#people talk about how quickly others break down and like

[persphonesorchid]

Echoes Of Nebula - MYG

Summary: Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, a part of each other, one and the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning(s): I don't think there's any, but let me know if I've missed! Any mistakes are my own, I proofread this one (1) time 😭

Masterlist

Notes: Eep, hello! Here's this lil thing I've been working on! Also, Yoongi and Mc didn't end on bad terms, their separation was somewhat mutual and they're all good :)). Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged! Enjoy!

“Make sure to eat, okay?” 

Snow swirls along the train tracks, following a gust as a train pulls into the station.  There’s the bustle of people getting on and some getting off, bundled up warmly against the winter air. Some are going to see their families, some are taking a break from theirs. Some of them are stepping onto the train to never step foot in this town again. Some of them are just starting the first day of their adult lives. 

Min Yoongi? He’s moving to Seoul.  

Your hands tuck the ends of his scarf securely into his sweater, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize his face. Your tears make tracks against your cheeks and dry quickly in the cold.  

Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend.  

“Eat on time. And I don’t mean ramyeon because you’re too lazy to cook.” You sniffle, and Yoongi wipes under your eyes with his thumbs. His glove has a hole in it. Not that it matters much right now, he’s trying to get you to stop crying. “Sleep on time, not when the sun’s coming up.”  

Min Yoongi is trying not to cry.  

“Okay.” He holds you still because he’s trying to memorize your face. He’s got pictures, even the silly ones that he took and promised to delete, but they won’t compare. “I’m sorry.” 

He must’ve apologised for the millionth time. He doesn’t know what else to say.  

You nod, smile — sadly, tears on your waterline — and, “I understand.” for the millionth time.  

He’s moving to Seoul, a long way away from Daegu.  

A mixtape he made for shits and giggles took off and pulled him with it, and he has no choice but to follow. Your life is in this little town like a ship in a bottle and like a captain you’ll go down with it. You can’t follow.  

You both talked about it for days, compromising, bargaining, but in the end, your lives are going separate ways.  

Stars either explode or implode when they die, and Yoongi feel like the star you’re both made of has finally reached its end. It’s imploding, folding in on itself and pulling everything with it.  

He has five minutes left to take you in, how the tears shine in your eyes despite his efforts, the string of the necklace he won you at a fair peeking from behind your scarf. The way you smile and your eyes squint, the way he could feel the chill of your hands through his gloves.  

He wants to stay right here in this moment and never leave if it meant he could take you in for five minutes till eternity.  

“Remember to...” His throat feels raw, but it’s because of the cold and definitely not because he’s crying. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He looks somewhere above your head to give himself a second, things like these are always hard for him. “Remember to dress for the weather.”  

He squeezes your hands, takes a breath that he almost chokes on, and looks back at you. “Don’t skip meals. Get warm when you feel cold. Always carry an umbrella in July.”  

Sometime later, Yoongi will wonder if the things he reminded you to do made much sense, if they mattered at all. Wonders if you’d actually remember. The umbrella one is really important; you always forget.  

He sat where he could see you when his five minutes were up and eternity never came. Waving from behind a glass and missing the warmth of you and the sound of your voice. He watches you wipe your tears and smile big and you walk alongside the train when it pulls off and then you run, and then, Yoongi could no longer see you.  

Min Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend and left her in the middle of winter chasing a train.  

July is always rainy. 

And every time it rains, Min Yoongi remembers the love he left in winter. He wonders if you remember to carry an umbrella. It’s been five years; he wonders if you remember him at all. 

He watches the rain splash into puddles and listens to the patter against his umbrella. Seoul bustles on, indifferent to the weather, its crowds meandering through the mid-summer downpour. Despite the season’s warmth, a stray breeze slips past his collar and reminds him of colder days. He’s grateful his gloves no longer have holes. 

He walks along the sidewalk, carried by the crowd’s flow without much thought.  

There’s not much that he wishes for anymore, not much he can wish for when he’s got everything. He lives in a high rise, works at the top music production company. Sometimes it’s a bit hard being the most sought-after producer in Seoul. Life has been good; he can’t complain. That mixtape opened doors he thought he’d be knocking on forever, and he’s worked hard to keep them open. 

Min Yoongi doesn’t need much of anything else. 

But on days like this, when the wind is just a little chilly and the sky’s opened up and crying, he misses you. 

Sometimes he looks back on that day and feel guilt. He knows it was just as hard for you as it was for him, the pain in your eyes that you smiled through. 

For a while, he’d call you every night and update you, made sure that you were doing well. For a while, he’d keep up with you and made sure that you’re doing well. For a while, he’d call you every now and then, see if you’re doing well.  

For a while, it had been a while and life, and then five years slinked on by.  

Yoongi sighs, and there’s guilt in it. He got busy, as one gets being a producer in Seoul with a shit ton of expectations. He’s changed phones over the years, lost your contact, and he got busy. 

Of course, he’s dated — mostly blind dates his friends set him up on — and he’s tried his best to push forward. There’s no point living in the past, he’s sure you’ve moved on and on by now. Sometimes he’s fine, and sometimes he’s back on that train station platform, wishing he’d begged you to come with him. 

It would’ve been the selfish thing. It wouldn’t have been fair to you had he done that. When he got to Seoul, he’d buried himself so deep into his work he barely found himself. He would’ve dragged you out here, made you give up everything just to sit on the side-lines.  

He misses you sometimes, anyways. He’s forgotten the sound of your laugh, but he still remembers the way your nose scrunches when you do. He’s forgotten the scent of your favourite perfume, but he remembers the way you lit up when he saved up and bought you a bottle forever ago. 

Min Yoongi wonders if you remember him at all. 

As Yoongi turns the corner, his umbrella catches a gust of wind and flips inside out. He fights with it for a moment before giving up, letting the rain soak his hair and the front of his jacket and jeans. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, standing there drenched, remembering the countless times he reminded you to carry an umbrella. 

In the distance, he spots a small café and decides to seek shelter. The bell above the door jingles as he enters, and the warm, cozy atmosphere wraps around him like a comforting hug. He shakes off his umbrella – finally pulling it back down – and steps up to the counter, ordering a hot coffee to chase away the chill. 

As he waits, his eyes wander around the café, taking in the rustic décor and the soft hum of conversation. A bulletin board on the wall catches his attention, filled with flyers and photos. His gaze lands on a familiar face, and his heart skips a beat. 

It’s you. Your photo, smiling brightly, pinned among various advertisements and announcements. You’re standing next to a large canvas, looking proud. He steps closer, reading the caption beneath your picture: “Local Artist Exhibition - Featuring Works by ________.” 

Yoongi’s mind races as he takes in the information. You’re here in Seoul, and you’ve been showcasing your art. A mix of emotions floods through him—relief, excitement, and a twinge of nervousness. He jots down the address of the gallery from the flyer without much thought and leaves without his coffee. 

As Yoongi steps out into the rain, a million thoughts swirl through his mind, each one more turbulent than the last. He wonders why you never sought him out. Seoul is vast, but you’d known he was here, making waves in the music scene. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever miss him? 

The realization hits him hard: he never knew you were doing art before he left. In all your conversations, all your late-night talks and shared dreams, you never mentioned a passion for painting. He feels a pang of guilt. Had he been so wrapped up in his own ambitions that he failed to notice yours? The thought stings, and he can't shake the feeling that he should have been there for your journey, supporting you the way you always supported him. 

The gallery isn’t far, and soon he’s standing in front of it, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, the sound of soft music and hushed voices greeting him. There’s quite a bit of people mingling about in quiet discussion, taking photos of the art mounted on the walls under ambient lighting. 

Inside the gallery, he feels out of place. The walls, adorned with your art, are a testament to a part of your life he knows nothing about. Each piece is beautiful, but they also serve as a painful reminder of how much he’s missed. He wonders how many late nights you spent creating these, how many times you might have needed someone to share your successes and frustrations with. 

Yoongi wanders through the gallery, the sound of soft music and hushed voices creating a backdrop to his thoughts. The rain outside has left him feeling introspective, and as he takes in the various pieces of art, he feels a strange mix of pride and sadness seeing how far you’ve come. 

Each painting tells a story, each one a glimpse into your life over the past five years, a life he wasn’t a part of. 

His gaze is drawn to a large canvas on the far wall. The colours are bold and dramatic, the brushstrokes chaotic and full of emotion. As he steps closer, he realizes with a jolt that the scene depicted is achingly familiar: a train station, snow swirling in the air, and two figures standing close together, wrapped in scarves and winter coats. 

His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the details. The style is unmistakably expressionist, the exaggerated forms and vibrant colours capturing the raw emotion of that day. The figures are abstract, but he knows them instantly: one is you, and the other is him. 

He remembers the way you tucked his scarf into his sweater, the tears that made tracks down your cheeks, and the way you both tried to memorize each other in those final moments. The painting captures all of it, the pain and the love, the sorrow and the hope. 

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat as he stares at the piece. It’s a testament to your skill as an artist. He wonders how long you carried the weight of that moment, how many times you revisited it in your mind to create this masterpiece. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of emotions: regret, longing, and a deep, unspoken connection. 

The title of the painting, written on a small plaque beside it, reads “Departure.” It’s fitting, he thinks, for the moment it captures, but also for the way it marks the beginning of your separate journeys. 

As he stands there, lost in thought, he hears your voice nearby, and for a moment, he simply stands there. Your words meld together and he isn’t hearing much of what you’re saying, just the sound.  His heart pounds against his ribs as your laugh — it sparks a memory and adds sound to the ones that were muted — bounces off the walls and around in his head.  

He turns and sees you, in a corner, your back to him talking to a taller man, discussing a point of space where you’re standing. The sight of you, so vibrant and alive, sends a mixture of relief and nervousness fluttering around in Yoongi’s tummy.   

Gathering his courage, he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing just a few feet away. You turn and startle, staring at him like he’s a ghost. There’s a brief moment of surprise — he gets it — and then you blink. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, and turning to the man next to you, you smile gently. “Taehyung...Can you give us a moment?”  

The guy looks between you both for a second with a raised brow before he’s gone, walking off to some other part of the gallery. Yoongi’s mind is too occupied taking in the sight of you to wonder what that man’s presence may mean. 

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft and filled with all the words he’s wanted to say for years. Despite this, he doesn’t actually know what to say, he didn’t actually think this far ahead. He glances back at the painting of the train station platform, then back at you. “I saw your painting.” 

You follow his gaze and nod, your smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “It was a significant moment for me. For both of us, I think.” 

It’s a lot awkward, with him just standing there, not sure what to do with himself. You look the same, though now your hair is styled professionally and not the frizzy, wind swept mess it was when he last saw you.  

There’s so much he wants to say but he feel like he doesn’t have enough words, or the right ones, so he takes it easy. “I saw a flyer...in a café. Um... It’s amazing...your work.”  

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pride, nostalgia and a certain sadness. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s... good to see you.” 

The conversation goes slowly, awkwardly. There are long pauses and nervous laughter, each of you trying to bridge the gap of five years with small talk about your art and his music. 

“You’ve done well,” he says, gesturing to the paintings around you both. “I didn’t even know you were into art.” 

You smile, the same just barely there sad smile from earlier. “It was something I started after you left. It helped me cope.” 

“Oh...” His heart aches at the thought of you turning to art just to fill the void he left behind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and shrug. “We both had our paths to follow. It’s just... life.” 

He nods, but the guilt lingers. Life had taken you both in different directions, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he had stayed, or if he had at least tried to stay in touch better. 

Min Yoongi is an idiot and he’s always told himself so. He’s an idiot and he sucks at this sort of thing. 

As the gallery starts to empty out, Yoongi looks at you, the rain pattering gently against the windows. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, to make up for all the lost time, but he knows it’s not that simple. 

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asks, hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes. 

Your smile is a little hesitant, but you nod, “Sure.” 

You excuse yourself to grab your jacket and an umbrella — you remembered, he smiles privately —, and then you talk to the man from earlier for a minute before Yoongi follows you out of the gallery and onto the wet street.  

The walk is quiet, filled with the awkwardness of five years’ worth of missed everything’s, and Yoongi holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. There’s a confidence to your step as you weave your way through the crowd, head straight forward and not looking down at your feet like he remembers. 

You’re not the girl he left on that platform five years ago just as he’s not the guy that left you there.  

You walk back to the cafe he’d come from, and he realises that you’re probably a regular here. The barista behind the counter greets you with a smile and asks if you’re having your usual. You order a coffee and Yoongi asks the girl behind the counter to reheat the one he bought earlier, and the barista’s eyes dart between you both. 

You lead him to a cozy corner table after the order was called, and as you settle in, the conversation starts up slowly again. 

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Yoongi asks first, his voice a little hesitant, not sure if he’s allowed to ask.  

“Almost three years now,” you reply, looking down at your coffee cup, the tiniest furrow between your brows. “It took a while, but I got settled.” 

Yoongi takes a moment to observe you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the memories he’s held onto for the past five years. You don’t look much different, your hair’s in an up-do, your cheeks are a little fuller, but that’s as much as he notices.  

The silence that rings between you both is louder than the other customers in the cafe. Yoongi can only imagine what this scene looks like to others; two people who are barely looking at each other, like awkward strangers forced to share a space.  

His coffee is still hot, and it burns his tongue when he sips at it, but at least it’s given him a distraction. He steals glances at you, watching the way your eyes comb the cafe and avoid his gaze.  

Unfortunately, Yoongi is naught but a man, and there’s a nagging sound at the back of his brain. It grows louder until he fidgets, the nerves of his free hand feel like they’re dancing and he takes a breath. He looks down at his coffee cup, glances at you and then back to the cup. Then, he asks a question that made him want to crawl out of his skin.  

“So...that guy back at your gallery seemed nice...”  

He knows it’s been five years, and a lot can change in that time.  As toxic as it may sound, the thought of you moving on with someone else stirs a mix of emotions in him. 

He knows he has no right to be upset if you’ve found happiness with someone else. It’s not his business anymore, not after all this time.   

Still, the fear is there. He doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts to think of you with someone else. He can’t deny the pang of jealousy at the thought, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no claim over you. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found that with someone, then he’s happy.  

He sighs inwardly, pushing the thoughts aside. He wants to focus on the present, on the fact that you’re sitting in front of him right now. Whatever happens, he’s happy to be here, he hopes he can be a part of your life again of you let him, even if it’s only as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever it turns out to be. 

You stare at him for a moment and Yoongi can’t tell what you’re thinking, “He is...he’s got an eye for art.”  

Yoongi nods slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He hums softly, and now it’s his turn to pretend you’re not looking; he finds interest in the light fixtures above.   

His next question sits on his tongue trying to pry past his teeth. He feels like a kid trying to find the right moment to ask his parents if he could go play outside. There’s a nervous churning in his tummy that isn’t at all pleasant. How does one ask their ex of five years if they’re seeing someone?  

Yoongi imagines they’d just ask, out of curiosity, and get it out of the way. He could play it well. Maybe lean back into his seat and appear more casual before he says the stupid words. Maybe he could stop staring at the lights like a damn moth, and act like a being with a fully developed frontal lobe.  

“Are you two...close? Or...you know...” He waves a hand and then lays it on the table. The sound of his ring knocking against it is kind of jarring, but it gives Yoongi an opportunity to look away again. 

You make a quiet sound, and Yoongi finally meets your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, it’s obvious you’ve figured him out already — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. Which is unfortunate, because now Yoongi could feel embarrassment tapping on his shoulder. 

You say nothing of it, even though he knows you want to. He could feel it.  

“As close as business partners can be, I suppose.” You say, and Yoongi can see the beginning of a smile as you lift your coffee to hide it.  

“Right...Sorry.” Yoongi says sheepishly, though, a weight lifts off his chest. As he looks at you, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat.  

You’re still wearing the necklace he got you all those years ago, the one he won for you at the fair. The twine that the little pendant hangs on looks worn, fraying a bit at some points, but you’re wearing it.  

You kept it. 

He clears his throat, the words he’s been holding back spilling out. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I got so busy, and then it felt like too much time had passed to reconnect. I lost your contact, and… I didn’t know how to find you again.” 

You nod, your fingers brushing over the necklace like you sensed his gaze on it. “It’s okay. Life happened, for both of us.” 

“But why didn’t you seek me out when you got to Seoul?” Yoongi asks, his voice soft, devoid of accusation; genuinely curious. 

“I thought it would be for the best,” you say, equally as soft, staring into your coffee as though it would give you the words you’re looking for. “So much time had passed, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life. You were doing well.”  

You look so sad when you say it that it almost breaks Yoongi’s heart.  

“You know I wouldn’t have...” He wouldn’t have turned you away.  

“I know, I just...” You sigh, your eyes dart somewhere to his left, and then back at him, “...I really missed you.”  

Yoongi wants to reach out and take your hand so he does. Your fingers are warm from the coffee, squeezing his own, and tears beads at your waterline.  

“I missed you too.” His gaze is soft and he knows it, but he doesn’t care because its you. You’re still you and he’s still him, and he misses you and the girl he left on that platform.  

You’re both still made of the same star. It’s imploded but still glowing, and your necklace pendant catches the above head light.  

His finger brushes over your knuckles, he stares at them, the shape and colour and all the little things about them that makes them a part of you. All that with his heart in his throat because he wants to ask something.  

“Do you think…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the wrong volume might shatter whatever delicate thread holds this moment together. “Do you think there’s a chance… that we could try again?” 

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and he feels the subtle pressure of your fingers in his. He knows it’s a lot to ask,  but the longing, the sense that maybe something beautiful can still be salvaged from the pieces, presses him to keep going. 

Hope catches on the glint of your necklace pendant, and he clings to it. 

“I don’t expect anything to happen right away. I just… I want to be in your life again, even if we start slow. No pressure, just… what feels right.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, and then a soft smile curves your lips, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to say something like this.  

“We could try,” you murmur, the words tentative but filled with the same cautious hope Yoongi feels. 

And from there, the pace is unhurried. You both ease into each other’s lives like rivers that find their way back to the same stream.  

Some days Yoongi feels like he’s been whacked on the head with a giant stick. Anyone could tell by looking at him, when he’s got that stupid look on his face. Like he’s seen a goddess and she spared him a glance. He feels like he’s dreaming, and the last five years without you seem to blur.  

He starts small, a text here and there; good morning and good night. Even if he’s busy he’d keep up with you, except when his work demands his focus. There are some days when you’d disappear, and Yoongi understands when you explain you’ve been in your studio for hours.  

Your gallery isn’t far from his work, and as much as he could he’d go see you. He finds himself drawn to small gestures—bringing you lunch or a cup of coffee, or sometimes a sweet he thinks you might like. Each time he steps into the gallery with something for you, he feels a warmth settle in his chest. 

It’s an excuse, he knows, to see you smile, to watch you light up at the thoughtfulness of it. And each time you look at him with that gentle, appreciative gaze, he feels his hope grow a little stronger. 

You’d tell him all about your creative process, how you’d spin and weave what’s in your head onto a canvas. He’d listen attentively because he’s interested and he owes it to you. All those nights spent burning the midnight oil, steeping in his frustrations; you were there. You’d listen to him rant and cry when things weren’t working out the way he wanted. 

He owed you much more than that.  

He feels like he has to learn you all over again, which, in a sense, he does. Even if the bases of you are the same, there’s new facets. Little shards that fit into the mirror that reflects you, some pieces are a little dusty and worn with time and others are new and shiny. Yoongi has to take his time cleaning the old ones to see them again, and get used to the new ones that twinkle his eyes.  

He invites you to his place for dinner, something simple and easy, and the conversation flows a lot better than it had a month before.  

There’s no awkward sentences that cut off somewhere in the middle. Yoongi knows what to do with his hands and he has a better time looking you in the eye now. He feels a lot like he did back then, like a school boy taking his crush to meet his parents. His hands are a little sweaty, but the food is good and your eyes sparkle like they did back then, too.  

You seem so sure, like you’re not worried one bit. Like you knew you’d meet him again and you’d be here in this moment; sipping on white wine – something new he’s learned – and chucking over stories set in the past.  

The day he let a pet name slip was the day Yoongi wished a chasm would open up and swallow him. He had his excuse ready; the clock’s pushing one in the morning; he’s tired. The truth? It’s so easy to slip back into old ways, like nothing changed at all.  

Like a smouldering fire in a hearth. It’s not quite out yet, and if you throw some sticks in there, they’ll catch.  

After a while, on some sunny evening, Yoongi invited you to his studio. 

“This is where I spend most of my time.” And he means that, letting you into his studio. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly on the black couch that lines the wall near the door.  

There’s day old take away coffee cups that never made it to the bin, cluttered in a designated spot. The bin he meant to empty is overflowing with scraps of paper and crushed takeout containers. That’s as far as the clutter goes. Though, Yoongi’s embarrassed now – he prides himself on keeping tidy. He wasn’t thinking when he asked you over, didn’t expect you to agree either.  

So now he’s clearing up his desk and tying a knot on the waste bag. You make yourself comfortable on his couch like you’ve been there before, throwing the blanket over your lap as your eyes dart about to take everything in.  

You’re impressed, he could tell by the gleam in your eyes and your little down turned smile. He’s come a long way from his old computer and MIDI.  

“Its nice, cosy. Beats camping out in your bedroom.” You smile and Yoongi chuckles, nodding.  

“Damn right.” He agrees, but he wouldn’t trade in those days for anything. Truthfully, he’s been here for three days, only going home to shower. Inspiration on an all time high and he’s just been riding the wave, you’ve been his muse for the past month. It isn’t the first time, at moments over the years gone you’d float into his mind like a mirage, and he’d get stuck on you.  

He’s grateful for the break, though, there’s nothing much to do and he doesn’t want to bore you with rambling about what he’s working on. So he orders something, and lets a movie play on his laptop.  

The clock ticks softly in the corner, its sound nearly drowned out by the hum of the desk lamp — he should really get that replaced. You’re still curled up on his couch despite the hour, the blanket pooled around your legs, your eyes scanning a painting on the wall he doesn’t remember hanging. 

“It’s peaceful here,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, like you’re speaking directly to the heart of the room—and to him. 

Yoongi glances up from the cluttered desk he’d been half-heartedly straightening; resorting his things because he can’t sit still. He watches the way you seem to belong in his space, your presence settling into the corners he never realized were empty. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“You think so?” he asks, moving to lean against the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, the soft light from the lamp catching on the fine lines of his face. “I always thought it was too chaotic.” 

You turn your head, your gaze locking onto his. “Chaos can be beautiful. It just takes the right eyes to see it.” 

The words settle between you, their weight both gentle and profound. Yoongi feels something inside him shift—a small piece of armour finally cracking and falling away. 

He takes a step toward you, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression tentative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” 

You sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “What is it?” 

“Would you…” He hesitates, his fingers brushing against the edge of a USB drive in his pocket—the same drive that holds the tracks he’s been working on for weeks. “Would you let me write something for you? About you?” 

Your surprise shows in the slight widening of your eyes, followed quickly by a soft, warm smile. “You already do that, don’t you?” 

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, with a small smile that meant more than he could say. “But this time, I want you to know it’s for you. No hiding it in metaphors or beats no one else understands. Just…you.” 

You rise from the couch, the blanket slipping to the side as you close the small distance between you. Standing so close, Yoongi count all the things that make you you.  

“Okay,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his. “But only if you let me paint something for you, too.” 

Yoongi takes your hand because he wants to, and his fingers make home in the spaces between yours. It feels like déjà vu and an epiphany all at once: five years ago you were this close and he was saying goodbye. His gloves had holes. Today...he’s saying hello again, and it feels like no time had gone by. And he kisses you now because he didn’t kiss you then, and you sigh into it like you’ve been waiting a lifetime.  

Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, apart of each other, one in the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Tagging: @hoseoksluna @xpeachesncream @amon-rei @allhobbitstoisengard @euphoricfilter @madbutgloriouspond

[endereies]

BREAK UP DRUG - MS - PART 2

No Nut November - Day 23

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When you stay over at the triplet's house, you confront Matt

Part 1

“He what.” You were sat down in between Nick and Chris, tears forming in your eyes anytime you uttered his name.

“He didn’t even say why! Just that he couldn’t tell me. Did I do something?” Solemn gasps pass your lips as you begin to sob once more. It didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. Skin had been scratched on your wrists, a sign of the failed grasp you had on him. It was just too much now.

The brothers gave a knowing glance to each other while you sniffled into your jumper. For the first time in months, it wasn’t Matt’s.

“D-do either of you know why…?” The look on your face shattered them, of course they knew why, but like Matt, they couldn’t tell you. “I’m sorry, we have no idea, we can try and talk with him?”

Nick’s voice was promising, a chance to get an explanation, anything. That was enough for now. Chris quickly got up to grab some tissues and chocolate he had stored in the fridge and handed it to you. With gratitude, you smiled up at him. Your voice couldn’t be trusted to be coherent.

Eventually, you fell silent, laying against the cushions of the couch. Sniffles grew quiet and you just stared at nothing. Chris and Nick were alongside you the entire time but they knew you needed space.

“Hey…kid? Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Soft eyes looked up to Nick as he offered you a safe space. “Shouldn’t I get home, what about Matt?”

“He said he was busy tonight, but it is up to you.”

The nails of your fingers protruded the underneath of others as you came to a decision. It was like part of you wanted to leave this place and never come back, but it was all you knew. Your home felt a little too empty, too quiet. “Yes please…”

“Alright, you know where everything is, I’ll see you in the morning.” The triplet just looked at you pitifully, not envying you situations.

Hours flew by and by surprise, you fell asleep. The comfort in familiarity brought you to ease. Until voices woke you up.

“Are you fucking serious, Matt! You love that girl. You didn’t think to talk to either of us about it?” It was Chris, angry. Matt’s name sobered your thoughts, and you sat up quickly. Surely you were still dreaming…

Nick lied peacefully beside you, his glasses shining against the hallway light. It fell silent until Matt spoke up.

“Of course I love her, do you think I fucking stopped? I was prepared to do anything for her, so I did.” He didn’t sound like himself, it was sharper.

“So, you thought that shoving her away and into the dark was the best choice?”

“It was either that or Arlo would do some shit, he knows about her Chris. I let the relationship get into my head and I’ve jeopardised her safety.” It was obvious it was about you, one thing that Matt wasn’t was disloyal.

“You chose your little drug group over her; do you know how pathetic that is.”

That made your chest ache. Drugs? He was always clean; he never gave you a reason to think otherwise. Matt was always so adamant about not letting you near them. Maybe it was because he knew what it did to people first hand.

“That is one of our only incomes, but that’s not the point.” The voices grew louder as you grew closer.

“Then what is! Tell me Matt, because I have spent the past three hours consoling her because of you.” Matt stammered before responding.

“She is! Y/n is the point, if she was kept near me, she’d become a target, you know what they are like. If they find out that she is the reason why I’ve fucked up so many times… I don’t want her hurt.”

You now stood at the entrance of the kitchen, staring at the two brothers. Chris was pissed, and disappointed. Although that was easy to tell by their voices. Matt had a stray tear fall down his cheek. You never saw him sad, not around you at least. Was there a reason?

“Matt?”

Both the boys perked up at your voice. Chris was more stunned than Matt was, he smiled at you before walking out the room, grabbing a stray can of Pepsi as he left. Matt just looked at you, so gently. Why did he have to look at you like that?

“Drugs? What is going on, am I finally going to get any information from you.” You didn’t want to cry, but his own tears made your body choke up.

“Baby… I-“ The nickname didn’t even shock you; you were too attached to throw that away.

“I don’t want lies, Matt”

“I ended things…to keep you safe, protected.” He watched your eyes, how they were expectant for more before he gave in and spoke again. “Yes, drugs. It’s so stupid, I know. But it’s income. I swear on my life I’ve never touched them, I don’t use, baby.” His voice quivered and it broke you, the tears visible on your faces from the light above.

“Protect me? Matt, you hurt me.”

“Y/n, let me explain. I sell drugs, with a few other people. I hadn’t meant to but my had revolved so much around you that I started fucking up my job. It was my last chance to pick between you or my work. I chose my work to keep you safe. They know all about you, they can hurt you, you don’t understand.” He rambled continuously, spewing words at me. Both his hands talked with him, and it was almost hard to keep up.

“You didn’t mean to revolve around me? What am I, some sort of side piece to you?” He hadn’t meant it that way, you both knew it but it was just so hard to understand each other.

“No wait- I didn’t mean it like tha-“

“Don’t Matt. I- I’m not in the mood.” Walking away felt the same as before, as cold at least. You left him again in the dark, alone.

Just as last time.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03 @slutf4rmatt @spaghetti835928383 @flouvela

© ENDEREIES 2024

[inkandtension]

Cupid’s Bow.

Request: Minho x fem reader, angst, Enemies to lovers, inspired by : the beach by the neighbourhood

requested by: @hannamoon143

this is kinda long…. Sorry it took a long time! 😀🧍🏽‍♀️

Y/N, a fiercely dedicated archer training for an upcoming national competition, finds her already packed schedule upended when she's forced to collaborate with Minho, a renowned digital artist, on a promotional campaign celebrating diverse skill sets. From the moment they meet, sparks fly—but not the good kind. Minho, known for his sharp tongue and stunning creativity, quickly dismisses archery as “a medieval hobby trying to stay relevant,” while Y/N fires back with equal venom, calling digital art nothing more than "drawing for lazy people who don't know how to use a pencil."

The tension is palpable during their first brainstorming session, held in a sleek, minimalist studio that feels worlds away from Y/N's earthy training grounds. Minho's snide remarks about her calloused fingers and outdated sport clash with Y/N's pointed criticisms of his reliance on technology. Neither wants to back down, their arguments simmering with the kind of intensity that draws everyone's attention.

“Guys, please stop, now’s not the time!” they’d all start complaining and half of them lose the will to work seeing the fight almost everyday.

Y/N is at the archery range, her focus razor-sharp as she nocks an arrow and lets it fly, hitting the bullseye with ease. As she adjusts her archer's glove, Minho strolls in, a sketchpad and tablet under his arm. His amused smirk makes her blood boil before he even speaks.

“So this is it? Shooting at a target over and over again? Sounds thrilling,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his words.

She glares at him, holding up her glove-covered hand.

“This is precision and skill. Not that you’d understand with your stylus and Photoshop shortcuts.” Minho lifts his own gloved hand and wiggles it mockingly.

“Right, because my work, which takes hours of layering and digital rendering, is just so easy. Sure.”

Y/N narrows her eyes, stepping off the shooting line to face him fully, the faint creak of her leather glove breaking the silence. "It is easy," she fires back, her voice calm but cutting. "You make a mistake? Undo button. I make a mistake? That arrow’s gone. There's no second chance."

Minho raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he sets his sketchpad and tablet on the nearest bench. "You think every line I draw is perfect the first time? Newsflash, Robin Hood, creativity doesn’t come with a manual. At least you’ve got a fixed target to aim at. My job is creating something from nothing."

Her lips tighten into a thin line, the insult stinging despite her resolve to keep her cool. “Creating from nothing? Is that what you call copying filters and adding shadows? My three-year-old nephew could do that.”

Minho lets out a short laugh, the kind that feels more like a jab. “Oh, sure. And let me guess—he could also spend days conceptualizing a campaign while having to work with someone who thinks flinging pointy sticks at hay bales is the pinnacle of human achievement?”

Y/N’s jaw tightens, her patience thinning. She takes a slow step toward him, each word deliberate. “It’s not about flinging arrows, Minho. It’s about discipline, control, and hitting a goal with precision every single time. Something tells me that’s a little out of your league.”

He mimics her slow step, closing the distance between them, his smirk fading into something sharper, more competitive. “And you think shooting at the same target all day makes you superior? Try creating something people actually care about—something that’ll outlive you. That’s real skill.”

The air between them crackles with tension, their glares locked as if daring the other to make the next move. Finally, Y/N breaks the silence, her voice steady but icy. “You know, you talk a lot of trash for someone who’s never even held a bow.”

Minho’s eyes flash with challenge. “Oh, is that an invitation? Because I wouldn’t mind showing you up at your own game.”

Y/N crosses her arms, a smirk tugging at her lips now. “Go ahead. But don’t cry when you miss every shot.”

Minho picks up the nearest bow, holding it awkwardly as Y/N watches with thinly veiled amusement. The moment he tries to nock an arrow and fumbles, her laugh escapes, low and mocking.

“Precision and skill, huh?” he mutters, fumbling with the string again.

“And patience,” she says, leaning against a post as she watches him struggle. “But I wouldn’t expect you to have that, either.”

He tries once, his aim steady but completely off-target, and instead of hitting the mark, he accidentally strikes the ground near a worm. She gasps in mock horror, dramatically rushing toward the unsuspecting creature as if to shield it from further harm. Kneeling down, she peers at the worm, her expression turning to exaggerated relief.

“You didn’t even hit the worm. Not even close. The worm didn’t even flinch.” She raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re aiming at all, or are you just trying to give the worm a heart attack?” “I bet you won’t be good at drawing, either” He said.

“I never said I was.”

…

She’d just released a perfect arrow, the kind that sliced cleanly through the air and struck the target dead center, when her focus wavered. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Minho sitting a few feet away, cross-legged and absorbed in his tablet. His stylus moved deftly over the screen, his brow furrowed in concentration, though his expression carried a hint of annoyance.

“Don’t you have a real job to do?” she snapped, lowering her bow and fixing him with a sharp glare.

Minho didn’t even flinch at her tone. His eyes stayed locked on his screen as he added another stroke to his sketch, shading with meticulous precision. “Funny,” he murmured without looking up, “I thought the same about you.”

He tapped his screen once, then swiveled it around to face her. The drawing was a surprisingly detailed sketch of her—her stance, her bow mid-draw, and her intense focus on the target. But there was an unmistakable exaggeration in her expression: her eyes were wild, her jaw tense, her features twisted with mock ferocity.

“Look,” he said dryly, holding it out with a smirk. “It’s a very angry archer.”

Y/N bristled, her grip tightening on the bow. “At least I’m not hiding behind a screen all day, imagining what it’s like to actually do something,” she shot back, her voice clipped.

Finally, Minho tilted his head up to meet her glare, his lips curving into an infuriatingly slow smirk. “Well, some of us use our creativity a little more… digitally,” he countered, his tone maddeningly calm.

Her frustration flared, and she stepped closer, extending her gloved hand toward him. “You think this is just imagination?” she challenged, her voice low but charged with irritation. She held up her hand, pointing out the distinct design of her glove—the archer’s glove, snugly fitted to her hand, with the fingers for the index, middle, and thumb covered for grip and precision.

Minho’s gaze flicked to her hand and then to his own. He raised his hand slightly, revealing his own glove, sleek and minimal, with only the pinky and ring fingers covered to avoid smudging his screen.

“See?” she said, her tone icy. “We’re just cut from different cloths.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them as they stood there, their gloves a stark contrast to each other. Minho’s smirk softened, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. He let out a soft laugh, glancing down at their hands before meeting her eyes again.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice calmer now, almost musing. “But maybe that just means we could complement each other. I mean if you look closely, our gloves together make a whole.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion lingering. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, his lips twitching as if suppressing another smirk. “Who knows? Maybe you’re good at hitting targets, and I’m good at seeing the bigger picture. You never know what that could lead to.”

She scoffed, but there was a faint flush creeping up her neck that she didn’t care to explain. “Get back to your drawing, Minho,” she muttered, turning away before he could notice.

“Gladly,” he replied, his voice laced with amusement. As she stepped back to the range, she could still feel his gaze on her, a quiet tension lingering in the air between them.

…

something terrific happened.

Something that absolutely ruined well, everything.

Y/N arrived at the studio early, as always. She was already irritated, not just by the thought of spending the entire day with Minho, but by the very fact that he had been the one to suggest she’d be the problem. The studio itself was newly constructed, still echoing with the sounds of a place trying to find its identity. The walls were barely dry with paint, and the sharp scent of fresh lumber lingered in the air. There was an unfinished quality to everything—the kind of rawness that made her skin crawl.

She set her bag down with a sigh, pulling out her gear for the shoot—her bow and quiver, her leather gloves. The anticipation for the day’s work was drowned out by the vague sense of discomfort that settled in her chest. She was already imagining the hours ahead: forced smiles, shallow small talk, and of course, Minho’s smug attitude.

She didn’t have to wait long for him to arrive, though. Of course, he showed up late, walking through the door with the same casual stride, as if time was something he could bend to his will. He muttered something under his breath, loud enough for her to hear, though he likely didn’t care if she did. “What’s the rush? Archers must have nothing better to do than sit around and wait.”

Y/N shot him a look, her eyes narrowing with the same irritation that had already been brewing. He didn’t even seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. She ignored his comment, choosing to focus on the task at hand—setting up her gear, making sure everything was in place. She was too professional to get caught up in petty remarks.

Minho, on the other hand, took one look around and immediately began to complain. “This place looks like a construction zone,” he said loudly, as if no one else could hear. “How is anyone supposed to focus with all this mess? This is unprofessional.”

Y/N gritted her teeth but held her tongue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But her patience was wearing thin. “Maybe if you spent less time whining and more time doing your job, we’d already be done,” she snapped, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Minho’s gaze flicked toward her, his expression amused. “I’m just trying to make sure this whole thing doesn’t end up being a disaster,” he retorted, completely unfazed. The session proceeded like this, with them bickering back and forth—her quick to respond to his jabs, him seemingly incapable of shutting up for more than a few seconds at a time.

The photographer kept trying to get them both to focus, but the tension between them was palpable, and the shoot felt anything but smooth. Y/N’s frustration only grew as the minutes ticked by, with Minho’s commentary getting more and more grating. She was starting to wonder if this day would ever end.

Then, just as she was adjusting her stance for another shot, a loud creak echoed through the room. The noise was unsettling, like the very structure of the building was groaning under pressure. Y/N froze, her eyes darting upward as the ceiling above them groaned again, a deep, foreboding sound.

Before anyone could react, a loud crack rang through the room, followed by the distinct sound of something large and heavy breaking free from its supports. The floor beneath them seemed to shudder as part of the ceiling collapsed in a sudden crash, sending debris scattering in all directions. The dust clouded the air, making it impossible to see for a moment.

Y/N was on instinct, ducking as a chunk of wood fell inches from where she’d been standing. Her heart hammered in her chest as she scrambled to her feet, adrenaline flooding her system. She could hear Minho cursing, his voice rising above the chaos.

“What the hell?!” he yelled, coughing through the dust. He sounded genuinely rattled now, a rare occurrence for him. Y/N didn’t waste time looking back at him—her focus shifted entirely to the damage, the pieces of the ceiling that had fallen, some still dangling precariously from the exposed beams above.

“Is everyone alright?” the photographer called out, voice shaking.

As Y/N took a step back to assess the damage, her foot caught on a loose piece of rubble, sending her stumbling forward. She barely registered the movement before something heavy crashed down from above—a massive chunk of ceiling, debris still tumbling in its wake, slammed directly onto her arm.

The pain was immediate and sharp, a searing agony that shot through her entire body as she let out a strangled gasp. Her vision blurred for a moment, the weight of the fallen ceiling pressing down on her arm, pinning her to the floor.

Minho's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with panic. “Y/N!” He was at her side in an instant, his hands reaching to lift the debris, but it was heavy, too heavy for him to move alone. “Shit, are you okay?!” His voice was frantic now, the usual arrogance replaced by something far more raw and urgent.

Y/N gritted her teeth, refusing to let the pain break her focus. She tried to shift her arm, but the pressure from the broken ceiling was relentless. The dust was thick in the air, and every breath she took seemed to make her chest tighten more.

Minho immediately reacted, pulling at the debris with all his strength, but the piece was large, and it barely budged. His face was taut with concentration, his usual smirk completely gone. “Hold on,” he said, voice shaky, but his hands were steady as he tried to lift the chunk of ceiling.

Y/N winced, biting back a cry of pain as the weight shifted slightly. 

Finally, Minho managed to shift enough of the debris off, as staff rushed there to help and evacuate the place. It revealed her arm, now bruising quickly from the force. She inhaled sharply as the weight finally lifted, but the relief was short-lived. Her arm felt heavy, almost useless. She could feel the pain radiating from her wrist, where the ceiling had come down the hardest.

“Shit,” Minho muttered under his breath, looking at her arm with wide eyes. He knelt down beside her, his voice softer now. “Is it broken?”

Y/N clenched her teeth, unwilling to show how badly it hurt. “I don’t know,” she snapped, pulling her arm back slightly to test it. The pain flared up again, sharper this time. “Just help me get out of here.”

When the ambulance finally arrived, its sirens wailing in the distance, Y/N felt a mix of relief and anxiety wash over her. The pain in her arm had only intensified as the adrenaline began to wear off, but she clenched her teeth and focused on the paramedics as they carefully worked to stabilize her.

Minho, however, wasn’t about to let anyone else take charge. As the paramedics made their way to assess her injury, he immediately stepped forward, blocking their path with a protective glare. His usual aloofness had disappeared completely, replaced by a fierce determination.

“I'm coming with her,” he said, his voice low but firm. The paramedics exchanged a quick glance, but neither of them argued, clearly used to people being adamant about staying with loved ones.

Y/N couldn’t help but watch him, her mind a blur of pain and confusion. What was he doing? Why was he being so... concerned? He wasn’t supposed to care. They were just colleagues—rivals, even. Yet, here he was, hovering over her like he couldn’t bear to let go.

When the paramedics gently helped her onto the stretcher and into the back of the ambulance, Minho slid in beside her without a second thought, his hand immediately finding hers. He squeezed it gently, as though reassuring himself more than her.

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly as the door slammed shut behind them, the engine roaring to life as they sped toward the hospital. She was grateful for the warmth of his hand, but she couldn’t quite understand why he was doing this. The words from earlier about how they were “cut from different cloths” echoed in her mind, but his actions now seemed to contradict that.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles in a comforting motion, his gaze fixed on her face. “You okay?” he asked softly, the usual teasing edge gone from his voice.

She didn’t answer right away, not because she didn’t want to, but because she wasn’t sure how to respond. She hated feeling vulnerable, especially in front of him. But his steady presence, the way he refused to let go of her hand, made something inside her shift.

“Do you think it’s broken?” she asked, her voice tight from the pain. She hadn’t even dared look at it yet, but she could feel the weight of the injury in every movement, a dull throb that was becoming sharper with each passing minute.

Minho’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw clenched as he looked at her arm. “I’m not sure. But we’ll know soon enough.” He shifted closer, almost unconsciously leaning over her, like he was willing to shield her from whatever came next.

Y/N felt her chest tighten, her mind swirling with thoughts she didn’t want to address. She could hear the ambulance’s sirens fading as they raced through the streets, and for a fleeting moment, everything outside of the small space between her and Minho seemed to vanish. The only thing that mattered was the pressure of his hand in hers, the soft rhythm of his breathing, and the unspoken understanding that had settled between them.

She glanced at him, catching his eye. “Why are you really here?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

Minho didn’t flinch or back away, his gaze unwavering as he held her stare. “Because you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he said with a small, but genuine, smile that reached his eyes. “And because I don’t think you’d let me, even if I tried.”

Y/N couldn’t suppress the tiny spark of warmth that flared up at his words, despite everything. She wanted to argue, to tell him to stop pretending like he cared, but deep down, a part of her was grateful for his presence.

The ambulance continued its swift journey toward the hospital, the distance between them closing in ways Y/N hadn’t expected. In that moment, the smirk, the teasing, the tension—all of it faded away, and she was left with only one undeniable truth: Minho wasn’t going anywhere.

The sterile, bright hospital room felt suffocating as Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on her like a boulder. The doctor had just finished delivering the devastating news, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

“I’m sorry, but with these injuries, archery is not something you’ll be able to pursue again at the competitive level,” the doctor had said. His tone was gentle, but it made the words no less crushing. “Your fingers will need time to heal, but they may never fully recover.”

Y/N felt her heart drop to her stomach as she processed what the doctor had said. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, her mind racing through a whirlwind of disbelief and dread. She stared at her arm, still wrapped in a cast, and then down at her fingers, which felt oddly stiff and foreign, as if they were no longer a part of her.

My fingers… Her mind spiraled. Archery had been her life, her passion—her future. She’d spent years working to get to this point, training endlessly, sacrificing everything for the sport. To hear that all of that could be taken away in an instant was like being ripped apart from the inside out.

The tears threatened to surface, but she refused to let them fall. She’d never been one to show weakness, not when everything she’d worked for was being stripped away in one cruel blow. Instead, she clenched her jaw, willing the tears to stay back, even as her chest tightened painfully.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic glance before walking out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. She didn’t notice his departure; she couldn’t focus on anything but the silence that now filled the room, the stillness that matched the numbness creeping into her bones.

The only sound that broke through the heavy silence was the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, and the soft scrape of a chair being moved. She glanced up to see Minho standing by the door, his posture tense as he took in the situation.

He hadn’t said a word since the doctor left, but she could feel his presence like a weight in the room. He didn’t have to speak; his quiet support was enough. Y/N hated that, hated how much it comforted her, how much his silent understanding meant in that moment.

Minho took a few steps toward her, his eyes avoiding her gaze for a moment before locking with hers. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something deeper—something unspoken, but heavy. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or pretend to know how she felt. He simply stood there, a steady presence in the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Y/N muttered, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. She wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or to herself. “I know what it means.”

Minho’s gaze softened, and he sat down in the chair beside her bed. For a moment, he said nothing, just letting the silence stretch between them. Then, quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself, he said, “I know how much it meant to you. It’s… it’s unfair.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t something she expected from him—not the way he usually teased her or the sharpness he often wore as armor. This felt different. Real.

“I’ve worked so damn hard for this,” she murmured, her voice shaking just a little. “And now… now I’ll never get it back.”

Minho didn’t say anything for a long time, his eyes fixed on her fingers, the ones that had been her lifeline, now broken and uncertain. Then, after a beat of silence, he spoke again, his words slow, deliberate.

“Maybe you don’t need to be an archer to be… you.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Y/N didn’t know how to respond. Part of her wanted to shout, to tell him that he didn’t understand—that she was nothing without archery, that it was her whole identity. But another part of her, buried deep beneath the shock and grief, felt the pull of his words, like a lifeline thrown out in the dark.

He gave her hand a tentative squeeze, his thumb brushing against her skin gently. “Whatever happens… you’re not alone in this,” he said quietly.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. She was used to carrying everything on her own, used to handling things alone. But in that moment, she found herself reluctantly leaning into his presence, the weight of his words settling into her chest.

She didn’t say anything else, just looked at her casted arm and the mess of emotions swirling within her. Minho didn’t push her to talk. He stayed with her, silent and steady, his presence an anchor in the midst of a storm that threatened to tear her apart.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel quite as alone.

As the days blurred into weeks, Y/N’s world continued to shift beneath her. The weight of her injury hung heavily over her, a constant reminder of what she had lost. Archery had been her life, her identity, and now, it seemed as if that identity had been stripped away in the blink of an eye.

Her parents, furious and protective, rallied around her in their own way. They had always been fiercely invested in her success, and the sight of their daughter in pain triggered something primal in them. They couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering without justice. The idea of her future—her dreams—being destroyed without any accountability gnawed at them until they decided to take matters into their own hands.

They hired a lawyer and filed a lawsuit against the studio. The claim was simple: negligence. The studio had failed to properly inspect the building before using it for interviews and promotional shoots, and it was this failure that had caused the ceiling to collapse, injuring their daughter beyond repair. They argued that the accident wasn’t just a freak incident—it was a direct result of the company’s lack of care and attention.

Y/N hadn’t wanted to get involved. She wasn’t interested in dragging things out or seeking revenge. She just wanted to heal, to find a way to move forward. But her parents insisted, convinced that justice could only be found through legal action.

The court case dragged on for months, a bitter reminder that her life was no longer in her own hands. Every time she thought about the process, she felt her chest tighten. It wasn’t about the money, not for her. But her parents insisted it was a matter of principle. They fought for accountability, for the principle that a company shouldn’t get away with causing harm so carelessly.

And in the end, the court found the studio guilty. The evidence was clear—the building had not been properly inspected, and the structure had been deemed unsafe before being used for commercial purposes. The company was ordered to pay a significant settlement to Y/N, though the amount seemed paltry compared to the injury she’d suffered, the career she’d lost, and the dreams that had been shattered.

When Y/N found out about the ruling, she felt numb. She sat in the sterile waiting room of the hospital as the lawyer called her parents to relay the news. The words blurred together, but the impact was undeniable. The settlement was a victory for her parents, something they could hold on to, but to Y/N, it felt hollow. It didn’t change anything. The money wouldn’t heal her fingers. It wouldn’t erase the long nights of training, the years spent perfecting her craft, the agonizing loss of something that had been everything to her.

Her parents were thrilled, their anger temporarily quelled by the ruling. But Y/N couldn’t bring herself to share in their relief. All she could think about was how much the settlement had cost her. The studio had paid for their mistake, but the price for her was far steeper than any check could cover.

Later that evening, after the celebrations had died down, Minho came to visit her. His presence was a steady comfort, but tonight, it felt like there was an unspoken weight between them, something they hadn’t addressed in all the chaos that had surrounded the lawsuit and her recovery.

When Minho entered her room, he didn’t offer any words of congratulations. Instead, he sat beside her, his expression serious. “You okay?” he asked quietly, looking at her like he was waiting for her to crack.

Y/N stared out the window, watching the lights of the city twinkle in the distance. The hospital room felt cold, sterile, a place she never thought she’d be spending so much time in. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got money. I’ve got a settlement. But what’s it all worth? It doesn’t bring back what I lost.”

Minho didn’t try to offer words of comfort or reassurance. Instead, he just sat there, quietly, letting her process. He knew better than anyone how difficult it was to watch something you loved be taken from you. He had seen it in the way she held her bow before the accident, the way her whole body came alive when she shot, like she was a part of something bigger. The way her spirit had dimmed since the accident had left a mark on him too.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose something like that. But... I know you’ll find a way to get through it. Even if it takes time.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She just leaned back against her pillow, her gaze distant. There were so many things she didn’t know anymore—so many things that had been ripped from her hands. But for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to admit that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

The legal battle had given her parents what they wanted, but it hadn’t given her what she truly needed. Justice was one thing, but healing—true healing—was something only time could offer.

And, perhaps, with Minho’s quiet support, maybe even a little bit of hope.

In the days that followed the accident, Minho never stopped showing up, despite the fact that Y/N kept pushing him away. He came to her room with the quiet persistence of someone who understood more than he let on, but also respected her need for space—even if she didn’t realize it.

Each time he appeared at her door, a mixture of frustration and longing flickered in her chest. She didn’t want him here—not like this. She didn’t want his sympathy, his pity, or his attempts to help her in a way that only made her feel more helpless.

One evening, after he suggested helping her with simple tasks—like tying her shoelaces or even feeding her left-handed—Y/N snapped. The anger that had been building within her over the last few weeks finally erupted, spilling out in a sharp, jagged voice.

“I don’t need you to ‘teach’ me how to be anything,” she hissed, her gaze hard and unforgiving. Her fingers, stiff from the injury, curled into a fist. “Just… leave me alone.”

Minho took a step back, his expression unchanged but his eyes betraying a flicker of hurt. Yet, he didn’t leave. He never did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, as if letting her have her moment. But the silence that followed felt like a heavy weight, a shared understanding hanging in the air between them. He didn’t push any further that day, though he left behind a small package on her bedside table—one she hadn’t even noticed.

The next day, Y/N opened the package to find a book of poetry—one she had mentioned loving before. Her fingers brushed over the cover, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she softened. Minho was still finding ways to care for her without demanding anything in return. She knew he wasn’t expecting a thank-you, but she couldn’t help the pang of guilt that hit her.

Over the next week, his visits became a mix of awkwardness and tentative kindness. He’d show up with bags of food from her favorite takeout place—nothing fancy, just comfort food that somehow felt like a small balm for the chaos of her life. He even brought her a sketch one evening, left silently by her door.

It was of her—his hand-drawn portrait of her in her prime, holding her bow with the same fire that used to light up her world. His delicate lines captured the way she held herself, strong and focused. The drawing felt so real it almost hurt. It was like he had seen her, really seen her, not just the version of herself she had become after the accident. She swallowed back a lump in her throat.

Despite her resistance, despite her frustration, his quiet presence seeped into the cracks of her heart, mending parts she hadn’t even realized were broken. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t forced kindness. It was the kind of gentleness that spoke of understanding, of time spent in silence, waiting for her to heal at her own pace.

One evening, as she struggled with trying to tie her own shoelaces with her left hand, Minho appeared again, standing in the doorway, arms laden with a small basket of fresh fruit.

“You’re trying to tie your shoes with your non-dominant hand again?” he asked, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You know, the doctor said you’re supposed to take it easy for a while.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, not looking up, irritated by the truth she didn’t want to admit. “It’s just a stupid shoelace.”

Minho walked over slowly, setting the basket down on the table beside her. Without a word, he crouched down, taking the laces from her clumsy hands. He worked in silence, his movements deft as he tied the shoes with the care he had shown for her in the past few weeks. When he was done, he stood back up and met her gaze, his expression serious but soft.

“Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders alone.”

She opened her mouth to snap at him again, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she looked at him, truly looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, her anger faded into something else.

Minho wasn’t here because he thought she was weak. He wasn’t here because he pitied her. He was here because he saw her—he saw the woman who had been so strong before, and he believed she could be that woman again, even if it took time.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she muttered, but this time, it lacked the bite of her earlier words.

“I know,” Minho replied simply, his voice warm and steady. “But I’m not leaving.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that. She wasn’t ready to admit that she might need him, but in the quiet moments that followed, she couldn’t deny the comfort his presence gave her. Even in her resistance, she felt something softening within her, a fragile thread of trust she hadn’t realized she was willing to weave again.

“I can help you, please let me, you know I’m ambidextrous.”

…

One night, Minho comes to her house, as he has so many times before. Y/N’s frustration has reached its peak, and she can’t hold it back anymore.

“I’m not a broken doll that needs fixing. I’m not someone you have to pity.”

Minho sits down across from her, knowing it’s her daily depressing hour. his expression unreadable. For a moment, the silence feels suffocating. Then, he speaks softly. “I can’t teach you archery, but I can teach you how to draw. I can teach you how to use your other hand.”

She looks at him, and for the first time, the bitterness fades just enough to let a tiny flicker of hope in. Maybe she can still create something. Maybe it won’t be the same as archery, but it could be something new. Later that evening, her mother enters the room with a tray of snacks, trying to lighten the mood. She sits down next to Y/N, looking between her and Minho.

“You should’ve been more careful, sweetie. You’re an archer. You should’ve known how to take care of yourself.”

That’s the breaking point.

Y/N stands up abruptly, the frustration boiling over. “It’s not my fault! I couldn’t have known the ceiling was going to fall! it’s not like I give everywhere assuming unexpected things happen !” She’s shaking with the intensity of it now.

“I didn’t choose this! I didn’t choose for this to happen. I didn’t choose for everything I’ve worked for to get destroyed in an instant!” Minho watches her, his gaze soft but firm. He steps closer, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Y/N’s breath is shaky, her chest tight with the rawness of her emotions. She blinks rapidly, trying to stop the tears that threaten to spill over, but they come anyway, hot and relentless. Her hands tremble as she wipes them away, but it’s futile—no amount of effort can hide the grief that swells inside her.

“I don’t know how to live without it,” she whispers, her voice cracking as the pain surges. “Archery wasn’t just something I did. It was who I was. It was everything to me. And now… now I’m just… broken.”

Her words crack like glass shattering, each one a reminder of the life she thought she had and the future that was ripped away in a single moment. She had spent years training, dedicating herself to something that made her feel whole, something that defined her in a world that often felt too large. And now, that piece of her was gone. The path she had been walking for so long had been torn away, leaving nothing but jagged edges and an aching emptiness.

Minho’s heart twists as he watches her, the storm of emotions in her eyes threatening to consume her. He doesn’t know what to say—he can’t fix this. He can’t give her back what she lost, no matter how much he wishes he could.

“I know,” he says quietly, his voice soft but resolute. “I know it feels like everything’s falling apart right now. But you’re not broken. You’re… you’re just lost. And it’s okay to feel like that. You don’t have to have all the answers right away.”

Y/N shakes her head. “You’re wrong. I am broken, Minho. I’ve lost the one thing that gave me purpose. How can I be anything but broken?”

Minho’s heart aches, but he doesn’t step away. He doesn’t let go of her shoulder, grounding her as she trembles. “I don’t think you’re broken, Y/N,” he says softly. “I think you’re hurting. And that’s okay. It’s okay to hurt.”

She pulls away from him abruptly, her face flushed with frustration and sorrow. “You don’t get it. You’re not the one who had everything—everything—taken away in an instant. You don’t know what it feels like to lose yourself.”

Minho stands still, the weight of her words settling deep into his chest. “No, I don’t know what it feels like,” he admits. “But I do know that I’m not going to let you go through this alone. I may not be able to fix what’s broken, but I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces. Even if you can’t see it now, I believe you’re strong enough to rebuild. I believe in you, Y/N.”

Y/N doesn’t know how to respond. Her anger and sorrow have clouded her judgment, making her feel like she’s trapped in a storm she can’t escape. Her gaze drifts to the window, where the soft evening light pours through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. The stillness of the world outside is so far removed from the chaos in her heart.

“I didn’t choose this,” she murmurs again, this time more quietly, as if the words are a confession rather than an accusation. “I didn’t choose to be here… like this.”

Minho watches her carefully, his voice gentle. “No, you didn’t. But sometimes, life doesn’t give us a choice. All we can do is keep going, one step at a time.”

Y/N is silent for a long moment, her thoughts tangled in the mess of her grief and anger. Finally, she lifts her eyes to meet his, her gaze softened by the exhaustion of it all. There’s a flicker of something—something small but there—inside of her.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” she admits softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Minho steps forward, his heart aching for her, and pulls her into a hug. She stiffens at first, not used to accepting comfort, but after a few moments, she melts into his embrace, her body trembling with the weight of everything she’s been holding back.

“Then let me help you find your way,” Minho murmurs, his voice low and steady. “One step at a time.”

And for the first time in weeks, Y/N lets herself lean into someone, just a little, feeling the fragile thread of hope that Minho’s words offer. It’s not a solution. It’s not a cure. But it’s a start.

Minho knows that words won’t fix this. So, he takes her to the beach the next day—just the two of them, no distractions. Her arm is still in a sling, but they sit down on the shore, letting the sound of the waves fill the silence.

Y/N’s emotions are raw, and the weight of everything hits her again. The tears she’s been holding back finally spill over, and she doesn’t try to stop them. She doesn’t want him to look, but she can’t control it.

“I’m sorry,” she says through her sobs, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to burden you with all this. I don’t want to need you. I don’t want to need anyone.”

Minho doesn’t look at her. He knows. But he stays by her side, silent and steady.

When she calms down, he reaches out, gently cupping her face in his hands. She looks up at him, her eyes red from crying.

“You’re not a burden to me, Y/N,” he says softly. “I’m here for you. I’ll always be here.”

She shakes her head, her tears still fresh. “But I don’t know how to do this anymore. I don’t know how to be anything without archery.”

Minho smiles, his eyes filled with an understanding that she’s not ready to face yet. “You’ll find a new way. And if you need me, I’m here. We’ll figure it out together.”

“You’re still you,” he says softly. “And you’re going to find a way to be even more.”

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat, feeling a flicker of something deep inside her—a spark, barely there, but present. It’s not a solution, not even close. It’s just the tiniest glimmer of hope. But right now, that’s enough.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and nods slowly. "I’m not sure what the future holds, Minho," she says, her voice quieter now. "But maybe, for the first time, I’m starting to think it’s okay not to have everything figured out."

Minho smiles, a small but genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “Good. Because you don’t have to have it all figured out. Not yet.”

They sit in silence again, letting the sound of the waves wash over them, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N doesn’t feel completely broken. She still doesn’t have all the answers, and she knows the road ahead won’t be easy. But with Minho by her side, maybe she doesn’t have to face it alone. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a way forward after all.

You’re dangerous with your bow anyway, he thought, you’re Cupid.

And you close your eyes, in peace.

[wandaslittlelove]

Obsession

Pairing: Ingrid Thorburn x Reader Warnings: Dark themes!!!! Kidnapping, stalking, Ingrid being delulu.

Currently obsessed with all of Aubrey's characters.

Ingrids obsession for you started like all the others. She had found your account on Instagram and immediately started liking all your stuff. Then she started commenting. Mainly little things asking where you got a shirt or what your favorite item from your favorite coffee place was. Then the following starts.

She sits at your favorite bakery waiting for you to come in and when you do she sneaks little photos of you. Follows you home and sneak in. and then she begins talking to you.

It was in the bakery that she first approaches you. Your getting ready to pay for your items but she quickly steps in and pays them herself. You fumble over your words as you thank her. She thinks it's adorable. From there she gets your number. She texts you every day and you both have even made it a thing to grab coffee together on Wednesdays. She tells herself that this is different. That your different from everyone else. She tells herself that you'll stay.

Ingrid quickly realizes a couple months into your friendship that she's in love with you. From the way you smile when she walks into the room, the way you can make so many people laugh, the way others look up to you, she's in love with it all. She had been breaking into your house more recently mainly when you were asleep. She tells herself its just to make sure your safe. That it's okay because you told her she could come by whenever.

As you lay sleeping one night she grows bolder. Your laying peacefully on your side with your blanket bunched up around you. She walks to the side of the bed and crouches down. Her hand slowly reaches towards your face and brushes some hair away. When you stir she quickly pulls back her eyes wide with fear but she calms down when you seem to settle. Bringing her head up she places a gentle kiss on your head muttering "I love you".

When the new restaurant down towns open up that you haven't been able to stop talking about she decides that's how she'll ask you out. You were basically begging her to take you. Looking at her with puppy eyes that made her melt.

The dinner started out nice. Ingrid was being extremely sweet and even told you she was paying for everything. You tried to argue but she told you that she wasn't going to let you pay. Half way through dinner was when she made a move. She stuttered for a second as she grabbed your hand from across the table. She looked into your eyes and asked you to be her girlfriend. She was so confident you were going to say yes. After all you both were basically already together. She was only asking you to be polite. She wasn't prepared for you to turn her down though. Saying you both worked better as friends. Her hands fell to the side as she clenched and unclenched them. She didn't understand. She thought- No she knew you felt the same way about her. You must just be scared. So she smiled politely and let you think that she was okay with it. But when she walked you back to your car a cloth made it's way over your mouth and nose. Ingrid whispering comforting words into your ear. "Shhh it's okay. Your okay." before you passed out.

When you woke up you noticed you were on a bed. The room was dark and your head was pounding. You groaned as you tried to get out of the bed but noticed something or someone holding onto your waist tightly. That's when you noticed the small breaths on your neck. Your body stiffened as you remembered what happened. Ingrid.. she had kidnaped you. You try to move out of the grip again and go to kick your legs off the bed but stop when something yanks your foot back. You couldn't see because of the darkness but you were guessing she had tied your foot to the bed.

You stiffen once again as feel her move behind you. Her mouth planting a few kisses on your neck as she pulls you back against her.

"Go back to sleep, baby" She whispers as she pulls the blanket higher around you both. Her hand starts rubbing small circles on your stomach as she tries to coax you back to sleep. You didn't understand what was going on or why she was doing this. She had to be crazy you had to get out of there.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

You've always been my favorite

Yandere!Jonathan Levy x f!reader

Cw/triggers: Stalking, possessive behavior, darkfic, Jonathan masturbates to porn, twisted thoughts, some dub-con/non-con thoughts on Jonathan's side, yandere themes.

A/n: I'm sorry for potentially traumatizing you.

Summary: Jonathan is your new professor. But he had his eyes on you for a long time.

After your professor has quit, a new one, Jonathan Levy was quick in replacement.

You knew Jonathan Levy. He was the one jumping in if some of your other professors were sick. Though you didn't think much of him, he on the other hand quickly began to like you a little too much, even for his own good. He became a bit attached to you to say the least.

Jonathan was the professor teaching most things, so he was the one you did see mostly during class.

"I hope you all are prepared for out big exam coming up in one hour." Jonathan said shortly after entering the room, not bothering to look if anyone is missing, placing his bag down beside his desk.

After he sat comfortable in his seat, adjusting his glasses, Jonathan looked around the class.

Two people were missing, but one of them called in sick, the other one still missing were you.

Just as Jonathan thought about the possibilities of what could be, the door opened and you stumbled in with a thermos in hand.

"You're late..." he said with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Sorry," you replied bluntly, "I've overslept a bit."

After you were back in your seat, Jonathan cleared his throat and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.

"Alright everybody, get comfy, get your books out if you haven't already and get prepared. I'll give you one hour."

Jonathan watched the class, his eyes however were fixed on you as he nonchalantly opened his book then started reading himself.

Throughout the hour, Jonathan threw occasional glances towards you, he liked seeing you concentrate, but even more when you pay attention to him.

When the time finally came to hand out his exams, he made sure you were the last one to receive it only so he could say good luck while being close to you without making himself look suspicious, especially not towards you.

Jonathan wondered how you were doing but had no doubt in your knowledge. He knew you could do well, and if not, he was there to help you.

After the exam was done and everyone handed them back to Jonathan, he overheard you and a friend talking about staying late for study in the library after class, his ears perked up and he had to stop himself from smiling.

When the class ended, Jonathan packed his things. He knew the library would ultimately close in 3 hours, and you would likely stay until the end. So he made his way into his office, open his laptop and just browse around. He even stalked your social media accounts.

Jonathan took his time to start correcting some of the exams, until he finally got everything together to make a leave but not before passing the library just as you and that one friend walked out.

Lucky for him, you two parted ways. Jonathan usually isn't one for stalking, but you were an exception for him. Though he already had an excuse made up in his mind if you did actually catch him.

While you walked, you were completely oblivious on Jonathan walking behind you at a good distance. He kept his head low and his hands in his pockets. Sure he knew where you lived but he wanted to make sure you'd arrive there safely. It would be a shame if something would happen to you.

By the time you arrived home, Jonathan thought about how he could rig your exam, just so he could see you more whether it would be some actual private tutoring or maybe after class, preferably alone. Oh how he would love that.

But he was a fair man, and wouldn't normally want to... abuse his job for... personal needs. But Jonathan was ready for a few exceptions.

Jonathan was ready to leave and call it a day, but not before looking back at your house, examining it from afar.

He didn't know much about break ins, but he could watch some tutorials online on how to do it professional. With a quick go to the darknet, he would surely find something...

As Jonathan arrived back home, he decided to correct those exams first so the boring part would be out of the way. He wasn't tired, if anything, he felt kind of energized.

Jonathan reviewed your exam at last, only so he could write down where you need most help and where you'd be okay. After the correcting was done, Jonathan went to his computer, firstly visiting his go-to porn site after a long and mostly boring day. But you weren't part of the boring part, you were always the highlight.

After browsing though cheap scripted and bad acting ones, he finally found a good looking one for a quick stress relief.

Unzipping his pants, he pulled his semi-hard cock out, working himself up with slow strokes while watching the video.

As the pleasure built up, he couldn't help but let his mind wander off to you, how you're always pay attention to him, not questioning his authority as your professor while also being his good student.

He stroked faster, spreading the leaking precum around the tip and shaft while tightening his fist. Jonathan knew he could just easily bend you over his desk and have his way with you however he pleased.

His thoughts even went as far as bending you over his knees and spanking you then fucking you stupid on his desk as punishment.

Regardless of what his mind came up with, it always ended up fucking you. Imagining things such as having you suck him off while he's in the middle of class, or eating you out while you're reading a goddamn book.

Closing his eyes and leaning back, listening to the moans of that girl in the video, imagining how this would be you moaning when he's having you. And he will have you one day.

As badly as Jonathan wanted to hold his impending orgasm back, thinking about all the nasty things he wanted to do to you he couldn't resist chasing his peak.

"Fuck, how good it would feel to have you wrapped around me," he squeezed his cock again "whether you like it or not."

Jonathan's breathing hitched before becoming heavier.

"Mmm, but I'm certain you would love getting fucked by me, even if you wouldn't admit it, baby."

With one last stroke he came hard, spilling his cum on the ground. He threw his head back against the chair, his cock softening in the grip of his fist.

After he was done, he shut down his computer, grabbed a wet rag and cleaned his cum off the ground before he went to bed.

The next day, his day passed quickly, mainly because most of his attention was drawn to you. You looked so happy with the results of your exam. You deserved it, being the good student that you are and the cherry on top, even unknown to you, being his favorite.

Jonathan had approached you, asking if you could stay for a couple minutes after class for a quick discussion about the results of your recent exam.

After everyone was out of the room, Jonathan leaned against the desk and crossed his arms while you were still sitting at your place.

"So," he started, uncrossing his arms to walk over to you, leaning down with his hands on the edges of your desk. "You did good mostly. But in order to pass this good, you have to be good in any of these, not just one. They all count."

You nodded. "I understand."

"And I'm not doing this to torture you, I hope you know that. I just want what's best for you." Jonathan said in a lower and slightly huskier tone, looking into your eyes with a serious expression.

He pushed himself off of your table, moving back to lean against his with his arms crossed again. "What I'm trying to say here is that I'm willing to help you."

"I know. But I hate asking people to throw their time away because of me. I will study more from now on, I promise." you replied.

Jonathan smiled. "That's good to hear." he knew you would try giving your best, but what kind of professor would he be if he wouldn't offer his help to his student?

"Well, you can go now, I'd hate to take your precious freetime away."

You gave a gentle smile, grabbing your bag and stood up. "Thanks Mr. Levy, have a good day." you said before making your leave.

After you've left, Jonathan let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

Back at his home, Jonathan had atleast half his mind being busy on you. He couldn't help it, why was he even acting like that? He didn't know either, but does he want to stop? Absolutely not.

Jonathan was even at the point where he didn't care about good senses anymore, that's how far he'd go for you.

What he did next was wait for nighttime to come, then he went out going to your house. Breaking into your home was relatively easy, but he still hoped you would be in deep slumber already.

It didn't take him long to find your bedroom, he sneaked into your room like a cat, already loving how he could just sneak in without you noticing anything.

He had to stop himself from wanting to search through some of your belongings, feeling way more bold now that he was in your house.

Of course his eyes were trained on you, he didn't want you to wake up and alert the whole neighborhood with your screaming.

Jonathan crouched down at your bedside, simply admiring your peaceful, unaware and beautiful sleeping face.

He reached out, pulling your covers off just a tiny bit, revealing more of you. Leaning in, he closed his eyes, enjoying the smell of everything you had on you. His fingertips glid carefully along the curve of your neck.

Jonathan felt so at peace with finally being so close to you, albeit if you're sleeping.

"It won't take long until you're mine, sweetheart."

-----------------------------

Tags:

@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @iolaussharpe-24 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

@krakenkitty @mooksmouse @klillaah @faretheeoscar @alexxavicry

Wanna get tagged?

[grogumaximus]

Jos, do you agree that this was one of the most difficult seasons for Max?

"It certainly was, because of the performance of the car. He was already saying at the beginning of the championship that there were problems, but in the team they laughed, because he was winning. However, when the others grew up, it became clear that Max was right."

What didn't work?

"The wrong directions were taken in the development of the car. The balance between the front and the rear has never been ideal and on top of that the car breaks down on the bumps."

How did Max react?

"He worked hard to get the most out of it, despite the frustration of not being able to compete against the McLarens, who have long been the best on the track. He went to the factory more often, for simulator tests, and tried to help the engineers."

How did you handle the pressure around the team after the Horner case?

"In these moments, he manages to isolate himself from everything. He has the maturity and experience to face any situation. At home he has always been relaxed. Perhaps the most tense moment was in Mexico, due to the negativity spread by the English press (after the double penalty for the fierce duel with Lando Norris, ed. ). But all this is an extra motivation for Max. Nothing worries or scares him".

He was also at the center of controversy for certain statements…

"He won't change. That's just how he is, he always says what he thinks."

Who was closest to him?

"Me, our manager Raymond (Vermeulen), his engineer Giampiero Lambiase and of course Helmut Marko."

What was the best moment of 2024?

"The win in Brazil in the wet, coming back from seventeenth place. He managed to come back very quickly, took the lead and won by 20 seconds, without making any mistakes. It reminded me of his race in 2016, also in Interlagos, with the outside pass on Rosberg in the “Senna Esses”. It was incredible then too."

Starting this year, Max is traveling to European races with his motorhome. How did this idea come about?

"It's something he likes, because this way he has his own traveling home, he always sleeps in the same bed and enjoys more privacy, surrounding himself only with people he trusts. And then he had a simulator placed in the motorhome so he can train whenever he wants. It's a hobby of his, sometimes he stays there until three in the morning, but then he rests at least seven hours. I leave him alone and go to the hotel."

What moments do you share?

"At the races we eat together and talk about everything that happens. I can tell him anything frankly. Our relationship was built like this from the beginning and I only want the best for him. The difference is that now I don't get angry, because Max is a man and can do what he wants with his life and his choices, while as a child he needed a few scoldings".

What do you remember about those years and the holidays with Michael Schumacher?

"We were with the family. Our sons, Max and Mick, were having fun together, even though they spoke different languages, and Michael was playing with them in the pool."

Why did Max say he no longer wants to train on karts like other F1 drivers?

"He raced a lot in karts, maybe too much, sometimes we even did mini races in three with his mother (the champion Sophie Kumpen; ed. ). He also explained to me that, if you drive them only a few days a year, you end up with bumps and pains all over your body. He prefers GT cars. But he continues to follow the boys".

The Verstappen.com Racing brand is linked to a team that uses the Ferrari 296 GT3. Whose choice is it?

"About Max, he likes Ferrari...".

In the meantime, Mercedes was looking for him.

"Normal, they want the fastest driver."

How long will he race in F1?

"We have a contract with Red Bull until 2028 and we will get there, then we will see. We will have to understand if Max will still be interested in F1. All his life he has been told what he had to do, even by me, and now it is happening with the team. The time will come when he will want to decide".

Has he already given you a preview?

"There is certainly much more to his life than F1, and Max is aware of that. He listens to his feelings a lot, he knows what he wants. But it's difficult to say what will happen. Maybe, in the future, he will stop for a year and then he will want to come back. Of course, it's not the records that motivate him. He doesn't need to win seven or eight world championships, he is already happy with what he has achieved."

What do you remember about Max's first victory?

"It was the first race with Red Bull, even today I get goosebumps when I watch the commentary in Dutch. At the beginning we only dreamed of getting to F.1, then that success came and years later the world title, everything came true very quickly".

Who will be Max's rival in 2025?

"Many say Hamilton is too old, but he is a driver who knows how to fight hard. Norris is fast, even if he still lacks experience. It will depend on who has the best car. Ferrari got lost this year, after a good start, but they reacted. Vasseur is doing a great job, he is a racing man who knows how to sniff out situations, I like him".

[uniquexusposts]

Forbidden territory | F. Alonso

Summary: Y/n is the daughter of a good friend of Fernando Alonso. She has always had a thing for the good-looking Spanish driver. Note: I can't stop thinking about the TV series Rivals, oh goodness. I am obsessed. This one shot is based on the book/TV series - Taggie and Rupert - created by Jilly Cooper :)

The terrace was alive with soft conversation and the clink of glasses as the evening unfolded in the warm, golden glow of the Spanish summer. It was an evening to celebrate the mid-summer break of Formula 1 - the dinner was hosted by a good friend of Y/n’s father. Y/n tried to focus on the light chatter around her, the familiar sound of her family’s voices mixing with the laughter of friends. Her mind, however, was miles away, fixed on a far more complicated subject.

Fernando Alonso. 

She couldn’t help it. Even though he was surrounded by a small crowd, his presence was undeniable, pulling her attention like a magnetic force. She had thought she could keep it together, thought she could pretend that the way he looked at her; those brief, searching glances - meant nothing. But the truth was, every time their gazes met, her heart raced a little faster.

She glanced over at him now, pretending to adjust her hair, but her eyes locked with his before she could look away. Fernando didn’t look away, though. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and there was something unmistakably knowing in it. He was talking to someone next to him, but he kept looking into her eyes with a grin on his lips. 

It was just like him; too sure of himself, too good at this. Too aware of the effect he had on her.

And yet, there was something else in his eyes, something softer, a little more vulnerable, hidden beneath that cocky exterior. Fernando had always been so confident, so untouchable. But there was a shift in the way he looked at her tonight. A shift that made Y/n feel both alive and dangerously exposed.

She quickly turned away, pretending to engage in a conversation with her father, but her pulse didn’t slow down. She could feel his presence in the area like a weight pressing down on her chest. He wasn’t even near her, and yet, it was as if he were the only person in the world.

Fernando wasn’t like this with anyone else. Y/n had seen it. He was always charming, always witty, but he never seemed to linger like this, not like he did with her. They got introduced to each other two years ago, and ever since the first moment she looked at him, something changed within her. Which was weird, because she was only 20 years old at that time, and he was 41 years old. He practically could be her father. 

Her mind raced, but she fought to keep her composure. Then, as though he had read her thoughts, she saw him rise from his seat, moving through the crowd with that confident ease of his. Every step seemed measured, calculated, like he knew exactly how to get to her.

When he slid into the seat next to her, so naturally, so casually, it was as though nothing had changed, as though they were two people who had always sat here, side by side. But Y/n could feel the difference. She could feel the intensity in the air, thick with unsaid words, too much tension to ignore.

“You know, you’re looking a little too serious for someone who just watched a race,” Fernando said, his voice light, teasing. He leaned back in his chair, an elbow casually resting on the table, so close that their shoulders brushed, sending an unintentional shiver down her spine.

“I’m just tired,” she said, too quickly. Too defensively. She hoped her words would mask the rush of adrenaline she was feeling. “It’s been a long day.”

“Long day,” he repeated, his lips curling in a smirk. There was something about the way he said it that made her heart skip. Something about the way he wasn’t just looking at her, but seeing her. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.

Her gaze flickered over to him, catching the playful glint in his eyes. 

He wasn’t fooled by her words. He never was. “You know,” he continued, leaning in just a little closer, “you might be better off saying what you really mean.”

Y/n’s breath hitched in her chest, but she refused to let him see it. “And what’s that?”

“That you’re thinking about something,” he said, voice soft, but each word was laced with a teasing challenge. “Something you don’t want to admit to. I can hear your brains work, Y/n, all the way from the other side of the terrace.” 

His eyes held hers as if daring her to deny it. And damn him, it was hard not to. He was right, of course. She could feel the tension in her chest, like a string pulled taut, but she refused to let it show. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his presence affected her.

“No,” Y/n said, her voice firmer than she felt. “I’m just enjoying the party, processing the weekend, mentally preparing for the upcoming workweek.” Too much excuses. 

Fernando raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “Are you, though?”

The question hung in the air, and Y/n tried not to let it faze her. But he was so close. So close, with that knowing, amused expression. Fernando had always been like this; smug, unflappable, the kind of man who would make a joke at the expense of anyone, especially if it made him seem even more irresistible. And he knew just how to use that power.

He was dangerous.

Forbidden territory. 

She glanced away for a moment, trying to gather herself, but when she turned back to him, he was still watching her with that quiet intensity, as if he could see through her every facade. It made her heart skip.

“What did you think of the race?” he asked, casually taking a sip of his drink, but his eyes never left hers.

“I thought you drove brilliantly,” she answered, trying to keep it light. She needed to keep it light. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Of course,” Fernando said with a chuckle. “I always know when I’ve done well.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the cockiness in his tone. It wasn’t arrogance, really, it was just… certainty. An unshakable confidence that made everything he did seem effortless. She tried to settle into the moment, forcing her attention back to the conversation at hand. But her mind was still buzzing from their exchange. There was a tension in the air now, thick and electric, but she did her best to ignore it. After all, this wasn’t the time or place for anything more. She needed to stay composed.

Fernando, however, was still too close. She could feel the weight of his presence even though he wasn’t saying anything. His quiet intensity was almost too much, like the calm before a storm. And then, just as she was starting to think she could breathe a little easier, she felt him shift in his chair.

A woman, dressed in a sleek black dress, approached their table, speaking to Fernando in soft tones. Y/n watched as he stood up, offering her a polite smile and a casual wave to Y/n.

"I’m afraid I need to step away for a moment," Fernando said with a half-smile. "Excuse me, please.”

The woman’s voice was low, her words inaudible to Y/n, but the way Fernando turned toward her, offering his full attention, was enough to make Y/n’s stomach drop. There was something about the way he seemed so… interested, so ready to follow her, that made something twist uncomfortably in Y/n’s chest.

Her breath caught, but she forced a smile, her gaze flicking to her drink. “Of course,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was agreeing to. He had already turned his back to her, following the woman toward the other side of the terrace.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t about to let herself feel anything about it. She wasn’t about to let it bother her.

But it did.

Y/n tried to push the feeling aside as she picked up her glass, taking a long sip, the cool liquid barely soothing the fire that had ignited in her chest. He was just being polite. That was all. There was nothing to it.

Still, she couldn’t shake the image of him with the woman, the way he had given her his full attention. It was... something.

To distract herself, Y/n looked around the terrace, letting her eyes roam. It wasn’t long before she found another person she recognised; someone her own age, a man who was a friend of the family. She gave him a smile, the easy kind that she used to cover up whatever was swirling inside of her.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, trying her best to sound casual as she slid into the seat across from him.

"Of course," he said, flashing her a grin. "I’m happy for the company.”

Y/n began talking to him about the latest news in Barcelona, keeping her focus on the conversation, on anything but Fernando. But even as the words left her mouth, she felt the familiar tug of his presence.

She glanced toward the other side of the terrace, almost unwillingly, and there he was. Fernando. He was standing beside the woman now, his side turned to Y/n as he spoke with her. The woman was laughing, her hand resting lightly on his arm, and it seemed like they were getting along far too well. Y/n’s gaze lingered just a second too long, but she quickly forced herself to look away. She focused back on the man in front of her, offering another polite smile, though it felt more strained now, like she was pretending to be something she wasn’t.

But then, again, her eyes betrayed her.

Fernando was looking at her.

It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but to Y/n, it was unmistakable. Their eyes met, just for a second, before he quickly turned his attention back to the woman. Still, the brief flicker of awareness between them was enough to make her heart race. He had noticed her, even from across the terrace.

Y/n’s breath caught, and she looked down at the table to hide the flush that had crept into her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why it affected her so much. She shouldn’t care. It was none of her business. 

The conversation with the man in front of her continued, but it felt distant now, like she was only half-listening. Every few moments, her eyes would unconsciously flick back to Fernando. He was still talking to the woman, but every now and then, his gaze would meet hers again, brief but intense, like he was checking in on her.

It wasn’t enough for her to accuse him of anything, he wasn’t doing anything wrong, after all, but it felt like something was building between them, something that couldn’t be ignored. He was trying to stay composed, just as she was, but there was an unmistakable pull between them. 

She cleared her throat and tried to focus. “So, what about the new project you’re working on?” she asked her conversation partner, forcing her mind back to the present. She couldn’t let herself get lost in thoughts of Fernando. Not now. Not when he was over there, talking to someone else.

But even as she spoke, her eyes would wander back to him, drawn to him like a magnet. She couldn’t stop herself. There was something about the way his gaze would flick back to hers every few minutes, like he couldn’t quite leave her alone, like he wasn’t ready to let the moment between them end just yet.

And every time he looked at her, her heart would beat just a little faster.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to let it show. She wasn’t going to let herself care.

She forced a smile as her companion spoke about a recent project, but her thoughts were elsewhere. There was no denying it now: Fernando was aware of her. More than that, he was watching her.

And maybe, just maybe, she was watching him too.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @ironmaiden1313@blodwyn4u@sltwins@heart-trees

[pinkcowzz]

ahhh so. warning. will be talking about arcane s2 spoilers below the cut. i have. so! many. thoughts.

i've seen a few takes that s2 felt very rushed to some people, and like. yeah? i can get that. but also. not really.

there was A Lot of ground to cover so it moved very quickly but the pacing actually made a lot of sense to me. i think that this show has never attempted to tell each characters story in the fullest. like, to me, that's what makes the world building so good. you are only witnessing part of the story. there is only so much of each character that we, the viewers are allowed to see.

yes there was a lot introduced in the final act, yes some of it made zero sense. but, to me at least, it makes it so much more realistic and immersive.

the final act is war time. shit happens fast. decisions are made and acted upon almost immediately. there isn't time to mourn and there isn't time to grieve. if you stop, you will die so you must keep marching forward.

we don't get to see what signed is up to, we don't get to understand the complexities between mel and her mother, we don't get time to break down how the arcane is changing we just have to know that something is happening and it will affect us so we must do something to react.

moving on, i really wanna talk about jayce and viktor first because. their final discussion, had me ill. i'm honestly really glad that they are never officially established in the show, because it makes their bond that much stronger to me.

the first season, we see how their studies connected them and propelled them forward. in jayces case, it pushes him into politics. in viktors, deeper into the arcane. they had to set everything else aside *cough cough their morals and personal relationships(sky & each other)* in order to achieve what they wanted to achieve.

in the second season, we see how that was their demise. for viktor, the creators did an amazing job showing us this with the scene between him and sky.

'i'll miss our talks'

'no you won't'

like holy shit? in those two lines, we see how viktor has fundamentally changed. his goals, his objectives, they got lost somewhere. in the first season, we do see how much viktor enjoys discussing his ideals and thoughts, its what drives him to go and find jayce in the first place.

and as for jayce, he's icarus. he flew too close to the sun and he, in a lot of ways, is the beginning of the end. while ekko and heimerdinger were building their way out of the alt time line, he was witnessing the destruction his invention brought about.

and don't even get me started on them calling each other their partner during their entire last talk. like wtf im ILL.

okay! onto jinx! (and isha and vi) i have. heard a lot of complaints about how one- her death was for shock value and two- that isha's death was glossed over and i whole-heartily disagree.

i think first off, jinx isn't dead. there a lot of people out there who can put the details together more precisely than i care to tbh, but my biggest reason is the airship we see at the end. these creators LOVE their foreshadowing and i mean LOVE (think viktor showing off the invention and shooting that gun to how that gun is later used). i think it's literally the first episode that powder says she wants to ride in one and ur telling me the last episode we get a shot of one flying away? yeah no. my girl is alive and breaking the cycle.

speaking of breaking the cycle, vi would never be able to move on with her life if jinx is still around. she would never be able to grow, to be willing to work on her relationship with cait, would never be able to escape the guilt, etc etc. that's like, a big point that i think a lot of people are missing.

for vi, jinx is everything. and she should be. she is the only family she has left. and had she not walked away from her, there is NO TELLING what would've happened to the two of them.

jinx's 'death' was for the both of them. they can move on now, they are free to allow the shit show that was their childhood be in the past. like hello?????? did y'all not listen to the conversation that she had with ekko in the alt time line? you need to let go of some things to be able to move onto the next and it sucks and it hurts and its shitty but the world will keep spinning.

and the only way that jinx was able to come to this conclusion is because she lost isha. had isha still been around, she would have had to stick around zaun and piltover. but also. i need y'all to realize that jinx is used to losing people, she is used to grief, it is a close friend to her.

and i think, thematically too, vi not moving to the other ledge is SO IMPORTANT. she CAN'T let vander go. that was her father, that man raised her, she couldn't let him go. are y'all connecting the dots? like! hello! do you see?

vi has never been one to let someone she loves go lightly. the entire first season she is grappling with this idea that her sister changed, that she moved on and allowed herself to let her past (kinda) go. it doesn't make sense to her. she allows caitlyn back so easily because it terrifies her to lose someone in her life.

that is who she is in her core.

and that is why jinx makes the decision for her. it's her way of saying, 'i see you, i understand you and i will make the hard call for you because i love you'

so yeah, like i said. a lot of thoughts. im so excited to see wtf is going on in noxus in the future show and am so intrigued by whatever the fuck is going on with mel.

also. maybe it's just me. but i love an open ending. i think being able to talk about the what if's and the maybe is so much fun. not everything has to be wrapped up with a bow on top. again, we, the viewers, only get a small insight into the world the characters live in. this show could go on for ages if we followed them all the way through their lives. this was never meant to be that type of show. go watch friends or smthn if you want a formulaic story that will clean every lose end up for you.

we follow these characters through a formative moment in their life, what happens next is up to them. (and psst. that's what fan fiction is for)

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 22

Chapter 22 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Buck is completely blindsided by Eddie’s sudden request to divorce. In an attempt to talk about it, they end up fighting, which makes the possibility of a divorce only more looming.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (slow burn)

Warnings: referenced emotionally abusive parents, insecurity

~~~

Chapter 22: Till Divorce Do Us Part

Buck nearly drops the glass he’s washing at Eddie’s words. Scrambling for a moment, before he squeaks out: “What?”

“I think we should get divorced,” Eddie repeats those horrible words, staring down intently at the dishes he’s drying instead of Buck.

“Uhm, why- wha- what brought this on?” Buck stutters, trying to be casual and failing. He can’t show how much this crushes him, can’t let Eddie know how much he wants him to stay.

Internally he is quickly combing through the past few weeks to see if he can come up with the answer himself. To see if he should have seen this coming.

With Carla in the picture things have been going better, but he didn’t realize it was ‘Buck can be replaced’-going-better. Eddie never said anything to indicate that would be the case.

Besides, financially it would be difficult to maintain Chris’s new school – which he loves – and Carla, not to mention their mortgage. So that doesn’t make sense. Though it is possible, a treacherous voice in the back of his head tells him.

He missed the school tour and Halloween, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Eddie personally tried to get him off for Halloween, he knew it hadn’t been on Buck. Is that he thinks that if he can do that alone, he can do it all alone?

It would make sense, but Eddie involved him, right? He helped prep for Buck’s tour, hell, Buck toured the school. He is registered there. Is Eddie immediately going to change that now that Chris is in? Was it just to present a more stable life to the school to get Chris in?

No, that doesn’t feel like Eddie. Eddie is kind and good, even if he’s a bitch sometimes. He pep talked Buck about getting to be there for Chris. That can’t be it. He understood.

Oh god, he must have met someone. They’d always said they would just divorce once other people got into the picture, it has always been nothing more than a marriage of convenience, not a lifelong commitment. The reminder leaves a foul taste in his mouth and he can’t help the jealousy at whatever mystery woman Eddie met. One he didn’t share anything about, he might add, even if he’s now divorcing him over her.

Not wanting Eddie to break it to him, he quickly continues talking before Eddie can. “Oh, of course, my bad. Why didn’t you say? What’s her name?”

“Maddie.”

Wait what?

“Excuse me,” Buck coughs, choking on his own spit.

Next to him Eddie flushes a brilliant shade of red, which Buck would have been able to appreciate more, were he not in the middle of getting his heart broken. Even though he really shouldn’t. Eddie has never been into him, he always knew that, but it truly felt like they were in this together, like this was a commitment on both their parts. Yet here he is.

Though, he never thought it would be Maddie. Maybe this girl Eddie met just happens to share the name or something?

He gets distracted by Eddie’s strong hand slapping him on the back until he stops coughing. His face concerned, though turns back into something horridly, awkwardly uncomfortable once Buck starts breathing normally again. It would be funny, if the circumstances were different.

“Not like that,” Eddie says and Buck can’t help but be relieved, because while he knows jealousy isn’t cool, he knows he will be insanely jealous of the woman that will quite literally snatch his husband away from him.

To cover for his relief, he hides the happy note in his voice by joking: “Good, cause otherwise Chim might kick you.”

“Shut up,” Eddie groans, still very much embarrassed, but at least not as tense anymore. “I’m trying to be nice.”

“By suddenly ambushing me with a divorce?” Buck counters, cringing when it sounds a little too raw, too accusatorial.

Eddie doesn’t meet his eyes. He hasn’t really for the entire conversation. He just stares at the drying rack and picks up a plate, angrily drying it in silence. Buck desperately wants to fill the silence like he so often does, chattering for the sake of chattering. Eddie likes it when he babbles, said so himself when he came home after touring the school.

Home… like he soon might not have anymore, because of Maddie? Because Eddie thinks divorcing him is being nice? He’s so confused and a little hurt. It’s enough to give him the patience to wait Eddie out.

Sure enough, a minute or so later, Eddie breaks. “I just don’t want you to miss out on time with your family because of me.”

The failed attempt to tell Maddie three days prior comes back to him, but he never guessed that this is what Eddie would take from it. That now that Maddie is here, Buck would rather want to spend with her than with Eddie and Chris. That he has real family to spend time with now, because this was never his family to begin with, no matter how much house they played.

“Is this about Christmas?” he asks. “I can still try and see if Maddie wants to spend it with me, so you can enjoy it with Chris and tía Pepa.”

“What?” Eddie frowns.

“If you don’t want me at Christmas so you can have one with only family, you can just say that. I get it,” he says, feeling the bile in his throat.

Eddie whips around so fast he startles Buck a little. For the first time he looks at him, eyes burning fiercely. “What the fuck are you on about, Buck? It won’t be only family without you there.”

Despite the bit of warmth bubbling up in his chest, he can’t help but feel like Eddie is merely saying it because he has too. An obligatory inclusion only done out of guilt. Now it’s his turn to look away, as he quietly says: “We’re a marriage of convenience based on very convoluted circumstances. It’s okay to not want to include me.”

“No. Just no. Fuck that, Buck. You raised Chris, practically more than me. We do our taxes together, we do chores together, Abuela gives you secret family recipes. You’ve been here through more shit than anyone else, of course you’re family,” Eddie explodes.

“Well, divorcing me isn’t really sending that message,” Buck yells back, knowing it is too much, but unable to keep the hurt to himself.

“I’m trying to help you,” Eddie argues.

“It’s not working, Eddie,” Buck retorts, more desperate than angry.

“Maybe it would if you weren’t so incredibly stubborn, Evan,” Eddie says, the words hitting Buck harder than any punch would have.

Eddie might be used to people who argue back; Shannon, his parents, tía Pepa. But Buck isn’t an arguing person, not really. He can get angry and argue, but he rarely does. Prefers not to. However, the ‘Evan’ is too much. It doesn’t sound like how Eddie used to say it, he sounds like Buck’s parents.

He can feel himself shutting down and he puts the sponge on the counter before he says: “No. I am not doing this. I’m not fighting with you and you’re not calling me Evan.”

His voice is calm, but it’s not because he’s no longer upset, it’s just that his emotions have taken a vacation, because that is the only way he’s getting through this situation. With one last look at Eddie’s face – who looks devastated, a fact that would probably do something to Buck were he not feeling the way he is – he turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen and to his room.

The door closes behind him with a definitive click and Buck just stands in his room for a moment. Today has not been what he expected when he climbed into bed this morning after his shift. His bed is still unmade, civvies still littering the floor. His room looks lived in. Loved. He can’t imagine not waking up here with the Diazes down the hall.

Mechanically he makes his bed and puts the clothes on the chair or in the laundry respectively, his body slowly becoming his own again.

Meanwhile in the kitchen Eddie is staring at the door through which Buck just disappeared, dishtowel still in his hand. He can’t believe he just did that.

He is trying so hard to make life easier for Buck and all he did was cause more problems. It’s seemingly the only thing he’s good at. Buck deserves so much better than his bullshit, but he can’t even give the guy his freedom back without fucking it all up.

Eddie should have known better. Buck never argues, doesn’t like fighting with people. He doesn’t even like it when others fight around him. The only times Eddie truly seen him angry and act on it, is with Eddie’s parents and that is only when they truly pushed too far. So to fight with him? To throw his name in his face like that after all he knows about him? That’s practically unforgivable.

He has to make this right.

Making the bed and putting his clothes away makes Buck feel better. He has settled down back in himself and calmed down enough to replay the conversation. What Eddie said didn’t make him feel great and he hates the idea of getting divorced, but it’s what they always said they’d do. He can’t not hear Eddie out, because he doesn’t want it to happen. That’s not fair on Eddie.

Still, he wonders what sort of divorce Eddie will suggest. If Buck will get to help with Chris as much as Eddie always promised or if Eddie’s solo success will make it that Buck will get a smaller role in Chris’s life.

Buck really doesn’t want to hear it. But he has to. He tries to comfort himself with the fact that Eddie seems to genuinely think it’s in his best interest. It’s not malicious, he should maybe hear Eddie out. If he isn’t still angry.

As if summoned, there is a soft knock on his door. Immediately his nerves start up again, but his resolve also hardens. He doesn’t want Chris to come home in a house where he’s fighting, he never wants that for Chris. So he calls out: “Yeah?”

“Uhm, ‘m sorry,” Eddie says, the words a little muffled. He’s never been great at them when it isn’t his female relatives, so the fact that he’s saying those words to him at all is kind of touching. “Can- Can I come in?”

“Are you going to yell at me again?” Buck asks, not in the mood to be yelled at more in his room, because that means he can’t run to his room. He might be too forgiving sometimes, but he’s not completely stupid.

“No, no, I shouldn’t have yelled at all,” Eddie answers embarrassed.

“Then you can come in.”

The door is opened carefully and Eddie pokes his head in first, scanning the room and Buck to see if anything is out of place. If there is a threat. It’s a little heartbreaking and a little sweet at the same time.

“Wanna sit?” Buck asks, gesturing to his bed and very much trying to stop his brain from playing connect the dots between Eddie on his bed and other things that can be done on a bed.

Eddie nods, sitting down and looking around Buck’s room. Buck sits next to him, but Eddie doesn’t look at him. He’s used to the quirk and doesn’t take offense, instead waiting Eddie out again. It is clear he has something to say, he just doesn’t know how or is too uncomfortable to say it yet.

“Sorry,” Eddie finally says after a long silence. Two sorries, practically a record out of Eddie.

“It’s okay,” Buck says with a small smile, knocking their shoulders together.

“No, it’s not,” Eddie says, the indigence on Buck’s behalf apparently enough to help him over his discomfort. “I was a dick and you didn’t deserve that. You shouldn’t just forgive me like that.”

“Eddie, what good will it do to stay mad?” Buck states, sternly yet gentle, leveling a look at Eddie as he does.

“I don’t know? Boundaries or something?”

“God, you’re so clueless it’s sad,” Buck snorts, earning a glare. To clarify, he adds: “I can stay mad at you, but then we’ll just be fighting. Us fighting makes me sad. You’re obviously sorry and you didn’t mean it, I don’t need more than that. I’d rather just hear what you wanted to say, before it became a fight.”

“I was telling you that you’re family,” Eddie reminds him, suddenly keen to jump on the change in topic. “I thought you knew you were.”

Buck thinks the sad, kicked puppy vibe Eddie has going on now is worse than when he was mad at him. He can feel his own cheeks darken anyway, because Eddie is including him in family. Under no uncertain terms no less. It’s more than he ever dares to hope for, even if he dreams of so much more.

Timidly he confesses: “I mean, I did. I do. You- you just told me to enjoy time with family, as if I don’t do that every day. It got to me.” He looks Eddie in the eye when he says that and can see the guilt in them as the realization dawns on him.

“That’s not what I meant, at all.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I just- I- ugh,” Eddie groans in frustration. “You’re always doing things for me. Always helping me, us.”

“I like helping out and it’s more just doing my part, we’re partners, remember?” Maybe it’s good to remind him of that, maybe that will make it so he’ll soften the blow.

“You shouldn’t have to lie to your sister.”

“And divorcing her will solve that problem how?” Buck asks, now more confused than anything. It is clear that Eddie feels guilty about something, but Buck can’t imagine what. He’s always happily been here, Eddie knows that, right?

At least that might mean he isn’t trying to get rid of Buck now that he can do it solo? Maybe he feels bad that Buck doesn’t have the support of family like he has and wants to try and fix that for him.

Not that Buck calls what Eddie’s family does support (except for Pepa and Abuela). I mean, his parents outright hate all his choices and his sisters aren’t involved in his life enough to have much of an opinion and most of the extended family is either purposefully left in the dark or a little shitty about it too.

Still, it’s sweet that he’s trying, makes Buck feel better about the whole divorce thing, but he doesn’t get how that will help.

Eddie actually perks up slightly as he gets prompted to explain his thought process. It would be kind of adorable, except he is going to explain why divorce is a good option. Now, Buck always knew this marriage would end in divorce, but he’s still going to cling to it, cling to this life he has. It is mildly pathetic, but he doesn’t care. If Eddie can be reasoned out of it, Buck is going to reason to all hell.

“Well, if we get divorced, we won’t be married anymore, thus not breaking any rules. We can say we were already in the process when I started that’s why we didn’t tell anyone. They’ll probably understand and then you can tell Maddie without worrying about her having to keep it from Chimney or us having to worry about her telling him.”

Buck isn’t sure if it’s because he wants this marriage to work for as long as possible or if Eddie just didn’t have time to think it all through, but he can’t help but immediately poke holes in it.

“How will that change anything? We’ll still be written up by HR for not saying, probably separated over it and that is if we don’t lose our jobs. We still lied, Eddie And we’d probably still be a risk, because we’d be raising Chris together. I’d have to check, but it won’t surprise me. Then were will we be at?”

Eddie is quiet, frowning slightly.

When he doesn’t say something, Buck answers his own question: “If we lose our jobs, we won’t be able to afford Carla, we might have to sell the house, and Chris will have to stop at Durand when he just found his place there. Let’s face it, we’re in too deep to ever tell the 118, if I want to tell Maddie, she has to keep it from people.”

At his words Eddie’s frown only deepens and Buck realizes he just told Eddie he’s stuck in this marriage. As much as he wants to be with him, he doesn’t want it because Eddie feels trapped, because Buck wormed his way into a life that was never his to begin with and did what he always did: make himself necessary, so he wouldn’t be abandoned.

“Look,” he starts again, this time more gentle, “if you find someone or you don’t want to do this anymore, we can get divorced behind the scenes. We’ll figure out custody and a schedule so Chris won’t lose a parent again, I promise. But divorce won’t change this thing with Maddie.”

It’s quiet and this time Buck lets it be quiet. Eddie is processing his words and figuring out what he feels about it, that’s no easy task.

After some time, Eddie throws up his hands and – dare he say it – pouts: “It just feels unfair.”

“What does?” Buck asks, a little amused by Eddie’s reaction. And because said reaction makes it seem like Eddie is seeing his side and not divorcing him. Big win for Buck.

“I get to talk about Chris at work, get to take time off to spend it with him, I get to tell family and not worry, and you don’t. It’s unfair,” Eddie exclaims, once again angry on Buck’s behalf, but not directing said anger at Buck. That makes it funny and touching, instead of hurtful. A world of difference.

“It does kind of suck,” Buck admits, because it does. He loves Chris to death, loves his family, he would love nothing more than to brag about it.

But maybe it is for the best, because he’s pretty sure everyone will realize he’s madly in love with Eddie the second he gets to take the mask off and that will mean Eddie will find out about it, because the 118 is horrible at staying out of each other’s business, and then Eddie will run far away from him and break his heart, because Buck isn’t meant to be in love with him. This is a platonic marriage. Platonic.

“See!” Eddie says, vindicated. “We should fix that.”

“As much as I am usually pro-fixing things, this isn’t something that needs to be fixed,” Buck says quickly, before Eddie can take it and run with it.

“It isn’t?” Eddie doesn’t believe it for a second.

“I mean, it would be nice, but it’s not the end of the world. I still get to be Chris’s papi and trust me when I say I brag in those pick up lines at school. Besides, the school interview was an off day, I’m usually better at charming my way into a shift swap. I won’t miss everything. Plus, I am so going to kick you off the science fair team, that’ll be my show.”

Eddie can’t believe how unreal this man is. That he’ll turn anything into a positive, that he sees helping Chris with a science fair project as something fun, instead of a chore. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Buck asks, confused.

“For just being here.”

“Of course I’ll be here,” Buck smiles and it sounds like a promise.

Eddie desperately wants to cling to it, because despite asking for a divorce like an hour ago, he doesn’t want Buck to leave. His own papi always left, his mom turned against him, Shannon left, Abuela was forced to move, army buddies slipped through his fingers. He’s always been on his own, but Buck never left, never made Eddie feel like he wouldn’t be in his corner. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“Me too,” is what he ends up saying, because anything else feels too much like rolling over and showing the soft underside of his belly. He hates doing that.

Still when Buck smiles, it feels like it’s enough. Buck always makes him feel like he’s doing enough.

Buck is over the moon with the promise, the promise that Eddie won’t just leave him like everyone else always seems to do. However, he needs to make sure they’re actually on the same page, so he bumps their shoulders together and asks: “So, are we good? Or do I need to find a lawyer?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Eddie says. Then he clears his throat, obviously done with the emotional talks for today as he asks: “We still have some time before pick up, wanna play some video games?”

“Hell yeah, I’ll kick your ass any day,” Buck grins.

“Bold words for a man, who always loses.”

“You let us play Rainbow Road and we’ll see if you still say that,” Buck bickers, as they get up and make their way to the living room.

Slowly the normal atmosphere returns again and you’d never think they’d just got close to a divorce or that they’d even argued.

Chris is happily oblivious as they pick him up together, just excited they’re getting ice cream and not asking why. Both watch him smear his face with chocolate ice cream fondly. He’s gotten his love for chocolate ice cream from Buck, who is licking his own cone, while Eddie eats his rum and raisin scoop. His actual favorite is citrus, but he never gets it. Buck knows though, he buys it ‘for himself’ sometimes and pretends he doesn’t see the scoops that go missing.

They both know it’s apology ice cream for Chris, who will never know how close they got to turning his life upside down an hour or two ago. It had been Eddie’s idea, the ice cream, and Buck wonders how long he’s going to do the silent guilty thing, where he doesn’t say anything, but tries to make up for something anyway. It always makes Buck feel a little weird.

Fortunately, he needn’t have worried, because after a week of Eddie cleaning obsessively and refilling his coffee like he’s a waiter trying to get a tip, they go back to normal.

It happens when they’re at work, Bobby makes a delicious casserole. Buck is enjoying it when he feels a nudge against his foot. He looks over to Eddie, who looks down at his plate, then at Buck with imploring eyes.

Fondness explodes inside his chest and he gives an indulgent eye roll, even if his insides feel gooey at the silent request, before he asks: “Hey, Bobby, can I get the recipe for this?” getting a triumphant grin from Eddie as he does.

Bobby explains the recipe, while Buck lets the casserole be, so Eddie can go in for seconds. The whole interaction settles something in his chest, finally letting himself believe that Eddie meant what he said during that day.

In a way, it’s been good for them. A kind of check in to see where they stand. They both have an out and both have assured the other they don’t want it.

Buck is still waiting for the day Eddie does, for the day he’ll come home from a date and know that this is the one. He knows his heart will break when he signs those divorce papers, but the knowledge that Eddie won’t just leave him, soothes the sting of that future.

Eddie, on the other hand, has been assured that Buck still wants to be here, that he doesn’t just want to run and isn’t waiting for the day Eddie will be able to do it by himself. They’re partners. A team. He doesn’t have to do it alone, Buck doesn’t expect him to. It’s not a chore to him.

So, they move on, both more secure in themselves as they work together as they’ve always done, while Christmas slowly approaches.

~~

A/N:

This is more communication Eddie has done than in all his years of life combined, but by god, Buck will have normal conversations with people and Eddie’s crush on Buck will make him do wild shit to get Buck to stay (even if he doesn’t know that’s why he’s doing it) ((I am manifesting this energy for Eddie in 8x09))

And yes, last chapter was a bit of a fake out, I fully enjoyed all the comments and felt very evil, made my week, thank you so much <3

Also shout out to Eddie for the giant brick wall he built his a brain and just doesn’t allow him to examine his feelings for Buck too deeply, like I know repression is one hell of a drug, but seriously? This is getting out of hand and I’m writing you!

[ramblinscramblin]

Got a request/suggestion for you if you like. As headcannons or whatever strikes your fancy.

The team has a new recruit! They are one of the most genuine, patient, friendly, sweetest people one could ever meet. They make everyone breakfast in the mornings, they listen to people's problems, they volunteer at a puppy orphanage, talk down muggers in the street, essentially a bottle of sunshine as a person.

On the battlefield however, they are most certainly one of the scariest people alive. They are incredibly strong and durable, no need for weapons when they can tear people apart with their bears hands and teeth. They are brutal, carnage incarnate, and have absolutely no fear whatsoever.

Now, their sweetness is genuine, they are not faking anything. Outside of battle they are one of the most pleasant, stable people on the team. If ever asked, the best reply they can ever give is "This is a war with no true death. (Thanks to the respawn machine) When you can play a game with no consequences, why not have a little fun? ~"

What do the mercs think about their new teammate? How did they react to seeing their first time on the battlefield? How scary is the game with a player who doesn't care?

Sorry about the length, I got all excited. Romantic or platonic is good, and pick whichever mercs you like to focus on.

→Sweetheart Reader who has a Bloodlust!

Genre: Silliness, general

Characters: Scout, Medic, Pyro, Sniper

Content warning: canon typical violence

Thanks so much for this request! This is such a fun idea! I decided to just pick a few of my favs, also relationship is left fairly ambiguous hope that’s all good! Enjoyyyy ٩( ᐛ )و

Scout

Scout enjoys your sweet side, Scout tends to lean towards supportive types since he doesn’t see much of that from the other mercs.

The two of you get along quickly.

We know he secretly loves being babied so he likes that you make breakfast and do all the cleaning.

He’ll probably make fun of you, calling you the teams maid. You let it slide though, maybe playfully teasing him back.

But ultimately he enjoys having someone around who isn’t totally nihilistic and hasn’t already half given up on being happy, it’s a nice change of pace for him.

All that being said, he doesn’t think you’re going to last a second on the battlefield.

Sure, being all starry eyed and happy go lucky is all good and fine around the base, but that’s the type of stuff that breaks you on the battlefield, respawns or not.

Genuinely tries to talk you out of it the first time you’re set to go out.

“Are you sure you really thought this through? Nobody’d be mad if ya skipped out on us, maybe Pauling has another type-a job for you.”

“Scout, it’s sweet you care so much, but I assure you I have it under control.”

He’s unconvinced so he goes into it feeling the need to protect you.

After he is literally doused in BLU teams blood, it’s pretty glaringly obvious you don’t need him.

Is in genuine awe, hardly fights the whole match, just watches you in… terror? Amazement? Surprise? He’s not exactly sure what he’s feeling, but there is a lot of it.

He’s definitely more wary from that point forward of making any sort of jokes about you.

Medic

Medic is wholly distrusting of your whole “good guy” act.

It might seem nice, and maybe you are but nobody gets into your position by being all smiles all the time he knows that.

Once he does a bit of inspecting on your character and a whole lot of judging, finding out that you are seriously just that golden hearted is a serious surprise to him.

You may point out to him that’s it’s pretty unfair of him of all people to be suspicious, the guy who smiles while doing open heart surgery, which he concedes.

He’s much more receptive to your niceness from then on.

Doesn’t fear so much for your safety on the battlefield, your kindness was not a good enough scale for how you would perform in battle, at least in Medics eyes.

Feels much more drawn to you after seeing your insane side.

Once seeing you on the battlefield he feels he finally has the full picture of who you are, and enjoys your company much more.

Your attitudes of being fairly frivolous on the battlefield have earned the two of you a rather unnerving reputation, but neither of you care, content to be menaces on the ground.

Sniper

Likewise, Sniper is a little suspicious about your behavior.

A puppy shelter? The sweet conversations? Helping at soup kitchens? It’s all a little on the nose for his tastes.

The kicker for him was when you somehow turned a violent drunk man on the street into a weeping mess, talking him through his childhood trauma. You really were just that tooth rottingly sweet.

Gets used to it, keeps his distance, but gets used to it.

After seeing you in battle he is even more put off. Of course, he respects your play, just the same way that he has some base level of respect for his teammates but it never goes beyond that.

He has strict codes he sticks to on the battlefield, and seeing you so lax about respect just sort of rubs him the wrong way.

You two probably don’t end up seeing eye to eye all too often, and may butt heads fairly often because of this.

But at the end of the day, you’re both teammates, and everyone else on the team loves you so much that it makes Mick feel like an asshole for having any negative feelings towards you.

Pyro

Wow! You guys get along so great!

Pyro is the exact same way, relatively beloved due to kindness off the battlefield but feared during the fight.

Pyro adores how kind and compassionate you are, wants to do all your helping stuff with you. Even if they don’t really know how to properly help anyone without starting a fire.

They will “help” with cooking and cleaning, just enjoying trying to be helpful.

You show up in a lot of their pyro land drawings, and they do enjoy spending a lot of time with you, and you them!

Pyro also loves helping out with you on the battlefield! Spreading peace and love is that much easier when you’re by their side.

Or at least… that’s Pyros version of events.

Sorry for the wait, having the worst burnout, but I am pressing on for u guys (￣^￣)ゞ hope you enjoyed!

[cereusblue]

VICTORY IS MINE, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE.

Some context. Before shit hit the fan with my job and the car, I was gifted from family money to buy the litter robot 4 as to make it easier on me with my back problems (I also got a very nice coupon *and* rebate from it so I did not pay full price). With the cat boxes, my fiancee already cleans the house, this is a shared responsibility and it's been hard to do in the past. Well, some stuffs been going on with Felix and we haven't been really able to pinpoint what till recently. So, I think this arrangement will help her too in particular. Having consistently clean little will hopefully keep from irritating her skin and she will finally heal fully. Additional context, Felix likes to fling litter and fucking play in it. So, we think her dirty litter may be the source of her itchy skin as it gets worse when it's not been cleaned in several days.

Next problem. She won't fucking use the robot and shes still itchy. So, we kept her old box up in the most ugly state it could be to discourage her from using it and using the other. It's been over a fucking month. We finally got fed up because she's a stubborn baby who hates change (she was afraid of our couch for a fucking week when we first got it). We dumped out her old litter and brought the box outside. We put some of her litter in the robot and just have been hoping for the best.

Now, considering circumstances, I'm cheap and the bags for the litter robot have no right being as expensive as they are. Plus, I'll admit the sensor for the drawer is hot ass and insists it's full when so much more could fit into the bag. So, I dump the drawer into a garbage bin with a big stretchy garbage bag in it. Felix, in protest to us removing her other litter box to force her to use this one, climbed up the step of the robot to stand IN THE TRASH CAN TO PISS IN IT ON HER DIRTY LITTER.

Her fucking protests have been heard. Security measures are now tightened. I took several more handfuls of her used litter (with a glove because ew and the scoop wouldn't pick up the litter, only clumps) and put it in the robot. I also wrapped up the bag to the dirty litter.

9 hours later, I have my fucking victory. I had to hide behind my door so I didn't "catch" her using it and make her hop out. Here she's burying her shit, and then right after she came running at me chirping and screaming to ask for treats. Maybe as a reward? But fuck it, she earned it by finally putting 2 and 2 together. She got some treats to reinforce the behavior of using the new box.

Oh, also? My sweet little void creature? Used the robot day 1, and she literally cannot find her way out of a paper bag. She is OBSESSED with licking plastic bags. My cats are little rats but I love them. Jinx is sitting on me as I the type this and Felix is in the middle of the floor looking like an uncooked turkey. They're both so stupid and so stubborn, but I love them.

Here's to hoping it helps the Fleef with her skin issues. I know it's been super easy for me to manage despite everything. I'm able to keep track of everything easily and make sure it always keeps clean. Also, using exponentially less litter now and I'm very gracious for that lol

[lokissweater]

beetlejuice!

{beetlejuice!satoru gojo x f!reader}

— “ may you never forget me ” ♪ ༘⋆

summary: living as a psychic medium was like a ticket straight to nothing in your life, you always accidentally creeping people out and scaring them when you talked about it, and you just feeling empty— like something was missing and vacant in your life with no explanation as to why. but upon stumbling through an attic inside a house of a recently deceased couple, you meet him— beetlejuice, a silly and wacky man who was damned to live in the attic for eternity due to him breaking the rules, you never having met a spirit so forward and flirtatious in your life as you quickly bonded. but when beetlejuice presents the idea of you being able to break his contract and finally set him free, you hesitate at the one condition… marrying him.

warnings: MDNI afab!reader, DIABOLICAL angst my god, angst w/ comfort though YIPPEEE, mentions of death, mentions of murder, reader is a psychic medium, fluuufff, SMUUUTTT, p in v sex, DOM AFF SATORU MEOOWWW, unprotected sex (wrap it y’all), creampie, oral, blowie, mentions of ghosts and spirits and things, loosely inspired by the 80s movie, mentions of reader having ‘pink cheeks’ is only to amplify and over-exaggerate feelings of embarrassment, shyness, and everything in between, and not to be taken literally! this is a work of fiction, and you can imagine many things for yourself :)

word count: 19.8k

authors note: YEEEEEOOOOWWWW GET READY YALL….. SHES FREAKY… SHES ANGSTY… AND SHES THE MOMEEEENNTTTT omg i absolutely LOOOVEDDD writing this one so much and i hope you guys find it interesting or i’m gonna CRYYYY HEHEHEH no i’m jk but as always, i love you SO SO SO much and thank you for all of your love and support !! MWAAAHHH <333

you’ve always had a knack for the paranormal.

and from the newspaper clippings you saw and the meddlesome whisperings of your fellow neighbors, newlyweds adam and barbara maitland died on their way home from a day out in the town— swerving in their vehicle while crossing over a bridge and crashing through the side of it, evidently sending themselves tumbling down to the river below and drowning.

it was the biggest tragedy your tiny town had ever been hit with, the maitland’s having renovated their house on the hill from scratch and had recently just finished it when the accident happened, the both of them in the midst of planning their honeymoon to get away from winter river for a little while, happy and in love and looking forward to a quiet serene life together.

it was a shame, really, and it only took two weeks for rumors to spread about how there were always weird moving shadows from the windows of their two story home, or slight flashings of neon blue or white seeping through the cracks of their front door— all of which pissed the realtors off seeing as the rumors prevented the house from being sold again, prospected buyers coming in with high hopes only to be scared off once they so even explored the town, a store clerk or a fellow neighbor quick to tell them of the gossip and to stay away, ultimately causing the house to collect dust and cobwebs until realtors decided they wouldn’t bother much with it anymore.

and the rumors always peaked your interest, as your entire life you’ve always had a passion for the supernatural seeing as your late parents were psychic mediums for the otherworldly, a beautiful ominous gift that was relayed to you from the moment you were able to correctly comprehend sentences, your mind and soul more welcoming to spirits of the unknown compared to regular folk who flat out refused.

and why? you didn’t know. they were just mystic entities that perhaps couldn’t find their way to the other side like they were intended, and if the rumors were true, the maitland’s were in the same predicament, and you felt like they just needed time and space without the pestering of realtors or dumb kids knocking on the windows to see if a ghost would pop out— deserving of a proper chance to figure it out.

except your boyfriend wouldn’t understand that either.

“babe c’mon!” he pleaded with you, a distressed look on his face. “i thought you liked creepy ghost shit?”

you scoffed. “yes rin but not to fucking break in and steal their things! what the hell’s the matter with you?!”

rin groaned and rubbed his eyes, his friends obviously annoyed and bothered by your defiance and it only made you feel awkward, sitting there on your desk chair in your college dorm and guiltily picking at your black nail polish.

“y/n we literally cannot go if you don’t go.” he pushed. “we need your ghost brain to tell us if they’re around so we can scram if they decide to kill us.”

you snorted, already aggravated by rin’s lack of respect and wholeheartedly believing dumb stereotypes.

“you’re committing a crime—”

“the house is abandoned! no one gives a shit!” he threw his arms up. “babe c’mon i’m serious it’s getting late and we’re losing time.”

why wasn’t he listening?

“what are you looking for anyways?” you mumbled.

“money.” he replied, grabbing his black bag and swinging it over his shoulder. “that’s literally it i won’t take anything else.”

“do you swear?” you peered up at him. “don’t take jewelry or any of their things just money and we get out.”

“yeah we won’t! right guys?”

rin looked over both of his shoulders to ensure that his friends agreed, them muttering and sighing as you gnawed at the inside of your cheek and feeling embarrassed for some reason, slowly standing and crossing your arms.

you never liked his friends.

“and leave me out of it okay?” you spoke. “we could get kicked out of college for this i don’t know how you’re not worried…”

he swung a heavy arm around your shoulders and nudged you on, you stumbling a bit as he basically had a lock around your neck on your way outside.

“they’re not gonna care y/n.” he dismissed, unlocking the car and his friends piling in the back while you settled in the passenger seat. “nobody will. it’s abandoned.”

the entire way there you were aggravated and guilty, rin and his friends babbling on about the valuable things they’d hope to find and the kind of ghosts they thought would appear, not a single person in the car an actual believer of those paranormal rumors as they poked fun and teased, your forehead against the glass of the window and miserable as rin drove up the steep hill— the night chilly and so dark that you could barely make out the shape of the house until you were just about to pull up to the driveway.

rin turned off his headlights and tuned down the radio to avoid drawing attention, steering wheel shifting a little to the right so the car could gradually round over and stop next to the front steps of the porch— rin shutting off the ignition once he parked and stuffing his keys into his pocket.

and you could immediately feel a presence even from outside the house, your arms stiff and tingly as you all quietly got out of the car and made your way to the stairs, dry dirt crinkling beneath your shoes as you tried to swallow back your nerves knowing that at any moment you could all be fucking arrested.

“are you sensing ghosts?” rin whispered, a sly teasing grin on his face as the floorboards of the porch creaked with your movements, his hand reaching and jiggling the doorknob.

“yeah.”

his eyes snapped over to you. “…really? yeah right.”

“no i’m serious.” you whispered back. “what did you bring me for if you’re not even gonna believe when i tell you—”

“okay! okay i’m sorry.” he apologized, though it didn’t seem genuine as he patted your back. “i believe you trust me.”

“wait— she said there’s ghosts?” one of his friends piped up. “how do you know?”

you went to answer but rin beat you to it.

“she’s a psychic… i guess.” he unzipped his bag and pulled out a mini tool kit, a mix of screwdrivers and bobby pins inside. “she can sense them.”

“oh my god…” another one mumbled, all of his friends eerie now. “rin— i thought you said those rumors were bullshit.”

your eyes narrowed. “you said that?”

“no!— i mean, technically yes but—” he took two bobby pins from the kit and put the rest of the box away, hunching down to lock pick the knob. “you guys really think any of that is real? it’s just the neighbors man they’re bored—”

“people here don’t just make up rumors like that rin.” you cut him off. “the majority of winter river is elderly and in retirement why the fuck would they be making up—”

“because they’re old and bored—”

the lock released a prominent click and rin tested the doorknob again, this time it turning all the way and opening as he pushed it wide, you all proceeding cautiously and it somehow being colder inside than it was outside as the group shined their flashlights around every corner and space, not bothering to tell your boyfriend that the presence you felt earlier was ten times stronger now, for rin never really believed you or just thought you were being funny whenever you mentioned things like that to him.

you had known rin since the start of college, him always the rebel dickish type as he didn’t follow directions or liked whenever people tried to tell him what to do, and how you ended up crossing paths with him and it sticking was something that was a mystery to you.

rin was everything you wanted at first.

and though he was a bit selfish, you foolishly looked past the fact and let him meddle his way into your already monotonous life, it being hard for you to make friends in the first place because of your psychic abilities— always feeling like something was missing and… vacant for years growing up without any explanation as to exactly why, figuring it was just the side effects of your parents’ passing.

but it still didn’t help when you’d accidentally partake in scaring off and weirding people out when you mentioned that you just saw their deceased relative wander by, rin being one of the first to actually stay because he didn’t believe you, choosing to turn a blind eye to something you treasured about yourself the most, stuck and left to wonder if there was ever someone who did.

but turning a blind eye to just your psychic ability became him turning a blind eye to everything about you, and you felt like he never really listened to what you had to say or cared, often switching the topic back to himself or giving you a series of ‘mhm’s’ and ‘yeah’s’ to get you to move on.

you didn’t feel seen anymore, but you loved him still for some reason.

“where do we even look?” one of his friends whispered, the lot of you traveling as a group through the entry room and down the hall to the kitchen.

“wherever you think a money bank would be.” rin mumbled, leading you all and going round to the living room, his flashlight shining over dusty furniture and spiderwebs. “i think it’d be better if we split up. half of us can take upstairs and the others can look through the kitchen, y/n and i are gonna dig through here for a bit—”

“what?” you spoke, his friends nodding and walking off to their designated areas. “rin no i told you i’m not—”

“oh my god babe— would it really hurt you to just peek in some freaking drawers? let me know if something looks like it has money in it alright?”

he stepped over to the middle and crouched by the coffee table, opening and closing several compartments. “be useful please.”

you scoffed. “you’re the one who dragged me here and i told you i wasn’t getting involved.”

“you’re not.” he mumbled, standing back up and going over to a big brown dresser on the side. “just look at shit and don’t touch anything. tell me if you see money.”

you rubbed your cheek in exhausted frustration, thinking it’d be better to just mindlessly look around to appease him as you caught and stared at the photographs over by the fireplace— a wedding portrait of whom you assumed to be adam and barbara maitland propped up amongst others of family and friends, your fingers raising to gently wipe away the dirt and grime from the glass to get a clearer look of them.

you felt awful that their lives were taken from them just when they had built such a loving foundation for it, and you felt even more awful that rin and his stupid friends were invading their space and stealing in the way that they were with no sense of respect.

a sudden loud thud from upstairs made you and rin stop in your tracks, the both of you unmoving as you tried to listen.

“i’m gonna—” you gnawed at your bottom lip. “i’m gonna check upstairs—”

“no absolutely not.” rin shook his head. “it’s probably just my friends it’s fine.”

“if it’s the maitland’s your friends aren’t gonna know what to do besides shit themselves—”

“okay yeah sure.” he laughed, opening and closing different drawers from top to bottom. “it’s the house babe it’s old and worn out. maybe the— wood or whatever is acting up.”

you pursed your lips, arms crossing and apprehensive as you stood next to him, knowing with everything in you that the maitland’s were definitely still present.

“can we please just go rin...” you asked softly. “please we’ll— we’ll find a different building that’s actually abandoned and doesn’t have the maitland’s still here—”

he scoffed. “y/n this one is abandoned.“

“but it’s only been three months!” you exclaimed. “i don’t wanna do this to them—”

“—oh sweet! there’s a rolex in here—”

“no!” you snatched the watch from his upheld hand and backed away towards the fireplace. “you swore to me just money these are their things—”

“y/n they’re dead! who fucking cares? all of their shit’s gonna be donated might as well pawn it.”

“yeah for your own benefit right?” you mumbled, pushing past him and walking down the hall. “i’m going home.”

he looked at you baffled. “are you serious? over a dumb watch?”

“rin you’ve gone back on everything you promised and you’re not taking me seriously—”

“did i take the watch? no i didn’t so stop—”

“i’m not talking about just the watch!”

“you know what?! fine!” rin shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out his keys, chucking them at you and hitting against your chest as you scrambled to catch them. “go wait in the car.”

you threw them back and they hit his upper arm, his eyes narrowing at you in return as he then bent down to grab them from the floor.

“i’m not waiting in the damn car i’m walking home.”

“you’re walking?” he shook his head. “back to your dorm? that’s gonna take you like an hour y/n.”

you shrugged.

“fine go i don’t give a shit.” rin muttered and rolled his eyes. “you always do this man—”

you didn’t bother to stick around for anything else he had to say as you trudged on down the hall and back to the main entryway, tears brimming your eyes at the lack of care he had for you and scolding yourself for the thousandth time for staying with him, trying to understand why he was like this with you when all you’ve ever done was be patient and give him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t fucking deserve it.

it was hard for you to tell if he even loved you anymore, and you always psyched yourself out that he did whenever he’d barely just accomplish doing the bare minimum.

upon arriving at the front door, you placed the rolex gently on a lonesome night stand by the coat hanger, your hand reaching and turning the knob to step outside until another loud thud shook through the walls, and louder this time as you pulled back and craned your head to look up the stairs.

muffled voices seeped from the top as they gasped and whispered to each other to shush, you recognizing some to be rin’s friends with irritation and worry simmering in your brain, wondering if they were messing with the maitland’s things and stealing what they weren’t supposed to steal, as they were just as uncaring and selfish as rin was throughout the time that you’ve gotten to know them.

and with that in mind, you let go of the doorknob and quietly walked up the stairs, every creak and groan from the wooden slabs underneath your feet making you wince as you went further and further until you reached the top, you sighing as you saw that the maitland’s room door was wide fucking open and with snickering inside.

but with each step that you took to get closer… the more prominent the goosebumps on your arms became and the heavier the feeling in your gut grew, a strange apparent flickering light from your right blinding your vision for a moment as you stopped and turned to look.

your eyes slightly widened, a neon lime green foggy light practically oozing from the attic staircase as it streamed over half of your frame, luring you in with your body mindlessly and curiously walking towards it and up the rugged squeaky stairs, fingers quickly reaching up to swing the attic door open and halting in alarm once you did, the green aluminous light from earlier completely encasing you entirely now as you stepped forward inside the attic.

the door swung and slammed itself shut suddenly, you jumping and spinning around with hurried hands coming up to pull and tug at the knob, breathing irregular upon realizing that it wouldn’t fucking budge and was somehow jammed with no explanation as to exactly how—

“boyfriend troubles?”

“oh my god!” you screamed, hand flying over your heart as your eyes snapped to the source, a tall lanky man standing there with a little grin and vibrant pale blue eyes that only utterly confused you, his vertically stripped black and white suit peculiar and unique as your frantic eyes darted over his figure.

you knew for a fact that the strange man before you wasn’t adam maitland, for the way he looked now didn’t match the pictures you saw in the newspapers at all, you swallowing thickly and slowly backing up against the attic door with your heart dropping straight down to your ass.

who the fuck was he? was he— was he a spirit? because if not there’s a random man literally just basking and relaxing inside the—

“relax! relax jeez you look like you’re about to vomit sweets.”

sweets?

“are you dead?!” you blurted, hand scrambling behind you for the doorknob. “are you— are you alive how are you—”

he laughed loudly and wiggled his little index finger— scrunching it up and down to elicit a ‘yes’ and finding your skittishness a little funny.

“yup! so dead very dead.”

“o— oh… okay...” you spoke softly, tense shoulders gradually relaxing as you gave him a small timid smile, relieved that he wasn’t a freaking squatter and doing god knows what up in the attic.

“you seem happier to see a dead man rather than a live one...” he looked at you amusedly. “you like ghosts? scary stuff? haunted houses? handsome me?—”

you nearly choked on your spit at his last comment, an awkward smile wobbling across your face as you played with your fingers.

“i— i um..” you looked around, your eyes catching a book titled ‘handbook for the recently deceased’ sitting neatly on a dusty table by the door. “you could say that.. but—”

you hesitated, the man’s head tilting to the side as he waited for you to continue.

“but what pretty?”

you blushed furiously, never having met a spirit so forward before.

“sorry but— how did you end up here?” you stood on your tippy toes to peer over his shoulders and around the attic. “and where are the maitlands?”

“oh, those lousy goodie two shoed meanies?” he mumbled, pouting and bitter as he crossed his arms. “beats me..”

you laughed a little, guard slowly coming down as he didn’t seem or feel like a bad person to you, and you thought that perhaps he was in the same boat as the maitlands and was just trying to find his way to the other side.

“why are they meanies?” you smiled, and he reciprocated, arms falling to his sides.

“well— i’m kind of being held in the attic against my will by the— holy shit wait!”

he threw his hands out in front of him and took quick stride full steps towards you, a wild excited expression on his face and you stiffening up again, backing up against the door.

“you can help me!”

“help… you..?” you squeaked.

he vigorously nodded. “yeah! the butthead caseworkers down in the netherworld banned me from leaving the attic… but you can give me a little leg room in my contract sweets!”

netherworld— caseworkers— banned—

“huh?!” you exclaimed, brows furrowed and utterly confused at everything he was fucking saying.

you’ve only ever seen spirits from afar or casually talked to them about something fleeting before they went on their marry way, but never in your life have you met such a complex soul that was so animate and asking you for a favor straight off the bat… as spirits usually just— knew what they were doing and eventually figured out how to get to the great beyond.

so the subject of caseworkers and the netherworld and whatever the fuck else he was rambling on about was something you were not familiar with.

“i did something they didn’t like.” he gave you a boyish half smile. “so they did some ritual thing and now i can’t leave the attic.”

you frowned. “why would they do that? what did you do?”

he waved you off and swung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you forward with him towards a huge 3D model in the center of the room that you barely just noticed— intricate and detailed and colorful as your brain put two and two together and figured out that it was a model of the entire city of winter river.

“don’t worry about it! but i overheard juno telling her assistants not to say my name three times or else i’ll be let out to roam around the house—”

juno? who’s juno?

“—and that’s why i really need you sweets because i’m dying in this fucking attic… way more than i already am.”

you blinked at him. “i’ve never— i’ve seen spirits all my life and i’ve never had any of them tell me about caseworkers? and juno? who’s juno?”

“the rule is that the land of the living isn’t supposed to know.” he pursed his lips and dropped his arm from your shoulders, picking up the book that you had spotted earlier and passing it to you. “says it in the handbook.”

you timidly took it from him and flittered through the pages, old and crinkly and a little worn out as the gist of the pages you saw was a guide for those beginning their post-livelihood and the steps they needed to do so— from waiting rooms in the netherworld to being assigned a caseworker to help you out to the great beyond and so forth, your eyes falling on a particular page and catching specific line.

‘live people ignore the strange and unusual.’

they do. wrongfully they do.

and since people had been ignoring you out of fear your whole life… did that mean you were strange and unusual too?

“what?” the unknown man spoke, softly as his blue gaze switched between your solemn expression and the book, shifting his position to stand right next to you and see what you were looking at.

“oh sorry!” you laughed it off, closing the book and placing it down. “nothing i was just—”

“‘live people ignore the strange and unusual?’” he repeated. “what about it?”

you shook your head and sent him a small smile. “nothing! i was just looking—”

“just because you can see spirits doesn’t mean you’re strange or unusual.”

you stilled, eyes big as you watched the way he froze up over what he said, sheepishly relaxing after a moment and lifting an arm to pat over your head.

“sorry pretty. i can read and manipulate minds and i poked in yours...” he looked at you apologetically. “it’s another reason why they threw me in this shit hole.”

he dropped his hand then, a sincere glint in his eyes. “but i mean it.”

“i don’t know…” you mumbled, looking down and playing with the hem of your skirt. “i’ve never really had friends because of it… and i feel like that book kind of confirmed what i’ve been thinking.”

you quickly picked your head up. “oh but— it’s okay! i’m okay i’m used to it spirits are nicer anyways and i’ve always been alone so—”

“that’s not true.” he mumbled.

your brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

he funnily froze up again. “what do i mean what?”

“what’s not true?”

“oh! that— that spirits are nicer!” he quickly sputtered. “they’re assholes. all of them. every single one. including me!”

you giggled at his franticness and a smile spread across his face at that, endearing as he watched you slowly cheer up.

“people’s ignorance doesn’t define who you are sweets.” he spoke gently. “so don’t give them that right. you look perfectly fine to me!”

your eyes softened, wondering what the hell this man did that made the caseworkers down in the netherworld ritual him into a contract, as you were convinced it wasn’t even that bad at all and just straight up unfair, him being one of the kindest and silliest souls you’ve probably ever had the privilege to come across.

“i’ll help you.”

his eyes snapped to yours. “huh?”

“i’ll help you!” you spoke sweetly. “i’ll say your name three times so you can leave the attic.”

“wha— really?!” he exclaimed excitedly, hands animatedly flying everywhere as they went from digging into his white locks to all over his suit and then thrown out to grip over your shoulders, shaking you as you giggled again. “holy shit will you actually?!”

“yeah! why not?” you grinned. “i don’t think it’s right that you’re stuck up here all alone.”

“angel! angel! you’re an angel!” he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and stuffed your face into his chest, squishing you so fucking tight and honestly holding you way longer than he should’ve, but you not minding one tiny bit as you hugged him back and smoothed a comforting friendly hand over his broad shoulders.

“what’s your name then?” you muffled against his suit. “so i can—”

“ahhh fuck.” he muttered. “i forgot about one thing.”

you pulled back a little. “hm?”

“i can’t tell you my name.”

“what?” you looked at him confusedly. “what do you mean? why not?”

“it’s part of the stupid contract sweets...” he sighed heavily. “but i can give you clues! ooo!— like charades! ready?”

“oh! o—okay!” you nodded, him finally letting you go and stepping back.

“don’t freak out.” he grinned in a silly way. “i’m about to make things show up.”

your eyebrows furrowed. “make things show up?”

he waved his hand and a life sized fucking black bug appeared out of nowhere, landing on one of the old wooden rocking chairs in the corner of the room as it wiggled its little legs and peered around, you screaming and flying behind the strange blue eyed man while he laughed loudly and looked over his shoulders for you.

“it’s okay! just a figment of your imagination is all.” he cheesed. “but guess now!”

“guess what?!” you shrieked.

“what that is!” he pointed to the bug.

you peeked an eye out from his side, the bug still gross and horrifying as it wiggled it’s antennas.

“a bug!”

“what kind?”

“a beetle!”

“yes!” he nodded vigorously. “okay that’s the first part!”

“your name starts with beetle?!—”

he waved his hand again and the bug disappeared, a carton of orange juice replacing it instead and floating in mid air, a shiny glass cup next to it as you amazedly watched it pour its bright orange contents into the cup without spilling a single drop.

“…orange juice?” you spoke softly, timidly coming around from behind him. “your names beetle orange juice?”

“not quite!” he made a drinking motion with his hand.

“beetle drinking orange juice?”

he laughed. “no! you’re adding too many words pretty take some out.”

“beetle drinking juice?”

“nope.”

“beetle drinking orange?”

“colder.”

“beetlejuice?—”

“yes!” he threw his hands out, eyes wild and excited. “yes that! and you’ve already said it once now just two more times—”

“beetlejuice.”

“uh huh uh huh—”

“beetle— mmph!”

a pair of hands clasped over your mouth from behind you and pulled you back, you letting out a muffled scream as you thrashed and quickly pried their fingers away, you spinning around and fully expecting to see rin behind you with a shit eating grin and laughing in your face for scaring you.

except it wasn’t rin.

it was the maitlands.

“don’t say his name honey.” barbara spoke first. “trust me… don’t.”

“i mean— are we sure about this sweetheart?” adam looked at his wife. “maybe he isn’t all that bad… hell we don’t even know for sure—”

barbara shook her head. “adam, did you not hear a word juno said? he was about to take advantage of that poor girl!”

take advantage?

you heard a scoff behind you and you turned around, a disgruntled and pissed off look on beetlejuice’s face as he crossed his arms.

“jeez i know you don’t like me but that’s low.” he mumbled. “i wouldn’t do something like that.”

your head turned back to barbara. “you know who juno is?”

she nodded. “juno’s our caseworker… we got assigned to her in the netherworld after we died.”

“took us three months waiting in the waiting room until she finally got to us.” adam added, chuckling in humorous disbelief. “but all she really did was nag at us and warn us about him.”

adam pointed behind you and you turned around again, beetlejuice bitterly looking to the side with his lips pursed.

oh god.

had he been feeding you nonsense this entire time?

“warn about what.” you mumbled, and beetlejuice snapped his head in your direction with anxious eyes.

“juno calls him a bio-exorcist.” barbara informed you. “he tried to illegally cross over to the land of the living and bring himself back to life.”

your eyes bulged open. “back to life? how?”

“you switch souls with someone else through a ritual.” adam piped in. “juno says he attempted to trick and switch souls with somebody that was alive so he could terminate all who were living… and they didn’t even know about it.”

“that’s not true!” beetlejuice countered, utterly exasperated. “the old hag made that up!”

he quickly walked towards you, taking your hands in his and looking at you pleadingly.

“please sweets you’ve gotta believe me i never wanted to kill anybody—”

you ripped your hands away and glared. “so this entire time you’ve been lying, playing some hopeless victim so you can poke into my head and find out shit about me to use to your advantage?—”

“no! no i— i haven’t been lying about anything it’s juno!”

“juno.” you repeated coldly. “and what’s she lying about exactly.”

“about killing the living!” he threw his hands out in emphasis. “she literally pulled that out of her ass when her and her minions banned me—”

“and what about tricking that person to switch souls with you so you can come back?”

he faltered, words completely failing him and guilty eyes looking into yours so deeply that it nearly made you feel bad for yelling at him.

“that’s… that’s true.”

you let out a breath of disbelief and barbara put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently and comfortingly as she looked at you with caring eyes.

“we don’t know what to believe either honey.” she began. “it’s a lot of he said she said… but it’s better to be safe. he tried to get us to say his name three times too in exchange for his help.”

you quirked a brow. “help? what do you guys need help with?”

“your buddies downstairs.” adam sighed. “they’re stealing our things and just messing up the house… but we’ve been watching you and we know you’ve been trying to get them out and so have we… horrendously though.”

“oh my god—” you slapped a hand over your gaping mouth. “i totally forgot about them! i’m so so sorry oh my god i can’t even begin to explain to you how embarrassing this is i’ve been telling them to stop—”

barbara laughed and waved you off. “it’s alright! we know sweetheart. but we’re not frightening enough to scare them off whatsoever… so that’s what we were trying to get his help for.”

“and i still can y’know…” he muttered. “even though you hate me.”

“i don’t hate you juno does.” she crossed her arms and leaned her weight on one side of her hip. “adam and i are lost we don’t know what’s going on and we can’t even read that thing for the recently deceased.”

“we’re just trying to get them out of the house son…” adam finished off.

and in that moment you felt like you were the one responsible for this. that if you had bitched about it harder, even screamed at rin to get him to stop or damn near called the fucking cops on them so that this wouldn’t be happening right now… the maitlands wouldn’t have to suffer and struggle like this every waking day to protect their home and what rightfully still belonged to them even after death.

because the maitland’s roaming around and producing shadows and figures and scaring the realtors and prospected buyers off wasn’t just for shits and giggles… but to try and keep what was once theirs and feel a sense of normalcy for the life they once had.

that was their great beyond. their home.

“i’ll get them to leave.” you smiled at barbara and adam. “i don’t care if i literally have to start fist fighting with his friends this is so unfair—”

“wait! are— are you sure sweets?” beetlejuice interjected worriedly. “your boyfriend’s kind of nuts and i can’t help you once you leave the attic—”

“i’m sure.” you mumbled, still bitter and annoyed at him. “can’t be anymore nuts than you basically trying to kill someone so you can prance around alive again—”

“i already apologized to the entire netherworld nation for that!” he argued. “but if you ask me, if it’s so bad then they shouldn’t have put the fucking instructions in the guidebook.”

“juno says guidebook reveals to you what you want most.” adam spoke. “because barb and i didn’t see a single page that had to do with that… mostly just tips on how to scare the living.”

beetlejuice closed his eyes exhaustedly and shook his head. “doesn’t matter. i’m not trying to trick anyone right now i just want to get out of this damn attic—”

he looked to you again. “—please say my name three times pretty i’ve poked in your boyfriends head and he’s looney i don’t want you to—”

“i’ll see you guys in a sec!” you walked over to the door and left a sputtering frustrated beetlejuice behind. “if nothing works i’ll literally just take my boyfriends keys and drive the car down the hill, he freaks over that thing—”

your voice trailed off as you walked down the creaky stairs of the attic and down the hall of the second floor, the maitlands main bedroom coming into view as you tried to get a script together in your head as to what exactly you were gonna tell rin… but your footsteps quickening at the sound of loud yelling and laughing coming from inside the bedroom, sounds of glass shattering and moving furniture making you panic as you practically stumbled in from the doorway.

and your heart stopped, rin standing there with a crow bar in his hands that he got from who the fuck knows where, smashing multiple vases and porcelain jewelry cases and stuffing his pockets full of anything that looked shiny and valuable in his eyes, the mattress and blankets thrown over to the side and the mainland’s things just completely ransacked as you took it all in.

“rin!”

he jumped and spun around, brows pinching upon seeing you standing there.

“what are you doing here? i thought you left?”

“what the fuck?!” you gestured to the broken shards on the floor and strewn about articles of clothing. “what the hell is wrong with you?!”

“calm down babe it’s fine.” he turned and smashed another small jewelry case, you scoffing in response. “it’s all useless shit that’s gonna dust over—”

“get out.”

he snorted. “uh huh—”

“i’m serious rin get out.” you spat. “all of you.”

“yeah like i’d listen to you.” he spoke harshly, eyes narrowed and sharp as he turned again. “go wait in the fucking car or go home—”

“i’m calling the cops.”

“what?!”

a series of protests and worrisome comments erupted in the air from the group, all thrown directly at a fuming rin as he chucked his crow bar to the side— it clattering on the wooden floor as he hastily trudged over to you and gripped your upper arm, yanking you with him and out of the room into the hallway by the stairs.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing huh?” he spoke lowly and in your face. “embarrassing me in front of my friends like that?”

you shoved him off. “get out and find another building or i’m calling the cops rin.”

“yeah and if you do that i’m telling them you’re a shitty psychic medium so they can throw you in the shrink.”

your jaw dropped.

rin was being meaner than usual.

“why are you like this.” you mumbled. “i don’t even know why i’m still with you you’re an asshole and you’re pathetic—”

he got in your face again and grabbed your jaw, pressing you up against the railing of the staircase and damn near throwing you over as the edge of it dug into your lower back, your fingers gripping his arm and struggling to pull him away from you while his friends quietly gasped and silently watched in shock.

“pathetic? me?” he laughed humorously. “you’re the one who doesn’t have anything or anyone besides me and yet you still treat me like this you ungrateful bitch—”

“rin okay that’s enough dude let her go—”

“you wanna shut up? or do you wanna trade spots with her?” his fiery crazed eyes switched over to his friend, him only cowering under rin’s intense stare and shaking his head no, diverting his gaze and you still squirming and tugging for your freedom.

“get— off me—”

“or what?” he pushed you further back and your breath hitched, your feet off the ground now at this point as one of your hands shot out to grip the railing for support. “you gonna call your ghost friends for help? go ahead i wanna see you do it you lying—”

“beetlejuice beetlejuice beetlejuice!”

a thunderous roar broke out into the air, actual lightning and black smokey fog spreading over the ceiling and around you as rin instantly let you go and looked around, all of his friends in a pure state of fear and alarm as they lost sight of each other amongst the suffocating mist— including you as you frantically tried to look for a clear path out, unable to decide if you regretted what you had just done.

“never seen a man with such a power trip!” a booming voice echoed through the house that you quickly recognized to be beetlejuice’s, the walls vibrating with each word. “seems to me like it’s all bark and no bite!”

“what did you do y/n?!” you heard rin’s distant yelling from somewhere you couldn’t pinpoint, the air cold and prickling at your skin. “who did you call?!”

“a god!” beetlejuice excitedly answered. “achilles preferably! wait actually he’s a demigod not a—”

“who the fuck is achilles?!”

the air cleared in the center suddenly and revealed a petrified rin, wide eyed and angry as he whipped his head around to try and figure out what was going on.

“you don’t know who achilles is?” half of beetlejuice popped out of nowhere from above the fog and his friends screamed at the mere size of him, for he wasn’t the normal looking man you saw before but a borderline monster— huge and crazed as he looked down at rin in particular with a scary grin.

but his eyes were still a fascinating sparkling blue, oddly familiar in a way as you watched the scene before you through the black air, beetlejuice continuing.

“read a book your stupid is showing.”

he lunged while simultaneously popping his eyeballs out of their sockets with his tongue out, cartoonish and terrifying as his friends yelled for help and scrambled to try and leave, struggling though the smothering mist as you placed a hand over your mouth in shock.

beetlejuice sucked his eyeballs back in and blinked to adjust. “what? you guys scared too? shouldn’t have been so mean to my little sweets over there then!”

they all looked to you and you froze, rin’s gaze narrowing.

“his little sweets?” he clenched his jaw. “the hells he talking about?”

beetlejuice didn’t know why rin was so dumb for even attempting at getting near you again after everything he did and said— his footsteps quick and stompy towards you until he straight up smacked into an invisible wall and doubled back with a hand over his nose, your brows pinching in confusion.

you timidly reached a hand out, expecting your fingers to touch an invisible barrier except there wasn’t one at all as they fell through completely over nothing, your arm slowly retracting back to your chest.

you looked up at beetlejuice’s huge figure, and he gave you a bright cute smile that made your cheeks heat up.

“this is bullshit!” rin roared, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand and pointing at you after. “you’re a goddamn nutcase y/n! what kind of show are you putting on huh?!”

“me?!” you shot back. “maybe you should stop being a dick for once in your life and listen when i tell you things you idiot.”

“yup!” beetlejuice quipped. “doll if you’re still with him after all of this i’m gonna have to start haunting you in your dreams.”

your gaze switched to beetlejuice and you laughed, a little glint to his eye as he watched you shake your pretty head.

“i was gonna dump him the minute i got him out of the house—”

“what?!” rin barked. “dump me? for what?!”

you scoffed. “are you serious? what do you mean for what?”

“fuck— babe okay i’m sorry alright? i’m sorry i’m just a little overwhelmed right now—”

“you’re a sack of shit.” beetlejuice spat. “and call her babe again and i’ll start the engine of your car and ram it through a tree.”

you snickered and rin swiveled around to face him.

“why don’t you stay out of this freak and leave my girlfriend alone—”

“sweets i’ll make him go away if you marry me.”

you choked, flustered and stiff as you looked at him, bewildered out of your mind.

“huh?!”

“pretty pleeaaseee.” he dragged. “you saying my name got me out of the attic but not the house itself… but if you marry me i’m a free man!”

“how does that—” you let out a shocked breath. “how does that even make sense—”

“marry me.”

“but i!—”

“marry me that’s my condition.”

“hold on!—”

rin dove at you with the full intention to grab you and pull you away, but eyes widening in terror as an invisible force practically grabbed his ankle and sweeped him back and away from you, dragging his body across the wooden floor and over to beetlejuice, his friends having enough of all of this and making a run for it down the stairs.

“oh! i almost forgot about you guys!”

beetlejuice nudged his head and they were sent flying back just like rin, all of them screaming and pleading for mercy as their bodies dragged across the floor and returned to him.

“which of you should i gobble up right now… i’m feeling the one on the far right! he’s trembling like a little leaf—”

“please no!” he cried. “i’ll— i’ll do anything! i’ll leave i’ll never—”

“—and i’ll save rin for the very end… best for last right?!”

they all wailed and clawed at the foggy air, your body unmoving as you tried to figure out if beetlejuice was actually being serious.

“please man!—”

“i’m sorry i’m so sorry!—”

“don’t apologize to me you doofuses.” another invisible force grabbed them all by the ankles and pulled them up, dangling them upside down. “apologize to her. then maybe i’ll spare you… how’s that sound?!”

“y/n! please! i’m sorry—”

“we’re sorry dear god!—”

“y/n!—”

“put— put them down!” you wavered. “that’s enough it’s okay! jesus..”

“awww already?!” beetlejuice pouted. “but i haven’t even started swinging them around yet… like a little ferris wheel! heh.”

you slapped a hand over your mouth to suppress a laugh once rin and his friends started wailing in fear again, you shaking your head and smiling at him.

“it’s okay! next time! just let them go i’m sure they’ll run—”

“y/n, it seems like you understand me… you’re the only one that hasn’t bitten my head off in the entire three years that i’ve been dead!”

you laughed again. “i’m glad! now put them down please—“

“so be my wife then.”

“beetlejuice!”

“what?!” he whined. “you don’t wanna be my lawful wedded wife?”

“no!— well— just—”

“is it because i’m dead?”

“put them down and i’ll consider it!”

“yes ma’am!”

the invisible force dropped them and they slammed against the hardwood floors, each and every single one of them fumbling to get their things that flew out of their pockets while upside down and scurrying away, hurried footsteps stomping down the staircase as they tripped over their feet to get to and out the front door, you observing in amusement and slight guilt, leaning over the edge of the staircase to watch them go.

and the second that they did, the stuffy black fog lifted and felt immensely lighter, it dispersing into the air above you as it thinned out to a mere silly mist, cold and wet to the touch and similar to the air you’d feel after a long days worth of rainfall and cloudy weather, slow strides coming up from behind you as you saw beetlejuice’s shiny raven leather dress shoes out of the corner of your eye, you standing upright and turning to him.

he smiled warmly at you.

“thank you.” you grinned, bashful as he reached and fixed up your hair— hands smoothing over your head and down before his fingers lightly grazed and played with the ends of your strands.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured. “thank you for getting me out of the attic sweets!”

you kindly nodded.

“sweetheart, are you alright?”

you looked back and saw the maitlands, barbara walking up with outstretched arms and pulling you in for a hug.

“that boy was insane!” she pulled back and held you out at an arms length by the shoulders. “we tried so hard to intervene while he was yelling at you but we’re useless… they couldn’t see us.”

you giggled. “no it’s okay! really you didn’t need to i wouldn’t ever wanna put you guys in that position.”

“honey— he almost pushed you off the railing…” adam spoke softly. “if you hadn’t called for beetlejuice lord knows what he would’ve done… he was so aggressive and we were worried…”

your heart warmed, never in your life having been so cared for and looked after— funnily enough that you were receiving that sacred feeling from beings that were dead rather than living and it reminding you a little bit of the way your parents were with you when you were young, when they were still alive.

“we’re sorry for being so hard on you kid…” barbara sighed, gaze shifting to beetlejuice. “mistakes happen. i’m sure your passing was something you weren’t expecting like us.”

“oh! no it’s okay don’t.” he smiled brightly. “i almost killed a man i understand.”

“but we understand too.” adam added, and you felt like he was also referring to something you had no clue about as he had a particular look in his eyes, something that was only amongst them three. “i would’ve considered the same.”

beetlejuice swung an arm around your shoulders and looked down at you.

“so are you my little wife?”

“okay—” barbara laughed. “not that you know this—”

“adam! barbara!”

a sudden shriek boomed through the house and beetlejuice instantly pulled you behind him, waving his hand and an invisible force sending you further away until your back gently bumped against the wall, panic rising in your chest as the same black fog from earlier returned and swirled around you, blocking your vision.

was he… was he hiding you? what for?

“juno!” beetlejuice greeted, laughing awkwardly. “heyy long time no see!”

oh.

“zip it bozo.”

from the cracks and openings that you could see through the whirling wind, a proper old lady in professional office attire stood there with her arms crossed, a pissed off look on her face as she tapped her heel against the floor and played with the pearls around her neck.

“what did i tell you two about letting him free?” she scolded. “he’s a loose cannon! he’s not to be trusted!”

“i know i know we’re sorry… we just really needed to get those kids out! and they’re gone! and beetlejuice seems alright!” barbara looked to her husband, a desperate flicker in her gaze. “right adam?”

“yes! uh uh!” adam stepped forward and sighed softly. “please juno… he’s just a kid. he’s learned and what he did was three years ago—”

“what he did could’ve cost me my job and set my entire office up in flames.” juno lectured, pointing her wrinkly finger at beetlejuice next. “you broke a million undead laws and have hundreds of violation codes on your record. your punishment was to stay in the attic for eternity.”

eternity?

oh god no.

“but now i’m gonna have to send you to live inside mr. maitland’s winter river model and you better stay there!”

“what?!” beetlejuice scoffed. “juno please there’s gotta be a way i can lift those violations?”

“i’m afraid there isn’t.” she seethed.

“pretty please?”

“no.”

“with a cherry on top?”

“absolutely not.”

“not even probation?—”

“not even probation! you’re gone!”

your eyes blew open as you watched juno extend an arm out and move it to the side, a bright white blinding light encasing her entire figure and you quickly pushed a hand through the black fog and grabbed the back of beetlejuice’s suit, everything around you scarily blurring out and disappearing and you squeezed your eyes shut, arms reaching out to wrap around his upper torso as you buried your face in his back.

you didn’t want him to go… not at all. and the thought of him stuck inside a model forever like that all alone terrified you.

you understood why he was punished in the first place, but why couldn’t juno just see that he was good? that all he was trying to do was come back to life and live? something many other souls would also kill for?

hadn’t he been punished enough already? he stood stuck in that attic for three god damn years straight with no means of escape whatsoever, and now he was shamefully being sent to live inside a styrofoam cardboard model that was far worse than that stupid attic, for now he couldn’t be seen by anyone even if he truly wanted to be.

had that not been enough? enough of a sign to reconsider his contract?

why couldn’t he just be given a second fucking chance—

“pretty?”

you opened your eyes, forehead quickly detaching from his back and looking up, his piercing blue eyes staring down at you worriedly from behind as he shifted his body a little in your hold to face you.

“what are you doing here i thought—” his surprised gaze shifted over to the way you were clutching onto him, and he relaxed, smiling a little.

“you grabbed me baby?”

“i—” you let him go and stepped back, your cheeks a vibrant pinky shade. “y—yeah…”

he turned around fully.

“why?”

“because—” you bit your bottom lip, peering cutely up at him.

“because i thought we were getting married…”

beetlejuice’s expression dropped and he stared at you wide eyed, his face reddening at your words.

“i don’t— i don’t understand—”

“what?” you giggled. “i thought you proposed to me earlier?”

“i did! yes i did!” he rapidly nodded. “but— but are you actually serious?”

you nodded. “mhm! i am!”

“you can say no sweets honestly it’s okay…”beetlejuice spoke softly with pinched brows. “i’ll cry myself to sleep and shrivel up but i can handle it don’t worry about me—”

you laughed and nudged his shoulder with yours. “i wanna marry you… i wanna set you free.”

you walked over to a little bench, the feeling of you stepping on rubber and glue a little weird under your feet as you sat down and smiled, gently patting the spot next to you.

“i’m not letting you stay here forever by yourself, not when you’ve been doing that already for years.” you murmured, him taking a seat next to you with a yearn-full but apprehensive face.

“you deserve to do the things you want to do and see the things you want to see…” you looked at him so sincerely and loving that he felt his undead heart throb. “… and if i can help you in anyway to get you there i don’t care what it is. i can’t think of anyone more deserving of freedom than you.”

“you’re so pure…” he softly took your hand, yours warm and pumping in comparison to his cold and stiff one. “you always have been.”

he stared at your hand still, his index finger delicately tracing over the faint markings of your working veins underneath your skin, trying to remember what they looked like on him when he was alive, and if they ever looked as precious as yours did.

beetlejuice raised your hand and kissed it, eliciting a fuzzy blush to your cheeks.

“i think we’re meant to be.”

you faltered slightly, for you felt a rush of deja vu hit you like a stifling wave.

“have we met?” you teasingly asked. “before you died?”

he laughed and shook his head.

you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, beetlejuice still tracing the lines and indentations of your hand before you spoke up again.

“i have a question.”

his content eyes switched to yours before they looked back down. “yes sweets?”

“is your name really beetlejuice?”

he weirdly stopped, and you quirked a brow.

“it’s…” he swallowed. “it’s not.”

“oh what the?” you paused, a little puzzled. “where did it come from?”

“juno.” he snickered. “the old hag said it fit how bizarre and stupid i was, so she put it in my contract.”

“oh my fucking god.” you mumbled. “why the hell would she do that? that’s cruel… you’ve already paid the price for what you did the least she could do is address you by your given name.”

beetlejuice laughed cutely, his eyes twinkling as he looked at you.

“that woman doesn’t care baby… so don’t sweat it.” he lifted a hand and ruffled your hair. “and if you ask me, she needs to retire immediately. like— yesterday. all she does is fucking nag at me and the rest of her damn clients.”

you giggled.

“so what’s your name then?”

“not important! now i say we figure out a way to get out of this rinky dink model—”

your eyes narrowed.

“why won’t you tell me your name?”

“—or maybe we should just stay and make ourselves at home!—”

“you won’t tell your soon to be wife your name?—”

“—oh! oh! i can manifest a little jacuzzi in the middle of the cemetery that’s neat—”

you slapped a hand over his mouth and he stopped, your pleading little eyes making him guiltily melt against your hold.

“your name.” you urged softly, lowering your hand and revealing a little frown that he had on his lips. “please.”

“i—” he blinked, utterly remorseful. “i can’t… i can’t tell you my name.”

your brows pinched. “why not? is part of your contract?”

“no— well yes.” he sighed deeply through his nose, and you wondered why he looked so… strained.

“it’s not their contract, but my contract… with you.”

you froze.

“with—” you struggled. “i don’t—”

he rubbed his tired sunken eyes.

“it’s okay sweets but that’s all you need to know—”

“no.” you replied firmly. “what i need to know is your name.”

he dropped his arms and shook his head desperately. “y/n please i put that contract on you to protect you if— if i tell you my name you’ll be hurt and i don’t want that—”

“what do you mean?” you bitterly scooched away from him on the bench and he stubbornly moved closer, eliminating the distance you had created.

“i lied when you asked me if we had met.”

your heart dropped.

“because we have… and i— i wanted you to forget me so i took away your memories and if i tell you my name—”

he swallowed hard.

“… it’ll break the contract. and you’ll remember me again.”

you stared at him, his regretful tortured gaze so anguishing that it was almost unbearable to watch him endure it, wanting to mend it instead, something that already felt so right and easy to you and in no way shape or form unfamiliar.

slowly, you reached up and cupped his cold cheeks in your hands, bringing his forehead to rest against yours.

“but i want to remember you…” you murmured. “…please let me.”

his pupils worriedly shook as they darted all around your striking features, his name practically hanging off the edge of his tongue but his throat physically unable to get the words out, for his dead heart was pulling and fighting with his vocal chords to prevent him from doing so, everything within him wanting to save you from memories he had to live with even after death.

but the other part of him was filled with such intense longing for you that it effortlessly slipped between the cracks of his defensive wall of not telling you his name…the relentless feeling going straight to his heart and mind and strangling the fuck out of it to get a formidable yes instead.

he wanted the life he once had. more than anything.

“satoru.”

something snapped in your brain and you flinched back, memories flooding through your mind faster than the speed of light as you recollected each and every moment in your existence, for the sentiment of vacancy and like a specific thing was just missing in your life was finally put back in its rightful place— for the thing that was missing in particular was him.

satoru gojo.

there were images of meeting him when you were both itty bitty in middle school under a magnolia tree, him sporadic and silly and making you laugh so hard on the third day of school that strawberry milk blew out of your nose and all over his clothes, satoru not having a care in the world as he cackled along with you and thought the way you made liquid come out of your nose was cool.

and there were images of the both of you becoming the best of friends— never one without the other as you pulled pranks on your teachers and ended up in detention together almost everyday, your parents utterly done with you as you never seemed to get it through your head how to behave, the both of you brushing off your scoldings and lectures because you had each other to endure all of it with.

and you saw how much he cared about you.

how he would physically fight and yell and reprimand anyone who called you a freak, anyone who spread rumors about you and your psychic medium abilities as he constantly reminded you everyday that your gift was sacred… a treasure while he wiped your tear stained cheeks and cheered you up after another day of your classmates poking fun at you, him saying that your skills were the coolest and how much he wished he was just like you, how much you both were meant to be as he loved ghost stories and scary stuff.

you saw how you fell in love too.

and it didn’t take long either, as your stolen glances and teasing turned into much more as soon as you grew and went to high school together, the both of you making it official literally your freshman year despite the apprehensions from your parents on both sides because of how young you were.

but it never proved to be an issue, you and satoru not once stumbling over a hiccup since the two of you had built such a strong foundation of genuine friendship and care before you blessedly fell in love, satoru throughout your years together absolutely smitten over you as he always passed you silly notes during class that had a gazillion hearts scribbled all across with your name in the middle, telling you all of the time just how much he loved and cherished you to the point where you had to funnily push him away from you to get him to stop smothering you, you always giving in anyways due to the fact that you were just as smitten, physically unable to go a day without him, and him still physically unable to not iterate how you were meant to be.

satoru understood you, satoru listened to you, and satoru believed you whenever you would speak on your psychic gift and how you had spoken casually to a spirit just the other day, him always interested and unbelievably amazed at everything you had to say as he bombarded you with fifty questions and begged you to teach him how to see spirits too.

he was respectful and supportive of you through it all.

especially when your parents died.

satoru wouldn’t leave your side. he refused to as you tried to piece together what the fuck had just happened, their accident so sudden and weird that it never made sense to you and still didn’t to this day.

and you grieved of course, cried and weeped and clung to satoru like a moth to a flame, feeling alone and without your biggest support system— without your loving peculiar parents that gave you your priceless gift in the first place, him accepting your tears with open arms as he encouraged you to let it all out and was worried for you when it seemed like you had moved on rather quickly from it.

but it was simply because your parents weren’t afraid of the afterlife. it was because your parents had talked so much about it and taught you everything that they knew, that you were convinced their souls peacefully made it through to the great beyond straight away and together, for you never saw their spirits roaming around aimlessly after and feeling eternally grateful for that, your whole life being about acknowledging and embracing the mysteries of life after death.

the knowledge of knowing they were at peace was enough to get you by for a little while.

satoru continued to check in on you about it though... even when it was the end of your junior year and nearing a year since their passing, his parents kindly taking you in after the ordeal and making satoru sleep on the floor and you taking over his bed since they didn’t have an extra room, satoru doing it without even needing to be told and you thanking all of them any chance you got for their amicable kindness and tried to pay them back, satoru checking in on you every night with a series of timid ‘are you okay’s’ and ‘are you happy’s’ before going to bed, your arm dangling off the edge so you could intertwine your fingers while you slept.

you were never alone like you thought you were. ever.

because of satoru.

and he made it obvious that he wanted to marry you too, that he wanted to have you for the rest of his life and didn’t give a single shit if you were both only 18 and barely starting college, him deeming it pointless for the both of you to pretend like the hope of marriage wasn’t there just for the sake of shutting up his parents, as every time he brought it up you stammered and blushed and fidgeted and he only giggled at you, telling you it would happen soon, to be ready, and to sit pretty and patient until the right time came.

except it never did.

because satoru gojo died a year later following that on halloween, precisely on his way over to your dorm when he was snatched by an unknown man and murdered in the middle of the night, you stuck wondering what had happened to him and why he wasn’t answering the phone when he was hours late to come get you, your chest on fire and aching as the feeling in your gut was weirdly excruciating, a part of you completely torn away and lost and you had no idea why until the very next morning.

and he had to watch you mourn. properly this time and not at all like the way you did for your parents, as this time it was fucking worse, painfully and all alone and for no way for him to get to you and comfort you— to tell you it was okay to cry and that he loved you, to tell you to be happy, to be hopeful for the future and hopeful to the thought of spending the rest of your lives together and being meant to be.

but instead he had to watch you wail and scream in your pillow every night with no saving, clutching his clothes and things and picture frames, you making yourself sick as the grief was too much to bare— everything that your parents had said to you and taught you about the afterlife meaning absolutely jack shit as the workings of supposed fate took away the only thing that ever made you happy.

satoru’s dream was to live with you. and it was taken away from him so brutally that he went absolutely nuts in the netherworld.

because yes he violated every single fucking undead law in the book and jumped over restricted gates and strange passage ways and doors, shoved through emotionless security guards, ignored juno’s warnings, and yes he tricked a living human being so he could exchange souls with him—

all for the sole purpose of getting back to you.

it was always for you.

and now, him sitting next to you with an anxious waiting expression, your body and mind now feeling the effects of not having seen him for three entire years and the way your conscious mind grieved for him and his return, his skin sickishly pale and cold but still so handsome nonetheless… absolutely broke you.

it broke you as you let out a strangled hiccup and covered your mouth tightly with both hands, eyes squeezing painfully shut as you reeled over and wailed with a broken heart, for you were mourning the loss of him all over again.

“baby no please—” he quickly caught you and brought you to his chest, his breathing erratic and with the biggest lump in his throat. “see? i didn’t want you to remember i— i wanted you to forget—

you continued to bawl and borderline scream out in agony, his words meaning absolutely nothing at this moment as your mind wouldn’t quit flashing painful memories through your mind, memories that were once entirely missing as they suffocated you with displays of satoru in his grave over and over and over again.

“i can’t—” he frantically looked around for something, anything that would make you feel better before looking back down. “look at me—”

“why did you leave?!” you wailed, pushing him away as the sight of you drowning in your tears ripped him to shreds. “why did you abandon me toru?! why did you—”

“i’m sor—” his voice gave out and he placed a hand over his heart, tears slipping from his eyes. “i’m sorry i’m so sorry i— i never wanted to leave—”

he reached out and tugged you in again, your body slumping against his as he struggled over his sobs.

“i didn’t want to die i tried so hard not to die—”

his words only made you cry harder as he gripped you tighter and shut his mouth, his frame trembling against yours and his tears trickling down and wetting your hair.

“you left me! you were supposed to come— hic— to come get me! you were supposed to marry me!—”

you were babbling mindlessly at this point, your shattered heart taking over the words that were tumbling out of your mouth as you gripped and clawed at his suit, trying to bury yourself in his skin and stay there where you belonged.

he was too cold. and you couldn’t hear a heart beat.

satoru could only cry and bawl with you as he gently rocked you side to side, knowing that there was nothing he could do to make you feel better, and nothing he could do to come back to life.

no matter how much he wanted it.

no matter how much you wanted it.

this is what fate had decided for the two of you.

“i tried so hard.” he mumbled. “i never stopped trying to get to you that’s why juno hates me so much because i’ve violated fucking everything.”

he pressed his lips to your forehead and laid his cheek on it after.

“i got sent to the attic and i couldn’t look after you anymore and i didn’t even get the chance to let you see me either—”

besides the fact that he took your memories, that explained why you never saw his spirit after he died, and you quickly pulled back again and narrowed your bloodshot eyes at him.

“why did you take my memories i never— hic!— i never asked you to i never wanted—”

“because i didn’t want you to grieve over me pretty…” he gently wiped your cheeks while you cried. “you were hurting so much and it was torture watching you suffer like that.”

you sniffled and wiped your eyes with the base of your palm.

“i wanted to see you happy…” satoru finished off.

“was i?”

he dropped his hands and frowned.

“were you?”

“no!” you muttered. “my entire life i’ve felt like something was missing and i didn’t know why… like this— this block in my brain that i couldn’t figure out and it was always just empty and like something was supposed to be there.”

you tucked your hair behind your ear and solemnly looked down, a pulsing headache racking through you from how much you were crying.

“i had to live with the fact that i was alone and that i never had anyone… and i had accepted that too… only this entire time i did have someone. you.”

and oddly enough, through everything that happened— all of the memories that you now remembered and the devastating death of your late boyfriend, you finally felt a little bit less strange and unusual.

because you always thought that something was wrong with you for feeling the way that you did, for craving something— someone that never existed, for wanting to fill the void that you now know satoru once happily sat in, all of these things now officially clicking into place and bringing you the weirdest sense of peace you had probably ever felt.

“i wish you never made me forget.” you mumbled. “you’re worth remembering toru…. even if it hurts me.”

he guiltily nodded and sniffed. “m’sorry… i thought you were better off forgetting.”

a part of him still does, because the small glimpses he caught of you no longer crying and just simply living after he took your memories away, was enough to bring him a tiny sense of relief just before he got banished to the attic, hopeful that you would live a long and happy life even if it was painfully without him.

but the minute he sensed you coming up to the house earlier that night with him thinking he was going absolutely insane and if it was truly you, was also enough to send all of that out the fucking window and falling back into a pit of despair and longing for you when he finally saw you again— for the first time in three years, looking just as pretty as he remembered and a little more grown up.

you slowly shook your head side to side, lifting your arms to wrap around his neck and him immediately responding, snaking them around your waist and pulling your warm beating body flush against his chest.

“do you still love me?” he murmured. “even though i’m dead?”

you slightly snorted, softly kissing his cheek.

“i’ll always love you toru. wherever you are.”

“i’ll always love you.”

he pulled back and gently smiled, eyes flickering to your soft lips as he juggled in his mind if it was okay to kiss you, every fiber of his undead being begging for it after missing and wishing it for so long, left with only recollections of your kisses to suffice through the years that he spent without you and wondering if he still had the right to— since even though you were once his, and he shamelessly still considered you his, he didn’t know if you were on the same page.

but you were.

it would be stupid not to be.

you leaned your pretty little face closer to his, timid doe eyed gaze looking at him so fondly that it brought back that same familiar feeling he felt with you those years ago, his hands coming up and settling themselves on your warm lively cheeks, holding you like fragile porcelain.

but were his dead lips still worthy of yours? even after everything he’d done?

“toru.”

he hummed.

“do you remember our first kiss?”

“uh huh.” he breathed out softly. “it was in my room.”

“i think—” your nose brushed with his. “i think we should have our second first kiss.”

he bit his bottom lip and smiled.

“you think so?”

“i do.”

he hummed again, his thumb gently grazing over your plushy lips.

“i think it should look a little more like the first time.”

he tilted his head to the side a tiny bit and a delicate gust of wind brushed through your hair, your surroundings now completely and miraculously morphed into his room with the both of you sitting on his bed— just like how you remembered it and basically had grown up in as you slowly took in your surroundings.

“how the fuck—”

he laughed a little, lifting one hand and keeping the other still on your cheek, his index finger lightly tapping the center of your forehead.

“mind manipulation pretty.” he grinned. “cool huh? i poked in your head again.”

“yeah!” you giggled. “very cool.”

“you know what else would be cool?”

“what?”

“if you gave me a little kiss.”

you tilted your head to the side and leaned in again, your breath fanning across his face and your lips so close but not quite that it was fucking excruciating.

“you want a kiss toru?”

“uh huh.”

“how bad— mmph!—”

satoru didn’t even let you finish that sentence as he stuffed his tongue in your mouth greedily, wet and messy kisses smacking through the room as he cradled your jaw, cold lips delving all over yours and him giddy over the sensation of your warm mouth in comparison to his, your hands clutching his blazer and making out so sensually as you made up for the time that was stolen from you.

and the only thing the two of you felt in each others arms then was serenity— one pumping, working heart and the other stiff, unmoving and cold, still equally beating for one another even through the restrictions of death, for satoru’s heart continued to move and love you regardless of how lifeless it may have appeared.

he suddenly pulled away, breathless.

“sweets?”

“yeah?”

“where in the actual fuck did you meet rin?”

you laughed, pulling back a bit to look at him with a regretful look. “knowing what i know now, i’m sick to my stomach toru.”

“did you meet him after i died?”

you nodded. “he was in one of my literature classes… and since back then i only remembered living my life— alone, i guess he was the first person that didn’t make me feel that way. at the start.”

“lame.” he mumbled. “you cheated on me sweets.”

“no!” you laughed again, giving him a little pout. “he was awful. horrendous. and i only stayed because i didn’t wanna be alone again… even though i shouldn’t have.”

you leaned and gave him a soft tiny lingering peck.

“did you love him?” he murmured against your lips, and you shook your head.

“remembering you again made me realize what being in love with someone was supposed to feel like.” you reached and brushed through the front stands of his white hair mindlessly. “and it was no where near what i felt for rin. i didn’t feel anything for him actually.”

he pursed his lips to the side, eyes squinting in thought and distaste.

“hmmm…”

you giggled. “what toru?”

he hated that you got associated with a guy like that, and hated even more that rin was kissing and hugging and touching you whenever the fuck he wanted when you were his first.

“i’m gonna haunt him for the rest of his life.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and nudged him. “honestly? do it. he sucks.”

“and you know what else sweets?”

you quirked a little brow. “what?”

“i’m gonna make you forget!”

“toru!” you giggled. “no more taking memor—“

satoru leaned his face closer to yours and you froze up, wide eyed as a little mischevious glint in his vibrant blue gaze made you fidget.

he slowly grinned and tilted his head, lips coming closer to the side of your ear and tantalizingly hovering, arms snaking around your torso and pulling you up against him.

“did you let him touch you pretty?”

“t—touch?—”

“mhm.” he gripped you a little tighter. “did you?”

“um.” you squirmed a bit, your body turning hot in the matter of seconds. “what— what do you mean—”

“did you let him fuck you.”

your breath hitched and your cheeks went pink, hands timidly resting flat on his chest and feeling a little… guilty.

“maybe—” you paused, shaky breaths blowing through your nose. “maybe once—”

satoru shot up to stand and hauled you with him, a squeal slipping past your lips as he hiked you up and brought your legs around his waist, walking across the room in quick strides and plopping you down roughly on his desk, kicking away his chair and it slamming against the wall as it rolled back.

“toru?—”

“why can’t i make you forget… hm?” he grazed his lips from your jaw and up the side of your cheek, feather like as he squeezed and kneaded at your thighs, your heart fucking hammering against your chest.

“why would you wanna remember being with someone else other than me baby…”

“i— i don’t but you erased my memories—”

he pulled back and tutted, head shaking and fingers drumming against your thighs. “doesn’t matter! should’ve avoided them like the plague silly.”

you giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him gently in.

“i would’ve if i remembered.”

“remember this remember that—” he smiled brightly and brought his face close to yours once more.

“y’know what?” he cutely pecked your lips. “i’m gonna help you remember something!”

your brows pinched momentarily in curiosity. “what?”

“that i’m the only man that ever gets to fuck you.”

satoru smashed his lips against yours and pulled you in tight, the bulge in his dress pants abundantly obvious as he grinded and rutted his aching cock on your clothed pussy, you gasping in his mouth at the feeling as you tried to keep up with his feverish fast kisses.

he slipped his icy hands underneath your top and you jumped at the change in temperature, satoru ravishing you up and obsessed with the heat your body produced and radiated, leaving him toasty for once and bringing a faux sense of life to him.

“did you forget that too?” he murmured against your lips, hands ever so slowly creeping up and sliding under your bra to grope your plump tits. “how i feel?”

“nuh uh.” you breathed out. “i didn’t—”

“tell me what you remember then sweets…”

he slid his hands back down and hiked your skirt up, you lifting your hips a little to help him bring it up as high as he possibly could, your pretty little panties tight and suffocating your pussy as his fingers came down to play with your swollen needy clit.

“i remember—” your mouth hung open, words lodging in your throat.

“hm?” he shoved his hand in your panties and your eyes fluttered closed, him placing open wet mouthed kisses all over your neck and chest, your mind unable to grasp the amount of pleasure he was getting out with simply just his fingers, pleasure you missed so fucking badly as he slipped his digits up and down your folds.

“your dick—” satoru pushed two fingers inside of you and you whined. “i remember the way you felt.”

“yeah?” he pulled back from your chest and grinned, fingers squelching as they pumped in and out. “and how did i feel?”

“big.” you choked out, legs spreading wider as you gripped the edge of his desk, his frenzied lust filled eyes drinking in the way you unraveled and crumbled before him.

something he was positive rin didn’t even come fucking close to.

“aww.” he cooed, digits speeding up as you squealed and tried to close your legs, him prying them open again. “bet you missed the way i filled you full huh? stretched you out so good?”

you rapidly nodded, eyebrows contorted in ecstasy as your thighs shook.

“anything else you missed baby?”

arousal trickled down your folds at this point, making an absolute mess out of his fingers.

“your hands— heave— on my neck when you’d fuck me—”

a shiver ran down his spine at your words, his cock so fucking hard and aching as it begged him to let it spring free and bury itself in your hole.

“my god…” he whispered. “i bet your slutty little self wants me to fuck you right now right? stuff you up and make you cum on my dick like i used to?”

with each word your hole was clenching and screaming for his cock, your hands quickly shooting out to pull and unbuckle at his belt, him laughing as he continued to finger your pussy while loosening up the collar of his tie.

“you’re so needy.”

you pouted, embarrassed as you pulled your hands away and brattily tugged at his wrist to take his fingers out.

“i take it back—”

“no!” he quickly yanked his belt off and flung it, his fingers unzipping his pants and taking out his solid dick. “hell no please i need to be inside you—“

he lined his cock up and without warning pushed, your hands flying to grip his shoulders for support and crying out at the mere size of him, his dick icy in between your gummy walls that somehow added a whole new wave of pleasure for you.

“hard toru.” you whined. “please i can’t— i—”

“i know baby i know.” he gripped your hips and snapped his hips up, your moans fueling him as he plunged in your hole and took no time in fucking you in just the way he knew you liked it, proud of the fact that your pussy still took every single inch of him like he’d trained you— almost like she recognized whose dick was actually for you and not some other fucking morons.

“you’re not screwing anybody else anymore, you hear me sweets?” he tapped your cheek to get you to look at him, you completely dazed and fucked out as you tried to hold eye contact with him amidst his drilling cock. “should’ve only been me… living or dead i don’t care.”

you nodded dumbly, you leaning and kissing him sloppily and desperately that you muffled his next words, refusing to detach from his mouth.

“did you— mmph— let him cum inside?”

you didn’t answer, not because you were afraid to, but because his dick was silencing you as you hiccuped and spasmed with every slam of his hips, satoru a horny goner and pinning everything all on you even when it was literally his fault he erased your memories in the first place, fuming over the thought of you tainted by another man that he wanted to perform a full fucking cleanse.

he rammed inside of you faster against the desk as you separated from his lips and clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“don’t tell me you let him cum inside you little slut—”

“i didn’t!” you heaved. “i didn’t i didn’t—”

“good baby!” he cheered, a complete contrast to his menacing tone from seconds before. “so you do love me.”

“i do! i love you i love you i love yo—”

his unbeating heart soared.

“you love me?”

“uh— hic!— uh huh—“

“even when i’m dead?”

you nodded vigorously, feeling your orgasm starting to bubble up in your tummy as you choked and squirmed.

“perfect my sweet little thing…” he cooed once more, him literally lightheaded over the way you clenched around his cock. “make a mess all over me baby i’ve been dreaming of your cute cunt for three fucking years—”

you wrapped your arms around him by the neck again and moaned, burying your face in his neck as he placed two palms on your bent knees and spread your plushy thighs further apart, jack hammering you and so mean about it as you shook violently against him and came, heaves and sobs of pleasure racking through your body as he threw his head back and groaned.

“you want me to cum inside you?” he asked. “fill you up just like i used to?”

“yes! please please—”

“oh fucking well.”

he pulled out of you and your eyes bulged open, his dick shiny and covered in your juices as he grabbed your upper arm and yanked you down on your knees.

“you’re gonna suck me off and swallow what i give you for letting rin’s filthy hands on you.”

satoru tapped his dick against your cheek to get you to open up, you listening and opening your mouth as he shoved his cock inside and placed a hand on the back of your head, fucking your mouth as you choked and gagged on his length and loving every second of it.

“goooddd baby.” he whispered, your slobbering so nasty as he watched drool dribble down your chin. “so good…”

you gulped him down and lathered your tongue around while he used you, his balls swollen and twitching and him needing to dump his cum in your mouth for you to swallow.

“remember when we used to do this every night?” he smiled wickedly. “when i’d make you swallow me up?”

you hummed around him and tried to nod, eager for his release and wanting to show him that you in fact did remember— wanting it just as bad as you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked him harder.

“h— oh my god—” he fisted your hair and shivered, letting you take over and milk him for all his worth. “i’m gonna— jesus baby slow— slow down slow down— hah!”

satoru’s release shot to the back of your throat and you choked, blinking back tears as you gradually slowed your pace and continued to deliciously suck him through his orgasm and gulp down his cum, him with a death grip on the edge of his desk as he heaved and swallowed, hips jittery and twitching away from you— tip now overly sensitive.

you licked up the last of his cum and stood back up, shimming your skirt back down and satoru shakily stuffing his softened dick back in his pants and zipping it, eyes softening once you reached up and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, his over your waist and squeezing you gently.

“so you’re telling me.” you began. “that you haven’t had sex in three years and you fucked me like that?”

he snickered and smoothed a hand over your back. “it’s my instinct sweets! and also because i’m sure rin did a horrendous freaking job—”

you laughed and rolled your eyes, kissing his cheek before looking at him fully.

“i’m serious you know.”

he raised a brow. “about what?”

“about marrying you. even more so now.”

and just when he was about to pick you up and spin you around and jump up and down, he stilled— face sickishly paling more than it already was.

because satoru was keeping something else from you… a condition between the living and the dead and one he overlooked entirely because he was selfishly desperate for you and just wanted you with him again, like the way he had you when he was alive.

“what toru?”

“huh?” his eyes snapped to yours, and he quickly shook his head. “oh nothing nothing!”

his mind was frantically pushing it to the back, ignoring it and wanting to go through with the one thing he’d practically been dreaming of his entire living and dead life— marriage with you.

this was fine. this was okay.

right?

“white or black.”

you tilted your head. “what?”

“you’ll see… but choose!” he grinned. “white or black?”

a slow giddy smile grew on your face.

“black.”

satoru waved his hand and you stilled, the clothes on your skin changing and morphing into something completely anew, your eyes landing on his black and white button up suit now and head quickly dropping down to yourself— gasping once it registered in your flabbergasted brain.

you were wearing a black wedding gown, beautiful and classy as you picked up and felt the soft silk material between your fingertips, your tule sheer veil intricate as you looked behind you then— it long and stretching for what seemed like miles across the floor with gorgeous embroidery at the base of it.

it was heavenly.

your gaze snapped back to his, and he smiled fondly, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers.

“three times.” he murmured, and you picked up on what he was referring to, tightening your grip on his hand and nodding.

“beetlejuice beetlejuice beetlejuice.”

and the room spun around you, so astronomically fast that you almost doubled over in stifling nausea as the wind whipped through your hair and veil, expecting to land in the attic and finally outside that damn model when in reality, you were in a church cathedral as soon as your surroundings had stopped spinning… and one that looked exactly like the one in winter river.

“are we…” you looked around. “are we still in the model?”

he shook his head. “nope! i was focusing my mind here when you were saying my name… we’re in winter river baby.”

you smiled, the atmosphere around you soft and serene as the dimly lit candles around you quietly flickered, a random lilac colored hue across the cathedral and one you assumed was placed by satoru himself as he took your hands in his, almost in a haste too, but choosing to brush the observation aside.

this was wrong… and satoru knew it.

but he pushed it to the back of his head again.

“we are gathered here today—”

“shit!”

you jumped and whipped your head to the side, breathing out and shoulders relaxing once you saw it was just your church’s pastor that you’d known since birth— a strange far off look in his eye that you deemed to be something that satoru did, for there was no way he was up at the crack of fucking dawn right now to do a wedding.

“sorry!” you laughed. “is he… is he okay?”

“oh yeah he’s fine! he’s actually still sleeping.” he let go of one of your hands and patted the pastors head. “i’m manipulating his head for a little bit. just until you’re my wife.”

his wife.

you nodded, cheeks so warm as you tried to refrain from jumping over how excited you were at the thought of finally fulfilling the vows you had placed on each other when you were young— them now nurturing into something real.

“dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the love of satoru gojo and y/n y/m in holy matrimony.”

he shouldn’t do this to you.

“today, they declare their intention to build a life together, sharing their joys and their challenges, and supporting one another in pursuit of their dreams.”

he can’t— he can’t build a life with you… can he?

he pushed his worries back again and gripped your hands tighter.

“do you, satoru gojo, take y/n y/m to be your lawfully wedded wife? do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, through sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live?”

this is wrong.

but he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

“i do.”

“and do you, y/n y/m, take satoru gojo to be your lawfully wedded husband? do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, through sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live?”

for as long as you both shall live.

satoru can’t live.

“i d—”

“stop.”

you froze.

“what?” you asked worriedly. “what’s wrong?”

“i’m no better than the man i was when i first died.”

the look in his eyes was… odd, and it only further confused you.

“i don’t—”

“i can’t let you marry me baby.”

your heart dropped.

“what?”

“i told you that if you married me it would break my contract and i would be a free man and that’s true…” he began. “but there’s something else that i didn’t tell you... i— i kept it from you.”

oh fuck.

“what are you talking about toru.” your voice was low and heedful, almost like a warning to him, and he wanted to slam his head against the wall for being so fucking reckless again.

“if you—” he breathed in and shook his head, letting go of your hands and letting his fall tight at his sides, balling up. “if you marry me, you’re freeing me…”

he gnawed at his lip.

“but i’m killing you.”

your blood ran cold and drained from your face, words entirely at a loss and useless as your brain tried to process what the fuck he just told you.

kill you?

“marrying me is like exchanging your soul with the dead.” satoru slowly shook his head. “you’ll die sweets… i can’t— i can’t do that to you.”

satoru was desperate to for you, so much so that he was willing to hide such a detrimental part of the marriage clause until the time came, choosing to play freaking stupid and tune it out in the hopes that in the end, he would be brave enough to go through with it just to keep you and not ever have to say goodbye again.

but it was wrong. so incredibly immoral and wrong and he felt like a monster for even trying to do it, for letting it go as far as it did and have you standing there in front of him in your pretty gown and veil— just like how he’d imagined it when his blood was pumping and his heart was beating, and just like how he’d imagined it even now, shriveled up dead veins and all.

this is what fate had chosen for the two of you.

and though it took forever for satoru to accept it… you and him were simply not meant to be.

for you were meant to live, and satoru was meant to die.

“you disgraceful bafoon! you insolent crook!”

the big doors of the cathedral kicked open and juno walked through, adam and barbara maitland running behind her and trying to pull her back, the both of them spouting reasonings and explanations.

“this is her choice juno!—”

“she wants to let her do it!—”

“the kid’s just in love!—”

“button it or i’m sending you back to the house!” juno grumbled at them, turning back around and pointing menacingly at satoru once she reached you both, her brittle old lady perfume wafting in your nostrils.

“juno!” satoru greeted with faux cheerfulness, eyes wide and alarmed. “good to see you hah! you look livelier than the last time i saw y—”

“what the hell do you think you’re doing boy?” she spat, eyes switching to you next. “and you! young lady— this man is a spirit!”

“i—i know—”

“juno they know each other.” barbara spoke up gently. “they grew up together when he was alive.”

“yes they were in a relationship this isn’t him trying to trick her into anything—”

“no but it is.” satoru exhaustedly whined, cutting adam off as he ran his hands through his snowy hair. “she didn’t know about the clause… i just told her now.”

silence.

“you didn’t tell her about the clause?!—”

“are you out of your mind you cockroach?!—”

“you’re doing what you did before!—”

“i know!” satoru exclaimed over the yells of scolding and belittlement. “i know i know that’s why i told her just now… i’m not letting her do it i— i couldn’t.”

he turned to you.

“baby i want you. i need you and that’s why i didn’t say anything like a fucking dingbat because i’m tired of living forever without you... it sucks.”

you felt tears prickle at your eyes.

“but this isn’t fair to you at all. you deserve to live man… i can’t— i won’t drag you down with me.”

“toru—”

“the living and the dead were never meant to coexist.” juno interjected, her gaze looking at satoru sincerely for once that it was a strange sight for him.

she placed a hand on her chest. “i’m sorry that your love was separated by death, truly. i sympathize with you. i can’t think of anything more cruel.”

you both solemnly nodded.

“but the living and the dead were never meant to coexist.” she repeated. “so even though you two move on from this and go back to being what you are, satoru will stay like this and you will not. you will grow.”

juno addressed you directly and you listened with a heavy heart— the use of satoru’s actual given name now from her instead of ‘beetlejuice’ adding a layer of somber seriousness.

“and let’s just say this clause didn’t exist and you get to marry her and she stays alive… satoru will still stay and you will grow. do you both understand what i’m trying to say?”

you quickly wiped the corner of your eyes, satoru peeking over at you sadly.

“i won’t tell you what i think the right choice is young lady.” she continued. “the dead aren’t even supposed to associate with the living like this… but weigh the consequences of either path and see which one you want to walk in.”

she stepped a bit closer, holding eye contact with you.

“but let me make one thing clear— the power of the living is greater than the dead. if you choose to marry him, you will break his contract forever and free him of his violations. but if you do, you will die and be one of us.”

either path is difficult.

to sacrifice his freedom, or to sacrifice your life?

but you knew that a life without satoru was nothing and bleak…. you had lived it for three years.

were you willing to return to that? just to keep your heart beating? and say goodbye to satoru for good?

you didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t have him in it. you didn’t want to live in a world where you remembered satoru for longer than you’d known him, and the thought only made you absolutely sick to your stomach as you envisioned the rest of your life without the person who knew you best.

it was almost easy… you didn’t have to weigh the consequences at all.

your path was satoru.

“we’re getting married.”

“what?!” satoru frantically shook his head. “no sweets no we’re not.”

“yes we are.” you pushed. “this isn’t for you to decide it’s my choice and i choose you—”

“and i’m not letting you.” he countered. “you’re choosing wrong so unbelievably wrong—”

“but i’m not though!” you argued. “literally explain to me right now how me stuck in a world that doesn’t have you in it is better than—”

“y/n you need to live.” he cut you off. “i died, not you it’s not supposed to be you alright? i can’t let you do this.”

tears slipped from your eyes and you wiped them right away.

“do you not— sniff— do you not want me do you want me to go away what—”

“no…” he stepped forward and cupped your cheeks. “that’s the last thing i want and you know that…”

“then why won’t you marry me?” you hiccuped. “why won’t you let me stay with you?”

“baby— life is so unbelievably precious.” he moved strands of your hair away from your face. “do you have any idea what i would give to have it again? to feel my body actually working for a change instead of it just being nothing?”

you continued to cry, your hands clutching his wrists.

“i don’t want you to take that away from yourself because of me… i want you breathing. i want your little heart pumping and your cheeks warm, i want you to move on.”

“i— hic!— i don’t want to move on from you—”

“you have to sweets.” he quickly wiped his eyes before cupping your cheeks again. “we’re not meant to be baby and i hate so much that we aren’t… and i’m sorry.”

“toru stop it—”

“please live for me okay? for the both of us. and don’t forget me either please don’t forget me—”

“why are you—” you harshly wiped your eyes. “why are you talking like that what are you doing—”

“i don’t think i should be around you anymore baby.”

“huh?!” your eyes narrowed. “are you serious?”

“satoru—”

juno raised a hand, stopping barbara from interjecting.

“it won’t be good for either of us if i stick around...” he sniffled. “i need to stay away from you because if i don’t, i might try to trick you again into giving up your soul and i can’t have that.”

“my soul?” you spat. “take it i don’t want it without you i told you already—”

“please try to understand.” he placed a soft kiss to your forehead. “please.”

“no—”

“i’ll see you soon okay?” satoru let go of your face. “graduate please. have kids and get married and stuff… travel.”

you were supposed to do all of that with him.

“satoru no listen to me!—”

“i love you.”

“stop!—”

satoru’s grief was monumental, but his love for you was greater, choosing to let you go for the sake of your life.

he looked to juno and she sighed through her nose, somehow knowing exactly what he was silently asking for, stepping forward and lifting a hand.

“satoru please i wanna stay with you!—”

juno sharply moved her hand to the side and you were pulled to a blinding white abyss, dream like and fuzzy as you felt all muscles in your body relax, your mind completely blank and free of the heartbreak and loss and sorrow for a little, floating through a cloud of soft serenity as it brought you in and tried to clear the pain in your heart.

you weren’t aware of where you were or what juno had done, but your thoughts were distant and muffled as you let it engulf you entirely in its welcoming arms, you sleepy and drowsy until the blinding white abyss slowly shrunk down to a pure black, quiet void, the nerves in your body twitching little by little until you were finally consciously aware of your limbs and mind, but you too tired still to open your eyes.

you cruelly dreamed of satoru still. of him alive.

and you weren’t sure how long you had been in this weird pit of tranquility, or how long you were asleep for until you were jerked awake and ripped from it entirely.

“hey— y/n?”

you shot awake, sitting up and whipping your head around.

you were back in your dorm.

“are you okay? why are you sleeping on the floor?”

you looked up, your roommate standing there with a weirded out expression.

“and what are you wearing?”

your gaze shifted downward, and the minute you saw your black wedding dress and veil folded neatly next to you, memories of what had happened hours prior came achingly flooding in as you scrambled to stand up on your feet, scaring your roommate and leaving her to grumble in her head about how she wished the system didn’t put her to room with the campus ghost girl.

“sorry! i have to go thank you though for waking me u—”

your voice trailed off down the hall, you running through and ignoring the weirded out looks from other students as you sprinted out of the building and down the street, engulfing the skirt of your gown up in your arms so you wouldn’t accidentally trip over it and eat shit on the ground, the goal of getting back to the maitland’s house the only thing on your mind as you ran.

your lungs burned by the time you got to the bottom of the hill, and you thanked anyone that was willing to listen for allowing winter river to exist as the smallest town you had ever known, sparing you from running a full fledged marathon just to get to the house as you heaved and tried to catch your breath, a little sweaty and hot as you began the hike up the hill.

you hoped he was there.. in the attic.

you hoped to god that he was.

reaching the top, you continued to trudge across the dirt driveway and up the porch steps, your foot lifting and just about to make contact with the old wooden platform until an invisible force grabbed your ankle and pulled you back, literally dragging you away from the house and down the hill over the grass as you screamed and thrashed for it to let you go.

satoru.

and you tried again, hiking up the hill with your bundled up wedding skirt in your arms, reaching the top faster than last time and choosing to run up the porch steps instead to see if you could outrun his ghostly abilities.

except you couldn’t, because the invisible force caught you by the ankle again just as your fingers grazed the doorknob, yanking you away and down the hill until it left you screaming and huffing in frustration at the bottom.

you continued to do that for the rest of the fucking day, and everyday for that matter, for an entire week straight.

walking up the hill, reaching the top, getting reeled back, running up the hill and getting sent back down again, sprinting for it only to get dragged away once more as the repeated cycle you had set for yourself happened over and over, until by your last attempt you couldn’t even walk up the hill anymore, satoru having put a huge invisible wall around the house that was impossible to get through.

you were angry. angry and bitter that he was doing this.

was it so bad to just want to spend the rest of your undying life with him? is that not what he wanted this entire time? why was he so adamant on damning you to live a life of suffering and— and loneliness? a life without him?

you didn’t know what to do. your psychic abilities were only for sensing the dead and being able to see them— nothing to do with calling forth spirits or summoning them at any given place and time, so there was no way for you to call satoru no matter how much you wanted to or tried.

and you cried. you cried and you sobbed just like how you did when he first died, except somehow worse knowing that there was a chance to be together with him forever and him not wanting it… not wanting you.

but you waited anyways, hoping that he would come around and change his mind, that he would bring down that stupid invisible wall and let you inside the house and back to him, counting down the days and hours and minutes until it became clearer to you that satoru wasn’t going to change his mind.

and by the third week, you had almost entirely given up.

you felt nothing. absolutely nothing as you slugged through your classes or your day to day errands, not giving a shit about anything that you had to do in this world for you had always loved the other world more— the world of spirits and the netherworld and the great beyond, the world that had satoru in it, as you appreciated and admired that one more ever since you were a kid with your parents… more than the one you were currently in— as this one was filled with ignorance and criticism.

you felt helpless… and maybe satoru was right.

if he was willing to give up an opportunity to keep you forever, then maybe that’s just the way it goes… maybe you should just accept it, and you choosing to think of the latter instead of begging and kneeling at nothing for satoru to come back and get you and marry you— was helping the bitterness in your heart grow and get you by, it at least stopping you from crying in the middle of your lectures or the grocery store and weirding people out anyways.

maybe you should accept the fact that you and him were not meant to be.

after an entire month, you had given up.

and satoru’s grave was the closest you knew you’d get to him, permanently divided by dirt and soil and grass… six feet under and totally out of your reach, his tombstone engraved and pretty and one you couldn’t believe you had forgotten about as it sat here alone for years right under your nose— you visiting it now for the millionth time as you placed your book bag down and sat criss crossed on the grass, mindlessly tugging and breaking off pieces of it as you sat there.

you sighed deeply and hugged your knees up to your chest, the day surprisingly a sunny one as chirping birds flittered past you through the wind, tiny little white butterflies occasionally stopping by to sit on your arm or satoru’s tombstone as you sat there in thought… not really sure what to think, but comforted by the fact that the engravings on his stone reminded you that he was once very much alive and real.

there was an odd wavering in your heart, and you had a feeling that this was going to be the last time you were visiting his grave, for you figured it was time to finally do what he wanted you to do— move on and forget him.

“don’t move on.”

you stiffened.

that voice… was your mind hallucinating now? jesus chri—

“don’t move on from me please… and— and don’t forget me. i take it all back.”

you heard footsteps draw nearer across the grass and you turned your head, eyes widening and unbelieving as you saw satoru standing there with a pleading anxious expression, him still dressed in his black and white suit that he had on for the wedding.

was it actually him?

“how are you…” you trailed off, your mind having difficulty processing how he was there. “how are you outside the house? i thought the contract—”

“juno gave me a hall pass…” he explained softly. “it expires at the end of the day.”

you hummed, itching to jump up and wrap your arms around him and cling to him, but stopping yourself from doing so as you still didn’t know why he was here, and you were quite frankly still bitter and hurt from him sending you away.

you slightly turned your body. “why are you here?”

“because i can’t stay away from you.”

your heart skipped a beat as he crouched down to your level, your eyes greedily running across every feature of his face and committing it to memory, as you now had him directly in front of you again instead of having to rely on recollections of him to try and mend your aching heart.

and satoru was doing the same.

“i started to sense you distancing from me and… and i had this feeling that you were starting to listen and move on and forget me and it made me fucking ill. which is crazy because i’m dead… but i was literally ill sweets.”

you let a tiny soft smile play at your lips.

“i can’t take it.” he spoke again, shaking his head. “i can’t take the thought of you forgetting me. not now, not ever, and i don’t know why i was stupid enough to try and convince myself that i could watch you do something like that even if its the right thing.”

“you sent me away.”

“i did baby…” he reached over and gently caressed your cheek. “and i regret that so fucking much. i’m sorry.”

“toru i need you to understand that you can’t make choices like that for me.”

“i know.” he mumbled and dropped his hand, eyes casting down. “i’m stupid.”

“but i also need you to understand, that i have no interest in living in a world that doesn’t have you in it… it’s not worth it now that you’re gone.”

you tilted your head to try and catch his gaze, continuing once his blue eyes flickered back to yours.

“i would die for you, and i would die without you. i look for you in everything that i do and you expecting me to just forget you is cruel.”

“no i don’t want you to forget me anym—”

“what’s life to you?” you asked him suddenly. “what does it feel to you? and mean?”

he stared at you with pinched brows, his face endearing but sad all at the same time.

“warm.” he murmured. “beautiful and… pure. it’s peaceful and it means you.”

your heart fluttered and you smiled, and satoru fell in love with you all over again— something you conquered when he was alive, and something you conquered again in death.

“that’s what life is toru.” you cupped his cheek. “to me it’s not— this.”

you gestured around you. “it’s not my body or my heart, it’s not the sun and it’s not breathing. it’s you. i feel life through you and i always have… because life doesn’t literally mean where i am now and neither does it mean the netherworld baby… it means you and me.”

satoru didn’t even realize he was crying until you wiped his cheeks, your words serving an entirely new perspective to him about the living and the dead and he felt peace.

because yes satoru was dead… but he was still living. living because he had you as the embodiment of it, and living because his soul still permitted him to see you again and be with you, to look at you with his own undead eyes and feel warmth like he did before.

but not literal warmth from your body or pumping blood or a beating heart.

but warmth from your soul. from who you are.

that’s what life was to him… and what life was to you.

satoru wrapped his arms around your shoulders and brought you to his chest, one hand on the back of your head as he cradled you and cried, finally now no longer mourning his past life like he’d been doing for the past three years, and no longer wishing for it back either or thinking that physically living in this world was the better option for you just because it meant you were breathing.

where he was, was just fine. and wherever you chose to go would be fine too.

but you chose to go with him, something that had been set since the moment you met under the magnolia tree back in middle school— living or dead, paris or italy, your choice would always and forever be him.

satoru proposed to you right then and there at his gravesite, flying to one knee as soon as you both stood back up and him manifesting the biggest diamond rock you had ever seen in your life, laughing and crying together as he slipped it over your ring finger, for your marriage meant the binding of the living and the dead, and the binding of you and him— a new beginning.

but this time your wedding wasn’t at the cathedral, but under the pretty magnolia tree where you had met, now accompanied by the maitlands as barbara cried, and juno as she herself officiated the wedding, you thinking— hoping that she grew a soft spot for satoru, and that behind her stern resting face, she was glad satoru was finally a free man and granted a second chance.

giving your soul up was nothing to you, and it didn’t hurt at all either… you feeling lighter in exchange actually… happy, with satoru standing in front of you and with a massive fucking grin on his face, shiny and bright as he practically jumped in his spot in excitement over you finally being his wife and that he got to keep you— and right this time… no lies or tricks or hidden secrets, but genuine authentic sacrifice instead, for it was the purest form of love.

because this is what fate had decided for the two of you.

it had decided that satoru gojo was meant to die… but it had also decided to bring you back to him as well— to the house of the maitlands, to the attic he was banished to, and back together again in each others cold arms where you belonged, defying the laws of the living and the dead and proving that life doesn’t end even after your hearts stopped beating.

fate had decided that you were both meant to be. that was always a fact.

and fate had decided that you and satoru gojo were meant to live, with unbeating hearts and icy cold skin, but souls still warm for each other nonetheless.

because through sickness and in health… death could not do you both apart.

you and satoru.

together for eternity.

a lovely and incredibly beautiful fanart of this fic can be found here by @courtneedsleep !! <33

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

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[catmask]

tbh when i hear some people talk about 'breaking cycles of abuse', it becomes clear pretty quickly who has come to understand that phrase to mean 'since i was a victim of abuse/neglect by my parents/caretaker/s i will do everything to be nothing like them' and that is all. its not a completely flawed way of thinking either - something that hurt you would very likely hurt someone else; through empathy we learn to understand not to hurt others the way we were hurt too.

but what 'breaking cycles' looks like is more complicated than just not being your parents/caretakers - it's about recognizing how the things that happened to you changed you and how you can heal so you don't hurt someone else in turn. the survival skills you learned in an unhealthy enviroment often translate to poor if not unhealthy interpersonal skills in an enviroment where things ARE safe.

its a difficult pill to swallow for a lot of survivors of abuse (trust me, i know) because we have a tendency to simply want our pain to be recognized. by painting yourself as "absolutely nothing like my abuser" you can abstain from recognizing your own harmful tendencies and live comfortably in the role of victim hood for the rest of your life. it can be tempting to do this especially when so many people will do their best to deny what you experienced - almost like leaning into a stuck door that just won't budge.

the problem with this is if you never recognize that being mistreated made it so you LACK a lot of what other people learned from a loving enviroment, you can hurt people pretty badly even when doing your best just not to replicate what your parents/caretakers got wrong.

this also hurts for victims because, when it comes down to it - it's not FAIR. you were hurt for no reason, and most of us will never hear an apology or even admittance from the person who did it - so why do YOU have to change? why do YOU, the person hurt unjustly, have to put in the work?

and i mean. that's what breaking a cycle is. it means pushing against what's fair and comfortable deliberately so that you can stop something that's been repeating. it's work. its not just recognition of pain, it's the purposeful healing and treatment of it. but thats scary, and it's not fun, so a lot of people fall right back into it. its a lot easier said than done.

[maskedbyghost]

lets continue our talk about situationship!Simon, where this bitch grovels for monthssss

_______________________________________________

situationship!simon starts sending you text messages. before you could expect something like "you up?" or "come to my office.", but after you broke things off with him, simon started sending you heartfelt text messages, apologizing for his past behavior. “i’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us,” he texted one night. “i realize now how much i hurt you, and i’m truly sorry, love. i understand if you need space, but i wanted you to know how much i regret everything.”

along with his messages, simon started sending you small but meaningful gifts. he remembered how you’d joked about his tea obsession once and that you’d mentioned you only liked chamomile. to your surprise, he found the best brand of chamomile tea and even packed it in a nice box before delivering it to your room.

he even started to open up more. during a late-night phone call, where you could clearly hear that he was drunk, simon said that he started seeing a therapist. “i’m workin on understandin my issues and changin for the better. i want to be better, not just for you love, but for myself. i hope you can see that i’m tryin to change.”

when you asked him to stop calling you love, he refused. “i can’t help it. you’re mine in a way no one else could be, and i don’t want to pretend otherwise.”

as simon keeps showing up with gifts and heartfelt messages, you can’t help but wonder if he’s being real or if he’s just trying to win you back before breaking your heart again.

you still go on dates with other people, and simon is tormented every time he sees you leaving the base in those pretty dresses—dresses he wishes were just for him. he follows you, quietly lurking in the corners of the restaurants or bars where you’re out with your dates. oddly enough, most of the guys you go out with either get transferred to another base or stop calling you after just one date, and you’re doing your best not to blame simon for it. but you know it's him. and he is not sorry at all.

almost every day, simon texts you, asking you out on dates and planning special things for the who of you. all you have to do is say yes, but each time, you refuse. it breaks his heart every time, but it also makes him more determined to try even harder. he knows he deserves this treatment from you.

back when you and simon used to train together on base, it was a special routine you both enjoyed. now, you’ve started asking other guys to help you with exercises, and it drives him wild with jealousy. watching their hands on you makes him see red. after your training sessions with them, simon invites these guys to spar with him. it quickly becomes clear that he’s using these sparring matches as a chance to take out his frustration and anger, landing a few extra hits just to make his point.

despite everything, you still won’t budge, and it’s only making simon more frustrated. the truth is, it’s becoming harder and harder for you to resist him. his persistence is wearing you down, and the more he pushes, the more you find yourself struggling to stay strong.

simon invites you to one of his therapy sessions, saying his therapist thinks it would be helpful for him and his progress. during the session, he opens up about his struggles and insecurities, laying everything bare. as he talks, you start to feel sympathy for him. it’s clear he’s determined to change and work on himself, and you see how genuine his efforts are.

one night, you were preparing tea in the kitchen when a girl you know from the base asked for simon’s number. she mentioned she was interested in him, which made you jealous. you snapped at her, making it clear that he would never be interested in a girl like her. simon overheard the whole thing and couldn’t help but smirk to himself. it was clear you still had feelings for him, and he took a bit of satisfaction in that.

later that night he sent one simple message to you: "that's my girl. i belong to you, and you only."

after that message, simon stepped up his game. he started sending you lots of sweet texts and little gifts, and even took care of some of your paperwork. it was hard to ignore how much he was trying, and you found it tougher to resist him as he kept showing you how much he cared.

a few months after managing to ignore simon as best as you could, you caught a nasty cold and were stuck in your room. you only texted price to let him know you needed a few days off because you were sick, and got back in your bed trying to sleep that cold off. a few hours later, as you were still trying to fall asleep, you heard your door open. simon walked in, carrying a bunch of bags, a worried look on his face.

“i came as soon as I could,” simon said, worry in his voice. “i brought you soup and medicine.”

simon didn’t leave your side for days. he only went back to his room to grab more clothes and shower. he was insistent on helping you with everything, even assisting you with your showers in the most respectful way possible of course. he’d sit in a chair next to your bed, and you felt a pang of guilt seeing how much he was giving up for you. you even tried to convince him to go get some rest, but despite your protests, he somehow ended up in your bed, gently spooning you as you slept.

simon would whisper sweet things in your hair, thinking you were asleep. you heard every word as he softly talked about how much he missed you, how sorry he was for everything, and how he wanted to make things right. even though you were sick and exhausted, his words touched you deeply.

once you were feeling better, you found simon sitting alone in a common room, lost in thought. you approached him quietly and gently kissed the side of his face. with a soft smile, you whispered, “take me on that date you promised.”

_______________________________________________

@daydreamerwoah

[lymtw]

It's three in the morning and the sound of your phone vibrating against the bed wakes you from your peaceful slumber. You lazily reach for the blinding light next to you, instantly knowing who's on the other end when you see the blue diamond emoji.

"Hello..."

You were very much asleep, the raspiness in your voice making it that much more evident.

"Hey, sorry to wake you. Are you okay to talk for a bit?"

Satoru sounds like he's wide awake.

"Don't worry about it. What's up?"

You roll onto your side, your phone between your ear and your pillow. If you close your eyes for more than three seconds, you'll fall asleep again.

There's a slight pause between your response and his. Maybe the signal is bad or he didn't hear you.

"Is everything alright, Satoru?"

"I can't sleep."

He responds quickly this time. His tone didn't change. He didn't sound like he was in distress or too worried about the fact.

"Oh. Uh... have you tried drinking some chamomile tea? I personally don't like it, but when I need to rest, I suck it up and force myself to drink a cup."

He chuckles on the line. You always do what is best for you, even if it's not something you particularly enjoy.

"I think i'm just missing you a lot. Can I come over?"

It was strange to think he hadn't tried a tea remedy for his inability to sleep, but who were you to tell him that? Sleep deprivation does things to people.

"Right now? It's a little late, don't you think?"

You blink slowly, trying to adjust your blurry vision in the dark.

"I promise I won't fall asleep behind the wheel. I really want to see you. Please say yes."

You shut your eyes tightly and open them, your vision clearing up a little. When have you ever said 'no' to him? He always manages to change your mind when you do.

You sigh.

"Okay. You have the spare key to my apartment. I'm going back to sleep."

"I'll be there in like fifteen minutes. Love you, bye!"

You can hear the joy in his tone. He was genuinely so uncomfortable being alone with himself, that he had to wake you up so late at night to invade your space.

–

You knocked out again, once you hung up the phone. You were in such deep sleep that you didn't even notice when Satoru got to your apartment, or when he entered your room.

You did feel the bed weigh down when he laid down next to you, and your nose couldn't ignore his sweet, sweet scent.

"Baby," he whispered. "I'm here."

"Okay, now go to sleep," you mumble, your eyes still closed.

"Come here." He effortlessly turns you over and pulls you close, lifting your leg over his hip. His hand went up to your face, caressing your delicate, peaceful features before scattering kisses all over it, making sure to elongate the duration of the ones he leaves on your lips.

"Baby," he coos. "Come on, kiss me back."

He's like a dog—constantly begging for your attention. The thought makes you crack a smile, one Satoru does not miss.

"I know you're awake." He smiles, putting your leg back in place, before rolling over until he's on top you.

"Fucking hell, 'toru," you break, cracking up at how he had no remorse after crushing your body.

"There's my pretty baby. I'm so glad you're awake now."

"It's your fault," you grumble.

"If wanting to love you is a crime, then throw me in the slammer and toss the key." His nose dove into your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. "You're just so pretty, and you're all mine."

His affection was starting to evolve into more than lovey dovey kisses. His lips stung every time they met your delicate neck. His hands were roaming beneath your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He loved the way your breathing quickened. It had him chasing more of the reactions associated with the hummed melodies.

"You are mine, right?" He knows the answer, but hearing you say it from time to time always makes him happy. His icy blue eyes can read your response before you even form it. He loves flustering you with eye contact tied with touches that burned with desire. To top it all off, he loves teasing you to see the way you scramble your response. "It's okay if you're not." He smirks, catching the way your eyes widened the slightest bit. "That's subject to change, isn't it?" He eggs on.

"I'm yours, Satoru. I belong to you," you say, making it crystal clear to him. "All yours." With this, he wouldn't doubt it again until the next time he wasn't with you.

"Yeah? You know, I would've done anything to hear those words from you." He leans down to kiss you, a spike of arousal hitting him when you bit his lip and sucked on it.

"Oh... you can't do that. I will put a baby in you." He has never said anything so seriously.

"I dare you to put a baby in me," you say, teasingly. You know he won't do it. He's not ready to share you yet.

"Keep acting like that and I will."

His lips ghost the column of your neck, trailing down your chest and lower to your abdomen. Your oversized gown of a t-shirt was the only thing standing between your body and his eyes. He pulled it up and off with a little help from you, tossing it aside after.

You were a little nervous about what was running through Satoru's head. He was devouring you with just his eyes and already you felt so flustered.

"God, don't ogle me like that, 'toru." You put your hands over your breasts—a makeshift bra to cover what he was staring at.

"Let me see you, baby," he pries, gently. He puts his hands on yours, not pulling them away as to not make you do anything you don't want to do. You end up moving your hands on your own, but turn away, unable to hold his gaze when he's watching you that way.

He cups your breasts, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, instantly making them pebble. He could feel the way you tried to press your thighs together, your relief disturbed by his body wedged between your legs. You tried your hardest to remain composed, but his fingers wouldn't let up. His eyes were glued to your face, watching intently until you let out a shaky breath.

"Mhm..." he hummed, grinning at your bashful attempt to stay quiet. "I know this is driving you crazy."

"Shut... up."

"If it isn't, why can I feel you rubbing up against my stomach."

You stop and your cunt throbs at the suddenness of it.

"Just let it out and we can move on. Let me hear that pretty little ah-"

"Fuck," you whimper, interrupting his instructive moan. Your back arches slightly off the mattress, your hands flying to grip his wrists, tightly.

"Good girl," he praises, his fingers letting off your tortured peaks. Little butterfly kisses are placed between your breasts, trailing down to your stomach, where he spends so much time eliciting giggles from you.

His fingers hook around the elastic band of your shorts and panties, pulling them both down in one swoop.

"I didn't know kissing turned you on so much," he says, eyeing the glossy remnants left in your underwear.

"'toru..." you whine, feeling somewhat embarrassed about the amount of arousal you feel at the simplest touches from him.

"What? I'm not complaining one bit. It's cute."

He slides two fingers between your folds, easily collecting your sweetness. You jolt at the sudden contact, looking at him with doe eyes.

"Oh, baby. I don't deprive you of my touch that much, do I?"

You shake your head as he continues to collect your nectar, his fingers dipping in slightly to fully coat his fingertips.

"My sensitive princess." He smiles, softly. "How many times do you wanna cum?"

He never asks you this, always just giving you everything he can give or what you can take. You go for a small number, not wanting to seem excessively needy.

"Maybe two times? Please?" Your voice sounds meek. Like you're asking him for the impossible.

Satoru just chuckles. "How 'bout we triple that number?"

–

"S-Satoru—fuck— just like that, like that!" Your head pushes back against the pillow, your hands beside your head, scrunching up the sheets.

This was the fourth orgasm. There was cum spotted over your inner thighs and sweat layered over both your bodies. He had driven you to insanity like he planned.

"More, baby?" He grunts, thrusting with his continuous pace.

"Please," you cry out, fresh tears welling in your eyes again.

Satoru loved watching the tears stream down your face because he got to lean down and kiss them away. He takes the opportunity to praise you— to tell you how good you're being for him.

Your back arched and you braced yourself for the intensity of your next orgasm. Satoru swallowed your moans, kissing you fervently through his own rush. His breathing stuttered when he felt your nails clawing at his back, and once again his cum spurted into you. His breathing was heavy through the nose due to his insistence of kissing you until he you patted him for air.

"Fuck," you muttered. You let out an out of breath laugh, your chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to even out your breathing.

"That's five, baby." He exhales sharply, leaning back and running a hand through his dampened locks. You look at him with twinkling eyes, a smirk being thrown in your direction from your admiration.

"Come here," you say, outstretching your arms towards him. Satoru immediately fills the vacancy, sighing when you rake your nails against the nape of his neck. "Want you to take your time with this last one."

He takes that as a green light to start up again. He guides his cock into you again, savoring the hum that leaves you when he stuffs you again and begins his slow rhythm.

"'toru?" Your voice sounded sultry to his ears.

"Hm?"

"This won't happen again. I hope you know that." You're trying your hardest not laugh or make any sounds that take from the meaning of what you're saying.

He had to raise his head to meet your gaze. Something in the way he looked at you made you believe that this would definitely happen again.

"I hope it does. I love having you under me."

"It's inconvenient. It's so late, 'toru. Why can't we fuck when i'm not trying to sleep? Like in the daytime, or earlier in the night?"

His lips trace your jawline, and you just know he's going for your neck. Satoru lives for pointing out the marks he left on you, the day after.

"Simple," he hums. "I want you to myself." His hips continue to rock into you at the same languid pace. "At night, nobody is gonna take you from me. You won't be distracted and I get all your attention to myself." He kisses your neck. "You're all mine at night. Nobody expects you to be awake."

You gasp when he hits a spot that aches deliciously.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me," he murmurs into your neck. You can feel the way his back ripples as he instinctively picks up the pace. He was overwhelming, thrusting deeper and deeper like he was trying to consume you. What was supposed to be a slow drive towards your final orgasm of the night, turned into him unapologetically using his stamina to lure everything he could out of you. He was almost too much with the way his mouth was ruthless towards your neck and the bruising grip he kept on your hips. You were rendered the smallest thing for him.

"Satoru," you moaned, mindlessly grabbing onto his shoulder blades.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." He kisses you, tenderly, heavily contrasting the savage speed of thrusts.

You whimpered into the lip lock. Your heels dug into the mattress and your toes curled from the intensity of the pleasure you felt. Your breathing became heavier but Satoru refused to unlink his lips from yours. He couldn't when the sounds you made tasted like heaven on his tongue. His own sounds mingled with yours, a harmony that let you know that you weren't the only one feeling good. He was rutting into you, a telltale sign that he was about to cum.

"Mmm..." he hums, before unlatching his lips from yours. He panted as he watched you unravel beneath him, the smallest pinch between your brows as you gushed on him again. The way your walls spasmed around him had him following right after, another load painting your walls.

He grinned at you devilishly, the expression followed by a bright and sunny, airy chuckle. He pulls out of you, and looks down to watch your combined fluids slowly ooze out of you.

"Damn, you really tried putting a baby in me." You sigh, heavily, immediately regaining his attention. "Why do we fuck like this every time?" You rub your eyes, your sleepiness coming back around.

"I'll get one in there someday." He rubs his palm over your stomach. "And also, it's always like that because I love the face you make when you cum and you love the process of giving me that sight." His eye conveyed a seductiveness to their expression that kept you in check.

Your face goes red, warm to the touch. "Shut up." You sit up and playfully shove him.

"I get to cover you in semipermanent kisses, too." His hand comes up to the side of your neck and his fingers trace the red smudges that will darken over time. You roll your eyes, yet still put your hand over his, bringing it to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.

"We should shower. It's almost five in the morning." You ignore the mischievous glint in his eyes and the way he's obviously trying to suppress a boyish grin.

"Carry me, please?"

Satoru chuckles, knowing exactly why you want him to carry you.

[jojikawa]

Beauty and the Beast

An event where you are a woman in the 50s trying to turn the head of your neighbor, Francis Mosses when you are stalked and pursued by his evil counterpart.

Art by ilameys

Zettai Zetsumei • Co shu Nie

Word Count: 5.7k

⚠️: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT ♥ Manhandling, Slight body horror descriptions, descriptions of blood, himbo!doppelgänger!Francis Mosses, Yandere Behavior, Mentions of Stalking, sexualization of the female MC by Fake Francis, SMUT(CNC, mentions of a "rape kit"), and monster cock.

I write for free, but if you wanna further support me > Ko-Fi 🎀

Life was somewhat boring for you as a woman in the 50s. Despite being sought after by a lot of the men in your apartment complex, you had your heart set on one man. You only got to see him once a day. Francis Mosses. When he would deliver milk to your door in the morning. No matter how cute or cherry you were, it seemed like his mind was set on other things. The man always looked tired but you thought he was handsome no matter what. Maybe even more handsome…it was just something about hot men being tired that made them so much hotter.

You had hoped that eventually, he’d notice you and finally take you on a date!

But that hope soon faded when you read the newspapers. They talked about how doppelgängers are becoming a lot more frequent and the D.D.D. would be installing new units everywhere to ensure that no evil counterparts are making their way into the homes of others and killing people. You were able to tell if this made you feel safer or a lot more scared. What if someone made a mistake…?

Well, you didn’t have a chance to feel anything really, as the D.D.D. was extremely secretive about this kind of threat. After some time, it became normalized and it soon left your mind. The Doorman job seemed to be pretty effective as you had never seen any monsters before and were very much alive. It was rumored that the creatures would murder and eat any person they encountered if they succeeded in passing as humans. This is another reason you had your heart set on Francis. You felt as though he could protect you at a time like this. Maybe it was naive of you but after all, you were just a girl.

“Good Morning.”

Upon hearing the small knock at your door, you went to greet him. Francis stood tall, rather confused about you coming to get your bottled milk so quickly.

“Oh, good morning…” He replied flatly, gripping the strap of his milk bag. You thought that maybe he had a mutual crush on you and was too shy to act on it. So, you could take that step for him.

“How are you this morning? I hope that life is agreeing with you today.” You stepped outside of your apartment door with your glass of milk in hand. Francis shrugged. “I suppose it is.” He then yawned before saying “What’s wrong? Are you looking for another?”

You blinked. “Huh?” Your eyes then darted down to your hands. “O-Oh…sure.” You smiled attractively, causing him to break eye contact with you. He reached into his milk carrier and revealed and took out another. “You’re only allowed to get one every day but you can have mine.” He walked up to you and placed the bottle into your free hand.

“Th-Thanks!”

“Don’t mention it.”

After he disappeared around the corner, you were filled with joy! That interaction was such a good sign. He gave you his milk bottle. You had to make him something for dinner tonight as a gift!

Thunk!

You almost jumped at the sound of glass falling on the carpet at the far end of the hallway behind you. It looked like an empty milk bottle if you squinted hard enough. There was a shadow as well. It made you feel uneasy and quickly made you retreat into your home.

You wanted to try seeing if you could have more time with Francis. There was a job opening for the D.D.D. Doorman of your building and you instantly took it. Being able to meet with Francis when he wasn’t busy might have your conversations with him take a turn for the better. You really appreciated his selfless gesture. So, seeing him at least twice a day would make your life so much brighter. Francis was the complete package. Tall, handsome, quiet, and most of all, soft-spoken. You’d be a good wife to him.

On the first day of the job, you didn’t receive any proper training. You were given an informational video and a set of instructions that you scrambled to memorize as a long line of your neighbors awaited their inspection outside. The job was easy at first and you did it well. It was a chore but those are easy. You let in the right people and you called the D.D.D. when you found a doppelganger like you were instructed to. Unfortunately, at the end of the day, Francis didn’t pay you any mind. You gave him a soft smile through the glass before asking him about his day. 

“I hope work is treating you well.” You pitched your voice up to sound cuter. Your graceful hands moved swiftly as you sifted through the many layers of documents, trying to organize them before your next neighbor. “Yeah, I suppose.” He answered, blinking rather slowly. Your smile widened. “Any days off soon? I’d like to see you outside of your uniform.” You winked at him and he just shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Well, maybe, sometime after your hard work, you tell me a day you’d think you would be free?” 

You waited with anticipation for his response. He seemed rather confused and it was rather adorable. Then he said “I don’t really know. I think I’m busy but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Your smile faltered just a little but you were good at faking emotions. “Oh, no worries.” You waved him off in a playful manner before pressing the button to allow him inside. Your shift ended and you thought that you should probably get to making that dinner for him as a ‘thank you’ for the free milk. As you began to clean up, the pressure of your job began to set in. This wasn’t something that you could just quit if Francis were to reject you. Ignoring all the unexplainable noises, the dark figures, and the constant feeling of being watched, it would be very awkward seeing him every day after that.

It was a new day. Francis came to check into the building and you let him go without chatting with him because you didn’t want to seem like a bother. But…then you saw him again.

“Francis?” You cutely tilted your head. The way he looked at you was much different than usual. The Francis you knew could barely make meaningful eye contact with you but right now he had no problem burning holes into your skull with his eyes. Not only that but he was visibly bigger as well. Taller and more masculine. His arms were big and veiny. This was NOT Francis Mosses.

“I-ID…?” You gave a nervous half-smile as you tried to hide your stutter. The humanoid creature gawked, a subtle sense of happiness washing over its face the longer it stayed there. “Don’t have it on me.” It replied plainly. You picked up the clipboard before exing out the box that was labeled “ID.”

“W-Well, you seem to look a lot like someone who’s already checked in. Please, give me a moment to confirm.” You flashed it a close-eyed smile. Upon seeing it, the fake Francis moved closer to the window, fogging it up with its mouth breathing.

You pressed the big red button to close the shutter before dialing the number to the D.D.D. 

The representative told you someone would be over right away to dispose of the doppelgänger. It only took about a minute before they’d arrive. Normally, the shutter would open on its own after being reset by the D.D.D. member but for some reason, it didn’t You figured that now would be a good time to open it to help the last neighbors but when you did, you were not met with the hazmat suit you were so familiar with. 

In front of you was the same fake Francis from before, now covered in some blood. His expression was one of annoyance and the veins in his arms were pulsating as if he were trying to contain some kind of anger.

“E-Excuse me, but you need to—!”

“Let me in.”

Your heart dropped. It talked! And it sounded just like Francis too. 

You shook your head. “N-No! I’m not letting a monster in.” You reached for the number to re-dial the number again.

“But I think you look so pretty today. You wore that just for me, huh? I’d love to t-tear it off of you.” The creature’s neck involuntarily cracked its neck, twisting it in a demonic way. You screamed at the sight, pressing the button once more to close the shutters so that you wouldn’t have to see it. As they went down, the doppelgänger tried to stop it by putting his hand under it. It got caught in the track, causing it to get stuck on the track and it was open halfway.

“Come on, Darling, I know you’re not about to call those bastards again. I don’t want to have to hurt anyone else.” The large man-creature crouched down. You could see his fanged canine teeth poking out of his mouth. You backed away from the window with the telephone in hand.

3312…

You listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before the receptionist answered.

“Hello?”

“P-Please send help!” You cried over the phone. Tears began to spill out of your eyes upon hearing the squeal of metal as the predator stretched and bent it to his will. The glass was the only thing left that could stop him from entering.

You saw how abnormally long his tongue was when it glided over his lips. “I just want to taste you…”

The receptionist dispatched another group of workers to help dispose of the doppelgänger. They arrived almost instantly. It was only then that the fake Francis moved away from the window. You sighed in relief, trying to calm yourself down from the events that transpired. You ran over to the tempered glass. The mental door looked like sheet paper.

You saw no trace of the Hazmat people but you also didn’t see the fake Francis anymore. You quickly gathered your things and rushed to leave. You opened the door to let yourself out. You planned to run to your room and lock the door but as soon as you had left the room, you bumped into a stiff, toned chest. The figure grabbed you by your neck and forced you to look at them. The gloved hand was covered in blood and it stained your skin and the collar of your dress.

“Where do you think you’re going, Princess?”

His grip around your throat was so tight that you weren’t able to form words. It was completely covered in blood and in its other hand was a knife dripping with blood as well. It kept the violence to one side of the room so that you weren’t able to see anything unless you completely left the screening room.

The light clank of the knife hitting the ground could be heard and its newly free hand grabbed your waist. The doppelgänger hugged you to its masculine chest. Its head rested itself on top of yours before it planted its nose in the crown of your head before inhaling your scent deeply. The blaring sound of the alarm continued to go off and it was deafening.

Your nose was overloaded with the scent of fresh blood. The pure shock didn’t let you resist his touch. His grip loosened and you dropped everything you had in your hands on the floor, staining it in with the red substance

“P-Please.”

You felt its large hand around the back of your neck and you feared that it would snap it and kill you any second. You held your breath as you felt it set the other hand on your waist as well, rubbing it gingerly.

It felt like the doppelgänger was sizing you up to see if you’d be a good enough meal for it.

“He-ey, beautiful. It's… okay…” 

The doppelgänger’s speech was somewhat disconnected but it was fluid for the most part. At first, it was clear he was a fake but the more he kept talking, the more it sounded like the real thing…like it was learning in real time.

Your heart rate accelerated when you felt its hand travel ever so slowly from your waist to the collar of your dress. The inhuman smile on its face widened and it suddenly ripped the cloth that covered your torso. You gasped, instinctively covering your now exposed bra.

You wiggled out of its grip and used the opportunity to run. You kicked off your pumps and ran barefoot to your apartment. All you could do was hope that more of the D.D.D. would come and solve the issue before anyone else could get hurt. The emergency alarm was still going off so the authorities should be there soon.

When you arrived at your door, you tried to scramble to look for your keys so that you could get inside but…

…you remembered that you dropped them along with the rest of your possessions.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching behind you. The large shadow engulfed your smaller form.

“Allow me.” The stranger said, calmly. Their large fist went through the door handle, shattering the lock and making it completely useless. You were too shocked to try running again. It found you.

The doppelganger shoved you against the door, swinging it open and causing you to fall forward inside of your home. You hit the floor with a soft but swift thud. “I see the way you look at him.” Its voice was laced with venom—anger but left more to be desired. It was playing with you awfully long for a creature that was trying to kill you.

“But you’d never look at me that way…”

The Fake Francis entered the apartment making sure to secure the door behind it so that you couldn’t run anymore. You cried and whimpered as it took its sweet time pushing your bookcase in front of the door so no one would intervene with what was supposed to happen next.

“I-I don’t know what you’re—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence as it smashed its lips into yours. Its tongue was like that of a serpent, slipping its way into your mouth. You tried to push it away but any attempts just resulted in your lips connecting once more. It was too strong. 

You were terrified but it passed so much for the real Francis.

“Tell me you don’t like it ‘n I’ll stop.” It whispered into your mouth before it French kissed you once more. You kissed it back, unable to resist his appearance any longer. When it pulled away, a string of saliva connected between both of your mouths. It’s warm breath hits the surface of your face, eyes full of lust and horror.

It’s soft lips attached themselves to your neck, biting and sucking until your skin slowly began turning red. “Mmm.” It hummed deeply, traveling lower and lower until it reached the cavern between your breasts. “You’re sensitive here, aren’t you?” It placed kisses in the valley of your chest, waiting for a reply. You were unable to form words at this point. It wanted to ravage you and steal your innocence. It took your idleness as consent, continuing on with satisfying itself and by extension, satisfying you.

It took the delicate hand you had been using to drive a wedge between the both of you. You thought that at this point it was going to break your arm! You squeezed your eyes shut, ready to endure the pain but…it didn’t. You felt the heated bulge beneath it’s bloodied white trousers. It throbbed. 

That’s when it finally clicked for you. It wasn’t playing with you like you were food. It wasn’t trying to taste you and pick it’s teeth with your bones. It wanted to be with you. To breed you.

“I—ah~♡!” You bit down on your lip to contain the pretty moans that left your mouth. Your bra was removed, fully exposing your breasts. Its tongue touched the tip of your nipple and its mouth enveloped over your entire areola. It licked and sucked on the bud until it was nice and hard. The other hand was subtly slipped under your dress.

It took barely any strength at all to rip the fabric, showing how inappropriately wet you’d become from this activity. It craved the essence that was oozing from your tiny cunt.

At the feeling of the cold wind, you brought your legs together just to have them forced apart again. The creature made you feel so small and vulnerable. It used force when it felt necessary but overall, it was….soft. Licking, kissing, biting but no drawing blood, taste, loving.

It salivated at your legs, raising one and nuzzling the side of its face into the smooth skin. “So…gorgeous.” It pulled you forward. “When I saw you, I knew I wanted you.”

“Y-You did…?” You squeaked. It’s touch sent goosebumps from your limp to the rest of your body. “Two years I’ve been watching you. It was so damn annoying seeing you talk to that piece of meat.”

Piece of meat?

“I don’t know who you mean.” You shied away from the perfect creature. Could it mean…

“F-Francis?” You knitted your eyes together in confusion.

“Yes—HIM!” The doppelgänger dropped your leg and pulled you by your thighs to its crotch. “…I could never decide what skin would be the best to pursue you in. But then I’d see the way you look at him.” Pre-cum was beginning to show from its member inside. You could feel the wet fabric on the lips of your hot cunt. “So, I became him…but better.”

You heard the subtle unzipping sound of the pants and it took out its thick cock. It was larger than normal and didn't look like the standard male genitalia. You’d need to use both hands to hold it.

There was no denying this thing could perfectly replicate a human man. Before you could even react, the big “man” picked you up by your hair.

“Get on your knees.” He commanded and you felt obligated to obey him. You’ve never been in a situation where you were being held up by a man like this.

“I’m gonna split you in half with this cock.” He pushed its large tip against your cheek, straining it with warm cum. “Open your mouth.”

Your lips parted for a moment but you hesitated. There was no way that whole thing could fit into your mouth. Your eyes traveled up to his for guidance. He only stared down at you with hard, tired eyes. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into a smirk.

“I said…open your mouth.”

He spoke through his teeth as if it were a threat. You were reluctant but tried to ease it in. You kissed his tip, causing him to grunt and tighten his fist around your hair. “Open.” He growled, yanking your head back. His cock was so close to your face that you could truly take in its side. It was nearly the length of your skull. 

You opened your mouth out of fear and he shoved it inside. He was kind enough to let you get used to it in your throat by going soft and slow…or maybe he was just distracted by the imprint showing on your throat. 

You grabbed his hips to keep yourself from falling backward. Even a bit of force made you lose your balance. “Good girl.” He sighed, relaxing into you, pushing the limits by pushing it deeper. Your choking and gagging only made him feel pleasure.

“You struggling with my dick in your mouth is so hot.” You heard him mutter under his breath. Your eyes began to water from the choking, causing tears to carry mascara down your cheeks.

“Keep sucking.” He fucked into your throat and gentle too. “I’m close.”

 Both of his hands found themselves on the back of your head. He sped up his pace until a loud groan emitted from his chest and a mysterious liquid found its way down your throat.

The doppelgänger let go of your hair. You fell back on your bottom and he crouched down. “Hey.” He called, grabbed both sides of your face with one hand. He squeezed your cheeks together. “Swallow.”

You swallowed what was left and once he knew it was in your belly, his lips crashed into yours. His tongue wormed its way into your mouth and explored every cavern.

You felt yourself get lifted again but this time to your feet. He walked you over to your dining table and shoved you into it. “Bend over.”

You didn’t really get a choice. When you tried to stand, he forced you down to the table with his hand on the back of your head. 

You expected him to say something, but he stayed silent. You felt him explore your backside from your hips to your exposed ass. The wind was so cold but his hands were so warm.

He chuckled darkly, spreading your ass cheeks and sticking his shaft in between. His dick was so much bigger than you that you would definitely have a belly bulge because of it. He wanted to experience it for himself.

You waited with silent anticipation for him what he would do next. You weren’t too sexually active anymore because you wanted to reserve that for the real Francis, if you ever got the chance with him, so you were really nervous about having something so big inside.

“Uah!” You squeaked, feeling a wet, warm muscle enter the deepest part of your cunt. It was his tongue!

You whipped your head around to see that his face was buried in you from behind. “Mmm.” You heard him hum vibrations into you. He consumed all of your juices as they came out. It must’ve tasted so good coming from a pretty human like you.

With every moan and whimper that left your mouth, it made his dick grow harder and harder. He didn’t stop until you had creamed all over his tongue. So much came out that it got all over his face too.

“I-Is that it? Is that what you want…?” You asked, but you were only ignored.

“Pick a hole.”

“Wh-wha—“

“Pick a hole, or I will.”

Pick…a hole…?

His large thumb massaged your asshole while his knuckles, now sleek with your cream, was stimulating your pussy.

“Um…I—“ 

“Both it is!”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what?!”

You felt his thumb sink deep into your ass while he struggled to get his large tip into your pussy. “Damn you’re fucking tight.” He growled through his teeth. His free hand grabbed your ass, fingers sinking in so deep they’d leave marks. 

“W-Wait, you have to go slow!” You cried, face heating up from being touched in such filthy ways. “I am.” He grumbled, pushing the limits of your vagina by forcing himself inside. Despite going at the pace of a snail, the pain of trying to fit himself inside didn’t decrease at all. You helplessly clawed at the table beneath you. It didn’t matter how wet you were. He was too big.

It took a moment but he was able to get it. It slipped in with much ease on his end but the difference inside made you gasp so hard you needed to cover your mouth.

The doppelgänger began thrusting without warning, quickly overstimulating you. You could feel him in your stomach too. You reach back to push him off of you but he just grabbed your arm and kept it. There wasn’t much you could do to get someone this big off of you. You would only take it.

“P-Please…I can’t take it!” You gapped out, drool escaped your mouth as you tried to form words. He was fucking you so hard you couldn’t even think. All that could be heard around the room was the lewd slapping of his filled balls against the bottom of your pussy. 

“Beg for it then. Say you love me.” His breath hitched. “Say you want me and I’ll let you go.”

“I—“ Slap! 

You tried to speak. “I wa—“ Slap!

It seemed that when you tried to comply with him, he’d remove the hand playing with your asshole to leave a rough, skin-reddening slap on your ass. Your struggling amused him. He couldn’t help but smile.

The doppelgänger has been stalking you for so long. It was hard getting into your apartment normally because of the last doorman but he couldn’t resist you once you were sitting at that desk.

“What’s wrong?” He teased, his deep voice going soft. “My dick isn’t in your mouth anymore…so what’s the issue?” He chuckled. “Beg.”

“I want you!” You blurted out.

“You…want me? Say there’s no one else. Say you love me!” It was like music to his ears, really. It was helping him reach his climax.

“I…I love you—“

“FUCK!”

Your belly bulge quickly became bigger as his cum painted your walls and womb. Even with his dick growing more flaccid, he continued to fuck his cum into you so that you both knew who you belonged to now. Tears spilled out of your eyes as you squirted onto his cock, mixing your juices together.

“I love you too, Princess. More than you could ever imagine—“ Before he could finish, his ears perked up almost like an animal. His attention turned towards your door that he had destroyed before. “Here they come.” He muttered, putting his member back into his pants.

You weakly lifted yourself from the table. Your hand placed itself tight below your navel. It was so sore now. “Who’s coming…? What are you talking about…?”

The doppelgänger ignored you, its horns flesh and bones began contorting and changing color. Its physique turned from that of a huge masculine man to the familiar form of that of a D.D.D. member. Yellow suit and all. 

It ran to the door, opening it, and sticking its head out. “I found her, she's in here!” Its voice changed to a generic man as well. Not at all like the deep gruff from before.

Your legs felt like jelly, you fell to the ground as soon as you were able to stand. They were numb from the pleasure, leaving you unable to walk.

What happened next went by as a blur. The D.D.D. Reinforcement Team took you to a hospital where you were taken care of and given rape kit. You were unable to refuse it once the forensics team found semen at the scene. In order to maintain faith in the D.D.D., your assault was largely covered up but only those who were in the apartment that day knew about it.

After the commotion of filing our paperwork and giving information, you were sent home. You didn’t sustain any life threatening injuries but you were asked to come in periodically to see how your body would react to having the semen of a doppelgänger inside of you…so now you were a bit of a test subject to them. You quit the job after that but you were quickly replaced by a new guy. 

You hadn’t seen the doppelgänger the entire time. Or at least, you thought you didn’t. You wanted to process the situation but you were more confused as to why it craved so much validation from you. It wanted you to say you loved it. It wanted you to say that you wanted it. It said that it’s been waiting two years to be this close to you. It looked like Francis.

You had just arrived back home. Carpenters quickly replaced your door before you got home and you decided to continue life as usual by making dinner for yourself. Your heart still aches from the fear you felt when you thought you were going to die. And so did your vagina. It didn’t bleed, thank god, but it was sore to the touch from how big that monster was.

“Man, I thought you’d never come back.”

You were alone in your kitchen when a voice emitted from behind you. The familiarity in the voice made your heart drop. You quickly turned around to see the doppelgänger from before, masquerading as Francis again.

“What are you doing here? What do you—“

“Shh, princess.” He strided through your small kitchen, stepping so close to you that you were against the counter with nowhere else to go. You placed your hands on his chest, giving you the illusion that you could push him away. He grabbed your arm by the wrist before kissing the inside of your palm. He kissed your fingers and then the back of your hand before making you cup his cheek, which he nuzzled into lovingly.

You wanted to rip your hand away but his grip was so strong. You blushed. Was it wrong to admit that he…it, was attractive? 

“Why didn’t you kill me and eat me? Why did you do that to me?” You questioned meekly. His eyes were closed, enjoying your warm touch with a smile before they opened. His eyes were like hunter's eyes. “Because I love you.” He replied flatly. 

“I don’t know what that means…” 

You opened your mouth to speak again but you were cut off by a knock at your door. 

“I’ll get it.” The doppelgänger quickly said and in a mere second, it shapeshifted to turn into…you. It was able to mimic you in all your glory, including the hickeys, bites and bruises from your attack.

“No!” You blurted out. “Don’t do that.”

The doppelgänger allowed you to move away from it and your arm fell to your side. You went to get the door but you made sure to check who it was before opening.

It was Francis!

“It’s him!” You hurried to your bedroom to find your cardigan to cover your tattered clothes before answering the door.

“Francis? What brings you here?” You forced a smile but your eyes looked just as tired as his. You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I heard what happened. ‘m so glad you’re okay.” Francis sighed, quickly invading your personal space. He hugged you to his chest. You blinked “F-Francis…?”

“I felt all torn up when I thought you died but when I heard that you were just fine, I just had to come see you myself.” Your stomach burned with delight. Francis was worried about you?

Francis let go of you and you pulled away. His face was red like he was blushing and you couldn’t help but blush too. Your lips curled into a smile. “W-Well, I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

He wanted to smile back but he couldn’t. He saw the marks on your skin. You were hurt. “I know you are.” He masked his sadness with a weak smile. He rested his hand on your head and ruffled it a bit.

It would probably be inappropriate for him to admit that he’s actually had feelings for you all this time, so he’d save it for another day. Hearing the news about the doppelgänger through gossip during his job of going door to door made him realize he could lose you at any moment. But today, he settled with placing a kiss at the crown of your head. “Stay safe. I’ll check on you again later.”

For a moment, everything in your life went still. Even after he had walked away and left you standing there, it didn’t feel real. This more or less confirmed he had a crush on you as well. No man just does that and doesn’t see you as more than just a neighbor.

Your heart fluttered as you came back to reality. You slipped back inside of your home. You need to get cleaned up! You had to bathe and find something suitable just in case Francis wanted to come inside upon your next meeting.

But then….

“You look awfully happy.”

The doppelgänger was still here. You gulped, seeing his much bigger form. He grabbed the sides of your face with his hand again. He didn’t bother crouching because of your size difference, leaving you standing on the tips of your toes.

You were too shocked to try defending yourself, so he continued. “I saw everything so don’t even try to lie. That bastard is so lucky that I have to lay low until the D.D.D. gets their claws out of you or else I would’ve…”

“Don’t hurt him!” You tried to beat and punch his arm to get him off but he didn’t budge. “Why not?!”

“Because…I’ll be sad. And you don’t want me to be sad, do you?” Your voice was unlabeled and lacked confidence. It was a Hail Mary but you’d do anything to prevent Francis from getting hurt.

“Shit.” The doppelgänger let go of you, setting you back on your feet. It seemed…conflicted. He paced around your living room briefly. It had a soft spot for you but you could tell it has trouble processing emotions like a person. It was just imitating a person to get what it wanted.

“You don’t want him. You just wanna marry a guy. I’ll marry you.” 

You shook your head. “No. Y-You can’t. You’re not him.”

“Of course I am.” His expression became mischievous. A smirk settled on his handsome face. “You can even call me Francis in bed if it fancies you.” 

You felt your stomach do a flip!

“No! I’m not calling you that. Even though you look just like him…wh-what do I call you anyway…?” You retreated inward, hugging yourself and looking quite nervous as if the situation was beginning to dawn on you. You were currently desired by one of the most dangerous beings in the world.

“Francis.”

“Stop! I’m never using that name for you.” You got angry enough to shove him but he didn’t move an inch. You quickly realized that you shouldn’t push too hard or else it might change its mind and kill you. 

“Mmm….” You pursed your lips, avoiding eye contact with the monster. “Wh-What about Franz? Is that good enough for you…?”

Franz, huh?

“Perfect.”

Tagged Folks: @z3r0art @chilifrylizard2