"you should say whatever you feel like saying." that's what she always answers. dr. quinn was extremely stoic, even for a therapist. you still liked her, though, because her pragmatic approach helped you shift your point of view and see yourself from an outside perspective, which made you want to help yourself. after weeks of feeling extra irritable, still trying to forgive your husband for lying to you, you realised maybe everything was too much for you to handle by yourself. you wanted to go back to the real world but before that, you had to do this. a quick chat with your psychiatrist and he gave you the contact to harley quinn.

"i think i've been way too mean to bruce" your confession has her nodding, like that observation had been made sessions before and she was waiting for you to realise that. "he's been so supportive and helpful, but sometimes words just fly out of my mouth and i don't even mean them"

"do you think it's easier to blame him than to come to terms with what actually happened?" you can't answer, because this was all you've asked yourself lately. you were a coward, hiding behind his suffering to prevent confronting yours. it's easy to curse him, to reject him, but it's not what you want to do. lately it feels like you don't have any control over your emotions and actions. you thought maybe if you pushed away the last person that still cared for you, you could disappear in your loneliness and finally stop hurting. "y/n you've been through something terrible. the kind of thing we never think it's gonna happen to us. i know it doesn't feel real, but you have to face it that it is. the thing about trauma... you have to keep living with it. you have to keep going, because it doesn't go away. but this is your life and you don't get to stay on standby. you hurt the people you love because it's better than hurting yourself. you told me you feel bad about it, so why won't you change?"

why won't you? you don't even know where to start. it felt comfortable living in sorrow forever. horrible, but comfortable. again, it was in fact easier to blame him than to accept this was reality. but he's right outside, been waiting for you for two hours, as he has done twice a week for over a month. you weren't being fair to him. he didn't deserve this. dr. quinn sees the defeat in your eyes and sighs in a mission accomplished type of breath.

"think about this, okay? we'll talk on friday." you nod, as if you weren't already overthinking it.

bruce sees you before listening to you. he's created the habit to stay in the waiting room with headphones in, blasting loud music. he didn't want you to feel like he was prying on you. he also didn't want to listen anything you had to say about him. you had the right to be mad at him, given everything that had happened. he knew you didn't mean it when you bomb dropped the word 'divorce' every now and then. it would take you some time to get back to normal and he wouldn't rush you.

you walk to the car quietly and get into the driver's seat. he agreed to let you drive to and from therapy. the office was actually in dr. quinn's house, a little bit on the country side of the city, if you could call it that. it was a 50 minute drive with no traffic, roads empty enough for you to drift off in you thoughts. he watches you drive, eyes brightening up a little more everyday. he realised that trying to shield you from the world wasn't going to work out. you need to learn how to be on your own. he needs to learn how to care for you while away.

"i'm sorry," you caught him off guard, observing the curves of your face. he frowns at the unexplained sentence. you glance at him but look back at the road. "for the way i've been acting. for pushing you away. for being too complicated. i know you're trying to help… thank you for staying."

"darling, of course. for better or for worse, remember? i'm never leaving you. we're getting through this, together. and don't you worry about me, i'll be okay when you are too, alright? you're doing great, i can see how much you're working towards it." he holds out a hand for you and you take it, intertwining your fingers. his calloused palms are softer now, courtesy of the months without batman-ing. they still embrace yours entirely and warm the cold tips of your fingers.

"i love you" the sweetness of that feeling dominates your tastebuds and it's almost like the day you started dating. that innocent type of love that consist of the pure enjoyment of each others company. however, your attempt to savour the moment is ruined by a shape in your peripheral eyesight.

"i love you too" bruce's voice is muffled by the anxious thoughts taking over your mind. the panic starts to overflow. he notices your body getting stiff and the wheel looking loose on your hand. your breathing lost it's rhythm to creaking gasps. there's something wrong. your eyes are frozen in a vehicle. he's seen this van before. maybe not this one, but an identical one, in a security camera tape in court. it looks exactly like the one that took you. "baby, hey, hey. i'm right here." you don't pay any mind to the man beside you. you can't, not when your instincts are telling you to run. not when you can feel the gun getting knocked on your head over and over again. bruce is saying something. the tears are blurring your sight. this is too much.

he's calling you screaming at this point, tears are rolling down your cheeks and you still haven't looked away from the van. there's a bump coming up, the car is dangerously fast and you're not driving at all. he goes for the wheel but isn't quick enough. the tires wiggle, going in their own direction. the car changes lanes, getting in the wrong way of the street. another car is coming and the impact isn't light. your head is thrown forwards, the airbag covering your face. the windshield shatters and little pieces of glass get stuck in your hair. the crash isn't too bad, you're both still awake and only the front has been smashed. but you get out hyperventilating, falling onto the ground and weeping.

bruce gets out as well, only a scratch on the forehead. he has to kneel on the dirt to hold you up. for a while, he doesn't say anything. the other driver is standing, phone in the ear. he's also fine. the cars were the only damage. two other drivers stop by, offering help. you wish he could help you, but it seems as if there's something inherently wrong with you.

— depression.

the weeks following the accident were harsh. it took a while to get you believing in recovery again. you still weren't sure. somehow there was press at the site, so pictures of you crying next to a car crash made it to the papers. there's minor commentary online about you faking it for your husbands popularity. most of the netizens feel desperately sorry for you and have painted you to be their new princess diana, the comparison seems wild to you.

you only go online every three days or so, because you can't resist the urge to know what bruce hasn't been telling you. jokes on you, he's actually been a lot more transparent lately. you agreed that the batman would show up to the sentence of edward nashton, to pressure the jury with his presence. it worked and the criminal got life without parole. the lawyers said that your public presence impacted on his trial, as 20 years was the standard. you were just glad he wouldn't do that to anybody else ever again. the case got national and your family from outside the state, that you not-so-kindly kept in the dark, started making contact, victimising you all over again.

but things were getting better, gradually. it had been almost a year and it felt like that chapter of your life was finally being finished. you were trying to get your life back, including your driver's license. it was suspended for a while after the accident, so now you had to submit a bunch of medical records to prove that you were mentally fine to drive again. that's how you found yourself in bruce's home office, searching everywhere for your documents. you could've asked him where he put it, but he had just fallen asleep in the living room and you didn't want to disturb him.

in one of the desk's drawers, you find a folder with the local hospital logo on it. you open it, shuffling through the papers you've seen before. only one stands out, with "ob/gyn" on the top of the sheet. you wonder if there's anything helpful there. your eyes start reading the words one by one, listing the examinations they've done on you. the subject changes abruptly.

the ultrasound analysis reports the miscarriage of an unknown pregnancy to the patient's spouse.

you feel like you're about to throw up. the world starts spinning as you force yourself to continue to read.

the fetus was estimated to be in the development stage of the beginning of the second trimester. the miscarriage was most likely a result of several mechanical trauma. dilation and curettage was performed with the patient in a medically induced coma.

you try to remember to breathe in and breathe out just like dr. quinn taught you. you expect the tears but they don't come out. the panic doesn't come. it's suddenly so quiet. it's not like a hole has been punched through your chest, it's like you have no chest at all. it's like you don't even exist. you somehow sit down, your body does. you feel as if it's moving on it's own and you're just watching from afar. your thoughts sound so distant, so irrelevant. you can only think of the baby that had once been inside of you and you didn't even realised. you didn't have the time to love him. you've had him there, right there, the thing you wanted the most in the world and he was taken from you. everything was taken from you.

if a tree falls on a forest, and there's no one around to hear, does it still make a sound? it felt like your fall was silent.

[kyuseiki]

"My dear, oh darling."

>This is my first time writing something so don't be surprised when the plot is really boring or doesn't make sense at all (⁠・⁠–⁠・⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

GENDER NEUTRAL READER!!

If you're struggling with these types of thoughts and or problems please reach out for help!! Stay safe ❤️

OOC Dazai??

WARNING: suicide, depression, etc you get it. Bad grammar!! (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠）

A lot can happen in 8 minutes.

I cleaned my room in 1 minute, it still looks messy. I'll be gone soon anyway I couldn't care less.

7 minutes left

I wrote notes to my parents, colleagues, friends and most importantly, my darling. Osamu Dazai. I was a fast writer. It took 2 minutes.

5 minuets left.

I sent my goodbye messages to people important to me, thanking them. I didn't know what else to write to them, besides my hands were freezing.

Now there's 3 minutes left.

I went to the balcony, I took in the beautiful night sky before me. Having the last glimpse of my home before I'm finally free.

2 minutes left.

I stood on the railing, my legs were wobbling and my hands were clenched into a fist. Heart pounding so fast, almost as if it's trying to tell me to get off and think about it once more.

1 minute left.

I shut my eyes, leaning into the wind. I thought about him, Osamu Dazai. Would he be mad? Or would he be upset. Who knows, I'd be gone by then. I fell, I fell to the ground. The last thing I could hear was an oddly familiar voice screaming, shouting for me. It felt cold, I felt cold.

0 minute left.

"Please, dear. Please don't do this to me." the brunette cried out, holding onto the corpses cold hand. He sobbed uncontrollably, refusing to accept the reality.

The ambulance came, rushing you to the hospital. What's the point of it anyway? You're already dead. But to Dazai, you aren't. He doesn't want to believe that you're dead. After all, anything he never wants to lose is always lost.

2 days after your death.

You were put in a casket, hand holding a beautiful fresh bouquet of lilies. You looked as if you're just sleeping.

Everyone you knew attended your funeral. Your parents, friends, colleagues, relatives. But someone is missing. It was your darling, Osamu Dazai. He was missing. He doesn't want to see the state you're in. Locked up in your shared apartment, scattering through things. The house was an entire mess. He was a mess. He found the notes you left him. It read:

"Dear Osamu,

If you're reading this, then I'm assuming I'm already dead. For 3 years, you made me change completely into a different person from who I was before. I was a mess, I felt incomplete. But after meeting you, you made me into a better person. You made me feel complete. You were the best thing that happened to me. Thank you for all those 3 years. I truly am.

Love, Y/N"

His hand trembled, tears rolling down his cheeks. How stupid was he? Why didn't he notice earlier? Your behaviour, your mood swings. It was obvious, it was all on display. But he didn't pay enough attention.

3 days after your death.

He lied in your shared bed, empty eyes staring at the ceiling. Laying in the cold and empty bed. His phone had hundreds of missed calls, hundreds of messages concerned about his well being from his co-workers.

Trash piled up in the room, stacks of empty bottles of cheap sake. His cheek stained with dried up tears, eyes red from crying. Did he really need to keep going? Even after losing his dear? He lost his entire will to live after you died.

Was it really worth it? Sure, it took away all your pain and suffering. But was it really worth having your darling suffer, just because you want yours to be gone?

-END.

I really don't like the way I wrote it (• _ •)

Likes and reblogs are appreciated (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Lmk if y'all want an alternative ending!!!!!!

[sysmedsaresexist]

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

This is Mod Quill, but this is on behalf of a mutual friend of mine and Mod Dude's. Someone we care about a lot, and someone I'm not even going to fucking name here, because I am so fucking done with my friend suffering. Besides. You're going to know who it is if you have a lick of syscourse knowledge. I just hope they know what this might bring. If you're reading this, hon -- maybe just... delete your blogs and get out of syscourse. Make something new for yourself. Trust me, I've done that plenty of times.

Anyways.

@sophieinwonderland

Let's have a chat. Okay? I mean this completely, 1000 percent genuinely. I want to talk to you. WE want to talk to you. And we want to understand what the hell is going on with you.

Context: A friend of ours is in the hospital. This friend is in the hospital... likely because of you. Well, somewhat -- I'm not here to convince you that you, personally, are at fault for someone else's actions. You did not personally give them whatever implement of choice they used to nearly off themselves. But you have got to see that what you're doing -- what you've done for a very, very long time, causes people a lot of harm. And you have acknowledged it. Repeatedly.

You know that you do. You know you're hurting people. And you've shown constantly on your blog that you're okay with that.

This isn't the first time someone has been hospitalized after you took grievance with their tumblr blog. This is the second time someone has notably been hospitalized after interactions with you, and far from the last time someone's harmed themselves over you. I should know -- I'm a user who tried so desperately not to self harm, but you are the person who brought me to that point, many moons ago in a fit of hell and despair.

Don't worry, I'm all good -- it was barely anything. But it still stings emotionally, to this day.

The user in question who's currently hospitalized is not, and has not been stable, for a very long time. They're someone I hold dear, but I think we can all admit that people with DID sometimes struggle greatly with making really dumb choices. They've made a lot. This isn't the first time they've been in the hospital.

But Dude made a promise to them when it seemed like things were going to hell this time around, something to try and encourage things to go the right way.

Your named was tossed out too. Because of course it was. Like it or not, Sophie, you are 100% the biggest syscourser on Tumblr. You post the most and have the most followers. You are syscourse. And Dude's promise was to take syscourse down.

... But I don't think anyone in this situation really understands what that means.

Sophie, you are a person. Not a blog. Not a stance. Not a slogan, or a preacher, or whatever conspiracy you're trying to lean into next to explain away the angry actions you've shown more and more lately, to somehow explain why it's okay to say the things you've been saying, even when it sometimes, just maybe, seems like... you just don't want to.

As people may know, a (from my perspective, horrifically written, incredibly inaccurate, and only harmful) callout post for Sophie was recently posted to syscourse. What people don't know is that I, Mod Quill, was approached to help write it. Mod Dude was involved in the callout post as well, though to what extent I don't know.

I flat out refused to work on it. And that's because I knew exactly what would happen. I knew my friend would be hurt, or maybe even hospitalized over this. I knew that syscourse -- that Sophie -- would drive someone over the edge again. I knew that the document -- filled with inaccuracies and vaguities and nothingburgers to the max -- would be easy for Sophie to pick apart, easy to dismantle, and it would all start with debunking so much of the very real pain and suffering my friend has gone through.

And yeah.

I was right. Go figure. Maybe I should've done more, my brain inevitably says, I need to help everyone, I should've fought harder to prevent this... Dumbass brain.

Sigh.

Dude edit/addition: I knew the doc was coming, and while I won't say that I was supportive of it going out (I made the owner sit on it for several weeks), I made no effort to stop it. Having made my own callouts on sophie (and Quill, you have, too), I understood the need, and the positives and negatives. I knew Sophie could handle it. I was approached to read and check it, as my posts had been used in it. I even offered to help add to it, though... I ended up being completely unable to. I still can't actually remember anything in the doc. I'm doubting if I actually read it because it seems I retained nothing from it. This likely stems from the fact that I have been in contact with Sophie for several weeks now, getting to know her. I'm so incredibly conflicted on this topic that I chose to stay out of it publicly from start to finish, without comment or publicity. For the first time since I started my blog, I'm not feuding with anyone, I'm having such amazing conversations with people, I feel like I'm making more of a difference than ever before. Certain people have left me alone as I stayed under the drama radar.

I'm so tired of being angry...

My thoughts on the doc and sophie are complicated. I'm sorry to anyone that was hurt through my uncertainty. Instead of helping with the doc, we talked about life, experiences, medicalization, and I was... so happy. I don't think that I really thought beyond... "I wish I had spoken to some of these people sooner."

It's important to note that I don't blame the doc or author for any of this.

Syscourse, as a whole, does not address any sort of recovery, or help, or even just acknowledgement of the issues we are facing, as human beings, as systems, as people on this earth. It is just slinging words at each other with varying degrees of value. And I'll be the first to admit that I have relished that battleground. I have loved the feeling that I might be able to throw the right words or the right punches and get someone to either change, or deactivate. I've also wrestled with those feelings, tried to explain them away, mirroring what I see on Sophie's blog constantly.

But as more and more time goes on and I grow up and I see the damage that's done to me and my friends, I have grown to absolutely despise this place. I try my best to spread what joy I can. I also know it's really not enough.

Sophie, I have sent you, if I had to hazard a guess, at least 10 anons this past year, all of them variations on themes. Either positivity, begging you to take a break, or explaining to you in excruciating detail how I know you are hurting people, and why that hurts so badly. And... each and every single one of those have been met with dismissal. With that godforsaken shrug emoji that convinced me for years that you just... did not care, at all, about other people.

And this isn't just you. I know I'm coming at you, but that's because you are the biggest source of Syscourse Grief(tm) for this particular friend. But lord knows people get enemies here, that's just par for the course. So, this goes for everyone.

Learn to fucking care about each other, for fucks sakes.

God, this really is a ramble. I thank everyone who's bearing with me.

For syscourse in general: Stop. Just... stop. For those who are considering it, just stop for a bit, and witness. Watch. See what happens. Because the ones who are obstinate -- primarily the overly aggressive anti-endos and pro-endos -- will fling their vitriol at each other. It will just get worse and worse, and you can witness syscourse eat itself alive.

For my friend in the hospital: I've already given you some advice, but genuinely, I really, really hope you take care of yourself. I pray that, when you get back, you maybe set syscourse aside. At most, discord is there, and that seems to at least be tamer. But you are young. You have so much future ahead, and coming from someone who is (unfortunately seen as) an older system, I can promise you that it gets beter.

For Dude: GO TAKE A FUCKING BREAK. You are recently retraumatized, recently through a severe surgery, and you are out here promising shit like "I'll burn syscourse to the ground for you"??? Play a fun game and pay attention to your fucking partners, take a fucking break and take care of yourself. Syscourse will wait for you. People will come and people will go, and it doesn't fucking matter. Your life is what matters and I'm so fucking scared watching you obsess over this one, small aspect of it. I'm so relieved you went to that fun pokemon blog. You aren't alone, you are so loved, and don't let this toxic ass place make you forget that.

And Sophie.

I'm going to give Dude a link to send to you. You don't have to take it if you don't want to. You don't even need to acknowledge this if you don't want to. But I'm swinging the door open and offering the olive branch. I know you don't use Discord much, but for gods sake, it's better than Tumblr DMs, and we both know how Tumblr is a mess.

I really hope you'll take me up on it.

And for everyone else.

Wait till you see what happens next.

Edit from Mod Quill: Well, what's next is evidently a need for clarification and yet another callout post. Hello, callout-post author. Thank you for your clarifications. Notably, I attempted to keep your URL out of this, for those who didn't know.

Anyways, for the fullest disclosure and context: I was approached by Mod Dude, who asked if I wanted to participate in "Sophie Drama, Anonymously." I agreed, though I'll admit I was hesitant due to my particular issues with that user. I was then added to a group chat involving an enormous callout post. Notably, it should be mentioned, callout posts are a major trigger of ours that we are still working on overcoming.

I clicked the document and saw it was a mess of grammar mistakes, poor formatting, and impossible for me to read without trembling. But given that I already have an intense distaste for the user who posted it, I wasn't about to tell them more personal details about myself, and I did not want to communicate with them any further due to my own fear of the instability of all those involved. I told them I disliked the callout post due to harassment that it would cause, that I feel Sophie is a person, and that they had better have contacted the user who was hurt -- who is once again revealed in the callout, unfortunately.

I tried to laugh it off and move on, and take care of my mental health. That's what I was lamenting above; the fact that I didn't say more. I felt bad that I didn't allow myself to damage my mental health further to craft a callout post -- something I have tried desperately to avoid since the one I made the mistake of writing years ago about the very user you wrote this callout post about -- and something I get roped into constantly.

I privately read the rest of the document after it had been posted in full, as I still have access to it and it is a publicly posted document. It was filled with things that I found to be either nothing important in particular (things that have already been discussed numerous times) or things that would just be inflammatory (i.e. the OAS sections). I talked with a friend on Discord about the document, to which we both agreed it was bad.

To the OP of the document: I didn't say any of this at the time because, as I said, I felt uneasy and could not be in that group chat. I explicitly said I would not be touching "it" (the group chat). I was taking care of my mental health.

I refused to work on it because, based on my past experiences and triggers, which I do not owe you and still alluded to anyways in my conversations with you, I knew it would end poorly. I tried my best to sway you in the moment, but I was not able to do so because of my own mental health.

So, yes, to clarify: My grievances with the document were not made known to the one who posted it, whom I never mentioned in the original post. I do not condemn the poster of the document. I was simply making my feelings about callout posts known. What is above is not a condemnation of the callout writer, nor a comment on them at all. I genuinely did not want the point of this post to be lost due to callout-post drama.

So let me reiterate the important part of all of this.

This post was about the state of syscourse and how people do not approach syscourse in a good way. It is constantly slinging hate at people, which is never justified.

Learn to fucking care about each other, for fucks sakes.

---

Mod dude, here...

I want to add something to this, but I don't know what. I mean, Quill said it all, quite well.

Hurt people... Hurt other people.

I've made the attempt, over the last year or so, to actually talk to some of the bigger names in syscourse, the ones usually active in the tags, endos and antis alike.

It reinforced that... we're all just fucking people, trying to get by.

Antis, have you even tried to empathize with the community you attack so quickly and cruelly? Imagine if people said those things to you or about CDD systems. Have you, personally, witnessed the things you claim are happening? Because I've been here a lot longer, and it seems you're making shit up. Consider that you should stop parroting everything you hear and stick to what you're actually seeing with your own eyes.

Endos, please don't forget that these are severely traumatized individuals that have probably never even been to therapy yet. If you're not yet, maybe you should get into therapy-- it doesn't automatically mean there's anything wrong, but everyone could use someone to talk to, and seeing what it's like could be really beneficial to understanding the other side and getting an unbiased view of your own behavior and beliefs.

These are real fucking people that are ending up in the hospital.

Quill, the rest of my mods, and I are real fucking people behind these screens.

Sophie is a real person. They just got a new dish washer that they saw on Circ's blog, I missed it, but she linked it to me, and now I'm looking at it. She's going to let me know how it works.

And you know what? This little countertop dishwasher feels a hell of a lot more real and important than anything in syscourse.

As Quill mentioned, I just went through a major surgery. I'm learning that...

I'll probably never be able to walk properly again. My life is forever changed, and I'm really struggling.

My cat just... passed. Feel free to go like that post, it would mean a lot to me.

None of you know that. The people who leaked my main and smeared my wonderful name don't know that.

Sophie didn't know that the last time we fought each other.

My friend didn't know that when I promised him I would bring syscourse down.

Maybe bringing it down isn't the answer.

Maybe just reminding you all that we're all people behind the screen is enough.

Fucking TALK to each other.

Make an attempt to learn and understand.

Talk about things that actually matter.

Grow the FUCK up.

Reblog to share a hug, because that's more worthwhile.

And most importantly.

Please keep our friend in mind while they're in the hospital.

Syscourse community, endos and antis, this is one of our own. A person you've likely interacted with before, that you've seen around.

We exist in this small bubble, all together. Whether we like it or not.

[succubusyuyu]

if you could write a drabble of jaehyun fucking y/n in the elevator.. plsplspls 🥹 (referring to the post u reposted)

the part where he looks into the elevator camera ?:! /9;8/ i almost fainted

thank you!!!

I swear I was doing my requests in order but this one just got my eyes and damn I LOVE IT 😭😭 i just needed to do it or i will go mad also thank you @multifandomslxt for the thoughts anon was talking about (i love your posts 🥹🥹

when you started dating jaehyun you thought you won the lottery, he isn't just hot and handsome, he is cute, soft, gentle, sooo nice and well, fucks you like a pornstar, you could do a checklist of places you wanted to be fucked and he happily would try to make it happen, but in a crowded elevator was never in your list.

you swear you aren't making it on purpose, the elevator was just so crowded and the only place you can fit is close to jaehyun, back on his chest making him smile when he places his hands on your waist and brings you close, so maybe it's his fault too that every time the elevator jolts your ass rub against his cock, but just because every time he brings you closer.

you didn't realize in the beginning, but soon the bulge against your ass starts to get bigger, and you know jaehyun is tempted too, because his hands start to caressing your sides a way too rough like he was holding himself back and we'll you're a good girlfriend you would never make your dear boyfriend suffer like that.

your hands find his neck to bring his face close to you, your lips find his ears and it's on that clowded elevator that you whispers, "just do it, baby."

he smirks against your cheek, "so be quiet, love, and be a good girl for me, ok?"

the sound of him undoing his belt is a way too loud, and makes everyone look at you, and he just smiles, a dimple smile making the rest of the people just bow slightly and turn their heads back, not even realizing that in the middle of it he already took his cock out and is sliding the glistening head between your thighs. you tighten your legs and feel him buck further and the back, the hot length sliding against your wet panties.

you know your cheeks are red, you can feel the heat of your face, but you can't cover it, the only thing you can cover with your prada purse is where his dick is pocking on the front of your dress, before he stops, because he does it, he would fuck your thighs until he's leaking on the tip and his cock is twitching between your soft skin to then get deep inside you, pushing your panties to the side and thrusting into you until bottomed.

jaehyun is discreet, he thrusts inside your tight pussy slowly, never fully leaving you, just going centimeters back and diving in again, everything as you watch the people leaving the elevator and his thrusts getting messier, until just one person is left and the last thrust before the person leave is so hard that you have to pretending be coughing when in reality you're almost moaning loud.

"everything ok, baby?" jaehyun asks when the woman turn to look at you.

"yes-" you cough again, when one of his hands sneaks under your dress to the front of your panties, "just the weather, it's making me sick again." he smiles gently at you as you watch the woman turn her head and leave the elevator.

jaehyun hits the button to stop the elevator, and finally he's fucking you, still discreet, but all that while looking at the elevator camera, like he's challenging someone, or just seducing, hands on your hips and thrusting in you so deep that you have to props your hand on the wall to hold yourself. beads of sweat drop down his forehead, and you bit your lower lip when his hips start to buck, telling you that he's about to come.

jaehyun brings you close and kisses your neck as he comes messily inside you, groaning low against your ear. you come untouched next, just by his dick hitting that spot inside you and filling you with his cum.

"I'm making sure they will delete the images, ok, love?" he whispers against your ear when you come back from the bliss. "or I could save it to watch later, what do you think, or own sextape." he jokes, smirking and placing a kiss on your cheek, you chuckles, it's terrible that you love his pervert ideas.

sometimes being the boss have some privileges for sure, like fuck your girlfriend on the elevator on the way to your office. you would never complain of these privileges, he probably will be eating you out on his office next anyways.