#*🎬

[glitchybitz]

I'm on vacation in Cali and I can't stop thinking about him-- I canT EVEN ESCAPE HIM BY GOING TO A DIFFERENT STATE 😤😭🌺

[senascoop]

TIL DEATH DO US PART , S.JY !

PAIRING: husband ! jake × afab reader

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

GENRE: fluff + angst

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

WORD COUNT: 16.2K

FEAT: JAY from ENHYPEN + some ocs

MASTERLISTS ARCHIVE !!

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

DEAR JAKE,

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

With regret, Y/N.

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

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

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

Why couldn’t you have waited?

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

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

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

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

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

“She suits me well enough.”

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

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

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

“Please... Jake. I’m sorry...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you gave up.

A smile, then another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the fall hits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What on earth just happened?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But today isn't anything special.”

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

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

“Will this do?” she asks.

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

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

He doubles down. “We are.”

“Jake, no.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heck, it was funny for you to watch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should he lie down first?

Wait for you?

Or speak?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For Jake though,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

November 4th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© senascoop | tumblr

[snowgrave]

You were right. You gotta focus on the one thing that means the most to you and protect it to the end. It’s kinda funny, huh? This whole time, that’s exactly what I thought I was doing. … Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her. … I know it sucks to be alone, but it’s okay now. I’m here with you… Sayaka.

[cheftsunoda]

what about max sister who is a rookie in f1!?!?!?!

dnf (do not fall) (in love) — ih6

smau + blurbs

isack hadjar x !verstappen rookie reader

max verstappen x !sister rookie reader

being a verstappen meant racing was in yn’s blood— there was no way around that. this is her rookie year with vcarb and the one shot she has to prove herself as not only a female in f1 but max verstappen’s sister. she expects a lot of criticism and a rough adjustment but what she doesn’t expect is to fall in love with her new teammate — isack. the two are inseparable…all until a second seat at redbull opens and she has the opportunity to race next to her brother. will their young love survive?

(a/n) : i wasn’t sure if you wanted the reader to have a love interest or not and according to my polls the most requested rookie is isack and i loved this idea once i came up with it sooooooo. (anon if you want this changed i can absolutely rewrite you another version— just msg me) ps big brother max has me in a chokehold

fc : jazmynmakenna on ig and various f1 academy ladies

—

ynverstappen

liked by maxverstappen1, lando, danielriccirardo and 2,509,875 others.

ynverstappen : they gave yours truly an f1 seat! cannot wait and thank you for the opportunity @/visacashapprb. i have also chosen to race under my brother’s previous number, 33, as i hate to say it but he has been a huge inspiration to me over the years. (ft a picture of maxie when he found out)

tagged : visacashapprb and maxverstappen1

—

view 510,078 comments.

username07 : nonchalant just has to run in the verstappen genes because her announcement that she got an f1 seat as a female is too chill.

username15 : it literally does. this is the most emotion i’ve seen max show recently that wasn’t anger.

isackhadjar : kind of intimidated to share a garage with a verstappen😳

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : promise i don’t bite

liked by isackhadjar

lando : she is lying

lando : i’ve known her for years and her presence still makes me feel inferior

ynverstappen : that’s just because dominant woman give you a boner

liked by lando

username08 : 33 rebirth?? us max fans r in shambles rn

username10 : the video where max found out mid interview and freaked out (and actually showed emotion) and left to call her had me so emotional

lando : cut to me losing to ANOTHER verstappen. when will the suffering end? congratulations love, no one deserves a seat more😁

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : your suffering brings me so much joy <3 but thank you my lando. i’ll try not to lap you x

liked by lando

maxverstappen1 : “huge inspiration” meaning she has copied me since age seven. but i am so proud of you, zusje. it will be an honor to race beside you.

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : copying since age 7, overtaking since age 14 😇 proud to be your little sister— lets make history maxie:)

liked by maxverstappen1

username00 : this is so cute omg

username17 : max has always had such a soft spot for his sisters

victoriaverstappen : endlessly proud of you, ynn! you are incredible and unstoppable ❤️ love you

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : love u sm vic

josverstappen7 : 💪🏻💪🏻

liked by ynverstappen

sophiekumpen : nothing makes me happier than getting to see my babies live out their dreams together. so proud of you, yn.

liked by ynverstappen and maxverstappen1

ynverstappen : love you endlessly mama<3 thank u for giving me the strength to do it

liked by sophiekumpen

danielricciardo : i am so proud of you, bug. you did it! wish i could’ve been around to race with you but being able to watch you live your dream is enough for me.

liked by ynverstappen and maxverstappen1

ynverstappen : omg i miss you sm, danny. i love you:)

username00 : oh this has me in shambles

charles_leclerc : Congratulations! Please go easy on me, Ferrari is hurting me enough.

liked by ynverstappen

yukitsunoda0511 : let’s gooooo mini verstappen 🔥

liked by ynverstappen

susie_wolff : Absolutely incredible!

liked by ynverstappen

lewishamilton : As much as I do not need another Verstappen on the track, this is absolutely incredible and you definitely earned the spot, kid. Congratulations!

liked by ynverstappen

visacashapprb : So excited to have you! 💙

liked by ynverstappen

—

Max tapped his fingers against the armrest, half-listening as Yuki rambled about their latest post-race dinner bets. They were filming a “Red Bull Unfiltered” segment, the kind that always involved way too many inside jokes, mildly concerning questions from fans, and Max slowly losing patience with Yuki’s love for chaos.

“…and then Max tried to pay the bill with an expired hotel key card,” Yuki was saying.

“I was tired,” Max muttered, but his eyes flicked toward the producer walking over, whispering something to the crew behind the camera. One of them held up their phone, waving for Max’s attention.

“Uh,” the producer said carefully, “we just thought you might want to see this. It’s, uh, kind of big news.”

Max furrowed his brows and leaned forward, squinting to read the headline on the screen.

‘BREAKING: YN Verstappen Signs with Visa Cash App Racing Bulls for 2025 — Verstappen Set to Make Her F1 Debut’

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

“…wait. My sister?”

Yuki perked up beside him. “Oh, you didn’t know?”

Max snapped his head toward him. “What do you mean I didn’t know?! She didn’t say anything to me!”

Yuki shrugged. “I figured she wanted it to be a surprise.”

Max stood up so fast his mic wire popped loose.

“She’s in F1?” he repeated, voice climbing with disbelief. “Like—actually? Contract signed? Racing suit and all?!”

The producer gave a helpless nod. “It just went public two minutes ago.”

Max ran a hand over his face, pacing just out of frame. “She didn’t even text me. She just… dropped it on the internet?!”

Yuki was cackling now. “She said she wanted to do it ‘dramatically.’ I support it.”

Max didn’t answer. He was already unlocking his phone, shaking his head with a mix of pride and exasperation.

“Unreal,” he muttered, dialing her contact. “She’s in F1 and she didn’t even call her brother. I’m going to yell at her and then cry. Probably both.”

“Tell her congrats from me!” Yuki called after him.

“Tell her yourself,” Max grumbled. “She’s your problem on track now too.”

And with that, he disappeared off set—phone pressed to his ear, smile creeping in despite himself.

—

your pov

I hadn’t even posted the announcement yet. One second I was sitting in the kitchen, trying to decide if the “I made it to F1” Instagram dump needed one or three selfies — and the next, my phone lit up like a Christmas tree.

Thirty-two missed texts.

Two from Lando.

And three from Max, which was honestly scarier than anything.

I didn’t even get the chance to call him first. My phone started ringing again.

I sighed, braced myself, and answered.

“Hi—”

“YOU SIGNED WITH A CONTRACT AND DIDN’T TELL ME?!”

There it was. Classic Verstappen tone— 40% outrage, 40% disbelief, 20% Dutch dramatic flair.

“I was going to tell you!” I protested. “I just—”

“Oh, so you were gonna call me when? After lights out in Bahrain?!”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Max, relax.”

“I am not relaxing, you absolute traitor. I had to find out from a Red Bull media producer. A media guy, YN!”

“That’s kind of poetic, actually.”

“Don’t be cute! I nearly choked on my coffee!”

“Oh my god,” I groaned, flopping back into the couch. “I wanted to surprise you, okay? It was all super last-minute and I wasn’t even allowed to say anything for a week, and then it just—happened.”

There was a pause on the other end. Static silence. Then.

“…So it’s real? You’re actually—on the grid?”

I swallowed, heart twisting. “Yeah. I signed the contract yesterday. I’m a Formula 1 driver, Max.”

Another beat of silence. This one different.

“You’re a Formula 1 driver.”

And suddenly I felt it — the lump in my throat, the way my chest got tight. Because hearing it from him made it real.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice rough. “Even if you’re annoying and disrespectful and stole my number.”

I choked on a laugh, wiping at my eyes. “It was available and iconic. I saw my chance and I took it.”

“You’re the worst,” he muttered, but I could hear the smile.

“I love you too, Maxie.”

He sighed. “Just… don’t beat me too often, alright?”

“No promises,” I grinned. “I am younger, cooler, and statistically more photogenic.”

He groaned. “God help us all.”

—

The second I stepped into the paddock in my team gear, it hit me.

The cameras. The flashes. The smell of tire rubber and stress. The hum of engineers, reporters, PR teams, and mechanics buzzing like bees in a hive. It felt different. Bigger. Louder. Real. And before I could even finish taking a breath—there he was. Max. Walking toward me with his Red Bull attire on, arms crossed like he was already disappointed in someone.

I grinned. “Maxie!”

He stopped a few feet away and just stared for a second. No words. Just Max Verstappen, blinking at me like he’d seen a ghost.

“You look like a child who stole someone’s race suit.”

“Hi, nice to see you too.”

He smirked, finally stepping forward to pull me into a hug—tight, fast, and very Max. Like if anyone blinked, they’d miss it and think he wasn’t actually that emotional about it.

“You’re shorter than I remembered,” he muttered.

“You’re balding more than I remembered,” I shot back, grinning.

He pulled away, rolled his eyes, and nodded toward the paddock walkway.

“Come on. You’re with me.”

“What?”

“We’re doing a lap.”

“Max—”

“Nope. You’re not walking in alone. People are going to ask questions. And stare. And talk. So we’re going to give them a show.”

“A show?”

He smirked. “The Verstappen siblings. Side by side. Deal with it.”

And that was how I found myself being paraded around the paddock by my World Champion older brother, who somehow managed to look both wildly proud and deeply annoyed the entire time. Every five feet, someone stopped us.

“She’s really in F1 now?”

“Yes,” Max would reply, “and no, I had no say in it, which is why I’m coping with sarcasm.”

“Is she as fast as you?”

“No, she’s faster. But don’t tell her that.”

“How’s the family taking it?”

“Dad’s thrilled. Mom’s pretending to be chill. I’m recovering.”

At one point, Christian Horner walked by, gave me a hug, and said, “Don’t let him bully you.”

I smiled sweetly. “Too late.”

Max sighed like he regretted everything.

But as we finally reached the garage, he turned to me with something rare in his eyes—softness.

“You’ve got this,” he said. “I’ll still shove you off track if you come near me, but—you’ve got this.”

I bumped his shoulder. “I’ll wave as I pass you.”

He groaned and walked off, muttering in Dutch.

But I saw it—just before he turned the corner—he looked back. Just for a second.

And he smiled.

—

Max had left me at the door with a clap on the shoulder and a “Don’t crash on your first out-lap,” which, coming from him, was peak affection. But now I was alone. Rookie. Verstappen. On paper, that combination sounded bulletproof. In reality? My stomach was twisting.

“Hey,” a voice said behind me — light, but laced with hesitation. “You’re the other one.”

I turned and found him already looking at me. Isack Hadjar. Soft brown eyes, fireproofs half-zipped, posture relaxed but eyes alert. Another rookie. Another question mark.

“I guess I am,” I replied, folding my arms like I’d been here for years. “You’re Isack.”

“And you’re Max Verstappen’s little sister,” he said with a crooked smile. “Not intimidating at all.”

“I try,” I shot back. “But don’t worry — I only bite on race day.”

He laughed softly, but I could see the nerves flickering beneath the surface. I recognized it. Because I was feeling the exact same thing — only mine was hidden under sarcasm and inherited swagger.

“You excited?” he asked, then quickly corrected himself. “I mean—nervous?”

I shrugged, eyes scanning the garage like it wasn’t swallowing me whole. “Excitement, nerves… same thing with better PR.”

Isack tilted his head slightly, studying me. “You’re good at that.”

“At what?”

“Hiding it.”

I blinked. That hit a little closer than I expected.

“I grew up with Max,” I said after a pause. “You either learn to act unbothered, or you get flattened by a remote-controlled kart before your fifth birthday.”

He chuckled again, but there was something softer in his expression now. Like we’d quietly agreed not to lie to each other about how terrifying this all actually was.

“Same here,” he said. “Well, not the Max part. Just the pretending.”

There was a beat of silence between us. Comfortable. Mutual understanding in the middle of the storm.

Then he nodded toward the hospitality tent. “Come on. I found the best coffee machine already. It’s basically sacred now.”

I grinned, falling into step beside him. “Lead the way, Hadjar. But if you crash before lap three, I’m switching teammates.”

He smirked. “Deal — but only if I get to make fun of your first pit stop.”

“Perfect. I like you already.”

And just like that, the nerves didn’t feel so loud.

—

The second the checkered flag dropped, the radio crackled in my ears with a mess of cheers and screaming engineers — but I barely heard them. My hands were shaking on the wheel. My heart was trying to punch a hole through my chest.

P3. On my debut.

I barely managed to pull into parc fermé before my cockpit was ripped open by a pair of gloved hands.

“Are you serious?!” Max’s voice cracked as he reached in, grabbing my helmeted face like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “P3?! First race?!”

I laughed — breathless, dazed. “Surprise?”

He yanked me out of the car like I weighed nothing, spinning me once before pulling me into a bone-crushing hug, my helmet knocking against his chest.

“You little legend!” he shouted. “Proud doesn’t even cover it!”

The photographers were already swarming, flashes popping like fireworks. I pulled off my helmet just in time for Max to ruffle my soaked hair with his sweaty glove, completely ignoring every PR handler telling us to move.

“I beat half the grid,” I gasped.

“You beat four world champions and Lando, which is more important,” he smirked.

“Lando’s gonna cry.”

“I hope he does. I want to frame it.”

By the time we were pushed toward the podium, I was still floating — running on champagne fumes and Verstappen adrenaline. The announcer’s voice echoed in my ear. “In third place… on her Formula One debut… YN Verstappen!”

The crowd roared. The Dutch flags waved double.

Max was already standing in the middle spot, arms crossed proudly as I stepped up. He bumped my shoulder.

“You good?”

“I might throw up.”

He grinned. “Don’t. I already claimed that corner after turn 7.”

The anthem played, the champagne popped, and Max didn’t even try to wait — he turned his bottle on me first, absolutely soaking my suit while I shrieked and sprayed him right back.

By the time we were dragged off for media, we were dripping, hoarse from laughing, and still grinning like kids who got away with something huge.

“First podium,” Max said, slinging an arm around my shoulders, “and I didn’t even have to slow down to make it happen.”

“Don’t lie,” I teased. “You saw me in your mirrors and got scared.”

He snorted. “Terrified. Genuinely.”

And for once, I didn’t have to pretend I belonged.

Because I did.

—

The second I stepped away from Max and the chaos of the podium, I was ambushed.

“P3?!” Isack shouted, eyes wide, face flushed from the heat and pure disbelief. “Are you joking?! That was insane!”

Before I could even get a word out, he pulled me into a hug — tight, overwhelming, full-body kind of joy. And then?

He picked me up.

“Isack!” I half-laughed, half-screamed, gripping his shoulders as my feet left the ground. “Put me down!”

“Never, podium girl,” he grinned, spinning me once before finally setting me back down. “You drove like a lunatic. I’m in love.”

“You say that to all the girls who finish ahead of you?” I teased, still breathless.

“Only the ones who scare me.”

—

The music was loud, the lighting low, and everyone smelled like champagne and sweat and victory. Max was in the center of it all — holding court like the king of chaos — but I had slipped out to the terrace for air. Or maybe to find him. Isack found me first.

“You disappeared,” he said, stepping up beside me. His curls were damp, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make my heart stumble.

“I needed quiet.”

“You just got your first podium and quiet is what you want?”

I glanced over at him. “I’ve had a Verstappen in my ear all day.”

“Fair,” he said, laughing. Then quieter. “You were unbelievable out there.”

I smiled. “Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

We stood in silence for a beat, the party muffled behind us, lights from the track still glowing in the distance. The kind of night that buzzed in your chest.

Isack shifted closer, his voice lower now. “You know, I’ve been trying to play it cool since day one.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, tilting my head.

He looked down at me, eyes lingering. “You’ve made it impossible.”

The space between us crackled, the air suddenly warmer. I didn’t move away.

“So stop playing.”

His hand found my waist before I even finished the sentence, and then he kissed me — soft at first, careful, until I kissed him back.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t loud.

It was just ours.

—

ynverstappen

liked by maxverstappen1, isackhadjar, lando & 4,098,022 others.

ynverstappen : kinda gagged you hoes with this one tbh— p3 for me and p10 for isack. @/viscashapprb picked the right rookies ;) 

—

view 403,075 comments.

maxverstappen1 : god i raised you right. congratulations again, zusje. 

liked by ynverstappen

username00 : max pulling her out of the car and into a hug had me in shambles.

lando : kinda shit my pants when i saw you come up beside me

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : how’d i look from behind lando?

liked by lando

maxverstappen1 : do not answer that lando

liked by ynverstappen

visacashapprb : rookie era = domination era

liked by ynverstappen and isackhadjar

mickschumacher : i think max actually teared up. proud doesn’t cover it, sis. 

liked by ynverstappen

pierregasly : iconic caption. terrifying sibling duo.

liked by ynverstappen

danielricciardo : you are not supposed to be able to flex this hard your rookie year. you are insane.

liked by ynverstappen

isackhadjar : ok podium princess. pop off.

liked by ynverstappen

kellypiquet : SO proud of you, yn! P was so proud of her Auntie. 

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : give her a kiss for me <3

—

We were supposed to be at the F1 movie screening. You know — that very important, very serious, very mandatory private event that Liberty Media put together for the drivers. Instead? Max and I were halfway through a jumbo popcorn bucket, watching Tom Cruise sprint across a train at full speed in the new Mission Impossible movie. 

“Why does he always run like that?” Max whispered, squinting at the screen. “His arms are doing too much.”

I shushed him, mouth full of M&M’s. “He’s an action hero, Max. Let him have his dramatic cardio.”

He snorted and stole a handful of my candy. “You realize we’re both going to get fined for this.”

“Not if they don’t know.”

“They’re definitely going to know.”

I shrugged. “Worth it.”

Max tilted his head. “You’d really rather be here than on a red carpet with Lando trying to flirt with himself in a mirror?”

“Obviously.”

“…Okay, fair.”

We sank deeper into the plush seats, pretending we weren’t professional athletes ditching a high-profile media event for Tom Cruise and slushies. Halfway through the movie, my phone buzzed. A text from Lando in the group chat. 

where are you?? and max?? are you together??

I sent back a blurry photo of the movie screen and Max flipping the bird in the background.

family bonding exercise. don’t tattle. i will know.  

Ten minutes later, another text — from Isack this time. 

sigh. i will lie for you both. you owe me thoughhhh

I leaned over to Max. “We need a code word for if anyone asks where we were.”

“Easy,” he said. “We were… at a closed-door Verstappen family strategy meeting.”

“Nice. Sounds important.”

“We’re very professional.”

As the credits rolled and the lights came up, Max stood and stretched like we hadn’t just committed PR war crimes.

“Ready to face the wrath of literally everyone?”

I popped a last kernel into my mouth. “Always. Want to hit up a McDonald’s before we go back?”

He grinned. “That’s the Verstappen spirit.”

— 

ynverstappen added posts to her story!

seen by maxverstappen1, isackhadjar, charles_leclerc and 10,097,004 others.

{caption : mission impossible gets a A- from the verstappens}

danielricciardo : the most verstappen thing i’ve ever seen. so unbothered. so iconic. 

liked by ynverstappen

visacashapprb : this will be brought up at the meeting on monday.

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : ok but max made me so can big daddy redbull yell at him too?

lando : you both r so unhinged i love it

liked by ynverstappen

charles_leclerc : max can get away with this but you doing this your rookie year is so wild that i can’t help but love you

liked by ynverstappen

maxverstappen1 : id say more of a b+ just due to his running

liked by ynverstappen

—

f1

508,090 likes.

f1 : Yuki Tsunoda has had to drop out of the rest of this season due to personal injury. YN Verstappen will be taking his place for the continuation of the season.

—

ynverstappen : get well my yuki pie. kiss that constructors goodbye mclaren. max and i have got it under control now <3

liked by maxverstappen1 and yukitsunoda0511

lando : god damnit 

username00 : YN??? in the redbull seat???? beside her brother??? omg

username15 : from rookie to redbull in half a season?? i love her.

redbullracing : new verstappen unlocked. 

liked by ynverstappen

visacashapprb : once a bull, always a bull. we will miss you, yn! good luck!

liked by ynverstappen

isackhadjar : gonna miss the best teammate on the planet:(

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : oh hush you will still see me all the time. you cannot escape me hadjar

liked by isackhadjar

username10 : little verstappen girlbossing her way to the top. iktr my queen

liked by ynverstappen

username22 : max, yn and christian walking into the paddock like that one mean girls hallway scene

username14 : isack pretending to be ok with his secret love getting promoted is tugging at my heart strings

—

The paddock was quiet. Almost unnervingly so. Most people had already gone home, flown out, moved on. Except us. I found him in the back of the motorhome, still in his fireproofs, sitting on the floor like he couldn’t be bothered to pretend he was fine.

I closed the door behind me. “Hey.”

Isack looked up. Eyes tired. Soft. Too soft.

“Hey, Red Bull.”

I winced. “Don’t call me that.”

He didn’t say anything.

I crossed the room and sat beside him. For a second, we just existed in silence — the kind that sits between two people who don’t know what happens next.

“I didn’t know,” I said quietly. “Not until this morning. I swear.”

He gave me a small nod, but I could feel the weight behind his silence.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I added. “Yuki’s out, and they didn’t want to bring someone from outside. I just… I don’t know. I got the call and everything moved so fast.”

“I know,” he said finally. “I know it’s not your fault.”

I glanced at him. “But?”

He shrugged. “But it still sucks.”

That was fair. Because it did. It sucked. We’d built this little world — a bubble between races and pressure and secrecy. We were in this together. And now, I was leaving. Not physically, maybe. But symbolically, I was crossing the line into something… different. Bigger. Riskier.

“You know I didn’t want this to change us.”

He leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah. But it will.”

I looked down at my hands. “Do you hate me?”

His head snapped toward me. “What? No. God, no. Don’t ever think that.”

“Then say something real, Isack. Because I’m terrified. I want to be excited, but I feel like I’m losing you at the same time.”

He reached for my hand, fingers brushing over mine, like he was trying to memorize something before it slipped away.

“You’re not losing me,” he said. “You’re just… driving away a little faster now.”

I laughed, watery and cracked. “That was so corny.”

“Yeah, well. I’m dramatic.”

We sat there like that for a while — our hands tangled, our hearts somewhere between celebration and heartbreak. And neither of us said the words that felt too dangerous to speak out loud. But we both thought them.

—

ynverstappen

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, isackhadjar and 5,090,788 others.

ynverstappen : i did not come here to race— i came here to gamble and find aliens.

—

view 120,079 other comments.

redbullracing : your contract says you are here to race 

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ynverstappen : details details

username00 : i just know those pictures are with isack i can feel IT

maxverstappen1 : if the fia doesn’t fine you i might. get my face off that thing. who did you even pay to do that???

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : i never spill my secrets

danielricciardo : yn. i love you so much. never change

liked by ynverstappen

isackhadjar : no aliens so far but big wins at the casino

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : my 25 cents got me a bouncy ball

charles_leclerc : you are the strangest person i ever met and i mean it with love.

liked by ynverstappen

lando : am i going to have to stare at max while i’m driving??

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : sadly no— he has to be taken down tomorrow :(

yukitsunoda0511 : did you get me one of those magnets??

liked by ynverstappen 

ynverstappen : absolutely. also got you a hat 

liked by yukitsunoda0511

georgerussell63 : i would say i am surprised but this seems right on brand for you

liked by ynverstappen

oscarpiastri : aliens, beer, chaos and still managing to be faster than all of us. i respect it.

liked by ynverstappen 

—

Isack leaned in close, grinning as he dropped a coin into one of those cheap slot machines near the back of the casino. It chimed dramatically — a few lights blinked — and nothing happened.

“Wow,” I deadpanned. “We’re really making financial history here.”

He turned to me with mock offense. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m manifesting a $1.25 win tonight.”

“Big spender.”

“Only for you.”

He looked good in the dim casino light — hoodie up, laugh lines crinkling, hands brushing against mine like he forgot we were still supposed to be subtle. We were tucked into a little corner, away from the high-stakes tables and the main traffic, blending in like two tourists with a gambling problem and no adult supervision. Which was ironic. Because we did, in fact, have adult supervision. And he was literally walking toward us.

“Tell me that’s not who I think it is,” I muttered, already bracing myself.

Isack followed my gaze, and then visibly stiffened. Max Verstappen. In a baseball cap. Looking so out of place in a casino that he might as well have worn a sign that said “I’m here to ruin your night.”

“Is this… a date?” Max asked, approaching like a dad discovering his daughter at prom with the neighborhood bad boy.

I blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw your location on Find My Friends,” he said simply, like that wasn’t insane. “And I was hungry. There’s a buffet. What are you doing here with him?”

Isack was trying very hard not to laugh. Max turned to him. “You. Are you corrupting my sister?”

“I’m sitting next to her.”

“Exactly. Corruption.”

I sighed. “Max, we’re literally just playing slots and pretending we’re cooler than we are.”

“You could be doing that with me.”

“You crashed our night.”

“You soft-launched him, YN. On Instagram. That’s not subtle.”

Isack, finally unable to help himself, leaned forward and said, “I can just… go lose a few games and come back if you two need to work this out?”

“No, you stay here,” Max said. “I want to watch.”

“Oh my God,” I muttered, burying my face in my hands.

Max pulled up a chair. “So. Who’s winning?”

“Not me,” I groaned.

Isack slipped an arm around the back of my chair. “Emotionally? I am.”

Max pointed a finger at him. “Keep that energy and I’ll make you drive the simulator for ten hours straight.”

—

I found Max sitting in the far corner of the hospitality suite, feet kicked up, watching an old race replay on mute with a bowl of M&Ms.

“Hey,” I said, slumping into the seat beside him.

He glanced at me, raised an eyebrow. “If you’re here to tell me you broke the simulator again, I swear—”

“I’m dating Isack.”

Max blinked. Then slowly turned to look at me, like his brain was buffering.

“…That’s not the sentence I thought was coming.”

I sighed, tugging my Red Bull hoodie tighter around me. “We’ve been together for a few months. And I want to tell people. I want to post him. But Red Bull said no. PR thinks it’s messy for ex teammates to be public. Especially rookies.”

Max was silent for a beat too long. Long enough for the lump in my throat to make itself known.

“And I’ve been fine with it, really. But now it just… sucks. I’m proud of him. Of us. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

When I glanced over, Max’s expression had shifted. Still smug, sure — he was genetically incapable of anything else — but softer. Protective.

“You love him?” he asked, suddenly serious.

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I really do.”

He exhaled. “Well, shit. That’s gross.”

I snorted. “Thanks.”

“But,” he continued, sitting up straighter, “you’re my little sister. And if you want to go public, then they’re going to have to deal with it.”

“I don’t think they’ll listen to me,” I admitted quietly.

He gave me a look. “They’ll listen to me.”

“Max…”

“No, no. Let me do my big brother thing. I’ll make it sound like my idea. I’ll throw in some nonsense about driver psychology and team chemistry and then threaten to tell everyone Christian once used the company card to buy socks or something.”

I blinked. “Wait—”

He smirked. “It was a lot of socks. Suspiciously soft. But that’s not the point.”

I smiled, for real this time. “You’d really help me with this?”

“Of course,” he said, nudging my shoulder. “You’re my sister. Also, it’s getting weird how often I see you two sneaking around the paddock like you’re in some bad teen soap.”

“We are discreet!”

“You once hid in a tire stack. A tire stack, YN.”

“…Okay, that one was bad.”

“I rest my case.”

He grinned, then stood, tossing a handful of M&Ms into his mouth.

“Don’t worry. Give me 48 hours and I’ll either have Red Bull greenlight your relationship, or Isack will mysteriously be promoted to team chef. Either way, you’ll be together.”

“Max.”

“What? He’d look good in an apron plus he is French, they all know how to cook.” 

—

third person pov

Max walked in like he owned the place — because, in most ways that mattered, he kind of did. No one dared stop him as he bypassed the closed office doors and planted himself at the PR team’s weekly strategy meeting.

“Hi,” he said, dropping into the nearest seat and immediately grabbing someone’s Red Bull can. “We need to talk about something important.”

The PR lead — Anna, a steely woman who’d dealt with three world championships, six major scandals, and Daniel Ricciardo’s press era — narrowed her eyes. “You’re not on the agenda.”

“I am now.”

Anna sighed. “What is it this time?”

Max leaned back, completely unbothered. “My sister and Isack. Let them go public.”

The entire table went still. “Max,” someone ventured, “we’ve already discussed—”

“I don’t care what you discussed,” he said casually. “She’s not just any rookie. She’s a Verstappen. And you’ve built half your marketing around that name, so don’t pretend she’s just another F1 junior.”

Anna pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s not about her. It’s about optics. Two rookies, on that were on the same team, in a relationship—if things go wrong, it reflects badly on everyone. Including you.”

Max smiled. It was not comforting.

“Well, lucky for you, it won’t go wrong. And if it does? I’ll handle it. Personally.”

“Max—”

“She wants to support him. She wants to be proud. And if you think the fans don’t already know, you’re delusional. They’re soft-launching harder than Red Bull launched the RB20.”

There was a brief pause as Anna quietly suffered an aneurysm. Max continued, tapping the table for emphasis. “You don’t want a PR mess? Fine. Spin it. Call it a modern motorsport love story. Say they’re the new power duo. Say it’s good for morale. Say I approve.”

“And if we say no?”

Max’s smile turned sharper. “Then I’ll start answering press questions with nothing but increasingly obvious metaphors until everyone figures it out anyway.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I once threatened to tell the world Christian Horner buys cashmere socks with the team card. Try me.”

The table went silent again. Finally, Anna gave a tight sigh.

“Fine. We’ll prepare a rollout plan. But they need to wait until after the next race weekend.”

“Perfect,” Max said, standing. “See? Productive meeting.”

And with that, he walked out—leaving behind only stunned silence, a stolen Red Bull, and the faint scent of smug satisfaction.

—

your pov

I was curled up sideways on the little motorhome couch, legs tossed over Isack’s lap while he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone and occasionally played with the hem of my hoodie. We were both half asleep — the kind of tired that only comes from humidity, media duties, and not enough hydration. It was peaceful. Cozy. Normal. And then Max burst through the door. Like, no knock. No text. Just dramatic, older-brother energy and a swinging door slam that jolted both of us upright.

“Hey,” he said casually, already walking in like he paid rent. “You can go public now.”

I blinked at him. Isack looked like someone had hit him with a tire gun.

“…What?”

He flopped into the armchair across from us, totally unbothered. “I talked to PR. They said yes. Starting next week, you can post your little couple photos and stop sneaking around like badly-written spies.”

“You what?” I sat up straighter, heart hammering. “Max, are you serious?”

He picked up an energy drink off the table and opened it like he was commenting on the weather. “Yes. You’re welcome. Also, the part about me maybe threatening to sabotage their next press conference unless they agreed is not important.”

Isack coughed. “You did what?”

Max waved him off. “Relax, it was charming. Besides, if you’re going to date my sister, you need to get used to this level of intensity.”

I was still trying to catch up. “They actually said yes?”

“Yes,” he repeated. “You’ll be allowed to post him. Or whatever weird Gen Z thing you two do. God help us all.”

I blinked again and then threw a pillow at him — hard. He caught it easily, smug as ever.

“Max,” I said, trying not to cry and also not to laugh. “I’ve been so stressed about this.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he said. “So I fixed it. Now you don’t have to be sad, and I don’t have to keep pretending not to see your ‘subtle’ Instagram stories of your matching shoes.”

Isack turned red instantly. “You saw those?”

Max grinned. “I see everything.”

I lunged for another pillow. Max was already halfway to the door, dodging with a laugh.

“Love you too, zusje,” he called. “Don’t do anything weird in here. These walls are thin.”

And then he was gone — the door swinging shut behind him, leaving Isack and me in stunned silence.

“…So,” Isack finally said, wide-eyed. “Your brother really is terrifying.”

I grinned, heart full. “Terrifying, chaotic, and unfortunately… kind of my hero.”

—

I could barely breathe when I pulled into parc fermé, hands shaking as I climbed out of the car. The lights of Vegas were wild — flickering, neon, larger than life — but somehow, they weren’t brighter than this. My first win. I won. In Las Vegas. Max was the first one to reach me, already half out of his own car in P2. I barely had time to process the blinking cameras before he pulled me into a crushing hug, lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing.

“P1 in Vegas?” he shouted, grinning so hard it looked painful. “You’re such a show-off.”

I laughed, clinging to him. “You’re the one who told me to ‘go big or go home.’”

“Yeah, not bigger than me!”

Lando joined us, helmet under one arm, smirking. “I was this close to denying a Verstappen 1-2. Next time I’ll actually try.”

“Save it for the podium,” I shot back, wiping sweat and confetti off my face.

The podium ceremony was electric — loud, glittering, ridiculous. Vegas on steroids. I took my place at the top step, looking out over the crowd, and when the Dutch anthem started playing, I looked down at Max — my brother, my forever teammate — and he saluted me like an idiot, mouthing, This is so annoying for me. I nearly cried laughing. Champagne flew. Trophies gleamed. Gold lights burst above our heads. But the real chaos came the moment I stepped down from the podium and turned — straight into Isack. He was waiting just off to the side, still in his racing gear, eyes shining. No words — just a smile, the kind that hit deep in my chest. I threw my arms around him, and before I could think, he was lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing, spinning us once before setting me down and—Kissing me. Right there, in front of everyone. The cameras. The teams. The fans. Max. It didn’t matter. Because it felt like the win, the noise, the moment… all crashed together into one perfect second.

When we finally pulled back, Isack grinned. “So, I guess it’s your round at the casino tonight?”

I laughed, cheeks on fire. “Only if you kiss me like that again when I win roulette.”

Max wandered up behind us, champagne bottle still in hand. “Right, okay. I’ll allow the kiss this once because she won. But don’t make it a habit or I’m launching you into the Bellagio fountain.”

Isack just grinned and pulled me closer.

“Worth it.”

—

ynverstappen

liked by maxverstappen1, isackhadjar, lando & 10,075,000 others.

ynverstappen : celebratory vegas win post (hard launch post coming in the next 5 minutes)

tagged : isackhadjar, maxverstappen1, kellypiquet

—

view 420,904 other comments.

kellypiquet : getting a blanket with your face on it next— congrats our race winner ❤️

liked by ynverstappen

victoriaverstappen : the proudest i have ever been:)

liked by ynverstappen

maxverstappen1 : what about my first race win??

liked by ynverstappen

victoriaverstappen : BOOOOOO

maxverstappen1 : i raised this little beast myself, you are welcome world. congratulations zusje, i love you. (but don’t tell anyone)

liked by ynverstappen

lando : not me being third again behind BOTH verstappen’s, one wasn’t enough, huh? congratulations darling:)

liked by ynverstappen

alexalbon : isack giving trophy wife realness

liked by ynverstappen and isackhadjar

charles_leclerc : you and max look like the evil twins from the shining in your matching redbull gear

liked by maxverstappen1 and ynverstappen

ynverstappen : here’s johnnyyyyyy!

—

ynverstappen

liked by isackhadjar, lando, maxverstappen1 & 8,090,007 others.

ynverstappen : everyone say thank you max for threatening redbull so isack and i can go public 🗣️

—

view 110,050 other comments.

maxverstappen1 : i blackmailed my own team just to have to stare at these photos. sigh. best brother of the century.

liked by ynverstappen

ynverstappen : love you maxieeeeee

liked by maxverstappen1

username0 : omg this is such a max thing to do and it warms my heart

lando : the way i saw you both flirting for months and i just thought you both were weird.

liked by ynverstappen

carlossainz55 : just casually won your first f1 race as a rookie and launched your f1 driver bf within the same hour— wild. love it.

liked by ynverstappen

sophiekumpen : soooo cute! bring him home to me soon.

liked by ynverstappen and isackhadjar

lando : wait wait wait— does this make you both WAGS?

liked by ynverstappen and isackhadjar

isackhadjar : yep

isackhadjar : you may have won vegas but i won you and that is the biggest achievement in the world

liked by ynverstappen

maxverstappen1 : redbull i take it back- ban them.

liked by ynverstappen and isackhadjar

redbullracing : two verstappens on our team means we get absolutely no rest.

liked by ynverstappen and maxverstappen1

—

isackhadjar

liked by ynverstappen, maxverstappen1, yukitsunoda0511 & 2,035,078 others.

isackhadjar : the love of my life. ft a throwback pic of me and mad max who saved the day.

—

view 80,074 other comments.

maxverstappen1 : you both owe me dinner and a vacation.

liked by ynverstappen and isackhadjar

ynverstappen : lucky for you we just won 20 dollars at the casino

ynverstappen : my boy<3 love you always

liked by isackhadjar

yukitsunoda0511 : I KNEW ITTTTT. now you guys owe me one of those inflatable alien things from area 51.

liked by ynverstappen and isackhadjar

ynverstappen : already shoved in one of my suitcases

visacashapprb : the cutest. we started this!! 💙

liked by ynverstappen and isackhadjar

username00 : did max give a big brother speech?

ynverstappen : 10 hours of maxplaining

maxverstappen1 : did what was necessary

isackhadjar : i learned that when we get married i will be forced to take the verstappen last name

liked by ynverstappen

maxverstappen1 : damn right

ynverstappen : you said when not if ASDHBDUBDSPA🥺

maxverstappen1 : blocking you both rn.

liked by ynverstappen and isackhadjar

[toonyangel]

Susie Campbell! She's quite a gal :p

(The first drawing was before I had a solid twisted Alice design, ack!)

A clip from BATDR, too! :D

Tune in! Lord knows I'm making more as we speak 😅

[marv-el-spot]

FiLMS WATCHED IN 2025 CONCLAVE (2024) Dir. Edward Berger

[nina-iseri]

now here's the kicker

[incoure-art]

Poor little amnesiac. None eggs with left beef.

Dialogue taken from my fanfiction A Long Way to Go Without Remembering which you can read here if you want to I guess:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56291893/chapters/143016175

[pasdetrois]

Lovers Surprised by Death (1510) by Hans Burgkmair the Elder Nosferatu (2024) dir. Robert Eggers

[acinematicworld]

Terrifier 3 (2024) Posters

[nwjn-z]

𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏*𝐫𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬

warning(s): nsfw, swearing, straight up p*rn

author’s note: i was going through my bookmarks and thought of this, they are aged up to be in their 20s don’t be weird

⭑ kyle broflovski

is such a love maker but can also be so rough. absolutely loves using your clothes as leverage to fuck you. has ripped multiple skirts, panties, and dresses before bc he doesn’t realise his own strength when he is pulling on them bc he gets so lost in how good your pussy feels. he’s addicted. (it’s okay bc he bought you new ones to say sorry)

⭑ stan marsh

love love loves lazy but still rough sex. he loves laying back and watching you bounce yourself on his dick while pulling your hair and slapping your ass. music in the back is a must when yall are fucking. loves praising you.

⭑ kenny mccormick

loves hitting it from the back. he’s a certified freak but sometimes he likes to really enjoy simple sex yk? but what he loves most is when you rock yourself back on him and use his cock to get yourself off. he thinks it’s the hottest shit ever seeing you eagerly fuck your self with his dick.

⭑ eric cartman

rough. hard. and fast. would best describe sex with eric. one thing him and kyle have in common is being the roughest guys in bed. he literally fucks you into the mattress. loves pushing down on your waist and drilling himself in you.

[glitchybitz]

All night into the early hours of the day, I felt so flippin’ nauseous and bloated 😭

I’m delusional, so this is all I thought about😭🌺

[mikarchive2]

[snowgrave]

[tyger-land]

𝚂𝚊𝚞𝚕 𝙱𝚊𝚜𝚜: 𝟷𝟶 ɪᴄᴏɴɪᴄ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ᴘᴏsᴛᴇʀs.