#yes this is an eternal sunshine au

[thirtysixsavefiles]

For @frequentlybees on bluesky for the title meme: "had a house (but you made it a home)" took an unexpected turn but I still like how this came out

~~~

Sanji doesn’t know what possessed him to buy this place. It’s far bigger than one person needs; there are rooms he’s never even done anything with, that still lie empty. Even the bed is too big, but at least the kitchen is the right size. If the rest of the house is empty, he at least feels comfortable here, setting the water going for coffee and pulling the eggs out. He belatedly wonders if his guest has allergies; should have asked, but the shower is shutting off and he’ll have the opportunity in a minute.

Sanji rolls his neck on his shoulders, feeling the ache of well-used muscles and the imprint of teeth. He smiles to himself. Maybe he should casually ask if Zoro wants to stick around after breakfast; the man might have a mouth on him but at least he knows how to use it where it counts.

Speaking of — Zoro settles onto a stool across the kitchen island and accepts the cup of coffee that Sanji passes him. He takes a sip and sighs, eyes going half-lidded; Sanji finds his gaze caught before the pan sizzling behind him catches his attention. He turns, reaching absently for his own coffee, then pauses with his fingers on the handle.

“I’m sorry,” he says, turning back. “I didn’t ask how you take it — I can remake the cup if you want, you don’t have to drink that.”

Zoro takes another sip. “Dark roast, more cream than sugar?” he asks, and Sanji nods.

Zoro smiles, something small and half-rueful. “It’s perfect.”

Sanji can feel his own smile broaden in response; he can’t seem to stop smiling this morning, but there isn’t any reason for him to stop, is there? He takes a sip of his own coffee — black, with notes of cherry and caramel — and reaches for a mixing bowl.

He’s about to pour the eggs into the pan when his phone vibrates with an incoming call, and a glance at the screen doesn’t reveal a number he recognizes. Mnemosyne Clinic? Probably a wrong number, or a spam call. He lets it go to voicemail and the eggs sizzle in the pan.

He’s in the middle of folding the omelet when his phone vibrates again. “Are you going to get that?” Zoro asks.

Sanji plates the omelet and hands it to Zoro. “Fine,” he says, picking up on the last ring. “This is Sanji.”

“Mr. Vinsmoke?” a crisp voice says on the other end.

This is already not going well. “Technically,” Sanji says, ready to hang up.

“This is Alison at the Mnemosyne Clinic, calling for your six-month check-in.”

Sanji frowns. “I think you have the wrong number,” he says.

“Collateral memory loss is not uncommon with the anamnesis procedure,” Alison says smoothly. “You didn’t remember me at two months, either.”

Sanji stills. “Anamnesis?”

Across the kitchen island, a fork clatters to the counter.

“Selective memory erasure,” Alison confirms. “I just have a few questions —”

“What did I erase?” Sanji demands, searching for gaps in his memory. His sister, his brothers, even his father — nothing there seems incomplete, awful as it is.

“It’s against our policy to reveal details of the procedure to the patient —” Alison starts.

“What,” Sanji says through gritted teeth. “Did I. Erase.” Across the island, Zoro has his head bowed, hands pressed flat against the counter. Sanji probably shouldn’t have a medical conversation in front of a near-stranger —

Alison sighs, and her voice loses some of the professional polish. “You weren’t this difficult at two months.”

“Tell me,” Sanji says flatly. “Or I’ll be at your clinic door in half an hour, and I won’t knock.”

Zoro lifts his head, and there’s something in his eyes that catches the breath in Sanji’s lungs.

“All right. I suppose this is as good a check-in as any.” Alison clears her throat. “Does the name Roronoa Zoro mean anything to you?”

[kpopfanfictrash]

In Bloom Collaboration

Pass the end of winter's cold // until the spring day comes again. This April, join us for seven (loosely) spring-themed stories from @kpopfanfictrash, @kithtaehyung, @yoonia, @syllviere, @leahsfavefics, @suga-kookiemonster, and @cybrsan.

Spring symbolizes hope for renewal, new growth and change, and the anticipation of good things ahead. With the return of BTS on the horizon, enjoy these stories centered on romance and possibility.

Content Creator: @kithtaehyung for creation of all these wonderful banners!

[ Links will be added to this post as stories as published ]

Title: Clichés and Canapés

Author: @kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); smut; best friends to lovers; fake dating; billionaire au

Summary: After twenty years of friendship, you’d think you were used to Seokjin’s proposals by now. In the past he’s forced you to participate in skydiving, skinny dipping, and even staging a rescue from the local shelter. Seokjin has always had big ideas but this time, even he may have gone too far. Granted, break-ups are stressful, and Seokjin’s latest one up was bad. Really bad. As in, they-ended-things-in-December-and-now-she’s-dating-his-brother bad.

It almost makes sense then, when Seokjin asks you to come home with him for his parents' party. Almost makes sense when he says his family assumed you were dating, and he didn't correct them. What doesn’t make sense is the longer you fake things, the more you find yourself wondering if this was real all along.

Posting Date: April 20

Title: Satsuma

Author: @kithtaehyung

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: m (18+); angst, smut; iron chef au, rivals to lovers

Summary: this particular culinary prodigy has always bested you—time, and time, and time again. but not today. today? you will break him. you will finally beat min yoongi—the bane of your existence and the youngest ever iron chef.

Posting Date: April 22

Title: Sunset Glow

Author: @yoonia

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); past lovers!au; lawyer!Hoseok, artist!reader; New Beginning; inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (yes, the movie)

Summary: As you accidentally stumble upon a reminder of the past that you have been slowly walking away from, you finally get to see Hoseok losing his resolve for the first time. It is now your turn to become his rock, and help remind him the reason why he has always been yours.

Posting Date: April 24

Title: Sealed With a Kiss

Author: @syllviere

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); Cardiac Surgeon Namjoon x Demon Reader; Fake Fiancé; Strangers to Lovers; Smut; Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance; Not Christian hell

Summary: When Namjoon offered you one quick favor for another, he should’ve known something was wrong the moment you kissed him instead of shaking his hand to agree. He might’ve known when dark shadows seemed to start following him around every corner. And he definitely knew the night you dragged him to hell and not-so-kindly reminded him that he owed you.

He’d never been very good at negotiating.

Posting Date: April 26

Title: Mr. Park is an Asshole

Author: @leahsfavefics

Pairing: Jimin x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); reverse tropes: nice guy who only hates you; academic rivals, but it's two teachers competing to have the best class

Summary: Ever since you joined the team as Darling Elementary's new art teacher, you've been welcomed with open arms. By everyone except Mr. Park, the music teacher. Jimin seems to be the school's golden child, beloved by all (except you), and the organizer of the school's most popular event, the annual Spring Recital. When the school's poor budget planning requires Jimin to enlist your help on the recital, you wonder how you're going to manage working with your sworn enemy.

Posting Date: April 28

Title: Lost and Found

Author: @suga-kookiemonster

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M; smut; strangers to lovers; resort!au

Summary: to give yourself credit, you’ve put up a great fight. but the inevitable has finally happened—after pushing yourself to your very limits, you’re forced to concede when an overwhelming meltdown stops you in your tracks. concerned, your mother insists you utilize her aunt’s timeshare to get some much needed R&R. you’re not quite sure how your life has spiraled to the depths it has, but you figure if you’re already in hell, you might as well enjoy the flames with cocktails in-hand.

enter taehyung—the timeshare’s absurdly hot pool bartender. tae is chill, carefree, and wholly unbothered about having no life plans beyond flirting with old ladies for tips. a planner to a fault, you simply can’t fathom how someone could flit though life without direction. but in the midst of piecing yourself back together, it gradually starts to dawn on you that the two of you might not be that different after all.

Posting Date: April 30

Title: Timezone

Author: @cybrsan

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); smut; idol!jk + non-celeb reader; inspired by the Måneskin song, Timezone

Summary: Concerts. Fansigns. Interviews. Jungkook's schedule has been so jam-packed lately that he barely has time to breathe. After a particularly rough day, he struggles to fall asleep because you aren't beside him, and suddenly he doesn't care about his responsibilities or the fact that there are 7,000 miles separating you. He needs to see you, consequences be damned, because you're the only thing that truly matters.

Posting Date: May 2

[dawngyu]

THE ARCHIVE

pairing: choi soobin x reader

"Here. Please read each clause carefully dear."

The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

warnings: reader discretion is advised. neuro-science fiction au, set in the year 2125, romance, angst, psychological drama, character!death, depression!, anxiety!, stages of grief, flashbacks, self-destructive!reader, self!harm, accidents, everything written is a work of fiction. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

wc: 13k — playlist.

notes: inspired by parts of ariana’s we can’t be friends music video aka eternal sunshine of the spotless mind... concept is there, but the plot itself will take a different path. oh, and buckle up.

a big thank you to my beta reader.

How shattered must your heart be, to long for oblivion over a name once uttered like a prayer?

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. He always wakes you up like this—unhurried, endlessly affectionate. And no matter how much you loathe early mornings, he somehow makes them worth waking up for.

Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck.

"It's too early for your silly jokes, Soobin," you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. His warmth is familiar, comforting. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"I'm not joking," he murmurs.

"Okay," you whisper back, not quite awake but not quite asleep either.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Are you sleeping again?"

"No."

"You’re going to be late."

"Uh-huh."

He exhales a quiet laugh, shifting beside you, and when you finally lift your head, his face is already turned toward you, bathed in the gentle glow of morning. His dimples appear with a smile—one he always saves for you, like tiny craters in the universe of his face. You reach out, pressing a finger into the tiny hollow of his cheek, and his grin only widens.

How does he never grow tired of looking at you like this?

"Come on, let’s eat, yeah?" he coaxes, pinching your cheeks.

You let yourself watch him—watch the way his eyes soften, the way he always waits for you, the way his love sits so effortlessly in the space between you.

"I love you," you whisper.

His fingers brush your cheek, his smile turning impossibly fonder.

"I love you more."

He somehow managed to pull you out of bed, though not without a few sleepy complaints. You lazily threw your hair into a ponytail—an attempt at looking somewhat awake. The moment he caught sight of it, though, laughter spilled from his lips, his dimples deepening with amusement.

“What is this?” he teased, reaching out to play with the loose strands. "A masterpiece of chaos?"

"It's ugly, isn't it?" You pouted, lips jutting out just enough to make his teasing falter. Panic flashed across his face before he quickly cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he pressed frantic kisses all over.

“No. You’re beautiful,” he murmured between each kiss. “Always beautiful.”

You let him win that small battle, if only because the warmth of his touch made surrendering easy.

It's always easy with him.

"Put some butter and milk in it," Soobin says, watching you whisk eggs in a bowl. He’s perched at the kitchen table, chin resting in his hand, his gaze fixed on you as you move around the kitchen. The pancakes on the stove have just started to sizzle.

"You like them better that way," he adds.

"Oh, right!" You laugh, hurrying to grab the missing ingredients from the fridge. You mix them in just the way he likes, and when the pancakes are golden and ready, you set the plates down in front of both of you, fetching the utensils.

"Thank you, love," he hums, cutting into his pancake as you take your first bite. A satisfied groan leaves your lips as the warmth of the food soothes your hunger.

"Nothing beats pancakes for breakfast," you sigh. "You and your obsession with them."

He chuckles, watching you with amusement, his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his palm. "Good job, chef."

You roll your eyes, dramatically bowing. "You're welcome."

He grins before his expression softens. "You have plans later, right? Be careful out there, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"And—"

Before he can finish, the sound of the doorbell cuts through the moment.

"I’ll get it," you say, pushing your chair back.

He nods at you with a smile, watching as you disappear toward the door.

You step toward the door of your apartment, fingers curling around the handle before pulling it open.

"Wonyoung, good morning!" you greet with a soft smile, but the way her eyes widen—just for a fraction of a second—doesn’t go unnoticed. She hides it quickly, clearing her throat as she shifts the bags in her hands.

"Morning," she says, stepping inside, her gaze immediately scanning you.

Her gaze sweeps over you, taking in the messy hair, the oversized shirt that’s swallowed you whole—the same one she saw you wearing last time. The deep shadows under your eyes, the pale exhaustion etched into your skin.

"Are you okay?" she asks, careful, cautious.

"Yeah, I am," you answer without hesitation, as if saying it fast enough will make it true. You turn to grab the house slippers meant for her, but your fingers hesitate when you notice Soobin’s slippers still neatly tucked by the door.

He didn’t wear them? But the floor is cold.

Shaking the thought away, you straighten up. "I'm having breakfast with Soobin. We made extra, by the way. You can eat with us."

Silence.

Wonyoung just looks at you, her expression unreadable, her lips parting slightly before closing again. There’s hesitation—pain, even—as if she’s searching for the right words.

"What's wrong—?"

You don’t get to finish.

The bags slip from her hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as she strides toward you. Before you can react, her arms wrap around you, pulling you in tight. The force of it makes you stumble slightly, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is desperate, as if she’s holding onto something fragile, something already breaking.

You feel her take a deep, shaking breath before she whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

"Y/N… Soobin’s been gone for two years now."

Panic grips you as your breath catches in your throat. Your head snaps toward the table—the very spot where you left him—only to find it empty—a plate of untouched food, sitting there like a ghost.

Everyone in the world fears something—even those who swear they don’t. And at the core of it all, there’s death. It is inevitable and final. It’s like spending years studying, only to fail every job interview. Like working yourself to the bone for months, only to walk away empty-handed. Like pouring your heart into a meal, only to take a bite and realise it tastes terrible.

But for you, fear isn’t just about endings. It isn’t just about pain. What haunts you more than death itself is the thought of being forgotten—or worse, forgetting.

Forgetting is terrifying. Yet, as you sit there, clipping your nailbeds, lost in thought, forgetting made you see him. You saw him this morning, standing there, just as he always had. And without thinking, you breathe.

For that fleeting moment, he’s here. Because you forget that he’s gone.

"Y/N."

You look up from the table, your fingers stiff against the wood. Your mom's eyes are swollen, glassy with unshed tears, rimmed red from exhaustion. She looks at you with so much pity it makes your stomach churn. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I am, Mom."

She exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "I said we should go back to Dr. Park for another check-up. And maybe… maybe we should finally consider what she’s been recommending—"

"No." Your voice is firm, cutting through the air. "It’s just a waste of money—"

"That’s why I’m working two jobs, dear." Her voice shakes as she reaches for your hands. You flinch, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is warm, trembling.

"You’ve been hallucinating again." She swallows hard. "I thought time would make it better. I really did." Her breath hitches. "But it’s been two years now. Your dad... he’s sick. He can't even get up on the bed, and—"

"You don't understand, Mom." Your voice trembles as tears well in your eyes. Crying has become second nature—easier than eating, easier than sleeping, easier than existing without him. "How am I supposed to act? I'm trying, I promise I am."

"Y/N." Your mom wipes her own tears, her breath unsteady. "It’s hard for me too. He was my son."

You drop your gaze, staring at the table, at the empty space in front of you, anywhere but at her.

"It haunts me," she whispers, "how deeply he loved you. He’s always here. Always with you. Always worrying about you."

The words steal the air from your lungs. Your chest tightens, the room tilts.

"But do you really think," she continues, voice breaking, "that he wouldn’t understand? That, of all people, he wouldn’t want you to keep going?"

The chair screeches against the floor as you stand abruptly. Your mother flinches at the sound. You turn to leave, but her voice stops you just before you step away.

"He loved you more than his own life," she says softly. "Do you really think it wouldn’t break his heart to see you like this?"

You bite your lip as you step out of your parents' house. Wonyoung had dropped you off earlier, she didn’t trust leaving you alone. No one does anymore. Everywhere you go, people watch you with that same look—pity, like you’re a glass figure they’re waiting to see shatter.

Like you’ll be the next one to disappear.

Your chest tightens as tears prick the corners of your eyes, blurring the edges of the world. A hiccup escapes, sharp and unexpected, and you clamp a hand over your mouth as if that might keep everything else from spilling out. You fumble with the car door, your fingers trembling against the handle. It’s only been three months since you managed to get behind the wheel again, but even now, the familiarity of it feels like a fragile lifeline—something that says I’m still here. I’m still trying.

Two years. Two years since his funeral. Two years since you last stepped into your office. Two years of nights that felt endless, of mornings that felt pointless. Two years of watching the people around you crumble under the weight of your grief, their hearts breaking because yours refuses to heal.

And for two years, the doctors have been whispering the same thing, their voices clinical, detached.

The procedure of erasing him from your memory completely.

Your knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as you pull out of the driveway, heart pounding harder than the engine. Every turn, every streetlight, every crack in the pavement feels like it carries his shadow. But there’s only one place where it feels bearable—one place where you can almost convince yourself he’s still there.

Choi Yeonjun’s eyes swept across your face, taking in the tear-streaked cheeks, the vacant gaze, the way you trembled just standing there. He didn’t say anything, just stepped aside and pushed the door open a little wider. You walked past him, your steps sure, like you were following an invisible thread pulling you toward the one place you needed.

"Do you need anything?" You shook your head. Because what you need isn't here anymore.

And then you slipped inside. His room.

Two years had passed, and Yeonjun never touched a thing. Dust had settled, time had moved forward, but this room remained frozen—trapped in the moment before everything shattered. They had been roommates for years, but after Soobin died, Yeonjun never found the will to replace him. Never found the strength to erase the evidence that he had once been here, that he had once been real.

No one was ever allowed inside.

No one but you.

You crossed the threshold like a sinner entering a church, hands trembling, breath unsteady. And when you sat down on the left side of the bed—his side—your chest caved in as you sob.

This was where he always slept. Where he curled into you on restless nights. Where he pressed sleepy kisses to your temple, murmuring half-formed dreams against your skin. The sheets no longer smelled like him. Time had stolen that, too. But the ceiling above was the same one you woke up to with him beside you, and if you closed your eyes, you could pretend.

Pretend that if you reached out, you’d feel his warmth. Pretend that if you called his name, he’d answer. Pretend that you weren’t alone.

But pretending could only take you so far.

You never found the strength to open the door again. You curled into yourself, gripping the blanket like it could hold you together. And when sleep finally came, it was with his name spilling from your lips.

A name that no longer had a future.

The knocking pulled you from the depths of sleep, insistent. You groaned, the sound barely more than a rasp, your throat raw from last night’s tears. Your eyelids felt swollen, heavy, reluctant to open. "Yeah?"

"It's afternoon," Yeonjun said through the door. His tone was careful, but you could hear the quiet concern woven between the words. "You’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours."

Shit.

You knew that wasn’t normal. But then again, nothing about you had been normal for a long time. Some nights, sleep was a stranger you couldn’t reach no matter how exhausted you were. Other days, it swallowed you whole, dragging you under until the hours blurred into nothingness. Staying in bed felt easier.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, "I'll come out in a minute."

Yeonjun hesitated. You knew he wanted to say something—to tell you that you didn’t have to apologize, that he understood, that he wasn’t judging you. But in the end, he just sighed. "Okay."

You listened as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

With a heavy heart, you forced yourself to move, peeling the blanket away like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every part of you ached—not just physically, but in a way that settled deep into your bones, into the spaces between your ribs. The bathroom mirror reflected a version of you that you barely recognized. Hollow eyes, a face drawn thin by grief, lips pressed into something that was neither a frown nor a smile—just existence. Surviving.

You turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto your face, letting the chill bite into your skin. Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as you sucked in a breath.

And then you saw them. On the shelf behind you; Soobin’s shelf.

Your hairbands.

The sight of them made you waver. Because it was proof, wasn’t it? Proof that once, you had a place here. That once, he was here to tease you about leaving them everywhere, to slip them onto his own wrist absentmindedly, to hand them back to you with a laugh.

"You always lose your hairbands, baby."

Soobin's voice was soft and teasing as he pressed lazy kisses along your cheek, your temple, anywhere he could reach. You tried to ignore him, focused on brushing your teeth, but he never made it easy. His hands slipped under your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin, tracing absentminded patterns over your stomach. He always did that—always found some excuse to touch you.

"So," he murmured, grinning against your jaw as he pressed your cheeks to his. "I bought a whole stack of them."

You paused, raising an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror. "A whole stack?"

"Mhm." His fingers tightened slightly, possessive. "So now you have one less excuse to leave—and one more reason to come back."

Your hairbands. Like you, were waiting for someone who was never coming back. You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it. Then you heard knocking again. "Yeonjun. I said I’ll be out in a minute."

A pause. Then, softer this time—

"It’s been an hour since you last said that. Are you okay?"

You exhale, the breath shaky, uneven. Time has slipped through your fingers again, and you hadn’t even noticed. But that’s nothing new.

It happens more often than not.

You sit with a book in your lap, determined to do what they say might help—immerse yourself in another world, let fiction be a temporary escape. But you blink, and somehow hours have passed, and you’re still stuck on the same page, the words forgotten.

You eat lunch, fork moving mechanically between your plate and your mouth, only to glance outside and realize the sky has darkened, the day gone without your permission.

You tell yourself you’ll go out, that today, you’ll meet Wonyoung like you promised. You put on your shoes, even grab your coat. But then the door never opens. And before you know it, she’s the one standing there, knocking, asking why you didn’t come—why you never showed up.

You know it’s getting worse. And the worst part? You don’t know how to stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

Because it means moving on.

Moving on has always felt like erasing him. Like accepting a world where Soobin is nothing more than a memory—left behind.

And the thought that one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday—everyone, even you, will stop mourning him?

That terrifies you more than anything.

You eat slowly, each bite feeling heavier than the last. Yeonjun had made you bacon and eggs—simple, warm, something that should’ve felt like comfort. But the food is cold now, left waiting for you just like he was. He eats in silence, but you feel it—his eyes keep flickering toward your wrist, checking. He doesn’t say anything.

It yanks you straight back to those first few months after Soobin’s death.

"Y/N?" Yeonjun’s face is sharp with concern as he pushes open the door. He had knocked—once, twice—but you hadn’t answered. That alone was enough to send his heart into a spiral.

"I brought you some food—" His words cut off the moment his eyes land on you. You’re sitting at the edge of the bed, shoulders curled inward, your body eerily still. But then he sees it—your wrist, the red staining your fingers, spilling onto the white sheets like ink bleeding through paper.

His breath catches. And then—

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words tear from his throat again, raw and panicked. The bags slip from his grasp, hitting the floor with a muffled thud, but he doesn’t care. He’s already rushing toward you, dropping to his knees, reaching for your wrist with hands that won’t stop shaking.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts—not out of anger, not at you—but because he’s terrified.

It scares him. God, it scares him. What would his best friend say?

"I—I don’t know," you sob, voice wrecked. Your body trembles under his hold, and the words spill out between uneven breaths. You just saw it and you couldn't stop yourself. "I don’t know what to do anymore."

Yeonjun clenches his jaw, his own tears burning behind his eyes. "You must not do this," He’s trying to be strong for you, but his hands betray him, quivering as they hold onto you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away completely. Because you might. Because you want to. "Please, Y/N. Please."

You were so beautiful in Soobin’s love, and now it clings to you like a disease.

"I know it’s hard," he chokes out, pulling you into his arms. "Fuck, I know. But think of his face." He pleads. "Whenever you see your wrist, whenever you look at your skin—think of him. Do you ever want to hurt him?"

"Jjunie." Yeonjun's eyes lift to meet yours. "You don’t have to keep looking at my wrists anymore,"

A breath leaves him, slow and measured, as if he’s been waiting to hear that. He tries for a smile, small. "It worked like a miracle, didn’t it?"

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "He always is." The smile that flickers across your lips feels foreign, like something borrowed from a version of yourself that no longer exists.

"My dad…" you hesitate, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "I—I need to go back to work."

Yeonjun watches you carefully, as if afraid you’ll change your mind. He nods. "It’s only about time, Y/N."

Silence stretches between you before he speaks again, voice careful, "Are you considering the treatment?"

You don’t answer.

Yeonjun didn’t kick you out. He never would.

In the afternoon, the two of you sat on the couch—long enough to fit three, but only occupied by two. And yet, without thinking, without speaking, you both left a space between you. A space for him.

Infinity War played on the screen, a movie you’d both seen more times than you could count. It was muscle memory at this point—the dialogue, the fight scenes, the inevitable heartbreak.

The credits rolled, and the room felt heavier.

"Soobin always bawled his eyes out here," you whispered, voice trembling. You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. "Like a baby."

Yeonjun exhaled shakily, his own throat tightening. "It makes me wonder how such a tall man could cry that easily."

You nodded, wiping at your face as tears slipped free. "He’s a loser." Your sob broke through before you could stop it. "He’s my loser."

Yeonjun pressed his lips together, but it was useless. His own tears fell before he could even blink them away. "Fuck," he muttered, voice thick.

Neither of you moved.

Because some absences can never be replaced.

"It's time for you to move on," Yeonjun says, his voice steady but careful. "You tried going back to work, but you can’t. You should be out there, living your life."

A fresh wave of grief crashes over you. "It feels like I'm betraying him, Jun." Your voice breaks, and before you know it, you're fully sobbing, the weight of it pressing down on your chest like it might crush you.

Yeonjun exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists. "I feel like he's going to haunt me any day now for letting you stay like this, and he'd probably call me an idiot for not shaking some sense into you sooner." he half-jokes, but it’s bitter. It’s pained. The two of you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, dies as quickly as it comes.

"But if you're worried about him—about who will take care of his… grave," Yeonjun hesitates as if the word itself could break you. "I promise, I’ll do that. His family will, too. He won’t be forgotten, Y/N. Ever." You hate it. Hate that he’s making sense. Hate that every word he says feels like it's prying you away from Soobin, piece by piece.

"Your father, your mother, your siblings... they need you back," he presses on, his voice gentler now. "And you… you need to go on with your life. That treatment, it’s the only thing that can help you now."

You shake your head, barely able to breathe between the sobs. "I can't let him go."

Yeonjun swallows hard, his hands trembling as they reach for yours. "You’re not letting him go," he whispers. "He's already gone."

And then, softer, like he’s begging, "And I know, if he were here… to talk to you one last time, he would beg you to keep living."

It took him two years to say it, but Yeonjun cried with you that day, his own grief spilling over as you sobbed into the worn-out cushions of the sofa. Because he, too, was once afraid—to let go, to move forward. But he knows now, knows in the deepest part of himself, that Soobin, the kindest soul he had ever met, the person who loved you deeply, would understand.

Yeonjun will spend his lifetime visiting Soobin’s grave, honouring him in the quiet ways he can. For Soobin. For you.

Even if he has a family of his own one day. Even if his hair turns grey, and his legs grow too weak to stand. Even then, he will still go. And he’ll pass that promise down to his children, to his grandchildren, so that Soobin’s name is never forgotten.

But if he lets you waste away like this, there will be no future to carry on. And the guilt would eat him alive because Yeonjun knows—more than anyone—what Soobin would have wanted.

It’s cruel, cruel that he had to pull the names of your family into this, had to remind you of the people who are still waiting for you to come home. But it’s the truth. And if you can’t find the strength to fight for yourself, then at least let them be the reason you try.

You step out of the car, your breath hitching as your eyes sweep over the familiar neighbourhood—the one you used to visit so often, the one that once felt like a second home. Now, after two years, it feels like stepping into a past life.

"Y/N!"

You barely have time to react before Soobin’s older sister is pulling you into her arms, her laugh warm, her embrace familiar. It nearly unravels you.

"I missed you," she murmurs.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I missed you too, unnie."

And then your eyes land on the small boy in her arms—the baby who was just two the last time you saw him. Now four, grown but still soft with childhood. His wobbly cheeks, the way his dimples deepen when he shifts shyly under your gaze—

It’s too much.

"Hi," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi," he replies, eyes wide, cheeks flushing as he clings closer to his mother.

You look away. Because he looks too much like him. Because for a second, your mind plays cruel tricks, and you almost convince yourself that if you just turn your head, Soobin will be right there, smiling at you like he used to.

But he's not. He never will be.

"Come inside," his sister says gently, as if she understands the storm inside you. "Mom knows you’re here." And you nod, forcing your feet to move, even as your heart screams for you to turn back.

In the first month after Soobin was gone, his mother stayed by your side. She held you as you cried, made sure you ate, whispered that she understood, because she had lost him too.

In the following months, she kept visiting, kept checking in. But as time passed, she began to pull away. Subtly, at first. The visits became less frequent, the calls shorter. And then, one day, they stopped altogether. Your messages, your calls—they went unanswered. His family, the people you once thought of as your own, had slowly closed their doors to you.

Except for his sister.

She leads you inside, her expression unreadable as she gestures toward the dining table.

And there she is. The woman you once called mother.

"Mother," you bow, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

She doesn’t even turn to look at you. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" Her voice is clipped, distant. "And why are you here?"

You swallow, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "Because I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you."

Finally, she rises from her chair, her gaze locking onto yours. And it is nothing like before. It is cold. Empty. Unforgiving.

“Get out, Y/N,” she says, her voice devoid of warmth. “Don’t come here anymore.” Your chest tightens. You don’t even realize your hands have started shaking.

"Mom, don't be like this," Soobin's sister cuts in, her voice soft but firm.

And for just a moment—a brief, moment—you see it. The way her lips press together. The way her shoulders tense. The way her eyes, for just a second, glisten as though they, too, are on the verge of breaking. She blinks the tears away before they can fall, turning away from you, like it’s the only way she can keep standing. She walks away without any second glance.

“I’m sorry,” Soobin’s sister whispers.

You force yourself to smile, though it trembles on your lips. “It’s okay,” you murmur. “I just… I just really need to talk to her.”

You spent the hour with Soobin’s sister, unraveling everything you had kept inside. Every dark thought, every ounce of guilt, every desperate attempt to hold onto him. And she listened. She held your hand, pulled you into her arms.

But time moves forward, even when you don’t want it to.

You check the clock, exhaling. “I’m going to try talking to her again. I have plans after this, too.” She doesn’t stop you. But the way she squeezes your hand before letting go, it’s as if she knows how much this is going to hurt.

As you walk through the house, memories seep into every corner. His presence is everywhere. The framed pictures lined the walls, the dent in the couch where he used to sit. It’s overwhelming. It steals the breath from your lungs, forcing you to press a hand to your chest just to steady yourself.

You don’t belong here anymore. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to leave.

The kitchen light is on. The soft rhythm of a knife against the cutting board fills the silence.

She’s there.

Soobin’s mother stands at the counter, slicing vegetables with practised precision. You swallow, stepping forward, trying to find your voice. She doesn’t look up.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

"Mom, I missed you." Your voice trembles, barely above a whisper, and for a moment, her hands still. The steady chopping ceases, but she doesn’t turn. She keeps her back to you, her shoulders rising and falling with each controlled breath. "I came here because… I wanted to let you know that I think it’s time. I’m going to get the treatment."

Your own arms wrap around yourself, as if bracing against the cold creeping into your bones. "It will alter my memory. There’s big a chance I’ll forget you, too."

The words shatter something inside you. "But I wanted to say it—just one last time. Thank you. For everything. For giving birth to Soobin. For raising him into someone who could love me so deeply, who made me feel safe, who made me feel like I belonged here. Thank you for accepting me, for loving me. And I love you. I always will. I just… I just hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to do."

At your last words, she turns. And for the first time in a year, you see it—the grief she’s buried, the pain she’s carried alone. Her eyes, red and wet, spill over as she closes the space between you, pulling you into her arms.

You don’t hold back. You collapse into her, sobs wracking through your body as she holds you like she used to. As if you were still hers. As if you always would be.

Her hands run soothingly over your back, her voice breaking. "My daughter… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through this."

She clutches you tighter. "I thought… if I pushed you away, if I kept my distance, maybe you’d find a way to stand on your own. I thought if I pushed you away, maybe it would force you to move forward. Maybe it would break whatever was keeping you trapped in the past. It felt like it was my fault you couldn’t move on. Our fault. That the love my son left behind has been anchoring you instead of lifting you. And I’ve been so afraid, afraid that his love, instead of saving you would destroy you." She cries, "I prayed for you every single day. That you would find the courage. That you would choose to keep going."

You shake your head against her shoulder, your grip on her tightening. "I understand. I do. I just—" Your breath hitches. "I’m scared. I’m scared to forget him."

She exhales shakily, her lips pressing against your hair. "Forgetting… it’s easier than suffering for the rest of your life." Her hands cup your face, her thumbs brushing the tears away even as her own continue to fall.

"You won’t lose him. Not really. Whatever Soobin left in this world, it’s you." Your breath shudders as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I want you to live, sweetheart. To build a life that he would be proud of. A new one, filled with love, with hope. And maybe, one day, we’ll meet again—whether you remember me or not. And even then, I will love you. Always. Just like he did."

It was a hard goodbye—one that clung to your skin like the scent of home you’d never return to. Their arms around you had been warm, their voices soft, their smiles trembling. And as you drove away, watching Soobin’s family grow smaller in the rearview mirror, you forced yourself to smile, to wave back.

But the moment they faded from sight, the mask crumbled.

Your hands tightened around the wheel as your breath hitched, but it was useless. You pulled over, burying your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body.

You knew you would never see them again.

A shuddering breath escaped you as you wiped your tears with shaking fingers, swallowing against the grief clawing at your throat. You couldn’t fall apart now. Not yet.

Because there was still one more goodbye to say.One more person waiting for you. One who had left but never truly rested. Because for two years, you hadn’t found the courage to let go.

To free him.

You don’t know how you managed to bring yourself here. Your legs felt heavy the whole way, like they knew what your heart refused to accept—that every step forward was another step closer to goodbye.

The grave is pristine, not a speck of dust in sight. Someone else had been here. Someone else still comes. And for a moment, a tiny splinter of relief wedges itself into your grief. He’s being cared for, even without you.

You stand there, your throat tightening, your lips parting—then closing again. The words are trapped somewhere deep inside you, tangled between the memories and the pain. What do you even say? How do you speak when just looking at his name carved into stone is enough to make your chest cave in? How do you even start? What do you say to someone who can’t answer back?

And then your eyes fall to the base of the headstone. White roses. Fresh. Untouched.

Your breath stumbles.

White roses—his favourite. The same ones he gave you that night, trembling fingers offering a bouquet, his eyes filled with so much hope. Now, they sit beside his grave, a brutal echo of the past.

And you wonder—when did forever become something so short?

You swallow hard. "Hey," you whisper. Just one word, and already, you feel yourself crying. "Are you somewhere nice?"

"I really… I really hope you are," your voice trembles, your vision blurring. "God, I cry so easily now. You’d tease me for it, wouldn’t you?" A broken laugh escapes your lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. "I’m nothing like the person you knew. I'm not that woman anymore. I’ve changed." You take a shuddering breath. "All because you left me."

The confession spills out before you can stop it, "You left me here alone, and I didn’t know what to do. Because you were my world, and our plans—" Your voice cracks. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. "No. No, Soobin. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry."

Your knees buckle, and you let them. You fold into yourself, pressing your palms against your face as the sobs finally come, wrenching their way out of you. "I’m weak," you choke out. "I’ve been nothing but weak without you."

Time slips away. You don’t know how long you sit there, trembling, letting everything have its way with you. At some point, people come and go, visiting the graves nearby. They stay for a while, whispering prayers, placing flowers, saying their goodbyes. And then, one by one, they leave.

But you don’t.

Because you know—this is the last time you’ll ever be here.

What does it truly mean to forget?

Is it letting go of the bad memories, even if it means losing the lessons they left behind? Erasing the trauma, even if it forged the strength that kept you standing? Wiping away the heartbreak, even if it unmade the love that once felt endless? If forgetting means unravelling the version of yourself shaped by every moment... then is it really freedom? Or is it just another kind of loss?

And if you don’t forget—who carries the weight of those memories with you? The nights spent in quiet conversation, the laughter that once echoed in familiar streets, the warmth of his hand in yours. Does one painful ending justify the erasure of everything that came before?

It doesn’t. Because memories do not vanish. They are not erased like ink wiped clean from a page.

The streets still remember the way you walked together. The wind still hums with the echoes of his voice. The people who once saw your love still hold its remnants, even in passing glances. And perhaps, this is the only way to keep it beautiful. Your memories, deserve to be left as they are. You should not taint it any further.

"I decided to do it," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the wind. "I’m finally doing it, love. It took me so long, but… I will."

"I don't want you to think that I'll forget you. Because you're my life." A shaky breath escapes your lips, your fingers tracing the edge of cold stone as if it were his hand, warm and real, just one last time. "But you don’t have to worry about me anymore," you murmur. "You can rest now."

Your eyes lift, meeting the name carved into eternity—Choi Soobin. A tear slips down your cheek, catching on your lips as you whisper, broken and raw—

"I love you. And I’m sorry."

Sorry that it took this long. Sorry that you held on when you should have let go. Sorry that no matter how much time passes, some wounds never really heal.

Your wounds will never heal.

The overhead lights burn against your swollen eyes. You blink, but it only makes the sting worse. You thought they would’ve dried by now. That at some point, your body would just refuse to keep grieving.

Do people have a limit? Is there a point where you simply run out? Or does the body just keep producing sorrow, as long as there’s pain to feed it? Has anyone in history ever cried so much that their body just… gave up?

Maybe not.

Or maybe, if you stay like this long enough, you’ll be the first. Because this is all you know how to do now.

Cry. Cry for him. Cry for yourself.

Cry because it’s the only thing that makes the weight in your chest feel even a little less suffocating. Because if you stop, even for a moment, you’re terrified you’ll realise just how empty the world is without him in it.

You're not strong enough.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?" Your mother’s hand is warm as she pats your back, enough for you to let out a breath you were holding.

"Yeah," you whisper. "You can wait for me in the waiting area." Your eyes flicker toward the entrance as another person steps in. She carries a box, full of things and when your gaze meets hers, you swear you see your own reflection staring back.

Haunted.

Your own box grows heavier in your hands.

"I’m a big girl, you know," you murmur, forcing the words out as if saying them makes them true.

Your mother gives you a small smile before kissing your cheek. "I’ll be here," she says softly. "After all of this, I’ll be here to pick you up."

Something tightens in your chest. Such simple words, so ordinary, yet they make your throat close up. One less worry, a hundred more to carry.

But she’ll be here after.

No matter what happens behind those doors, no matter how much of you is left when it’s over—your mother will be here, waiting on the other side.

And that should be enough, right?

You take a step. Then another. Three steps before something in you falters, pulling you back. You turn around, and your mother, standing right where you left her. Her eyes meet yours, and one of them glistens now, like she’s holding something back. She’s trying to be strong for you.

"Does it have to be today, Mom?" Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "I mean… can we, can we just—" The words die in your throat. You swallow hard. You promised him.

You promised.

And if you don’t do it today… you might never do it at all.

“Honey, we can always come back.” Your mother’s voice is soft. She’s in front of you now, hands warm on your shoulders. “We can reschedule, and—”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head, refusing to meet her eyes. If you look at her, if you see the way she’s looking at you, you might shatter right here, in front of her. So you turn away. The door is just a few steps ahead. White. Sterile. All you have to do is cross it. You can do it. You have to do it. Because—

You promised him.

"Miss Y/N?" The sound of your name barely registers. You don’t even remember sitting down. One moment, you were outside and now—now you’re here. In this cold, sterile waiting room, surrounded by people clutching their own silent burdens. Boxes. Everyone has one. Resting on their laps. Some are dressed in stiff work clothes, like they came straight from their jobs. Others wear the softness of home... sweatshirts, slippers, a kind of exhaustion that no amount of rest could ever fix.

No one speaks.

No one looks at each other for too long.

It doesn’t matter where you came from. It doesn’t matter who you were before this moment.

You’re all here for the same reason.

"You need to sign the waiver. Please read each clause carefully dear. The nurse will call you once it's your turn." The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. The relentless ticking of the clock thumps in your ears, a fierce reminder of the gravity of what you’re about to do. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will.

You sigh, biting your lip so hard you taste a bit of blood. Your stare drifts ahead, settling on a woman a few seats away. Her eyes are red, swollen. She isn’t crying anymore, but she looks like she hasn’t stopped in days.

You follow her stare, down to the box in her lap. It’s small. Too small. A bib, baby rattles, tiny clothes meant for someone who never even saw their first birthday. Your throat tightens. You force yourself to look away. Swallowing hard, you check your own papers. Your box sits beside you, shut tight. Your mother had suggested covering it with a cloth—to make it easier, to keep you from looking at it. And it worked. Because if you had to see what was inside…

You don’t know if you’d still be here.

Your hands tremble as you stare down at the waiver, the words blurring in and out of focus. You read the clauses again. And again. And again. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

You shakily checked what you knew... he'd want for you. You need to think this is what he would've wanted.

“Y/N?” The nurse’s voice is gentle, but it still makes you flinch. She stands in the doorway, dressed in white, looking at you. You wipe away a tear, but another one slips free before you can stop it. “You can come inside now.”

“Okay,” Your legs barely carry you as you stand. Your trembling hands clutch the box, holding it so tightly.

Inside, the room is cold, sterile. Three people wait—one dressed in blue, one who looks like the doctor, and the nurse who fetched you. The chair in the middle looms, surrounded by wires, screens filled with numbers and statistics you don’t understand. But the moment your eyes land on the headrest, on the equipment waiting there—your stomach drops. Your body moves before you can think. A step back, then another, until a hand gently stops you.

The nurse reaches for your box. Your fingers twitch as they slip away from it, “Let’s get you on the chair,” she says softly. You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak. You started crying again. Not with sound, not with sobs... just endless, silent tears slipping down your face, one after the other.

No one tells you to stop crying. No one even reacts. You wonder how many people they’ve seen like this.

How many they’ve seen as wrecked as you.

Her hands are warm against your shaking ones, steadying you just enough to guide you down into the chair. You let her. You don’t have the strength to resist. The doctor moves quickly, securing straps around you—across your wrists, your chest. Another band wraps around your finger, likely for your heartbeat. It’s already racing. You don’t need a machine to tell you that. The person in blue starts placing wires against your temple, the cold press of metal settling on the right side of your head. It sends a shiver through you, but you don’t move.

You barely breathe.

“Okay, so now—” The doctor’s voice is calm, clinical. “As you’ve read, you’ll need to recall the moments tied to the things you brought. We asked you to choose items that hold the strongest memories because only then can they be altered. These machines will help bring them to the surface. You don’t have to force it—we’ll go slow, one step at a time.” A pause. “Are you ready?”

Your throat closes. Your hands curl into weak fists against the armrests. All you can do is nod.

The man in blue moves quietly. You barely notice him at first, lost in the weight pressing down on your chest—until he reaches for your box. The cloth is lifted. Your breath catches.

The first item is pulled free, and the moment your eyes land on it, something inside you crumbles. "Wa-wait," A sob rips through you, raw and unrestrained, your whole body trembling. The nurse kneels beside you, her eyes unbearably soft, understanding. "It will be much easier after this," she murmurs.

You swallow back another sob, hiccupping through shallow, gasping breaths. It's ridiculous, isn’t it? That at your weakest, you're placing your trust in strangers. That you can't even find the strength to speak. But this isn’t for you.

For him. For your family.

For him.

Your nails dig into the synthetic material on the armrest. You close your eyes, surrendering to their instructions, to the machines humming around you. A sharp beep echoes in the room, signalling the process to begin. A single tear slips free, tracing a path down your cheek, and despite the agony twisting in your chest, you manage the smallest, most broken smile because you see his face.

Memories. It all flashes.

THE PEN

"Let's take a 30-minute break, and then we'll go over the discussion again, okay?" Your ten-year-old eyes lock onto your homeroom teacher, a sigh slipping past your lips. Math has never been kind to you. Numbers blur together, equations twist into impossible knots in your head. If you had it your way, subjects like this wouldn’t even exist. You’d much rather read—preferably a hundred books. Or better yet, a hundred manga.

You reach for your bag, already deciding that a "break" means exactly that. No memorizing. No thinking about numbers. Your brain deserves rest. With a small pout, you pull out your current manga, flipping through the worn pages with practiced ease.

Your friends prefer watching anime, gathering around their phones or talking about the latest episodes. But your mom—she's strict about screen time. Too much of it, she says, will rot your brain. So, you stick to reading. At first, it was just a substitute, a way to keep up with your friends. But over time, it grew on you.

You're barely on the second page when a shadow falls over your desk.

"Uh, Y/N? Do you have, uh… an extra pen?"

You glance up, mildly irritated at the interruption, only to be met with the tallest boy in your class—Choi Soobin. A transfer student. You’ve only been classmates for a few months, and until now, you’ve barely spoken.

"I don’t," you reply flatly.

His eyes dart to your open pencil case, where at least five pens sit in plain sight. "But… you have so many," he points out, looking almost betrayed. "Please? I swear I’ll give it back!"

You sigh, flipping another page of your manga, already regretting this conversation. "Fine."

He grins, reaching straight for the glitter pen.

"Not that one—" Your head snaps up. "That’s off-limits, it’s my favourit—"

"Wait, is that Inuyasha?!" His voice practically jumps an octave, eyes wide with excitement as he plops down in the seat beside you without a second thought. "I love this series! I read them all the time!"

Your annoyance falters, replaced by something close to surprise. You glance at him, then at your manga, then back at him. "It’s my favourite," you say, flipping the page. "I have all the volumes."

His eyes widen. "Whoa. Lend me some?"

You raise a brow. "And what do I get in return?"

"Uh… strawberry milk?"

"I hate strawberries."

"Hand massages?"

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. "I’ll think about it."

He nods eagerly, leaning in a little. "Okay, but—serious question. Kikyo or Kagome?"

"Kagome," you answer without hesitation. "I pity her." At that, he studies your face.

"But Kikyo…" he murmurs, gaze dropping for a second. "I pity her more." His voice is softer now, "Because she doesn’t get to be with Inuyasha anymore. And I think… that’s sad."

For ten whole minutes, the two of you went back and forth—voices overlapping, hands flying in exasperation—until your classmates abandoned all pretence of studying just to watch. Some whispered bets under their breath, stifling laughs as you and Soobin yapped at each other like two kids fighting over the last piece of candy.

And then, finally, Soobin sighed, slumping in defeat. "But at the end of the day," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "Kikyo is Kagome, right?"

You scoff, shaking your head. "That’s not how it works." You roll your eyes, turning back to your manga. "Loser,"

And then—he laughs. Not just a chuckle. A real laugh, the kind that makes his eyes scrunch up until they almost disappear, deep crinkles forming at the corners. His dimples dig so deep it’s like someone pressed a pencil into a soft dough, and his cheeks, full and round, look annoyingly pinchable. You catch yourself staring, warmth crawls up your neck, spreading to your ears.

That day, for the first time, you let someone else use your glitter pen.

THE POLAROID CAMERA

Your feet dangle lazily in the air as you scribble in your notebook, your laptop propped open in front of you. You scroll through pages, searching for answers, when a notification pops up.

Meet me at the playground?

You sigh, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But I’m doing homework…

I’ll let you copy mine.

Your lips twitch. Okay. Be there in 10 minutes.

Excitement bubbles in your chest as you throw on a hoodie and a pair of shorts, not even bothering to check if they match. You bound down the stairs, brushing past your mom just as she calls after you. "Be careful—!"

"I’m meeting Binnie, Mom!" you shout over your shoulder. Her resolve crumbles instantly. She sighs, but there’s a small smile in her voice as she mutters, “Be home before dark!”

The walk to the playground is short. When you arrive, you spot Soobin awkwardly lingering by the swings, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his shoe.

"Soobin!" His head snaps up, and the moment he sees you, a grin spreads across his face.

It’s been three years since you first met, three years of him becoming your best friend. Everyone at school knows it. High school doesn’t feel as scary because he’s always there—hovering, teasing, sticking by your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. People assume you’re together, which is ridiculous. He’s your best friend. Sure, he goes everywhere with you, sure, you’ve fallen asleep on the same couch during sleepovers, sure, his family adores you, and your mom—well, sometimes it feels like she likes him more than she likes you. But again, he's your best friend.

You slow your pace, tilting your head playfully. "What’s up? Finally giving in and letting me copy your homework?" You wiggle your eyebrows, smirking as you catch the faint pink dusting his cheeks—something that happens more and more these days.

But instead of rolling his eyes or firing back with a sarcastic remark, he just exhales. "Happy birthday," he says. "Happy 13th birthday."

Before you can react, he holds out a neatly wrapped box. Confused, you take it, fingers fumbling with the ribbon before you lift the lid. Inside, is a brand-new Polaroid camera. The exact one you’ve been rambling about for weeks. You gape at him. "No way."

Soobin shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. "You wouldn’t shut up about it," he mumbles. "Figured it’d be easier to just get you one instead of listening to you whine forever."

Your throat tightens, something warm spreading through your chest. You can't stop yourself from hugging him. His hands stilling on his sides. "Shut up," you whisper. "And thank you."

If you weren’t pressed against him, your face buried in the fabric of his hoodie, the hoodie you gifted him, you would’ve seen the deep flush creeping up his neck, turning his cheeks a fierce shade of red.

THE TEDDY BEAR

“Stop staring.” You nudge his foot under the table, twirling the lollipop in your mouth—the strawberry ones. You used to hate the flavour, the fruit too, but it was impossible to keep up when it’s his favourite. “Am I ugly or something?”

Soobin hasn’t stopped looking at you since you showed up at his house. Not the kind of stare that lingers, but the kind that keeps sneaking glances every five minutes, like he can’t help it.

You cut your hair. The long strands that used to reach your back now barely brush your shoulders. Because I’m turning 18 tomorrow, you told him earlier. And of course, he laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he finally says, chuckling. You’re sprawled out on his bed now, while he’s still at his desk, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Do you wanna sleep over tonight?”

You freeze. Hands dropping from your face, you stare at him. “Why?” you ask, voice laced with suspicion. “Seriously? I’ve spent the midnight of my birthday with you for almost… five years now?”

“Four years.” — “What?”

“It’s four, not five.” He pushes up his reading glasses—the ones that somehow make him look even more handsome. Not that you’d ever admit it. He leans back in his chair, casual as ever. “Stay over, okay? Let’s play League.”

You scoff. “So you can bully me the whole time? Yeah, no thanks.”

“I’ll go easy on you.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it effortlessly, smirking. “That’s worse!”

You stayed. One pout from him, and you caved. You acted annoyed, but in truth, you just didn’t want him to know how easily he could sway you. You will do anything to hide the fact that he had you wrapped around his finger, whether he knew it or not.

And so, you played. You laughed until your stomach hurt, cursed loud enough that Soobin’s sister pounded on the door, yelling at you both to shut up. But it didn’t matter. Nothing outside that room ever really did when it was just the two of you.

Your birthdays used to be simple, just another day with family, another year passing by. But ever since Soobin came along, they became something special. Something that felt irreplaceable. And the thought of him not being there, of waking up to a birthday where he wasn’t the first person you saw, made your throat tighten in a way you couldn’t explain.

Maybe you didn’t want to explain it. Maybe you were scared to.

"Let's go out to the balcony," he says, shutting off his computer with a final click. You glance at the clock—11:45 PM. Fifteen minutes till you turn eighteen.

"Why?"

"Just because." He nudges you forward, hands settling on your shoulders, his touch impossibly light. No matter how much taller or broader he’s gotten over the years, he never holds you too tightly. It’s always careful. And that’s why your heart stutters in your chest every time.

You step outside, the night air crisp against your skin. The trees sway below, dark silhouettes against the dim glow of the streetlights. You wrap your arms around yourself, glancing at him. "So… are we spending my birthday just standing here?" you tease. "Shouldn't we be doing something? Eating ice cream, maybe?"

He smiles, "We’ll do that after," he says, already stepping back inside. "Wait here."

You're confused as he leaves you outside. Through the thin curtain, you see his shadow moving; shuffling, hesitating. "Soobin, don’t tell me you got me a cake or something," you call out, teasing. He doesn’t answer right away, and that alone makes you smirk. "So you did get me a cake."

"Sh—no. Yes. Ugh, I hate you," he groans, but when he steps out, there it is, a cake in his hands, eighteen candles flickering in the night breeze. He clears his throat, awkwardly starting, "Happy birthday to you…" His voice is unsure, barely above a murmur, but it’s enough. You smile, and as cheesy as it sounds, your heart clenches in your chest. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment settle over you.

Please let forever be like this.

You blow out the candles, and when you open your eyes, he’s grinning. "I baked this, by the way."

"Wow, looks amazing," you breathe, taking the cake from him. The effort, the slightly uneven letters of your name written on top—it makes your throat tighten. You don’t say anything, just sit down beside him, forks in hand, digging straight into the cake. The wind picks up slightly, ruffling your hair, but neither of you cares. You talk, laugh, and steal bites from each other’s sides, like time doesn’t exist.

"Y/N," he says, your name rolling off his tongue softer than usual. His gaze lingers, watching as you hug the big white teddy bear he got you. Your fingers clutch the plush fur, cheeks pressed against it, lips curled into a quiet, content smile.

His chest tightens.

"Eight years... For eight years, I, I've been," He falters, blinking, momentarily losing himself in the way your eyes widen at him. God. You’re beautiful.

"Hmm?"

He exhales sharply, fingers twitching at his sides. His heartbeat stumbles over itself, but before he can think, before he can think of the script he rehearsed over and over, before he can convince himself to hold back—

"Could I please be your boyfriend?"

THE SILVER METAL BAND

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's almost midnight,"

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck. "I love looking at you,"

"We're seriously keeping up with the tradition?" you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"Happy 25th birthday, baby," he murmurs. Then, softer—like he’s letting the words settle between you before he dares breathe again, "I love you." His voice pulls you from the edges of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open, you find him already watching you.

Is there anything in this world more beautiful than love? More sacred than being loved?

"Thank you," you reply, smiling. He sits up beside you, and you chuckle softly as he fumbles for something on the floor beside the bed. "What did you get me this time?"

But then your breath stumbles. White roses. A small black box in his hands. Your heart clenches. "Soobin,"

"I’ve been thinking about how I should do this," he starts, chuckling nervously, though his fingers tighten around the box as if anchoring himself. "I thought about renting a place, throwing a party, taking you to some fancy dinner, or even an overseas trip." His gaze finds yours, earnest. "But the truth is, nothing makes me happier than waking up beside you. Nothing feels more right than this—just us, here, like this. So I chose this moment, this place… because I want it forever."

His voice trembles, his hands unfolding the box before you. The silver ring with a single diamond sitting atop. "So please," he whispers, his throat tight, his eyes searching yours. "Could you—will you—marry me?"

“Fuck.” The word rips from your throat as reality slams into you. The room is chaos—voices rising, bodies moving, the cold bite of metal and plastic pressing against your skin. The doctor’s hands fly across his keyboard, adjusting something you don’t understand, while the nurse grips your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You’re crying.

You don’t remember when it started, but the tears won’t stop. Your breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps as your hands scramble to your chest, fingers clutching desperately at the thin chain around your neck. The ring is warm against your skin, pressed into your palm, solid and real. His ring. The one he slid onto your finger with shaking hands.

“Please,” your voice cracks, “please—just let me keep this.”

The nurse exchanges a glance with the doctor. Their hesitation is suffocating. “We need to take it,” someone says—calm, detached. Like this is just another part of the process. Like it doesn’t matter. “It goes with the rest of your belongings.”

Your heart seizes. The box? What else was in the box? You try to remember, but your mind is a blur of static, you can't. You can't remember now. “No,” you sob, curling around it, pressing it to your lips, your chest, anywhere that might keep it safe. “Please. Not this."

The nurse looks at you with something that almost feels like pity. A softness in her eyes that only makes your chest ache more. “You’re almost done, honey,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, coaxing. “A little more. You can do this. Just close your eyes. You just have to close your eyes.” Your hands won’t stop shaking. The tremors run up your arms, through your ribs, settling somewhere deep in your throat. You feel the prick of a needle, the slow push of something cold into your veins. It soothes the sharp edges, dulls the panic—but not enough. Not enough to stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. “Close your eyes,” she whispers again.

You do.

Your hands are in his. The car hums beneath you, the city lights flashing by in a blur, but all you can focus on is him. He drives with one hand, the other wrapped around yours, bringing it to his lips every time you hit a red light. Soft, lingering kisses against your knuckles, “How many babies would you want?”

You nearly choke on your drink, coughing as you turn to him. “What?”

He laughs, eyes flicking toward you for just a second before focusing back on the road. “I mean… I’d love as many as we can have. But of course, it’s your body, baby. You get to tell me.”

Your heart flutters. “We don’t even have a wedding date yet.” Another red light. Another kiss against your hand.

“I know,” he says, voice softer now. “It just crossed my mind. Last night, I dreamt of a little girl… she looked just like you.” He pauses, his thumb brushing against your skin. “She was so beautiful. Like you. And I—”

His words are cut off by the violent, shattering force of metal colliding with metal. The world twists—spins—flips. A scream rips from your throat as the car is thrown into chaos, gravity shifting, glass cracking, the deafening sound of impact swallowing everything.

In the middle of it all, his hand finds yours. Instinctive. Desperate.

Then—stillness.

A ringing in your ears. The distant sound of voices, footsteps pounding against the pavement. Shadows moving outside the wreck. Someone is calling, you think it's for an ambulance. Your chest heaves as you groan, the taste of blood thick on your tongue. Pain radiates from everywhere, your head throbbing as you press trembling fingers against your scalp. Everything hurts.

You turn, breath shaky, searching. Soobin.

You look to your right and he’s already looking at your face. Pale, dazed, blinking too slowly. "Y/N, are you okay?" His voice is hoarse, weak, but when you nod, he exhales a shaky, "Thank fuck."

His grip tightens around your hand. You can barely feel it, your body is numb, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But you squeeze back. Hold on. You breathe. It’s going to be okay. The ambulance is coming.

Then your eyes drop. And your stomach lurches. "Soobin?"

A jagged piece of debris—large, sharp, too deep—juts from his stomach, trailing up his chest. Blood blooms around it, staining his shirt, spilling over his hands where he grips it like he’s not sure whether to pull or hold on.

Your world tilts again. This is just a dream. "Soobin, what—what—how the—"

There’s so much blood. Too much. Your hands press against the wound trembling, trying to keep it from spilling out, but it’s everywhere—warm and sticky between your fingers, staining your skin, pooling beneath him. You’re sobbing, whispering frantic words that don’t make sense, but you can’t even hear yourself. The panic is eating your face, roaring in your ears as you struggle to breathe. “How should I—”

Then his fingers find your face.

His touch is weak but certain, cradling your cheeks, forcing your wild, tear-filled eyes to meet his. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, but stronger than it should be. “Look at me.” His grip tightens, thumbs brushing your tears away. “Baby, shhh, look at me.”

You shake your head, choking on a sob. “Soobin—”

“I don’t wanna see you cry.”

You’re unravelling. He’s bleeding out beneath you, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it. “Help! Please, someone help us!” you scream, voice cracking. There are people—so many people—but no one can touch him.

His breath stutters, but he still holds onto you. “Y/N.” Your eyes blur with tears as you grip his hand, pressing his palm tighter against your cheek. “Look at me, yeah?” His lips tremble, but he’s still here, still fighting to keep you calm. “Just keep looking at me. Please.” His forehead rests against yours. “It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me. We’re gonna get help soon. You're gonna get help soon, okay?”

The last memory crashes over you, pulling you under. Your chest feels heavy, unbearably so, but then… slowly… it gives. The weight that has kept you drowning eases, just enough for you to take a breath. The sound of machines hums beside you. A final tear slips down your cheek.

It feels like the end.

You close your eyes, just for a moment, just to see him one last time—the Soobin you knew like the back of your hand. And then, you see his face. That soft, lopsided grin that always made your heart stumble. His voice is a whisper, just a breath against your skin.

“I’m proud of you.” Your lip trembles. “You’ll be okay.”

"Congratulations, it's successful."

The doctor shakes your hand, his grip firm, reassuring. You smile, nodding along. The nurse beside him looks at you with warmth, and before she can react, you throw your arms around her. She lets out a small gasp before melting into the hug.

You feel light. Weightless.

They tell you the treatment worked. They tell you your mother is waiting outside. You nod again, absorbing their words, but for a brief moment, your fingers drift to your neck, expecting something to be there. But it’s bare.

You push the thought away as you step outside. The air feels fresh against your skin, and then you see her. Your mother. She looks thinner than you remember, her cheeks a little sunken, her eyes holding something you can’t quite place. Had she lost weight?

"Hi, Mom," you say, smiling. She looks at you—really looks at you—and her lips part. She smiles back.

"Oh, honey," she breathes, pulling you into her arms.

You giggle, warmth spreading through your chest. "What’s wrong?"

She pulls back just enough to cup your face, shaking her head. "Let’s go home, okay?" You nod, letting her guide you toward the entrance. Everything feels new, yet oddly familiar, like a dream you barely remember but somehow miss.

You're about to step outside when someone walks in. A bouquet of white roses in their arms. Your breath catches, feet falter. Your head turns instinctively, eyes following the flowers, something deep in your chest stirring, something you can’t name.

Your mother notices. "What is it?"

You blink, exhaling softly. "Nothing." You force a small smile, eyes lingering on the roses. "Those flowers… it’s beautiful."

"Yeah, I'll go home after class, Mom," you say, balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear as you adjust your bag. "Plus, I'm nineteen. An adult now. I can take care of myself."

Your mom chuckles on the other end, the kind of laugh that says she doesn’t quite believe you but won’t argue. "Alright, alright. Just don’t stay out too late."

"I won’t." She sighs, but you can hear the smile in her voice as she bids you goodbye.

The campus is buzzing with energy, students milling about for the event. It’s a collaboration between three schools—art students showcasing their work, others just here to admire. Beside you, Wonyoung loops her arm through yours, eyes scanning the crowd. "Girl, I’m getting us drinks," she announces. "Wait for me here."

You roll your eyes with a laugh. "Okay, okay. Don’t take forever." She winks before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of it all.

Your eyes drift over the canvases, taking in the strokes of colour, the textures, the stories woven into the art. And then, you stop. Something about this one halts you mid-step. Oh. It’s a painting of—

“You’re a fan of Inuyasha?”

The voice beside you is warm, curious. You turn, finding a tall boy with black specs watching you, his hands tucked into his pockets. He shifts slightly when you meet his gaze, and after a beat, he offers you a small, hesitant smile. It’s barely there, just a quirk of his lips. And yet… his dimples poke through anyway.

He’s cute.

“It’s my favourite,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the painting.

He nods, a quiet hum escaping him. “Mine too.” Then, after a pause, “Kikyo or Kagome?”

You blink at him. He stares at you, and something in your chest stirs.

Not deja vu—no, it’s not that fleeting, ghostly sense of repetition. This is different. Deeper. It feels like a memory you never knew you had, something tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Like a song, you don’t remember learning but somehow know all the words to. Like a book misplaced on a shelf, rediscovered years later—its pages worn, its story intact, as if it had been waiting for you to return.

It feels like something preserved, sealed in the vault of you.

Something... archived.

"What's your name?"

taglist: I love you @.beombunni @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyukascampfire @.fancypeacepersona @.bamgeutori @.lilbrorufr @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.xylatox @.yunverie @.imlonelydontsendhelp @.moagyuu @.soobinbunnie5 @.usuallyunlikelyfox @.txtzyallinme @.younbeanz @.fatbixchwithanopinion @.bakudon @.readinmidnight @.flowzel @.zaynspidey @.joieouioui @.kiyof @.tubasmiracle @.bamgyuuuri @.heechwe @.takimakiiiii @.whatblop @.frankghgr @.lostgirlysstuff @.philijack

[yoonia]

— Sunset Glow (teaser) —

— title: Sunset Glow — Spotless Minds: a bonus scene | pairings: Jung Hoseok x female reader| genre:Past Lovers!AU, Lawyer!Hoseok, Artist!reader, New Beginning, inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Minds (yes, the movie)

— summary | As you accidentally stumble upon a reminder of the past that you have been slowly walking away from, you finally get to see Hoseok losing his resolve for the first time. It is now your turn to become his rock, and help remind him the reason why he has always been yours

— full fic rating & warnings | +18 / M for mature; involves conversations about past relationship, mentions of mental health issues, memory loss, memory alteration, multiple smut scenes (more detail coming soon!)

— original: Spotless Minds by @yoonia | story masterlist

— word count: 104 words | full fic word count: app. 10k words

“Are you okay?” is what you keep asking him every time you notice him growing silent, getting too deep in his thoughts—in his moment of reflection.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay when I have you here with me?” is what he would always say in return. 

A part of what he says to you is the truth. Yet he always feels like a liar. Because he is no longer sure if he is truly doing all right. And he has no idea how much longer he can lie to himself—to you—until the truth reveals itself right in front of his eyes. 

Note: If you’re interested to be tagged in the full fic, leave your name/url in the replies down below!

— ©Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

[ladcedes]

melodrama

charles leclerc x musical theatre actress!reader, social media!au

summary a melodrama is defined as a dramatic piece with exaggerated characters and plot-lines that play to the audience’s emotions. when charles leclerc dates a queen of drama, there is bound to be some that seeps into his life.

notes yes, the title was from the lorde album. warning, google translated french

the anniversary posts

yourusername

Liked by lilymhe and 582.382 others

yourusername mon amour ❤️ i never could’ve imagined that i would spend 5 years with you… and i never imagined that i could find someone so amazing, who could make me feel like the most spectacular person in the world, the most special girl, yet also remind me of how human i am and how i’m allowed to be only human. you always manage to whisk me away from the pressures of life, push everything away, and make it feel like it’s just us in this world. you, my darling, are the comfort and calm of my soul. with you forever by my side, i can face anything

view 366 replies

12 March 2023

arthur_leclerc i can't believe it's been 5 years since you two started being publicly insufferable

⤷ charles_leclerc nous t'aimons aussi, arthur 🙄🙄🙄 (we love you, too, arthur)

carmenmmundt congrats on 5 years and cheers to many more!!

⤷ yourusername thank you love! ❤️

f1wagsite the caption is too sweet im jealous

⤷ ynfans2023 literally their relationship makes me wanna go in the bathtub with my hairdryer

charles_leclerc

Liked by alex_albon and 906.438 others

charles_leclerc always the light on my darkest days, my sunshine when it rains, melting away all my worries and doubts, always bringing me up from the lowest of low points. you are my courage and strength. you shine so brightly that you light up everything around you, including myself. you bring out the best in me and love even the worst. you give warmth to the deepest corners of my soul. with you, i’m the best and most natural version of myself. these 5 years together have been the best years of my life, i wish i had met you sooner. even eternity isn’t enough to be with you, mon étoile ❤️

view 523 replies

12 March 2023

lewishamilton congratulations guys ❤️

pierregasly congrats on 5! so where's the ring mate? 😂😂

⤷ alexalbon seconding this 😂😂

⤷ hamilfans pierre?? ALEX?? do they know something we don't or are they playing??

valenciacia the caption??? ME WHENNN 😭😭😭😭😭

⤷ f1girliee RIGHTT like "even eternity isn't enough to be with you"???? i'm going crazy.

⤷ leclercwdc i'm about to go take a bath with my toaster rn

charles_leclerc posted • 8/2/2023 | yourusername posted • 2/3/2023

charles_leclerc

Liked by pierregasly and 867.338 others

charles_leclerc my favourite actress ❤️ unbelievably proud of you, mon cherie @yourusername.

to be blessed with the love of such a hard-working, talented actress is an honour. you performed amazingly tonight and every other night before.

11 February 2023

view 406 comments

yourusername charlie you are such a sap (i love you so much)

⤷ charles_leclerc only for you darling (i love you more)

itsnessa they make me believe in love

⤷ loveleclerc real i don't know what i would do if they broke up

⤷ wdcleclerc i think i would lose hope in love

44britcedes my fav couple 🫶🫶🫶

yourusername

Liked by charles_leclerc and 724.198 others

yourusername all's well that ends well

3 May 2023

view 698 comments

myagramm is the ring on yn's finger a new addition orrrr

⤷ pierregasly i guess we found where the ring is

⤷ leclercism beating the breakup allegations with marriage allegations. only them.

⤷ myagramm PIERRE?? HELLO???

httpsainz is that ring what i think it is

solarpiastri im actually crying they rlly said fuck the break up rumours and decided to start up engagement rumours instead

a/n: might make a part 2 if i feel like it in like 5 months

[petersasteria]

the boy is mine - Daesung/D-Lite

Pairing: athlete!daesung x head cheerleader!reader (college au) Summary: everyone's jealous of you because they want to be you

☆*: .｡. eternal sunshine masterlist .｡.:*☆

"How can it be? You and me. Might be meant to be, can't unsee it, but I don't wanna cause no scene. I'm usually so unproblematic; so independent, tell me why: 'cause the boy is mine."

Daesung was the kind of student who minded his own business. He didn't try to be the class clown, he didn't try to run for student body president, he didn't join a fraternity, he rarely went out for drinks, and he just stayed quiet. Though, he was a very active student. Active enough for his name to go around university.

He joined any kind of athletic activity out there because his priority is to get fit, and with the taxing university course works, he wanted to remain in shape aligned with his studies... and he also didn't want to spend so much on a gym membership. So, sports activities at school were his best option.

You met him in one of your shared classes and he absolutely took your breath away. He sat in the middle row and smiled at a few people he knew from other subjects. He neatly took out his notebook, two pencils (because he preferred writing with pencils first before re-organizing his notes and rewriting it in ink), the expensive kind of eraser, and his Elizabeth Arden lip balm (his favorite). You sat a row behind him and he looked... scrumptious.

His shirt was tight in the right places, his joggers hung low enough to see the Calvin Klein waistband, and his hair was curled and perfectly tousled. Since then, you wanted to be wherever he was.

It didn't take long for Daesung to notice you because you made your presence known all the time. He'd get a whiff of your expensive perfume when you'd pass by, you were there every time he was on the football field, you'd suddenly befriend his friends, and you changed your lifestyle to match with his. There was nothing wrong with that, though. In fact, your grades and performance at university improved.

When finals were over, you were shocked that Daesung asked you out. He did it on a whim and he was kinda nervous you'd say no. You obviously said yes and you've been dating since then.

The following year, he suddenly gained popularity for his athleticism and you noticed that all the girls who liked him suddenly started... being like you. You were like their Regina George. Whatever you wore, whatever product you'd use for your face, whatever perfume you'd buy, how you layout your Instagram stories, and among many other things you'd do, they'd always copy it in hopes that Daesung would leave you for one of them.

Alas, they were wrong. You see, when Daesung is in a relationship, he's very committed. If other guys ignore flower shops and pay attention to other girls, Daesung would do the opposite. He's the kind of boyfriend to pay attention and he's always saying out loud whatever you're thinking. He knew you like the back of his hand and that was more than enough for you. He did his best everyday and he kept you happy while acing everything at university.

When it was time for the big collegiate football game, you made sure you looked perfect. You were head cheerleader, after all. Before the game, Daesung gave you a tight hug and a deep kiss causing everyone around you to seethe in jealousy.

"Ugh, she's so lucky!"

"I don't know if I want to be with her or be her"

"They're couple goals, I swear!"

"I just need one chance, Daesung! One chance!"

You knew everything they said and you don't start fights, but when the situation permits it, you make sure to remind people that he's your man and that he won't ever leave you for copycats.

-

a/n: a cute but short one!

permanent taglist: @redhoodedtoad @billiesiousji @hayd3n8 @sherrayyyyy @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @emmiesoverthemoon @breakmeoff @sayugarper @gdinthehouseee

daesung taglist: @tabibabib

eternal sunshine taglist: @sevendaysummer @sherxoo @whotfiscamellia @multifanxtvshows @patheticgirl127 @amyyforshort @sylviavf @steponupbabe @galgal-egg

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 26 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-The next day, he does not even try to ply you with the promise of release. He is not cruel, but he simply takes what he wants from your increasingly sore body, offering nothing in return. You almost prefer this, at this point, except he is absolutely running you ragged. You’d thought you could wear him out with your advantage of youth, but this man is fucking insatiable.

By the next day, you can’t stop yourself from begging, when he wakes you with insistent kisses on your neck and sweet nothings delivered with a growl in your ear. “John…I can’t,” you whine. “Please, I need a break.”

He dismisses this with a disbelieving snort, thinking you are crying wolf, no doubt. But when he flips you to fuck you from behind, something he’s grown increasingly fond of over the past few days, because he likes the shape of your ass, the tight angle—or that he doesn’t have to look into your accusing expression—you find yourself crying into the pillow.

It hurts.

You are bruised to the point where you cannot sit comfortably, and even with the impossible buckets of slick your body has somehow produced in his presence, he has rubbed you raw.  

And he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

This is the litany that runs through your mind, and it breaks your heart more than anything else he’s done to you so far. That he is so far gone in his madness that you hardly recognize him…

This is the thing that breaks you, and certainly not in the way he intended.

You start to cry even harder into the pillow, the wound in your heart far more devastating to you than anything physical. You feel it in your chest like you did take a blade or a bullet, an agonizing ache that makes you wish for numbness more than anything that has transpired. This is worse than the kidnapping, worse than him dangling you on the edge of pleasure for days on end.

This is the thing that will sap your will to live, and you can almost see the spiraling dark maw of the abyss that looms before you.

This is also the only thing for days that has given him the slightest pause. He drapes himself over you to gather you in his arms.

“Are you crying, baby girl?”  

“Yes,” you sniff.

You’ve pretty much taken everything he’s thrown at you until now with a lifted chin and a do your worst. Tears of despair actually seem to throw him.

“Why?”

“Because you’re hurting me, and you don’t care.” You know you sound as despondent as you feel. “The man I fell for protected me, he killed for me, but I never thought he would hurt me. Who even are you?” A new wave of anguish makes you sob into the pillow. It is not pretty crying, sweet glittering tears sliding down your cheeks. This is ugly crying, the expulsion of pain from the darkest depths of your soul, and once it starts you cannot stop.

He goes still as a statue behind you, ceasing even to breathe, the only motion the throb of his rock-hard cock still buried inside you. You do not know if you have displeased him, and he’s dreaming up some new punishment—or if just this once, he actually hears you.

You’re not exactly a religious person, but you find yourself praying to whatever laughing god that might take mercy on you, that he finally hears you.

He stays like this for what feels like an eternity, but can’t be more than a minute at most.

You are shocked, when carefully he slides out you, rolling to pull you against his chest, his big hand protectively cradling the side of your head, holding you hard enough to squeeze the breath from you. You realize, to your astonishment, he is shaking too, and he lets out a long, slow breath, pressing his lips to your hair.

This would have inspired excitement in you, if you weren’t so goddammed exhausted. Wrung out, body and soul. As it is, it takes all your control not to break down and weep again. He doesn’t say he’s sorry outright, but he holds you like he is. At this point, you’ll take what you can get amidst this madness you’re trapped in.

He kisses you again with a promise of, “I’ll be back,” and disappears into the bathroom. You hear the taps of the bathtub running. This too, you have learned to dread. But you cannot fight him, when he returns to scoop you up in his arms, and lowers the two of you together in the rising warm water.   

You wait for the usual shenanigans—but they do not come. He just…holds you, and you only keep yourself together by a thread. With a tremulous sigh of relief you dare to settle further into his arms, savoring this closeness without the threat of sex in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he says against the top of your head. “You just…you make me crazy.”

It’s perhaps the closest thing to the truth he’s said since you’ve gotten here.

“I’ll give you a rest,” he promises, and if you hadn’t been sitting you might have fallen over with surprise.

“Thank you,” you say, relieved to the tips of your toes, kissing him sweetly. It’s a gentle press of lips that curls your toes, and a strangled little sound escapes from somewhere deep in his chest.

You pretend not to see it, but there is a glitter of a tear in the corner of his eye too.

After a little while he kisses your cheek, saying again, “I’ll be back.”

You watch him exit the tub and cinch a towel around his narrow waist. Despite everything, you admit that you have yet to tire of the view. Water beading on that man’s skin is a thing to inspire the songs of angels.

Or demons, perhaps, but either way it is divine to behold.

You wait, but he doesn’t return.

You linger in the water until it begins to cool, wondering what he’s up to.

It is telling of what a cautious creature you’ve become, for the way you are reluctant to move from the place he left you. But your fingers are turning to prunes, so you get out of the bath, drying yourself off and slathering yourself with the wonderful smelling lotion he’d gifted you, that cost a whole day’s pay from your time at the coffee shop.

It is hard not to gauge the cost of things against hours of your life, when you work in service. What are your hours worth now? You realize you don’t even know what day it is.

For the first time in a while you take a moment to actually look at yourself in the mirror. Your body is riddled with constellations of love bites in various states of healing, bruises in every shade of the rainbow. John Wick has marked you in just about every way a man can, yet still, you hold out.

Perhaps it is you who is delusional about this situation.  

When you exit the bathroom you freeze in your tracks, hardly believing your eyes. The door—THE DOOR!—is hanging wide open, almost in invitation.

Rather than excitement, your first reaction is a thrill of fear running down your spine, as you wonder if it is a sick test.

But in the end, you cannot resist.

Wary of appearances, you throw on one of your numerous new silky nighties and a blue robe that is impossibly soft upon your skin. What mad woman would attempt to make an escape dressed like this? You hope the odds are in your favor. 

On soft feet you pad to the top of the stairs, peeking over the landing. The smell of fresh brewed coffee wafts up towards you, and the sound of something frying in the kitchen. Cautiously you descend, making your way towards the promise of culinary delights.

For the second time in ten minutes, the sight before you makes you freeze in your tracks.  

John is busy cooking in the kitchen, wearing a black kimono-style robe that gapes over his bare chest. He is very intently reading a recipe, whipping something in a bowl, and watching a sizzling hot pan.

You stand there, still as a statue, drinking in the sight until Dog blows your cover, trotting over to greet you with a wagging tail. You get down on your knees to hug him and scratch his ears. You have not seen him since your first escape attempt, and though you strangely hadn’t really doubted John would keep his word, you are relieved to receive proof of life.

“How does French toast sound?” John asks, as though today is a normal day in a string of normal days, and you live and eat together like two normal people who cohabitate.

“It sounds lovely,” you admit, cautiously perching on one of the barstools. “Can I help?”

“No, sweetheart, let me take care of you.” You wonder if this is more to keep you away from the potential weapon of a heavy, hot pan full of bacon and grease, but you are fine to sit and watch him.

You notice the knife block is completely emptied of blades.

When you are seated together in the breakfast nook, your legs tangled under the little table, dining off melamine plates with plastic utensils but enjoying a very good meal none the less, John throws you for yet another curveball.

“I’m sorry, that I’ve been so…insatiable,” he says. He could have knocked you off your stool with a feather. “I…” He shakes his head, clenching his fist on the table, the tendons in his forearm popping. “I just want you, so much.”

Your lip quivers at hearing that, and the truth spills from your lips before you can even think to hold it in. “I want to be wanted by you, John! It’s all I’ve wanted, since…the first moment I saw you.” If you’re being honest. “But all this…?” You wave your hands in an encompassing manner, unsure how else to express what he’s put you through.

It’s a lot, would be the understatement of the year. You’re not able to get it out though, because there’s a stone lodged in your throat, and suddenly you’re not sure if you want to cry or throw up.

Seeing you’re distressed again, he opens his arms to you. “C’mere.” It’s like walking into the claws of the dragon, you know, but you shuffle over to fall into his lap anyway. How insane is it, that this man is the flame that burns you, and the only balm that soothes you? He holds you tight against his chest, rocking you gently. You manage not to cry again, but you can’t stop shaking for a long time.

Only once you settle down does he speak again. “You are tough, you know that? I didn’t realize I was hurting you.”

You blink, unsure for a good minute what the fuck to say to that. The truth is that it is unfathomable, what savagery women can endure, when they have to. You’re not sure you want to say that aloud to him.

It might come off as a challenge.

You are hardly winning any trophies for fastest comeback, when finally you quip into his collarbone, “You forgot you’re dealing with a junior blackbelt. We are trained in the ways…”

He looks down at you for a long second, as though he’s not sure if you’re joking or not. And then it is like the sun breaking from the clouds when he smiles, a genuine, toothy flash of mirth that mercilessly squeezes your heart in your chest. He looks almost boyish in that moment, and it is beautiful to behold.

“So I forgot,” he admits, kissing your forehead. 

“I guess you’re like…50th dan or some shit?” you ask, referring to his own belt ranking.

He chuckles at that, though there is a note of melancholy beneath it. “We don’t count dan where I trained, sweetheart. Just bodies on the ground.”

“That’s a lovely thought over breakfast…”

He snorts. “You remind me of me, you know, when I was younger,” he tells you quietly.

“How so?” you ask, thinking you’re not that tough.

“Too stubborn for my own good.” He smiles again, softer this time, but no less heartbreaking. He is not making fun of you. It is almost like he’s…commiserating with you, and it’s weird as hell. “I’ll give you a week to heal. Alright?”

You didn’t expect him to give you an hour, much less a week. “Okay…”

“Ok, what?” he prompts with a smirk, that breathtaking twinkle in his eye that makes you want to throttle him and kiss him all at once.

You can hardly refrain from rolling your eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

He sighs at hearing it, like a sated lion.

You wonder if he’ll keep his word.

[dashitsxx]

i'll wait for your love | gojo satoru x fem!reader | (I)

summary. If only you had given attention to the emotions your boyfriend felt in your relationship, it would have never reached to this point.

genre. angst. sfw.

word count. 1.4k

warnings. modern au. messy plot. in an established relationship. toxic relationship. toxic!gojo. mean!gojo. toxic!reader. prob workaholic!reader. inconsiderate behaviour. mentions of actions of neglect/abandonment (reader). invalidation of feelings (reader & gojo). fighting. mentions of past arguments. cursing. yelling/shouting. a bit of egoistic behaviour (reader). miscommunication. abrupt toxic break-up. party. light drinking.

disclaimer. Please note that this work is entirely fictional. It is not intended to condone, glorify, or encourage any form of violence, illegal activity, or harmful behaviour. All characters (credits to the manga artists), scenarios, and events are products of the author's imagination and/or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or real events is purely coincidental. The purpose of this work is to entertain and provoke thought, not to promote harmful behaviour.

notes. ngl, i love ariana's eternal sunshine :(( it's her best album, i fear! her songs are so pretty especially this one--but i might have probably used the painful interpretation in this song, but i kind of didn't like the plot i thought tho... but anw, have fun!! also, there might be a possibility of continuation of this one-shot. not sure about it yet :))

"You know what? Fuck you," Satoru cursed at you aggressively as he stormed out of the living room. Your jaw dropped, taken back by what your partner said. Did he just curse you? He did. He just told you to go off. You feel your blood boiling, you cocked your jaw as you pursued his steps to the bedroom.

You push the door open forcefully as Gojo sits on the bed with his head in his hands.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You questioned him firmly with crossed arms. However, he didn't give any response to you while you waited. Annoyance soared through your body as you spoke in the same emotion you were currently feeling, "Do you have a problem with me? Talk to me, Gojo. You are really pissing me off!"

A huge snort left Gojo's lips as he lifted his head, tilting it in the process. " 'What's wrong with me?' That's what you are asking? God, Y/N," he vexes at you. This time, your expression transforms into confusion, which makes your boyfriend feel exasperated. "You really don't know?"

He turns his head away from you while your expression remains unchanged. "It's always like this, isn't it? You don't even know…" A sudden pang shoots through your chest as you hear a trembling tone in his voice. What does he mean? You wonder. What have you done wrong? You walk closer to him but keep a certain distance. "Please, Satoru, talk to me."

Another snort leaves his lips and looks up at you, behind his bright ocean eyes were burning in rage red flames. He was angr—no, furious.

"You are so unbelievable. I can't even imagine why I am still dating you."

Your current emotional state was abruptly replaced by a look of shock, causing your mouth to hang open and your eyes to widen. The corner of your lips twitched as you exclaimed, "Why are you getting so angry at me for no reason? What's wrong with you?" Your voice rose in volume as you spoke.

"For no reason?!" Gojo stood up abruptly, deathly glaring into your eyes. "I am fucking infuriated because of you!"

"Then, what the hell did I do? I have never done anything wrong!"

"Yes, you did!"

"What is it?!"

"You abandoned me!"

Pain flashed through your eyes as the tension brewed more bitter in the atmosphere. Stinging silence surged between the both of you, but a heave of breaths sounded in the room. What did he mean?

"I—w-what?" You stutter, yet your boyfriend sarcastically chuckles. "Remember the time when I booked us for dinner? I waited for 2 hours, but you never came. Why? Work. Oh, how about the other time when I asked you to pick me up? Another 2 hours wasted, again. Why again? Work again! What a world record!" His hands turn into fists as veins pop off underneath his skin.

"Also, the time when I fucking needed you the most because I was going through something—where were you? Over at the club, having fun with you coworkers and just getting fucking wasted, just for me to bring you back home." There was a bitter taste present in his voice.

You shake your head as you approach him carefully. "I-I never mean—" But he cuts you off and dares to continually speak.

"By the way, I love the part where you just went batshit crazy on me for no reason last week! I love the time you stormed out and ignored me for the whole day while in the same house. I love it, really. Now, who is being unreasonable between us?" Gojo gives you a full hand clap as if you have achieved something innovative. A puzzled expression was displayed on your face, you didn't know how to react or what to say. You didn't know Gojo was feeling this way, well, he should have told you sooner then.

You opened your mouth shakily and asked, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

A loud, ridiculing sound escaped Satoru's lips. "It's because you never listened," he gritted through his teeth. This time, you rolled your eyes. "I would have listened if you had told me sooner."

He placed his hands on his waist, making a mocking face and said, "Well, I tried! And you never did! Because you are so focused on your stupid work!" You noticed his voice raising in volume and his words made your blood boil hotter. "Stupid work? I work because I want us to live a life where we do not have to worry about money! I work for us to have food on the table! Are you not proud I do that for you, for us?!"

"I don't even give a shit about the money!"

"But I do! I want to live a comfortable life!"

"But how about me? Have you ever thought about my feelings, Y/N?! My feelings."

You clamp your mouth shut and bite the insides of your cheek, unsure what to say. The once-forgotten silence lingers once again. A sudden urge to escape emerged in you and honestly, you were tired of this arguing with Satoru. With that, you let out a defeated sigh.

"I don't want to talk anymore, Satoru. Come on, let's go to bed. We can talk about it tomorrow morning," you attempt to persuade him, yet your boyfriend widens his enchanting eyes in disbelief. He couldn't believe you.

Satoru gave a sarcastic laugh as he mutters the word, 'unbelievable.' This only made you frown as you walked closer to him. You reach your arm out to touch him, but before you are even an inch closer, he aggressively slaps it away. Your jaw dropped open at his action and this time—something in you snapped.

Shouts after shouts echoed in the room, bursting in anger. Words were thrown against each other. The stress accumulated from the relationship and work got the best of you.

"I'm done with you. I'm fucking leaving you," Gojo walks out of the bedroom and you sit down on the bed, placing your head in your hands. "Go on then, like I care." You utter under your breath. You were so exhausted and your throat was feeling sore because of the yells you voiced out a while ago.

A huge bang reverberated throughout the entire house, which indicated that your boyfriend left the house. You lift your head before a tired sigh escapes your lift. You didn't want to deal with all the stress you are currently feeling instead you brushed it off by settling yourself into bed. You figured that Satoru would be back in the morning.

However, you were wrong.

A year later...

You take a sip of your wine as you give a huge grin towards the capturing camera, flashing brightly in your direction. You giggled as your friends cracked a laugh. Conversations continued before you informed them to leave for some breeze.

There were some hazy-looking objects as you tipsily walked, the wine glass being supported by the hold of your hand. It took you a while to find a room with a balcony til you encountered an open door. Currently, you were invited to an event hosted by your company in a 5-star hotel. You were definitely enjoying the night you deserved. However, you got a bit carried away with your alcohol intake.

Your heels clack against the floor as you enter the empty room before proceeding to the balcony. You sigh in contentment once the wind brushes your face, your hair dancing with it. You lift your head up to stare at the gleaming light between the vast ocean of darkness and luminary clusters. The moon had a very light shade of blue around its rim as your eyes continuously gazed at it.

You leaned your arms on the railings of the balcony. No matter how you try to push them to the back of your mind, even the celestial body reminds you of him. That darn white and blue shade, you curse.

Nevertheless of your daydreaming of missing him, progressive footsteps vibrate through the ground, which you had not given attention to.

Until they spoke, "Y/N."

Your eyes widened at the familiar voice behind you as you turned your body to find the source of the voice you were now facing upfront. A disbelief expression replaced the tranquillity you felt a while ago. You feel your body nervously shake at the figure in front of you, not in fear but in anxiety. You shakily move your mouth as you utter the name you have never attempted to leave your lips.

"Satoru."

all dividers are from @/cafekitsune, thank you <33

[tpwkmadeline]

AU/Movie Characters

updated? yes!

Boxer

illegal boxer x pretty waitress

CEO

he hates everyone (except you, of course)

he has to work on valentine's day

he needs a new assistant

he's scared to miss the birth

Crime

you're too sweet for him

partners in crime

your drug dealer

he’s a hitman and you’re his target

Mafia

you decorate for christmas without telling him

married off

you're his favorite dancer

normal, happy family...with a secret

his darling wife

the sunshine in his dark world

your arranged marriage

you're his wife and he's in court

mornings in the mafia underworld

"but you belong to me"

new years eve ball (and forbidden love)

shopping around

bonnie & clyde type of love

pop star girlfriend x mafia boss boyfriend

he was out of town and there's a break in

business gala

he wants you but you're married

he has you kidnapped by mistake

you find out he's in the mafia

he gets injured

you're getting divorced

he's your second in command

the affair

he's hired by your father

he forgot about valentine's day

you don't want to date a mafia guy

you don’t want to date a mafia guy pt 2

"so it goes..."

your pregnancy made him soft

you're his rivals daughter

debt collection

arranged marriage on valentine's day

"kiwi"

you're in the mafia, he's an undercover cop

single dad x live in nanny

he's in the mafia, you're an undercover cop

his girlfriend

you're his wife. and you ran.

you catch him cheating

first meeting

he's in prison

you’re a doctor and he needs help

slight age gap + you’re pregnant

you’re his MI6 handler

ex wife? rival? both!

you knew him before he took over pt 1

you knew him before he took over pt 2

you get kidnapped

Royal

arranged marriage with the prince

the king and queen of england

the courtship ball

you're the maid

knight x princess

Uni

grumpy x sunshine

a retired playboys first valentine's

"little black dress"

project partners

you're going to different uni's

surprise midnight kiss

"18" by anarbor

frat party over 1m chats

he needs a tutor

Vamp

you get caught exploring his manor

he’s thirsty

Miscellaneous

you're his therapist in the asylum

he works at a bakery and you're a regular

your (really hot) neighbor and handyman

mr. and mrs. styles

you're a playboy bunny

he's a doctor

the quiet secret admirer in your office

he's your coworker

bodyguard x popstar

"you know how to ball, i know aristotle"

you were best friends and he replaced you

popular x shy over 1m chats

he's a tattoo artist

hockey player x figure skater

rockstar x groupie

scientist x alien

pirate x mermaid

he’s your divorce lawyer

Alex - Dunkirk

you're his fiance when he gets drafted

life after the war

Eros - Eternals

you're a stark

Jack Chambers

"what do you really do at victory?"

you're working too much

Tom Burgess

lavender marriage

[asamary]

is catnap basically the first caretaker of the player in the luminous au?

Yes, yes he is anon. When crafty brought the player to their cabin he was the first to analyze them.

He was the first to be seen by the player, but with the player's damaged head, they kinda only saw his colors and shape.

He was also the one to stop crafty from draining the player dry.(crafty still got one jar full of red)

How did he knew the player was a follower of his god? Player has a star charm that is the same as his, just more brighter.

When he notified his god, his god saw their little angel, all covered in blood and bruises. They were going to bring back the little angel, but because of the decision the little angel took, they couldn't. The Angel was now a fallen one, unable to go back to their heavenly land. And forever to roam the earth for eternity.

They were furious when they noticed, but is patient for their angel, if it took an eternity to bring them back, then so be it.

the little crow will stay with their devoted cat and his companions for now. And if a mortal ever lay a single scratch on the little angel.

It will be a fate worst than death.

in this au, the player is not called angel, their called sunshine or other various nicknames. (The prototype is probably the only one to call them angel tho )The player doesn't like being called angel, since it reminds them of who they once were.

(Do note that most of this is something i made up, so don’t take any of this angel stuff too seriously.)

[nyctoaerah]

𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐔𝐒”

[ SYPNOSIS ] You found yourself stripped of your immortality, a punishment for daring to flout the edicts laid down by your father. Your transgressions? Two-fold. First, the grave sin of disobedience, and Secondly, the cardinal offense of falling irrevocably in love with your Lady in waiting. In your father’s eyes, the sanctity of your divinity was tarnished by a same-gender relationship, a concept that he vehemently repudiated as aberrant and abhorrent. Such unforgivable love, he pontificated, dulled your goddess-like essence. Thus he used his powers and casted you adrift into a parallel universe suffused with curses and sorcerers whose love aren't really the healthy type of love, a punishment to show you that ‘Love’ isn’t all about sunshine and rainbows.

[ WARNINGS ] Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au.

[ PAIRINGS ] Yandere! Jjk x Fem! Isekai’d! Goddess Reader.

[ LOVE INTERESTS ]Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen.

[ NOTE ] Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3. Also posted in Quotev and Wattpad

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

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WITH A TILT OF your head, you felt a slight shudder travel through your body when Ataraxia's fingers grazed your at your skin. The warmth of her breath against your skin sent a comforting sensation as you took a deep inhale.

“I know you already have a plethora of jewelry, but... I want to give you this as a token of my affection,” she whispered, her nimble fingers placing a delicate necklace on your neck. You noticed that her nails were currently painted with an azure hue that mirrored the depths of her eyes that was akin to the vast ocean.

“Your nail color, it's different,” you murmured, recalling her once pristine nails that were adorned with silver accents.

“Yes,” Ataraxia replied, pausing to meet your gaze, feeling the pad of your thumb tracing the curve of her lips.

“It suits you,” you complimented, prompting her to release a flattered laugh.

“Well, you mentioned adoring the color of my eyes, so I decided to match it with my nails, my lady, ‘have to hear some compliments coming from my girl’s  pretty mouth, you know?” she confessed with a laugh.

You heaved a contented sigh, pressing a tender kiss on her forehead, your lips pressing against her forehead longer than expected.

“mhm, ‘course i do,” You mumbled. “After all, why wouldn't i?”

“I could look into your eyes for all eternity and not get bored at all. your eyes is orphic and i see the stars in them. You're the half of my soul, my lucent apricity inscape.”

As you spoke, the words flowed smoothly from your mouth as you reclined back. Ataraxia blinked, feeling butterflies on her stomach because of your words. A laugh bubbled up in her throat as she leaned in to gently kiss your neck, making you hum. Her hand lingered against the curve of your waist, her fingers deftly caressing it before moving to place the necklace again.

“What a romantic goddess i have,”

Ataraxia murmured, her voice laced with a touch of fluster. A pink hue kissed her cheeks, caught off guard by this unexpected display of romance from you. Normally, you exuded chaos and an adventurous spirit, with a penchant for using vulgar language, even in the presence of Aionarch—Like a total brazzen mindless rogue. She couldn't fathom who had imparted such vocabulary to you though. Yet, in this moment, your unexpected romanticism rendered her speechless, your words leaving her in awe.

“I never pegged you for a romantic, sinta.” she jested, and you responded by playfully rolling your eyes.

“I'm not,” you insisted, exhaling heavily as your chest rose and fell with each breath.

“But you are,” she countered with a tender smile. “Only with you,” you admitted, for It was true; you didn't display this side of yourself to others and Ataraxia was the singular exception.

“I'm flattered then.” She replied.

"Maybe I keep some surprises up my sleeve,” you mused,

“You make it sound like I've uncovered a hidden treasure,” she jested.

“Perhaps you have,” you whispered as you looked it the necklace, the upper part of the necklace resembled a tiara that was adorned electroplated chains with a blue sapphire at its center.

“What's the significance of this though?” you questioned softly, feeling Ataraxia's warm fingertips brushing against the curve of your neck, fastening the necklace tighter so it won't fall.

“It's pretty,” you whispered, a smile playing on your lips as your eyes reflected a mix of wonder and perplexity as you felt the cool metal of the necklace pressed against your collarbone.

“You're prettier,” Ataraxia responded before stepping back, a satisfied look on her face. 

“I know,” you acknowledged, reaching up to gently touch the necklace, marveling at its craftsmanship with parted lips as you glanced at Ataraxia.

“Enlighten me, though, sinta. Why did you give me this?” you inquired once more.  

“You radiate beauty,”  Ataraxia responded with a tone of admiration, her voice filled with warmth and a bright smile lighting up her face as she cleverly sidestepped your query, leaving you momentarily confused.

“I know, and so are you radiating beauty,” you stated nonchalantly as you fluttered your eyelashes, peering down at her intently.

“You seem to be evading my query though, why is that, hm?” you added with a hint of teasing, prompting Ataraxia to playfully roll her eyes at you. 

“Am I really?” she quipped. 

“Yeah? and I want you to answer my question,” you persisted, a playful pout forming on your lips as you lightly poked her cheek, eliciting a giggle from her. 

“So persistent and curious, are you?”

She softly told you, her voice smooth as a velvet as her fingers glided along your jawline in a relaxed and leisure manner, following a pattern with attention to detail.

“But where's the fun in giving away my secrets so easily?”

She said, earning an amused scoff from you.

“Fine, keep your secrets then.” you responded with a hint of amusement playing on your countenance.

“But know that I'm not one to shy away from a challenge.” your smirk was strained and forced.

“Hmm, Are you sure?” Ataraxia inquired, a quizzical expression crossing her features as she observed the subtle transformation of the smirk on your countenance suddenly dipping down into a frown. 

“Hey, now, don't let your emotions boil over, do not sulk, beautiful,”

Ataraxia soothed, her head shaking gently as she witnessed you folding your arms across your chest, a petulant pout betraying your irritation as you averted your gaze. Ataraxia couldn't help but notice the sporadic bouts of childishness that colored your demeanor, yet it was precisely this aspect of your personality that endeared you to her. She cherished you for your authentic self.

“That exquisite visage of yours was sculpted to be worshipped, not for melancholy,” Ataraxia whispered softly, her touch delicate as she caressed your cheeks with a tender hand. 

“Don't be mad, goddess,”

“That necklace, it's just a gift from a girl who's hopelessly in love with you,”

She finally revealed, seemingly wanting to end the banter, but unfortunately for her, you won't let the reason slip through your fingers like the morning mist.

“Is it really?”

“Why’re you feeling so suspicious about my intentions, my soul? Is it truly objectionable to give a gift to the one who brings brightness to my darkest hours and warmth to my coldest moments?”

She evaded your suspicions once again as she pinched your cheeks as if they were her own personal stress reliever, You could feel her soft hands and the pads of her fingers pressing against your facial muscles and you couldn't help but smirk as you allowed her to have her way while your fingers gently ran through her dark, glossy onyx hair, humming as you felt the velvety texture of each individual strand, her hair was soft and smooth,  akin to the luxurious feel of fine silk against your skin.

The memories of her lingered in your mind, the gentle brush of her touch, the melodic tones of her voice, and every detail of her presence filled your thoughts.

...

...

Your brows knit in puzzlement, a furrowed ridge of hesitation etching across your features as the memory of her giving you the necklace suddenly came in your mind—your divine intuition was telling you something, and you know it.

But what was it telling you?

Your hand dipped down to your neckline, feeling the sensation of the chilled metal meeting your fingertips before letting your hand fall down to your collarbone, tracing the lines of your clavicle.

‘Are you trying to tell me something, ataraxia?’ You wondered.

Your shoulders stiffened imperceptibly, a subtle tension creeping into your muscles as thoughts of ataraxia plagued your mind. Could she be alluding to a hidden warning? Telling you about a foreboding  danger?

You raised a hand to touch your neck, your finger tips pressing against the scalene muscles as you listened to your pulse, it was a rhythm that perhaps was a bit fast than usual.

You noticed the incongruity between your mind and body, you could sense that even your body language and  rigid posture was telling you that something was wrong.

Your eyes then drifted downwards and you noticed the faint outline of a scar on your wrists, along with other cut marks.

‘What the hell?’ You lifted your wrist up for closer examination, and it was indeed a scar. 

Why did your wounds turned into scars instead of just disappearing like it always did?

Though, that wasn't the only thing that was confusing you in your regeneration ability, you also noticed that the wounds you sustained refused to heal in your normal form, leading you to speculate if aionarch had intervened in some way—probably, and that is why you were forced to shapeshift.

Transforming into a phoenix granted you the ability to regenerate, a trait that allowed you to heal all traces of injury—but why did your body marred scars?

Suddenly, you remembered that when you woke up an inexplicable sense of foreboding stirred within you, because a very heavy something probably smacked and was thrown into you—You ended up transforming back into your human form though after that.

You paused as recollections of past adversaries of throwing heavy obstacles your way resurfaced in your mind. One particularly vivid memory involved being ostracized by the people of your celestial empire, who had secretly formed an official aionarch haters fanclub.

And since you have a deep-seated animosity towards your father, you attempted to join the group, only to be rejected by its members, all because you were his fucking daughter.

Despite your attempts to distance yourself from aionarch's actions, and to claim that you're not like him, you were branded as a sycophant , a pick me girl and ostracized. The fanclub went as far as hurling a massive pillar at you that probably was around 27 ft.

The memory made you cringe, but ultimately, you slightly found satisfaction in the fact that aionarch took revenge by killing all those who had dared to harm you. It was perhaps the only act of paternal care you received from that tyrant throughout your life—protecting you at all costs.

It was a bittersweet realization though—that while he shielded you from external threats, there was no protection from his own tyrannical tendencies. In the end, the question remained—who would safeguard you from him?

No one. Not even your mother can protect you from him. He was the most powerful being after all.

And as there was no one else to shield you from him, you had no choice but to take matters into your own hands. Your instinct was to safeguard yourself and also protect ataraxia, yet the repercussions eventually caught up with you. Now, he has transported you to this weird realm, leaving you feeling disoriented and uncertain.

Wait, hold up, How did your thoughts went from ataraxia to this? Why can't you just focus on one thought?

A sudden sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach, signaling that something dangerous was imminent.

Your brows knit together in concentration, your hearing sharpening as you instinctively straightened your shrimp posture. 

The wind began to howl, the leaves on the trees and on the ground rustled loudly. Suddenly, there was sounds of movements followed by silence—and two creatures emerged out of nowhere.

The silence around you seemed deafening, with only the faint ringing in your ears breaking through the quiet, and as you focused on the scene before you, your eyes suddenly widened, your pupils shrinking, lips parting slightly.

Your face twisted in disgust as you gazed upon the strange creatures before you. They bore a striking resemblance to the hideous beings that inhabits the underworld—They were ugly as fuck.

One of the creatures had a grotesque appearance—three eyes and a bird-like body armed with sharp blade-like wings. Another creature appeared more human-like—a woman one at that. it was wearing a white kimono yet its elongated neck twisted in an unnatural way, resembling marshmallow, it has a smile on its face like a porcelain doll, as well as make up.

“What the fuck is that?” You gawked.

The sight of the woman's unnaturally contorted long neck caused a sickening sensation in your stomach. As her head twisted and inverted before your eyes, you felt a wave of revulsion wash over you. A feeling of nausea caused bile to rise up in your lower esophageal sphincter then to your throat. Desperately trying to suppress the urge to vomit, you forced down all the stomach acid that threatened to spill out.

“Uh.. who are you two?” You said awkwardly, not knowing what to say as you took a step back.

Suddenly, the strange woman-like creature extended its fucking hair which transformed into long blsck tendrils, it swiftly shot forth in your direction and coiled around your ankles, securing its hold with such intensity that it felt like a leech stubbornly latching onto you, it has a sharpness akin to thorns on a rose, causing a sensation of pain as it pricked at your skin.

“Wait— what the fuck?!”

Your throat constricted as the tendrils tightened its grip, almost as if it were attempting to fracture your bones, the tendrils reminded you so much of the vines from Xeranthi's magical (cursed) garden—that was crafted specifically to harm Aionarch. those vines possessed a deadly poison capable of harming deities, with thorns as sharp as blades that could pierce through the skin of anyone who came into contact with them—and you know it, after all, you first-hand experienced those.

For you had the same eyes as your father and lacking any resemblance to your mother, you were mistaken for aionarch by the vine. It took a week to completely rid yourself of the poison, but you managed to survive the ordeal though. However, the main focus here is the tendrils of the woman, which bore a striking resemblance to the vine found in your mother's garden—so perhaps they could be removed just as the same way xeranthi's vines could be removed.

You leaned forward, a grimace on your face, you gritted your teeth together, hands dipping down and wrapping around the tendrils in an attempt to pull out the stubborn thing embedded in your skin. The sharp thorns dug into your flesh, causing a sharp sting that made you involuntarily let out a ‘tch’ of discomfort.

“Hey! Let go” you exclaimed, annoyance evident in your voice. your fingers constricted tight on to the slimy tendrils with all your might as your knuckles grew taut and pale as you strained against the creature's grasp, pushing through the flesh-like appendages, your fingers pierced through the tendrils like a needle piercing through a fine cloth and Purple-hued blood seeped from the torn flesh, staining your skin as you finally managed to break free from its hold on your ankle. The creature let out a piercing shriek of disbelief and pain, its grip faltering as you tore through its twisted form, the sound reverberating in your ears long after it had let you go.

Your lips compressed into a tight line, brows drawn together in consternation, while a swift, harsh inhale rushed through your nostrils as you took in a fighting stance.

Just as you dared to believe you had eluded the danger, the sinewy tendrils struck once more, ensnaring both your hands and seizing your ankles. It yanked your limbs all together , binding them securely. Your jaw slackened in a moment of shock. A sharp sound of frustration escaping your lips as your body contorted, attempting to escape the sinewy grasp encircling you.

A growl of frustration bubbles in your throat as you began to babble and rant.

“First that manwhore aionarch almost killed me and tortured me on that light thingy and then something smacked my back, and then my wounds refused to heal and.. and ”

You don't even know why you're ranting right now but you know that you needed to buy time, to find out the weakness of thede creatures. Squinting down at the ugly creatures, you noticed that The creatures remained ominously silent while their visages showed a snarl—teeth baring at you.

“and.. now you're trying to fuck the already fucked up things up!” you exclaimed, each word dripping with annoyance as you exhaled sharply, your breath billowing visibly in the air. Your nails dug fiercely into the writhing tendrils, the pressure of your grip akin to a vice.

“Well, tell you what—”

Your monologue was cut short by a startled yelp that involuntarily erupted from your throat as the  tendrils tightened.

“You! I'll kill—!”

the tree-eyed creature suddenly spun around rapidly, resembling a beyblade hurtling towards you with the intention to cut the shit out of you but with swift reflexes, you managed to roll to the side and narrowly avoid its attack.

“WHAT IN THE FUCKING HELL IS THAT?!”

Your vocal cords scraped against the confines of your throat as a shriek clawed its way out of your lips with the whites of your eyes stretched wide, aghast as the tendrils hoisted you into the air by your lower limbs, suspending you in air like a  prey awaiting the jaws of ravenous predators.

Unexpectedly, the twisting tendrils of the woman like creature forcefully slammed you to the ground, causing pain to shot forth through you as your face made impact with the surface. Clenching your jaw in pain, you felt the tendrils hoist you up once more, the movement accompanied by the sharp stab of a broken nose and crimson-tinted blood dripping from your nostrils. The coppery flavor of blood mixed with the ache as it trickled down your forehead as the collision with the ground seared your skin upon contact.

‘Kill them.’

A voice in your head said, and your hand began to heat up and generate fire as your eyes shook with fury as you placed your hand in its tendrils.

With a piercing shriek, the woman recoiled as its tendrils were engulfed in a searing inferno ignited by you, and soon enough, the woman was set on fire and burned.

The creature, spinning, refused to retreat unlike its predecessor though. You raised your hands, fire already beginning to take form, and With lightning speed, the distance between you two evaporated, and a breathless moment ensued as the lethal edges loomed perilously close to your flesh.

But just as the lethal edges were about to make contact, your necklace suddenly exploded, and sharp ice shards surged forth forward towards the threat.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, the rush of adrenaline drowning out all sound except for the erratic drumming of your heart in your chest. A gasp escaped your lips, your jaw slackening in astonishment, as you witnessed the shattered remains of the necklace metamorphose into icy constructs, aswell as the way those massive, sharp icicles erupted from the ground, impaling the creature and causing its innards to spill out as it was skewered by the ice. The body slowly slumped down along the icy pillars, while the creature's organs remained suspended at the tips of the shards.  

More icicles suddenly shot up from the ground, heading directly towards the other burning creature that slammed you on the ground. The icicles pierced through the creature's body,  leaving it impaled by ice shards. The sharp points of the icicles penetrated deep into its skull, specifically targeting its cerebral cortex and the intricate folds of its brain spurted out of the broken skull. purple-colored fluid began to trickle down from the creature, The sounds of the ice breaking through flesh and bone, mixed with the creature's faint sound of being in pain, filled the air.

You stood there in shock, mouth agape and eyes wide as you took in the sight of the two creatures impaled by the ice. Your focus shifted from them to the source of the ice itself, causing a chill to run down your spine and making your hands hesitate to summon fire. As you glanced down at the broken necklace given to you by Ataraxia, a sudden realization struck you. Could it have been Ataraxia who created this ice? Recalling the intricate ice statue of you she had made for your room, you couldn't help but connect the dots. It seemed entirely possible that Ataraxia was behind this. You studied the ice on the ground, noticing the resemblance to the ice crystals you were familiar with from Ataraxia's creations. 

As you felt a lump forming in your throat, your brows knitted together in confusion upon realizing that it was, in fact, Ataraxia. Could the necklace she had been a deliberate act to shield you from harm? You couldn't help but recall that she had always been vague about the true purpose of the necklace, but now it all made sense—it was meant to keep you safe. A sense of relief washed over you, causing your shoulders to sag slightly in a moment of realization. However, your brief respite was interrupted by a flash of crimson light hurtling towards you, causing you to freeze in your tracks. And the only thought that raced through your mind was the urgent need to transform into another form as a means of defense.  

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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

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For unknown reasons, the strange impulse to morph into a worm consumed your thoughts, leading you to to shapeshift into a fucking worm. Now, as a grotesque, oversized worm, you slithered awkwardly amidst the wreckage of the forest you and ataraxia's ice decimated, bewildered by your own actions.

Why had you chosen to shapeshift into this repulsive form? The mere thought of humans catching sight of you in this state made your skin crawl—Because imagine seeing an oversized worm that has a fucking face. You let out a frustrated groan, humiliation flooding your senses as you dragged your elongated body through the damp soil.

While you cannot fathom the reasoning behind it, you acknowledge that it proved advantageous when a crimson light materialized, because you mannaged to burrow onto the ground and maneuver like the very creature you had become. Though decidedly larger than your average worm, the discomfort of your current guise paled in comparison to the necessity for survival.

But still, it's fucking weird to turn into a worm!

Sure, you may have had asked ataraxia if she would love you even if you were a worm, but you did not expect that those whimsical musings would soon turn into a reality. Now, as you squirmed in your transformed state, embodying the guise of a worm, a gnawing curiosity plagued your mind—would Ataraxia love this wretched appearance now? 

But speaking of Ataraxia, you were convinced that the creatures that had viciously attacked you was killed by the said goddess. Ataraxia's handiwork was unmistakable. And you were grateful, for had it not been for her protection through the necklace, you would've been six feet underground.

Crawling clumsily across the ground, a sudden interruption shattered the eerie silence. A deep, voice pierced the air, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“There you are,” the voice echoed, sending a chill through your exoskeleton. Confusion gripped you, your worm-like mouth forming slurred words in an unrecognizable tone. Before you could comprehend the situation, strong hands enveloped your form, lifting you from the ground easily as if you're not an overweight worm, and you could feel the rough touch of the calloused palms against your slimy exoskeleton.

You stared in disbelief. You couldn't comprehend the situation unfolding before you. Whose hands were these that had picked you up so abruptly? The touch of the fingers that gripped you felt slimy against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. 

Looking upwards, you saw a burly and muscular man with shoulder-length straight black hair framing his face. His eyes bore a greenish hue, and it bore into yours with an intensity that made you uneasy. The man had thin eyebrows, a scar on his lip, and a ruggedly handsome appearance, but that was not your main focus, because your focus is on unexpectedly large boobs.

You couldn't tear your gaze away from the sheer size of his manly bosom.  Because what the fuck, why is his boobs so big?

“Finished eatin’ already, huh?” he remarked, amusement evident in his tone.

“Good, ‘cause we’re leavin’, need to get money, ‘cause we’re currently broke,”

What. You gawked.

Without warning, he hoisted you onto his shoulders, his broad frame supporting your weight effortlessly. You barely had time to process the situation before a pungent odor assaulted your senses, emanating from the man's body. 

The stench of sweat mixed with expired saliva overwhelmed you. What the fuck is this smell? You felt like crying, does this man even showers?

He smelled so bad.

Trying to resist the urge to revert back to your original form took every ounce of strength and willpower you possessed.

Reflecting back, you were beginning to regret transforming into a worm in the first place, given the uncomfortable situation you now found yourself in. However, you couldn't have possibly predicted that the man would jus casually pick you up and place you on his shoulder; it seemed illogical for anyone to treat a large, worm with a face in such a peculiar manner.  

The stench that emanated from him was unbearable, a putrid scent that was assaulting your senses. It was so overpowering that you couldn't help but wonder if your reaction was warranted or an exaggeration in the moment. and In your effort to distance yourself, you wriggled and twisted, desperate to evade the offensive grasp of his unwashed shoulders.

Because what's the point of surviving death from the two creatures that attacked you when this man's smell is killing you instead?

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𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟎𝟐 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟒

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Suguru placed a restraining hand on the small of satoru's waist, a gesture meant to prevent the white haired man from impulsively lunging at their teacher. It was clear that Satoru was poised to do just that, fueled by his intense enthusiasm.

Satoru continued to speak and babble about the phoenix, telling yaga and shoko how powerful they would become if they were to cook and eat the phoenix, while Suguru let out a resigned sigh and turned his eyes away. Suguru had an initial plan to have his powerful cursed spirits subdue and incapacitate the phoenix, but unfortunately for him, they were killed for some unknown reasons.

These grade one cursed spirits were incredibly strong and not easy to defeat, so how did they get killed? The mystery of who had killed his cursed spirits lingered in Suguru's mind, causing his brows to furrow as a sense of unease settled in. His throat constricted imperceptibly, and he unconsciously tightened his grip on Satoru's waist, but the man didn't seemed bothered as he was too deep in telling shoko and yaga what they found in the Forrest.

“I swear! There's a phoenix in the forest and it was talking too!” He raised his hands and utilized dramatic gestures to emphasize his point. 

“Oh yeah?”

Shoko drawled, showing her interest in Satoru's statement. However, a closer examination of her eyes revealed doubt about the truthfulness of satoru's words. It was clear that she did not believe him, as it seemed far-fetched to think that someone like Satoru, who seemed immature and is a total manchild, had actually encountered a talking phoenix in the forest. After all, phoenixes are mythical creatures and they are extinct and animals can't speak.

Therefore, it was likely that Satoru was simply dreaming. Shoko's gaze shifted to Suguru, noticing his discomfort and the disoriented look on his face, as if he was deep in thought. This observation caused Shoko to raise her brows, questioning whether Satoru's story could be true after all. 

Humoring Satoru, Shoko asked, “How large was it?” This simple question made Satoru feel heard and acknowledged.

Puffing out his chest, Satoru exclaimed,

“It was huge!” He illustrated the size by making a wide circle motion with his hand. 

 “Like very huge!”

Yaga, feeling exasperated, questioned,

“Are you sure that this isn't just a dream?”

After listening to Satoru's verbose monologue for nearly thirty minutes, yaga had become extremely tired. Yaga observed Suguru's uncharacteristic silence, making yaga believe that there's something fishy happening.

The relentless rambling had started to erode Yaga's confidence in Satoru's credibility, making it challenging for him to believe in the veracity of his words—especially since satoru's words were delivered poorly.

“I swear I'm not lying!” Satoru insisted defensively, his jaw tensing slightly.   Why is it so difficult for them to trust him? Is their faith in him so fragile? It is quite baffling, because if only Yaga would have faith in him, they could successfully capture the phoenix, cook it, and enjoy a lavish feast!

Who wouldn't be excited about having a mythical creature like the phoenix as their meal? After all, the phoenix supercharged version of chicken.

Why is it so hard for them to grasp the potential powers they could acquire by eating the phoenix? Satoru was dumbfounded by the inability of the others to comprehend his plan. While he was trying to be strategic, they dismissed his ideas as mere fantasies. It was truly frustrating for him to witness such narrow-mindedness.  

Satoru shifted his gaze towards suguru, hoping that his friend's word would hold more weight in the situation. suguru had always been known for his honesty and reliability, qualities that could potentially sway others' opinions in their favor.

While satoru considered that his own credibility might not be enough to convince others, he felt confident that suguru's reputation would lend more credibility to their shared message. essentially, there was a slim possibility that yaga would be more inclined to trust suguru's account of events than satoru's.  

“Suguru saw it too!” Satoru said, pulling the black haired man out of his thoughts.

“Uh... yes..” Suguru murmured in a low voice, his brows knitting as Satoru gradually shifted his weight and leaned closer, the warmth of his back pressing into Suguru's chest.

“See? Even suguru knows it!” 

“You're blackmailing him,”   Yaga spoke in a flat tone, observing Suguru's unease and coming to the conclusion that Satoru was likely pressuring the man for some reason.  

“I would never do such a thing!” Satoru denied vigorously, shaking his head, feeling offended.

“Well, in reality, you might,” Shoko chimed in, a smile playing on her lips as she leaned her head in her palms in intrigue.

“You blackmailed utahime-senpai back then, so who's to say that you won't blackmail geto?” Shoko pointed out as her mind drifted back to the time when Satoru had wielded a juicy piece of blackmail against Utahime after catching her in the midst of doing some bizarre ritual while wearing a cult mask. As the memory resurfaced, Satoru swiftly interjected,

“That was back then”

“He did what?” Yaga's voice cut through the room like a dagger, his eyes boring into Shoko. The air crackled with tension as she met his gaze with a nonchalant shrug, her fingers deftly weaving intricate braids in her hair.

“He blackmailed Utahime-senpai,” Shoko confessed with a chill grin dancing on her lips.

“Gojo,” Yaga uttered in a low, warning tone.

A deep groan escaped Satoru as he shifted uneasily, the vein on his neck pulsating with frustration. He clenched his fists, feeling a surge of irritation at the changing dynamics of their conversation. Satoru was in no mood to dwell with a topic consisting utahime.

“Come on! Let's just shift our focus back to the phoenix,” Satoru pleaded, his exasperation palpable.

“But i assure you guys, I have no intentions of resorting to blackmail, Suguru.” His words were tinged with a hint of grumbling discontent. Shoko couldn't help but chuckle softly at the exchange, finding amusement in the banter unfolding before her.

Sensing the escalating tension, Suguru let out a weary sigh, his patience waning as he longed for the ordeal to reach its resolution.

“Seems like someone’s on the verge of tears,” he remarked with an air of exasperation, unable to suppress his frustration any longer.

“Crybaby.”

Satoru’s gasp of mock offense filled the air in response to the taunt.

“HUH? you're supposed to be on my side!” Satoru whined.

“you know what? Suguru, just speak up and tell em’!” Satoru said, his succulent lips curved into a petulant pout, and his long, white lashes fluttered as he fixed his imploring gaze on Suguru.

Suguru’s brow knitted in confusion as he reached a hand to knead the tense knots in his neck, feeling the stress of the situation coil like a viper within him. “Tell them what?” he questioned dumbly.

“That I’m tellin’ the truth” 

“This is stupid”   Yaga let out a deep sigh, filled with exasperation, as he watched Satoru seemingly wasting their precious time. The exaggerated claims made by Satoru, such as talking about a speaking phoenix, sounded so far-fetched and unrealistic to Yaga. The idea of cooking and eating a phoenix seemed particularly foolish and nonsensical to him too.

“It is, sensei.”

Shoko agreed, her indifference palpable as she lounged on her chair, feigning interest while observing the unfolding drama.

“UGH! If you guys won’t believe me then just ask suguru!”

Suguru was completely unprepared and struggled to find the right words, his mouth moving—closing and opening as if he were a fish out of water. He shifted his eyes away, unsure of how to properly convey the situation. Yaga, Shoko, and Satoru watched him closely, their eyes fixed on him as they waited for a response from him.

“Well?” Yaga tapped his foot.

“Why me?” suguru asked them with narrowed eyes, mouth dipping down into a frown, shoulders slouching in tension.

“Nevermind,” he muttered, a strained yet bemused smile playing on his lips as he endeavored to maintain a facade of composure.

“Satoru is telling the truth,” Suguru finally affirmed, his gaze sincere as he sought to convey his conviction to the skeptics before him.

“You're only defending him because he's your bestfriend ” Yaga said, the skepticism evident in his tone while watching suguru poke Satoru's cheek with his forefinger, the pads of suguru's fingers lightly traced the curve of satoru's jawline as he looked at yaga, a small smirk forming in his lips.

“It's true though. You guys should see it for yourself.”

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𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

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𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.Ataraxia’s given necklace

So the necklace is specifically made to protect [Name], it won’t get triggered if [Name] was fighting, but it will get triggered if [Name] is gonna die from the attack that she was about to receive.

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.The fight only lasted for about 3 minutes and it was really fast, just kind of placed sn expanded version of the cringe fight or whatever.

𝟎𝟎𝟐.Toji had mistaken [Name] for his worm because [Name] ended up shapeshifting into toji's worm unintentionally and coincidentally, he also doesn't know that it's not his worm because he doesn't know the difference, save for the smell.

𝟎𝟎𝟑.When toji said that "you finished eating" it means that the worm had finished feeding on whatever dead animal/human is on the forest because the forest [Name] was in is sort of a suicide forest.

𝟎𝟎𝟒.Toji's real worm was still eating.

𝟎𝟎𝟓.Yaga accepted after hearing the 2 hour explanation of suguru and sent the first years to confirm whether there really is a phoenix.

𝟎𝟎𝟔.Red was released after two minutes because gojo kept on getting distracted

🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

╰┈➤ ; 𝟎%

—𝐒atoru is already imagining how you would taste<3. He begged to join yu and kento in searching for you in the forest, but kento didn't want him to join them.

╰┈➤ 𝟓% (𝐔𝐩 𝟑%)

—𝐒uguru was already having suspicions about you, he asked if you were a creation of yaga but the older male said no, and suguru was very much starting to have thoughts that you're not really a phoenix, and he was starting to suspect that you're a shapeshifter or something. (He watches theory videos about shapeshifting things)

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐓oji was confused because his worm is acting weird, though, he's still clueless that you're not actually his worm. He's still confused though, because you doesn't smell like his worm.

╰┈➤ 𝟐% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)

—𝐒hoko was intrigued by you. She wanted to see you. Or maybe she just wanted to conduct experiments on you. She still doesn't believe that you exist though. 

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𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

Satoru is very much gonna act like a brat in here. Also, I'm kind of pissed at gege for giving my boy suguru an L. Like he nerfed suguru and all that, like giving all the attention and power to yuta, satoru and yuki but making suguru weak. It just pissed me off. I intend to make him powerful as he is, just like his and satoru's title as the “strongest”.

Anyways, It's kind of a thing in my country where we count toji as "maasim" (smelly) cause he seems like he doesn't take a bath or something HAHHAHA, and also, enjoy the readers life as toji's worm<3 (for now).

[dawngyu]

Official Teaser: The Archive

Pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader Genre: neuro-science fiction au, set in the year 2125, romance, angst, psychological drama (more to be added)

"Here. Please read each clause carefully dear."

The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. The relentless ticking of the clock thumps in your ears, a fierce reminder of the gravity of what you’re about to do. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will.

Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

RELEASE DATE: FEBRUARY 18TH, 2025 12PM MST.

inspired by parts of ariana’s we can’t be friends music video aka eternal sunshine of the spotless mind—something about the idea of science stepping in to "help" left a lasting impression on me. concept is there, but the plot itself will take a different path. can’t wait to share it here. ><

Taglist: Open! Let me know if you want to be tagged for this one.

[astericias]

Hello! Is this AU based on Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind? It’s been a while since I’ve watched the movie. Care to elaborate how it relates if at all?

YES IT IS ^_^!!! my au is pretty similar to the movie!! the memories are just not the same of course but I do keep some of the dialogue.

Grian erases all his memories of Scar after he wins secret life, and when Scar finds out (thanks to Etho and Joel) he decides to do the same thing. Tango, Scott (maybe Bigb too I haven't decided on that yet...) and Jimmy are the ones who are in charge of the procedure.

Any memory from the life series that Scar has of Grian starts getting erased starting from secret life, and just like in the movie, as Scar is reliving his memories he realizes that he doesn't actually want to erase Grian from his life or his mind, so he tries to stop the procedure or hide Grian in embarrassing memories so he's not taken from him.

desert duo are the main characters but there's a little bit of flower husbands and a little bit of the ranchers in there :3 most dynamics are based on double life but there's still friendships and stuff from other seasons!

[leaves-of-laurelin]

Thank you to @cha-melodius @kiwiana-writes for the tags! Below is more from the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind au I’m working on.

As soon as he steps into the room David is barking and pulling away from Henry’s hold to charge directly at Alex, and were it a larger dog instead of being approximately the size of a house cat then Alex might be alarmed, but as it jumps up against his shins, wagging its tail so hard it’s liable to fall off, he can’t help but be charmed.

Alex crouches down to pet the dog on its head and scratch behind its ears, which seems to just get it more excited, and Alex has to physically hold it back from jumping up and licking at his face. “He’s a friendly one, huh?” he says with a laugh, looking up at Henry.

“Yes, but…” He crosses the room towards them, looking both surprised and slightly embarrassed. “Never quite like this.”

“Guess I must be special,” Alex quips, which earns him a few more shockingly loud barks.

“David, we must be better behaved than that,” Henry scolds in a sweet tone as he picks the dog up into his arms. “We can’t just accost guests the moment they step foot over the threshold.”

Alex stands. “No, need to at least buy me a drink first.”

Henry’s eyes briefly shoot up to Alex’s before looking back down at David, but there’s a smile and Alex swears he can see a slight blush just before Henry turns around.

Tagging @littlemisskittentoes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @affectionatelyrs @daisymae-12 @inexplicablymine @cricketnationrise @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @rmd-writes @clottedcreamfudge @firenati0n @welcometololaland @suseagull04 @tailsbeth-writes @wordsofhoneydew @thesleepyskipper and anyone else who would like to join.

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC 50's High School AU... Or is it?

Just imagine if you will, a very aesthetic 1950's high school setting. The Waynes live in the idyllic little town of Amity Park, going to Casper High, and living their lives.

Dick is the oldest son, off to college but still stopping by to visit, all letterman jacket and smiles. Jason, the bad boy greaser is trying to finish up his senior year of high school, a little late, but spending time in Juvie put his life on hold. He's trying his best, spending time working on his motorcycle and hanging with his study buddy, Jazz Fenton. Tim enjoying high school life with his family, studying hard and enjoying photography club. Gee, Tim's life sure is perfect

or is it?

Tim can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Sometimes, he remembers something else. He has memories of his life here, and they must be real, his family is here, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, and even Dick when he's back from the Teen Titans college. Wait... Dick wasn't in college, was he? Wasn't he a cop in Blood Haven? Was he the local cop? That's right, Dick is the local cop, all sunshine and feeding his eternal sweet tooth with donuts. How could he forget that? He loved his family! Sure, there had been some rough spots, like when Jason died went to juvie, but they were together now, a real family.

But sometimes Tim has dreams, of another time, of another place. But they can't be true, can they? YES! No, That made no sense. Thinking about it made his head hurt.

Then there was the matter of the boy in his class, Danny Fenton. He kept catching him staring. Danny would just look at him funny. Sometimes he would say weird things. Tim would write him off as just an oddball, but sometimes what he said reminded him of his dreams.

Tim wasn't sure what it was, but something was up. He was going to find out what it was, and maybe, just maybe, Danny Fenton was the first step to solving this mystery

or

Tim wished for a more idyllic life and to get along with his brothers while on a mission in Amity Park. One reality warping genie ghost later and now they're stuck in something like a 1950's sitcom with altered memories.

[everlasting-rainfall]

Hi I’m new to requesting stuff , hopefully I’ve done this right XD also hope your doing ok and drinking plenty of water 💕

can I please request the Crane Game AU please :)

Reaching into a crane game to grab something only to be grabbed and pulled into a plush world

Yandere : Joyboy 

What if reader won something from the crane game , only when their went to grabbed it , something grabbed them instead. 

Reader now teleported into the plush world where their meet Joyboy who’s more than happy to show reader around …lets just hope reader doesn’t slip up and accidentally asked how do they get back home .

Oh don’t worry, dear! You did it absolutely perfectly! Couldn’t have been better in all honesty! Thank you for reminding me to drink water, and I’m going to do so right now once I finish this sentence. Doing it. And done!

Also yes, you most certainly can! But I’d like to clear some things up real quick, I know that currently Joyboy does not have an official design. So based off some old fanart, I’ve saw of him that made me fall for him.

I personally headcanon him to be a giant (or at least just really tall) with a big black beard, long black hair, having a dad body, and having quite a bit of body hair. So until proven otherwise, this is how I will see him. I hope you don’t mind!

Now before I start rambling about things, and getting side-tracked! Let’s get to it!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

Transformation, Clinginess, Being Trapped for Eternity, Noncon Mention, Being Treated like You’re Crazy, Body Horror (?), Attempted Coercion into Pregnancy

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

BEWARE SPOILERS

Okay so let’s imagine that you’re playing a crane game, you’re trying to win this really fluffy stuffed animal that looks really appealing. It doesn’t matter where you are, you’re playing the game regardless.

But when it goes to drop the plush into the prize slot, it gets stuck right on the edge of it. You’re annoyed of course as it was so close!

You get a brilliant idea though, and reach right on up the prize slot. It’s within grabbing range, and you did win it. No harm done!

The fuzz from the plush just barely brushes against your fingers before you feel something grab your wrist tightly. You try to fight it as it pulls you with tremendous strength, but it won’t let go.

Suddenly you’re being pulled into the machine, you sit atop the giant pile of plushies for less than a second before you’re pulled down into them. You have no idea what has you, or how this pile goes so deep.

But soon? You’re reach the bottom, and good news! Your wrist is free! But bad news, you’re falling from up in the clouds down to an island.

Your first reaction is screaming cause “Holy shit! I’m gonna die!”, and there is no second reaction until you feel yourself be caught. You cautiously open your eyes, and you’re staring at a giant plush.

He seems so happy to see you as he holds you like you’re a bride.

“There you are, Sunshine! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

I think you’d probably be too shocked to really say anything as you look around. Everything is made out of some kind of material used for sewing except for the sun which almost looks like a lightbulb and… Is the sky a quilt?

In all honesty, it probably feels like you stepped right into some kind of children’s television show… But your brain is going a mile a minute as it tries to process everything, you probably can’t even hear Joyboy trying to talk to you.

“Sunshine? Can you hear me at all? Hey… I’m talking to you… Sunshine?”

When your brain eventually does process everything, you pass right out in Joyboy’s arms. He’s not bothered though, this just saves him from having to deal with you freaking out about things.

It’s what everyone does after all when they’re pulled to this world! And although he did choose you to take, he is happy that he doesn’t have to deal with the typical “Where am I?! What the fuck is going on?!” sort of stuff. At least not yet anyways.

So Joyboy will take you back to his home. He’ll set up a fake scene, he’ll change your clothes to one of his shirts as a nightgown, and lay you down in his bed with a wet washcloth on your forehead.

Honest to god, he loves how you look in his bed! The size difference between the two of you just makes it so cute! Your small human body in his bed that’s meant to accommodate his big plush body.

Maybe he’ll have some time with you… Just to ensure that the scene is far more believable when you wake up… Some physical soreness never hurt anyone…

As a result when you wake up, you’ll feel an incredible soreness like you’ve been stretched to hell and back. So you start to sit up only for the washcloth to fall into your lap, you’re so confused until the man himself enters.

He puts on a facade about how happy he is that you’re finally awake, as he was starting to grow worried about you. And you understandably freak out because “Giant talking plush man!!”.

Joyboy will feign surprise, and then severe worry because “Don’t you remember me, Sunshine? Shh, it’s okay!! It’s me, your husband!! Joyboy!! You know I’m a plush man!!”.

Once Joyboy has managed to calm you down enough, he’ll lie to you and tell you that you’ve had a horrible fever the past few days. You’ve been unconscious for the past week with a high temperature.

He’ll claim that your high temperatures must have affected your brain, and caused amnesia. He knows that he’s lying his ass off, and he doesn’t care.

And if you try to bring up that you’re a human, and you’re not from a world where the sun is not a sun shaped lightbulb? He’ll agree that yeah, you are different from plush people but he has no clue what a “human” is. Is that what you’ve decided to call whatever you are?

As for the other world, he brushes it off as “Oh you were dreaming, sunshine! What else would the sun be? A ball of gas?”.

You can try to argue all that you want with this man, it’s not gonna work. Eventually he’ll tell you to just get some rest as you still must be loopy, he’ll show you around tomorrow to jog your memory.

There’s no room for you to fight back as he interrupts you as soon as you speak. Until you finally agree to rest, or sleep.

In the morning, he gives you food and you’re thankful that the food is at least normal. Joyboy is smiling the entire time that you eat, he claims that it’s because he’s so glad your appetite is back.

In actuality, he knows that since your body is allowing you to eat plush world food instead of completely rejecting it. It’s a sign that you’re becoming trapped here with him.

Maybe he’ll try to take a tiny bit of off of your plate for himself, but just a tiny bit. And he laughs quite heartily when he gets caught, something about it just brings him so much happiness for some reason.

Eventually once you’re finished eating, he’ll pick you up in the palm of his plush hand. He’ll take you outside, and to all the places that he claims he used to take you. The place where you had your first date, where you first met, your favorite spot to sit and relax with him, the absolute best place to find the tastiest plush world food.

Each time he’ll ask “Do you remember this place?”, and when you don’t. He’ll tell you all sorts of stories about the things that you and him have done here together, it doesn’t sound the most convincing but he won’t allow you to claim that it didn’t happen.

And if you try to then he’ll take on a somewhat dark tone as he tells you that it did happen. You just don’t remember right now, and that you should stop saying that it didn’t.

He’ll even take you around to meet everyone that he knows. Zunesha, Emeth, even his dad! Nika! (Personal Headcanon). Each, and every single one of them will back Joyboy up on what he’s saying. Every little bit of it.

None of them will believe you either about the world that you came from. Saying that you have some crazy fever dreams… A world where people don’t bleed stuffing, and everyone has skin instead of fabric? Absolutely crazy! What will you come up with next?

Honestly though, you know what’s supposed to be right. And you’re determined to get home even though you fell from the sky.

Joyboy might be big, but you heavily doubt that he’ll help you get home with the way he’s acting towards you. You could try, and ask his friends or Dad if you got desperate enough.

But he won’t let you out of his sight. “Wherever you go, I go!”, he’d gleefully say when you try to use the bathroom. Or try to do quite literally anything…

Plus do you really think that Nika is gonna help his son’s darling get away from him? Yeah, I think not… He’ll probably immediately tell Joyboy everything then you are so fucked…

Imagine the visual of this giant plush man looming over you, and looking less than pleased. It doesn’t matter if he’s a plush animal, or if he’s just a plush version of himself, I still feel like that would be scary.

So probably best to not say anything as Nika will rat you out in a heartbeat, and any of his friends might do the exact same thing.

Best to come up with a plan of escape on your own. I feel like he’d definitely notice if you were doing it on your daily outings, so it’s best to do it while he’s sleeping. I feel like he’d snore very loudly too, so unless you can sleep through that then best to make plans while you can’t sleep.

It’s not there’s anything else to do. As if you try to get out of bed then he’ll wake up. Joyboy will go from dead sleep to wide awake “where are you going?” “uhhh… Thirsty…?” “Oh I’ll come with you… I’m kinda thirsty too…” Then it’ll be right back to bed. Also if you’re wondering “Couldn’t I just ask to sleep in a different room?” then the answer is no… You could request earplugs if you want though, but I doubt that’ll block it.

Might be quite surreal to see a plush person eat or drink in all honesty…

Anywho… So honestly I feel like once you’re in plush world, you can’t get out unless you can somehow manage to find someone or something to fly you out of the sky quilt before you’re cemented here…

You’re likely stuck here forever then, and once this sets in for you. That’s when things start, you’ll begin to notice that your skin feels different… Like fabric…

When Joyboy takes you out on outings with him to show you around, and walk to all of his favorite places in the wilderness, the lightbulb sun will actually start to start to feel like actual sunlight. Those plush birds will sound more like birds instead of voice boxes.

Joyboy will notice all of these changes in your behavior as you look around for what you were sure was a non-plush bird. He knows that you’re going to be cemented into this world soon.

So that’s when he starts showing you all these new places, he’ll take you to this nice spot out in the wilderness saying his parents brought him here when he was a kid. He loved it, and he hopes that he’ll be able to share that with his own kids someday.

If you try to brush him off with those comments then he’ll probably get more direct. Telling you things like “You know, Sunshine… We should have a baby soon…” and “It’d be so nice to have your belly sewing together a little one for us…”

Does it make you uncomfortable especially when he rubs your belly? Probably yes… Does he care? No…

I feel like Joyboy would be one of the Yandere’s that has a somewhat low chance of forcing themselves onto you. Like every Yandere has their limit before they do, Joyboy is willing to wait for quite a long time though to fill you with whatever is cum for plush people.

And one day when you’re getting changed, or taking a shower or something. That’s when you’ll see it. Your skin is turning plush.

Could be patchwork, could be fuzz, could be anything really… Regardless your skin is becoming fabric…

Try and pull it off? Not coming off, and it’s slowly spreading across your body. Of course you panic, and the sound of it alerts Joyboy.

If he’s not in the room (unlikely) then he’ll come running, and if he is then he’ll whip around or throw the shower curtain open to see you.

And once he does, he’ll groan a little “Sunshine, you made me think that something horrible was happening!” “Something horrible is happening!! My skin is turning plush!!” “That’s great, not horrible! Now you’re just like me instead of… What did you call it? Hue-van?”

Regardless of what you say, Joyboy will watch as the plush slowly creeps along your body. Imagine if his touch accelerated it too?

So you have him poking at the fabric occasionally while chuckling, you try to smack his hands away and he just keeps doing it. All until the plush fully consumes you.

You’re no longer a human, and you’ll be inanimate for a good bit as your insides transform. Once it’s all finished, you’ll be a plush person just like everyone else in this world.

Now you couldn’t leave even if you found a way to get past the sky quilt, you’re stuck here for all eternity now…

Joyboy will help you up onto your feet, and assist you with getting used to your new body. He’ll watch you as you stumble about on plush legs with a chuckle.

“Is it really that hard getting used to new legs, sunshine? You don’t have to learn if it’s really that hard, I’ll carry you around everywhere…”

He’ll do it too, don’t think that he won’t…

Maybe after a few years, Joyboy will have conveniently forgotten that you used to be a… What was it again? A Hue-van? Or was it a Mew-Band? Blue-can? Sew-blan? It doesn’t matter…

But for right now, he’ll enjoy your new plush form and relish in the fact that you’re here to stay now…

In more ways than one too! As now that you’re a plush person, you can far more easily accommodate his size…