#we are not going the same way as the rest of the world (for now) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinnamon7girl7 · 17 hours ago

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"WE DON'T BELIEVE YOU, GOJO!!!"

At this point, saying Satoru Gojo was famous on the internet was an understatement. With thirteen million followers on Twitch, a YouTube channel full of viral clips, and a legion of fans who followed him everywhere, he was basically a digital celebrity. No one would’ve imagined that the guy with the “just woke up” face and loud laugh would make it this far—least of all, him.

Gojo had started streaming a couple of years ago, at first as a joke. He uploaded short clips playing with his friends, no cam, just a voice that sounded way too confident for someone constantly losing in Valorant. But everything changed the moment he decided to turn on his camera and show his face—then the internet fell at his feet. There was something about him… that mix of shameless charm, zero embarrassment, and a cocky smile that seemed custom-made to break hearts through the screen.

Now, he streamed four times a week, usually at night, starting around 8 p.m. and sometimes staying on past midnight. Mondays were for “chatting with chat,” as he liked to say—sometimes he didn’t even play, just commented on random stuff, reacted to videos, and laughed at the dumbest comments. Wednesdays were shooter days: Valorant, Overwatch 2, sometimes a little Call of Duty. Fridays were for story-driven games like Detroit: Become Human or Until Dawn, where he screamed like it was the end of the world every time a character died. Sundays were pure chaos: games with followers, silly challenges, and an outrageous amount of bits flying across the screen.

His room was part of the charm. The camera always showed the same angle: Gojo in his white gamer chair, wearing black headphones that contrasted with his messy white hair. Behind him, a wall decorated with blue LED lights, shelves packed with Funkos and little figurines, and a giant plushie of a cat with a suspicious face that always made an appearance at some point during the stream. Sometimes he wore sunglasses, just “for the drama.” Other times he showed up with wet hair, like he’d just gotten out of the shower and couldn’t care less. Always in oversized T-shirts or hoodies, most of them printed with memes or ridiculous quotes like “you won because I let you.”

That Monday night, he was in his usual talking stream. Almost 580,000 people were tuned in.

—Hey, hey, wait, wait —Gojo spoke with a lazy smile, leaning back in his chair—. Why are you saying that if I let my hair grow longer I look like a chaotic elf? Respect!

The chat was going a thousand miles an hour, emojis, conspiracy theories about whether he slept more than three hours a day. Affectionate insults, threats of eternal love, greetings from countries he didn’t even remember visiting. All the usual stuff.

Gojo slowly spun his chair from side to side while finishing adjusting his headset. He wore a gray hoodie with a stretched neck, like he had put it on without looking. His hair, messier than ever, fell disorderly over his forehead, and the dark glasses rested on the tip of his nose, letting his eyes peek over with a mischievous smile.

—Okay, let’s see, what do we have today?

@ILoveYouSoWhat: DO YOU SLEEP OR JUST EXIST?

@LoveRamen: I dreamed about you last night and woke up sad

@GojoEndMe: why are you so handsome today? Stop making me suffer

@SayHiOrIExplode: SAY SOMETHING, SENSEI, SAY SOMETHINGGG

—But I haven’t said anything and you’re all already upset! —he laughed, resting his elbows on the desk while reading the chaos on screen—. Weren’t I unbearable? Weren’t you all over it already?

@ShinyHair: yes, but your existence drags us

@MyPaleKing: you’re too close to the camera. My knees are shaking

@GojoFanClub: speaking for everyone when I say I hate you lovingly

—Wow. Strong statements for a Monday —he replied, raising an eyebrow—. I wake up, turn on the stream, gift you this beauty in 4K and all I get are threats and confused love declarations.

@StopThisMan: I can’t take this man anymore

@VirtualKiss: your existence is emotional violence

Gojo burst out laughing and leaned back, letting his chair squeak dramatically.

—See why I don’t stream every day? I need time to emotionally recover from the bullying you all do to me. Where’s the sincere affection? Where’s the pure love?

@BlindLove: I do love you, even if you’re unbearable

@ProfGojo: sincere affection? You only understand chaos

@BiteMeGojo: you give me love and trauma at the same time

—Love and trauma? What a strong phrase to put on a t-shirt! Wait... I’m going to write that down!

He made the dramatic gesture of writing with an invisible pen, as if he really had a notebook at hand.

—“Love and trauma since 199... well, since a few years ago. With love, Satoru.”

@IWantThatShirt: I’ll buy it RIGHT NOW

@AdorableMenace: stop monetizing our mental health

—But you all come to me! I didn’t even go looking for you. I was calm, playing calmly, and suddenly I wake up with thousands of you yelling “hit me or kiss me,” what am I supposed to do with that?!

@LetUsLoveYou: just kiss us all already

@GimmeStreamGimmeLife: we chose you as our favorite trauma

Gojo snapped his fingers, pointing at the screen as if he could really see them.

—Now I understand why my psychologist always seems so exhausted when I see him. He looks at me like “I don’t get paid enough to listen to what you tell me.”

@SatoruSpillIt: that’s because you didn’t tell him you’re a streamer

@SpicyTeaTime: does your psychologist know you’re a streamer?

—Of course. It was his idea, actually. He told me: “Maybe you should channel that need for attention in a healthier way.” And look at me now! Surrounded by thousands of strangers yelling things at me... total emotional healing.

@SawYouFirst: so it was the psychologist’s idea... we love him

@TherapistOfThePeople: thanks for everything, doc

He stayed silent for a moment, watching the number of viewers keep rising. It was already over 670,000 live. He noticed, but didn’t comment on it. He just smiled.

—Hey… can I ask something?

The chat paused for just a second. Just enough for someone to write:

@AskSensei: obviously, whatever you want

—Do you all watch all my streams? Like, every single one? Or is there someone here who just arrived, like, casually?

@CameFromTikTok: you showed up in an edit and now I can’t escape

@FromApexWithLove: I’ve been here since they were killing you in the lobby

@NoviceInLove: I came for a clip and stayed for your face

@NoEscape: I arrived yesterday and already sold my soul

—Ha! I love you guys. Well, not literally. Imagine if I could say that without legal consequences… “Streamer marries 13 million people.” Can you imagine? My big digital wedding. The first kiss would be delayed.

@IWannaBeTheBrideNumberOne: I want to be bride number one!

@LetThemKiss: can you kiss through the stream?

@ToxicMoon: no, but I can kiss the screen anyway

Gojo brought his hand to his chest with a hurt expression.

—You’re killing me. This is no longer bullying: it’s emotional homicide. And you know what’s worst? I like it. I’m an accomplice.

@ToxicButLoyal: we’re your favorite crime

@LaughButConfess: you laugh a lot but don’t say if you have a girlfriend

The comment went by fast. Almost unnoticed. But he read it.

And he didn’t answer immediately.

He just stared at the screen a little longer than usual, with a half frozen, half amused smile. The silence didn’t last even three seconds, but on the internet that’s eternal.

@I_SAW_IT: he saw it… he read it… and stayed silent

@WE_DONT_BELIEVE_YOU: there it is, the silence gave him away

@MAKE_HIM_CONFESS: don’t run away, bald guy with powers

Gojo squinted. Tilted his head. Then chuckled softly.

—See how you are? One thing is to call me handsome, and another to corner me like this is a live trial. What’s next? Bringing a lawyer to the stream?

@ChatAccuses: Satoru Gojo, accused of hiding love information

@WE_DEMAND_PROOF: Do you have a girlfriend or not?

@NOBODY_BELIEVES_YOU: this man is way too happy to be single

Gojo clicked his tongue, spun in his chair, covered his face with one hand, and murmured:

—And so, ladies and ladies… the war has begun.

The silence barely lasted a second. Maybe two. Then, as if someone had pressed a giant red button, the chat exploded into absolute chaos.

@SugarCookie: Don’t tell me you have a girlfriend.

@DonutKarma: What war? What did you do, Satoru?

@TenderRamen: YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?! WHAT WAR?

@GojoTheories: The one who stays silent… has a girlfriend.

@SadEyes: Is what I’m reading real or am I projecting?

Satoru raised both eyebrows as he read the messages flying across the screen. The monitor’s glow reflected in his eyes, now sparkling with pure amusement. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head with a dangerous smile on his lips.

—But what does one thing have to do with the other? —he said in a relaxed tone, though not hiding the laugh escaping from the corner of his mouth—. I was talking about the emotional war unleashed in this stream… who mentioned girlfriends?

@EmoPanda: WHAT WAR? THE EMOTIONAL ONE YOU’RE CAUSING ME?!

@LoggingOff: Gojo, DO YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?

@SpiritualSandal: CONFIRM OR DENY, NOW.

@FuriousPikachu: don’t evade the question, master

He let out a full laugh, with that laugh of his that seemed contagious even if you had no idea what was going on. He turned his chair a bit, moving closer to the microphone, as if he really had something important to confess.

—What if I do? —he asked boldly, raising an eyebrow—. What if I do have one?

@InnocentMe: CRY WITH ME

@DestroyedFan: I don’t know how to deal with this

@RealSandal: Don’t make me throw the sandal, Gojo

@ShockedRabbit: Are you telling me I was THE OTHER without knowing?

He rubbed the back of his neck with a half guilty, half delighted smile. Like he was enjoying every second of this collective reaction.

—Come on, it’s not that big a deal. —He shrugged with a dramatic sigh—. I just said “what if I do?” I haven’t confirmed anything, technically.

@Conspiracy3000: That’s what someone WHO HAS a girlfriend would say

@DramaQueen: the one who doubts, HAS

@DisappointedCake: I’m listening to Taylor Swift while reading this

@NotNormal: You said it. You sold yourself out, Gojo

Satoru rested his elbows on the table, intertwined his fingers, and rested his chin on his hands. He looked at the screen as if the whole world was judging him in an interrogation room. His lips formed a sly, almost tender smile, but in his gaze there was a spark of mischief no one was going to put out.

—Since when is having a partner a federal crime? —he murmured, in a mock victim tone—. I literally just said “what if I do,” and now they want to exile me.

@NoPeaceSinceToday: I just wanted to watch you play. Now I’m in therapy.

@BackgroundNetflix: This is better than any series

@NotAJoke: Say it. Just say it. Do you have a girlfriend or not?

And that’s when he decided.

He closed his eyes for a second, took a breath, and then leaned even closer to the mic, as if about to tell the biggest secret of his life. He spoke with a soft, sincere voice… but without losing the humor.

—Yes.

He dropped it with such dangerous calm it seemed scripted. Then shrugged, as if he hadn’t just destroyed thousands of hearts with a single word.

—Yes, I have a girlfriend. For six years.

The chat froze for a fraction of a second before going into spontaneous combustion.

@AreYouKiddingMe: error 404

@IAlreadyLeft: Nope. It can’t be. It’s not real.

@BrokenFantasy: SIX? SIX YEARS? SIX YEARS.

@MomI’mCrying: don’t talk to me, I’m mourning

@MySoulHurts: I felt like running in the rain

— I know, I know — he said, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture that didn’t help at all —. It all happened very fast… six years ago. I met her, I fell in love, and since then, here we are. And it’s not like I wanted to hide her, okay? It’s just that… you all are intense. Look at you right now.

He laughed alone seeing how fast the chat was moving. The chaos. The suffering. And yet, there was affection behind it all. That was the price of being loved by so many people: even good news hurt.

— She lives with me, puts up with me, makes me laugh… and she cooks better than anyone. I adore her. A lot. And no, I didn’t make her up. This is not a marketing plan or a strategy for a movie. It’s real.

@CollectivePanic: I’m dizzy.

@CollectivePanic: I’m sweating.

@CollectivePanic: I fell off the couch.

@ShockedCat: What do you mean SHE LIVES WITH YOU?

@BrokenHeart: I lost the light in my eyes

@I’mLeaving: This is my last stream, it was an honor

— What did you expect? That I would live alone and eat instant ramen my whole life?

He put a hand on his chest as if he really felt hurt.

— You don’t believe me! Do you really not believe me? After everything we’ve shared?

@DoubleStandard: I can’t be happy for you if I’m not the one

@IDon’tBelieveYouGojo: LIAR. I DON’T BELIEVE YOU.

@That’sFake: Gojo, you don’t know what true love is

@HaterButLoyal: This is a phase. Tomorrow he’ll deny it.

He laughed, the kind of laugh he only let out when everything seemed like an eternal joke.

— Want an official announcement? A blood-signed document? A romantic stream by candlelight?

@YourExInSilence: YES

@GiveItToMeNOW: Let her come. Let her confirm it. NOW!

@DeluxeBetrayal: Proof, Satoru. We want proof.

He leaned back, settling into that expression like he had everything under control. Like he’d been waiting all night for this moment.

— No, not yet — he said, winking —. You haven’t begged me enough.

@FuriousAndUnited: WE BEG ON OUR KNEES, DADDY

@FuryKiss: LET US MEET THE QUEEN

@ShockedHeart: I don’t know whether to cry or applaud

— That’s why I never tell you anything — he murmured, shaking his head with a charming smile —. They literally put me on trial the moment I open my mouth. This is an emotional court with no neutral jury.

@YouAskedForIt: Guilty. No way out.

@InnocenceIsOver: This is my last stream

— Well, now you know. I have a girlfriend. Six years. It’s real. She’s beautiful. She’s mine. And I’m not going to show her. Not yet. — He leaned toward the camera, winking cheekily —. And the best part is… this is just the beginning.

The chat kept roaring like an endless storm. Hearts were broken, fingers typed as if trying to pierce through the screen, and Satoru… he simply enjoyed it. You could tell. That playful sparkle in his eyes was like a mischievous child nobody could stop.

@DetectiveFan: OK. LET’S START THE INVESTIGATION

@BestFriendWhoDoesn’tSuspect: IS SHE BLONDE?

@BetrayedButLoyal: GOJO, IS SHE PRETTY?

@EyesLikeTheSky: tell me if she has light eyes or I’ll die

Satoru let out a mischievous giggle and tilted his head, resting his cheek against the back of his hand while watching the messages flood the screen.

—Hmm… —he made a thoughtful sound, as if truly evaluating something important—. Want to know about her?

@Everyone: YES!!

@NowRightNow: TELL US EVERYTHING

@ConfessNow: GOJO, I BEG YOU

He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, pretending to be indecisive.

—Okay. But let’s play. If you guess her hair color… I’ll say something about her. Only one thing per correct guess, okay?

@PinkHair: PINK!

@BlackLikeMySoul: BLACK

@SilverLikeYou: SILVER LIKE YOURS

@RedheadPlease: REDHEAD!

@SurelyBlonde: She’s blonde, my soul tells me

@FantasticRainbow: She’s bald

Satoru watched each message pass with a raised eyebrow, as if silently judging. He smiled with clenched teeth and shook his head.

—No, no, no. Everyone is pretty far off… Although that one from “@FantasticRainbow” made me laugh —he shrugged—. Anything else? Anyone else want to try?

@IneverFail: DARK REDHEAD

@MyIdealMotherInLaw: BLACK WITH BLUE HIGHLIGHTS

@DetectiveChestnut: BROWN

And there, he said it. He heard it. Well, he read it. He paused. His eyes opened a little wider, that subtle way he has only when caught. A laugh escaped him before he could control it, soft and playful.

—Aha… —he whispered to the microphone—. We have a winner.

@NOOOO: WHAT? WHO? WHICH ONE WAS IT?

@REPEATIT: I DIDN’T SEE! I DIDN’T SEE!

@STOPEVERYTHING: SOMEONE GOT IT RIGHT!

Satoru let out a louder laugh, dropped his head back for a second, then looked directly at the camera again.

—Yes. Brown. Bingo.

@IMDEAD: I’M SAYING GOODBYE TO THE WORLD

@IWANTTHATINFO: TELL THE TRUTH, YOU PROMISED

@GOSSIPWITHPRIZE: GOJO, SPILL IT

Satoru rested his elbows on the desk, laced his fingers, and looked at the camera with a smile that melts hearts.

—Okay. One truth about her… Every time I get sick, doesn’t matter if it’s a silly cold, or I just sneeze three times a day… she makes me soup. A special one. It has ginger, onion, carrot, sometimes rice. And she knows exactly how long to boil it to heal me. It never fails. Never.

@SOULHEALER: I want to die of love

@IWANTTHATSOUPE: Do you have the recipe?

@SHE’SMYIDOLNOW: MAKE HER A SAINT!

—Another round, want it? —he said in a lower, playful voice, as if he knew the chat had no escape—. What if now you guess… her eye color?

@BlueLikeMyHeart: BLUE!

@SorceressGreen: GREEN!

@BlackLikeMyShadow: BLACK

@RedLikeMyEnvy: I DON’T KNOW BUT I WANT THEM TO BE RED

@Violet: VIOLET, obviously

@SweetCoffee: Brown

Another pause. A slow smile formed on Satoru’s lips, who barely bit his lower lip.

—Look at that! Again… someone got it right.

@WHOWASIT: SAY IT!

@IDIDNTSEE: WHO SAID IT?

—Brown. —The word came out soft, with sincere affection—. A brown that changes with the light. Sometimes it looks like honey, sometimes like wet earth. They’re… pretty —he admitted quietly, lowering his gaze only a second before regaining composure—. Another truth, then.

He stretched in his chair, as if thinking a bit.

—She doesn’t let me leave without breakfast. Never. And when I try, she crosses her arms at the door and won’t let me pass. She says, “You won’t last five minutes like that.” And she’s right. Always right.

@I'MCHILLING: HOW DO I BECOME HER?

@IWANTTOBEBREAKFAST: I DON'T EVEN CARE THAT MUCH ABOUT MYSELF

@MARRIAGEIN4MONTHS: I MARRY THEM

And suddenly, BOOM! The screen exploded with violet lights and digital fireworks.

@IDONTBELIEVEYOU just dropped the bomb: 💥 20,000 bits 💥 The message came with pure venom: @IDONTBELIEVEYOU: I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY. I. DO. NOT. BELIEVE. YOU. I won't believe it until she comes and says it with her VOICE. WE WANT TO HEAR HER! CALL HER NOW, GOJO!

The chat collapsed as if someone had kicked a beehive.

@OHMYGOD: AAAAAAAA

@THISISASECT: THIS GOT SERIOUS

@BIGDONATION: YOU DON'T PLAY WITH 20K BITS

@MYSOULSCREAMED: THE VOICE! THE VOICE!

Satoru opened his eyes as if he'd been challenged to the world gossip finals. He leaned back in his chair, making a face like "Are you seriously doing this to me?"... then he smiled.

— Well, well... — he said, looking at the camera like he was talking to an accomplice.

Someone wants audio proof.

The chat went on fire.

@CALLCALLNOW: I'M NERVOUS AND I'M NOT EVEN HER

@WEARECRAZY: WHAT IF HE ANSWERS SWEETLY?

@IWILLDIEHAPPY: WHAT IF HE SAYS "LOVE"?

Satoru was already pulling out his phone. With one hand he unlocked it, swiped to your contacts, and there was your name, with a bow emoji and a pink heart.

He typed. He called. Speakerphone.

— If you don't answer... they're going to burn me alive — he murmured, amused.

A couple of rings, and then:

— Hi? — your voice, unprepared, so natural, so you.

Satoru straightened up a bit, a smile already fixed and a mischievous look.

— Love, where are you?

— At Zara — you said, unaware you were being listened to by thousands of lost souls.

I'm between two dresses, one makes my legs look beautiful, the other is very short. What are you doing?

Silence. TOTAL silence.

Satoru looked straight at the camera. He didn’t explain anything. He just said with a calm smile:

— Nothing. I just wanted to hear you — he replied, with that low, honeyed voice reserved only for you.

And that’s when hell broke loose.

@NOOOOOOOOOOO: HE SAID LOVE LIVE ON AIR!

@IGOTOUTOFTHISWORLD: THAT VOICE. THAT VOICE. THAT VOICE.

@INEEDAIR: SHE'S AT ZARA AND HE CALLS HER. WHY IS THIS SO REAL?

@ICRYFORTHEM: SHE SAID “WHAT ARE YOU DOING” AND HE ANSWERED “NOTHING.” THEY’RE DESTROYING ME

@20KBITSWELLSPENT: IT WAS WORTH EVERY BIT. EVERY SINGLE ONE.

@SHOPPINGQUEEN: SHE’S SHOPPING AND HE CALLS TO HEAR HER VOICE? SHUT UP, I’M CRYING IN PUBLIC!

@IMBREAKING: WHO SAYS “I JUST WANTED TO HEAR YOU”? WHO DOES THAT AND SURVIVES?

@HAPPYLIVES: THAT’S IT. THIS IS A DRAMA. THIS IS NOT REAL.

@LOVEONLOUDSPEAKER: I NEED TO BE LOVED LIKE THIS. HOW DO YOU DO IT?

@THISISNOTADRILL: GOJO, STOP. YOU’RE GOING TO KILL HALF THE FANDOM

@OFFICIALLYDECLARE: HER VOICE IS SOFT. HE LISTENS LIKE IT’S A PRIVILEGE

— Are you busy? — you asked, not knowing your voice had just been archived by thousands of people in their brains and hearts forever.

— For you, never — he said with a little smile, resting his elbow on the table like this was an intimate video call... and not a stream watched by over a hundred thousand people.

@IMDEAD: HE SAID “FOR YOU, NEVER.” FOR YOU, NEVER!!!!!

@BREATHEFORGOD: LIVE FLIRTING. PUBLIC FLIRTING. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

@HEROESOFMYHEART: I THOUGHT I WAS IN GOJO’S STREAM, NOT IN A LOVE STORY

— I’m just... at Zara. I saw something I thought you’d like — you kept saying, while the world melted in real time.

— What?

— A white shirt, one of those you like.

@SHEKNOWSWHATSHELIKES: SHE KNOWS WHAT SHIRTS HE LIKES!!!

@STOPEVERYTHING: WHO AUTHORIZED HER TO BE THIS PERFECT?

@GOJOSWIFECONFIRMED: NO DOUBT LEFT. THIS WOMAN EXISTS AND HAS HIM IN LOVE

— Send me a photo — he said, completely shameless, ignoring that the entire world was listening to every word with teary eyes.

— Okay, but don’t ignore me, okay? — you whispered sweetly.

— Never — and the monitor in front of him reflected for a second that silly, in-love smile.

@IMSOFEDUP: ENOUGH!!!! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE

@LOVEEXISTS: IF THEY EXIST, LOVE DOES TOO

@BREATHETOGETHER: SERIOUSLY, STOP. I’M CRYING IN THE WORK BATHROOM

— Did you buy anything yet or are you still doubting as always? — he joked, leaning further back in the chair.

— I’m looking... there’s a pretty dress too, but I don’t know which of the three to pick — you answered with a little laugh.

— Everything you wear looks spectacular. Literally. Everything — he replied without thinking twice.

@IMSCREAMING: HOW CAN I GET SOMETHING LIKE THAT?

@BREATHEWITHME: I’M. H-Y-P-E-R-V-E-N-T-I-L-A-T-I-N-G.

@EVERYTHINGCONFIRMED: THEY CALL, THEY FLIRT, THEY KNOW EACH OTHER’S CLOTHES… THEY’RE MARRIED, END

— How dramatic — you replied, though he could already imagine your smile, and that was enough for him.

— Dramatic, but sincere.

@StopThis: THE TONE. THE TONE. HOW DO YOU TALK TO SOMEONE LIKE THAT AND STILL BE ALIVE?

@NowEverythingMakesSense: THAT’S WHY THEY CURE WITH YOUR SOUP. BECAUSE YOU TALK LIKE THAT

— Do you want me to buy you something? — you asked, switching to sweet mode like nothing happened.

— Yes. But only if you send me a photo of you trying it on.

@ImBurningUp: OH PLEASE! HOW EMBARRASSING, GOJO!

@I’mShaking: THIS IS PRIVATE NOW. WE’RE IN HIS LIVING ROOM WITHOUT PERMISSION

@GojoNoFilter: HE’S ON STREAM, HE FORGOT!

— Satoru… — your voice sounded between amused and exasperated — Now that I remember, weren’t you doing something?

There was a brief silence.

Then he burst out laughing.

— Ah, right — he said between laughs — I was on stream.

@NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO: THEY TOLD HIM!!! SHE DIDN’T KNOW!!!!

@DeadlyGojo: SATORU!!! YOU CALLED HER LIVE AND SHE DIDN’T KNOW???

@That’sWhyIt’sReal: IT’S SO REAL SHE DIDN’T EVEN REMEMBER SHE HAD AN AUDIENCE

@100KWitnesses: WE WERE HERE. WITNESSES TO THIS ROMANTIC MOVIE

— WHAT? YOU’RE ON STREAM!? — you asked, stopping dead.

— Yup — he answered, totally shameless — Six hundred eighty thousand people just fell in love with you, just so you know.

@Confirmed: OFFICIAL. WE ALL FELL IN LOVE

@SheOwnsEverything: THE VOICE. THE WAY HE TALKS TO HER. THE SWEETNESS. IT SWEPT ME AWAY

@NowWeGetHer: AND WE WERE CRITICIZING. YOU DESERVE GOJO, QUEEN

— Oh, Satoru… how embarrassing. — Your voice was soft, nervous, but sweet.

— Embarrassed? Everyone’s dead in love with you. They just asked me to propose to you live.

@IAlreadySaidIt: CONFIRMED, HE PROPOSES ON THE NEXT STREAM

@SatoruAndHer: I’M NOT INTERESTED IN ANY OTHER COUPLE NOW

— Hang up already, dummy — you whispered laughing, and he nodded with a soft smile.

— See you at home, love. I love you.

— Me too.

And he hung up.

For a moment, he said nothing. He just stared at the screen with a silly smile on his lips, while the chat kept exploding.

@ThatWasTooMuch: I’M GOING TO LAY DOWN ON THE FLOOR

@StreamOfTheDecade: THIS STREAM SHOULD WIN AN AWARD

@GonnaMuteMyself: I NEED TO PROCESS ALL THIS

— Well… — Satoru finally broke the silence with a mischievous tone — I think that was enough emotional trauma for today, right?

@INeedMore: NO, DON’T CLOSE. MORE, MORE, MORE

@NoHealingYet: WE NEED GROUP THERAPY RIGHT NOW

— See you on the next stream, chat. I don’t know if we’ll get over this… but we’ll try.

And with one last smile, he ended the broadcast.

Black screen. Chat crashing. Hearts exploding.

And somewhere in the world, you smiled unaware you had left half the planet in love with you.

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magnagaruzenmon · 16 hours ago

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Takedown

Sorry for the late drop Dio has been going through it this week and is operating at 1/10 his normal self, and Dino is still working on his novel so this took a bit longer to make, needless to say we all loved the movie though.

Yes this is unironically a reference.

“Huntrix Girls to World!” The chorus blasted through Theseus’s earbuds just as his flight touched down in South Korea — the final stop of his world tour. He glanced at his two handlers seated beside him.

“I still don’t know about this,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

Megara grinned. “Relax. It’ll be fine.”

Dino clapped him on the shoulder. “Think of it as a vacation. No demons. No rival hunters. Just good vibes, good music, and us.”

The trio stood, throwing on jackets. Theseus pulled up his hood low over his face as they made their way through the bustling airport. Despite the late hour, the place was packed. A plane at the next terminal had just arrived, drawing a massive crowd — the pride of South Korea had returned.

TWICE.

After their record-breaking 4th World Tour, the queens were finally home for some rest. But as fate would have it, both groups converged at the same baggage claim.

Theseus was adjusting his bag strap when he looked up — and locked eyes with her.

Jihyo.

Leader. Idol. National treasure. And, according to the files, high-ranking hunter.

He froze.

Unsure what else to do, he gave a stiff little wave.

Jihyo, effortlessly radiant, smiled and waved back. Then, casually, like they were old friends, she walked straight over to him.

“Hi,” she said, voice warm and confident.

Theseus blinked. “Uh… hi back.”

Jihyo laughed, folding her arms. “Not much of a talker, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he admitted. “But I can try. Hi, Jihyo-noona.”

“Ooh, polite and respectful? You’re not bad for a foreigner,” she teased. “But just call me Jihyo.”

“You’re basically royalty here. Felt like I should at least try to act right.”

She smiled. Then leaned in, her voice suddenly low, sweet, and dangerous.

“Being polite won’t save you, demon. I’m still going to kill you.”

Theseus stiffened, blood turning to ice. He instinctively took a step back. She followed.

“I’ll find you,” she whispered. “And gut you.”

Theseus blinked, trying to keep cool. “Uh… no Inglés?” he muttered before grabbing his bag and sprinting toward the exit.

Jihyo laughed, watching him flee. Moments later, Jeongyeon and Chaeyoung joined her.

“Unnie,” Chaeyoung said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “can you not scare the demons right away? You always spook them before we get a chance.”

Jihyo grinned. “Please. Where can he hide? This is our turf.”

Jeongyeon crossed her arms. “Yeah, but maybe next time don’t warn the prey?”

Just as the three prepared to give chase, a tidal wave of fans swarmed the girls with cameras flashing, squeals rising like sirens. The distraction gave Theseus just enough cover to slip into the crowd — and vanish.

The crowd was still buzzing around them, fans shrieking, camera flashes going off like fireworks. TWICE had barely taken ten steps before security finally formed a protective barrier. The three girls regrouped near a corner by the baggage carousels, just out of reach.

Jeongyeon didn’t wait.

“You let him go,” she said, her voice low and sharp.

Jihyo rolled her eyes. “He ran.”

Chaeyoung jabbed a finger toward her. “Because you told him you were gonna gut him!”

“That’s called psychological warfare.”

“It’s called stupid,” Jeongyeon snapped. “We had a clear shot. No cover, no fans, no bodyguards. He was right there.”

Jihyo put her hands up, smirking. “Okay, okay, maybe I got a little carried away.”

“A little?” Chaeyoung’s hands were on her hips now. “You scared him off like a feral cat. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” Jihyo said slowly, “that it’s more fun when they run.”

That stopped both of them for a moment.

Jeongyeon groaned. “You and your hunter’s ego.”

Jihyo smiled. “What? It’s been boring lately. He looked interesting. Strong aura, too. Definitely not some low-tier demonic intern.”

“Still,” Chaeyoung said, sighing, “we’ve got a job. You can flirt after we neutralize the threat.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Jihyo said too quickly.

Both of them stared at her.

Jeongyeon raised an eyebrow. “You told him you’d gut him with a smile. That’s your exact flirting face.”

Jihyo folded her arms, letting out a breath. “Fine. Maybe I wanted to see what he’d do under pressure.”

“He ran.”

“Exactly. That tells me a lot.”

Jeongyeon pinched the bridge of her nose. “Unbelievable. You’ve been listening to Sana again, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Chaeyoung crossed her arms. “Well, next time? Just stab first. Banter after. We’re supposed to be discreet, remember?”

“Sure, sure,” Jihyo said, waving them off. “Next time, I’ll be the picture of restraint.”

“You’re never the picture of restraint,” Jeongyeon muttered.

Chaeyoung looked back at the crowd. “Think he’s still in the terminal?”

Jihyo’s smirk returned. “Doesn’t matter. I tagged him.”

They both turned toward her.

“You what?”

“Just a little sigil on his bag. We’ll know where he’s staying within the hour.”

Jeongyeon stared. “So… you planned to let him go?”

“Not exactly,” Jihyo said, already turning toward the exit with that same dangerous gleam in her eyes. “But I figured… let the demon sweat a little. Let him think he got away.”

Chaeyoung shook her head in disbelief. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the leader.” She grinned. “And he just became my next obsession.”

Theseus arrived at the hotel with Megara and Dino 45 minutes later. Check-in was uneventful — quiet, efficient, almost suspiciously normal.

While Megara handled logistics with a call to the radio station they’d be guesting on tomorrow, Theseus retreated to the bathroom, craving the rinse of hot water and solitude.

Steam rose around him as the shower ran, washing away the stiffness of the flight — but not the ghost of her.

Jihyo.

She lingered in his mind like a perfume. Vanilla — soft and cloying, deceptively sweet. Her voice had slithered into his ear, low and lethal. The glint in her eye. The threat in her smile. The way she moved, like someone who already knew the outcome of every fight.

She was gorgeous. Too gorgeous.

And dangerous.

A slayer like him shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts about a hunter, especially not one as infamous as her. They were natural enemies — or at least, conditioned ones. No alliances. No dalliances. Certainly no distractions.

He’d stay out of her way. Leave the country. Bury the memory.

That was the plan.

After showering and changing into sweats and a fresh tee, he stepped back into the suite—only to stop cold.

The room was dark.

No lights. No noise.

He hadn’t turned them off. Neither had Dino or Megara.

He froze.

Then—vanilla.

His fingers flexed. A flash of cold ether crackled through his palm as he summoned his revolver, the silver weapon forming fully in his grip. He cocked the hammer without hesitation.

“I was starting to think this would be too easy,” came that familiar, honey-slick voice.

His stomach dropped.

A shape moved in the darkness — then the glint of a blade.

Jihyo stepped forward, casual as moonlight.

“You’ve got good instincts… for a demon.”

“I’m not a demon,” Theseus said, voice even.

“They all say that.” She tilted her head. “But you’ve got the aura. The scent. Something ancient clinging to you.”

“And you have a sword pointed at my neck.”

Jihyo grinned. “You noticed.”

He didn’t lower his weapon. She didn’t lower hers.

Then she whispered, delighted, “Do you feel lucky?”

Theseus groaned. “Did you seriously just quote Dirty Harry?”

“Shut up. It’s my turn to say it.” She stepped closer, hips swaying with unnerving confidence. “Answer the question.”

“I don’t. But I’ll still get three shots off before you reach me.”

Jihyo stopped — just a breath out of reach. Her eyes scanned his face, then his weapon.

The revolver gleamed, forged from cold silver, humming with residual rage and something darker.

“That’s quite the demon gun,” she said softly, almost admiringly.

“It is… on a technicality,” he admitted. “I made it from a demon’s heart.”

Her brows lifted. “Really?” she said, stepping even closer.

He could smell her now. Feel her presence like a pressure in the air. Fear and desire clashed in his chest like colliding storms. Every alarm in his body screamed to shoot. To run. To do something.

Instead—he kissed her.

Desperate, hungry, doomed.

He crushed his mouth to hers like it was the last act of a dying man. Maybe it was.

If he was going to die, it might as well be at the hands of someone beautiful.

For half a second, Jihyo froze.

He kissed her.

Not hesitantly. Not sweetly. No — like he thought it would be the last thing he ever did.

And it should have been.

Her blade was at his neck, sharp enough to slip between vertebrae. All it would take was one twitch of her wrist. She’d done it a hundred times before — fast, clean, precise.

But this time… she didn’t move.

Not because she was stunned — but because something deep inside her didn’t want to.

Damn it. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He was a demon. A wild anomaly with a demon-forged gun and a pulse that practically radiated forbidden magic.

And yet… he kissed like someone who wanted her, not in spite of what she was — but because of it.

Her heart was pounding. Fast. Loud. She could feel the weight of the blade in her hand, still raised, but limp now — forgotten. His revolver was still drawn too, but neither of them were aiming anymore.

They were just close. Too close.

His lips were warm. Desperate. Honest in a way that made her chest ache.

She hated it. She loved it.

She hated that she loved it.

Get it together, Jihyo.

You’re the predator here. You found him. Cornered him. Marked him. You were going to gut him. You were supposed to gut him.

But instead—

She dropped her blade.

It clattered to the ground, the sound sharp, startling — like a gunshot.

A second later, his revolver followed, thudding against the carpet.

Her hands were on his chest before she even realized it. Pushing him — hard — against the hotel wall. His back hit it with a dull thud, but he didn’t resist.

He looked at her, surprised. Open. Like he hadn’t expected to still be alive.

She grabbed his collar.

And kissed him back.

Not soft. Not slow. Hard. Hungry. Furious.

It wasn’t affection. It was defiance. Of the rules. The war. Herself.

His hands found her waist — hesitant, then firm — and for a moment, the room was only breath and heat and the quiet hum of danger unspoken.

She pulled away first, eyes narrowed, breath uneven.

“You kiss like a death wish,” she whispered.

He swallowed. “Maybe it is.”

Jihyo stared at him. Then smirked — not sweetly, but with fire behind it. “If you’re trying to seduce your way out of being hunted…”

He didn’t answer.

She didn’t need him to.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “…It might be working.”

The kiss didn’t stop. Not after her jacket hit the floor.

Theseus wasn’t sure who was leading anymore. Maybe it didn’t matter. They were tangled in each other, mouths pressed, breaths heavy, his back still against the wall of the hotel suite. Jihyo’s fingers had twisted in his shirt before tugging it up slightly — not with grace, but with intent.

She was all fire and precision, like she was cataloguing the shape of him with every brush of her hands. The edge of her blade might be gone, but she hadn’t lost her sharpness.

Then she pulled back slightly, lips just grazing his, breath mixing with his in the stillness.

“Too many layers,” she muttered, annoyed — at him, at herself, at the rules she was already breaking.

She shrugged off her jacket, revealing the sleeveless black top beneath — tactical, breathable, tight against her frame.

But something else caught his eye.

His breath hitched. There — just above her collarbone, faintly pulsing beneath the skin — was a mark.

Not ink. Not a hunter’s brand. Something older. Etched in a language only those who trafficked in dark blood would recognize.

The glyph was shifting ever so slightly. Alive.

Theseus’s hands paused where they were, resting on her hips, and his eyes widened.

“You…” he whispered. “You’re not fully human.”

Jihyo went still.

Her face didn’t change, not at first — but her heartbeat, fast as it was, skipped a beat.

Theseus brought a hand up slowly, brushing his fingers near the mark without touching it. “This is elder script,” he murmured. “Old blood magic. You’ve got demon lineage. Not low-tier either… something ancient.”

She didn’t deny it.

Instead, she leaned in, forehead almost against his, voice barely above a breath.

“I told you I’d gut you.”

He searched her eyes, half-expecting to see malice. But there was only a strange, weary intensity.

“You’re a hunter,” he said, trying to wrap his mind around it. “How can you be part of the thing you’re trained to kill?”

Jihyo let out a soft laugh — humorless, quiet, dangerous. “Do you think humans run the hunter’s guilds? Do you think they’d let a pure mortal be in charge of keeping demons in check?”

“Elder demon blood,” he repeated. “You’re stronger than you let on.”

She tilted her head, smile razor-thin. “And you’re smarter than you look.”

For a beat, they stood there in the electric silence — the air thick with heat, confusion, and everything unsaid.

Then Theseus broke the silence, voice low, rough.

“So what now?”

Jihyo’s lips hovered just above his.

“We keep making out,” she said. “And you keep pretending I’m not deciding whether to kiss you again or kill you.”

He grinned — crooked, reckless. “I’ll take those odds.”

She kissed him again — harder this time, more desperate, like she was trying to convince herself it didn’t mean anything.

But they both knew better.

As their lips crashed Jihyo’s body kept heating up until she found the demonic fire within her fully manifesting. Jihyo’s eyes changed from a soft brown to a frenzied crimson. Claws stretched at her fingertips as she ripped into Theseus’s clothes tearing them to shreds, before pushing him onto the couch.

“I need you inside me right fucking now!” She growled. Theseus stared into her eyes as flames encircled him as he realized he was in way over his head. So he did what he always did. He adapted.

He slid inside the huntress’s tight hot and wet snatch as she accepted him she moaned. Feeling relieved the flames around Jihyo died down as Jihyo took more of Theseus’s cock inside of her.

“Fuck! Fuck!” She moaned in between methodical and powerful thrust. Theseus watched as her yiddies bounced mesmerically. Jihyo stared at Theseus watching him fall deeper into her charms.

“Grab them she commanded and Theseus did. Jihyo moaned even greater as his hands cupped her chest. He got lost in the suppleness but also the firmness of her breasts as he continued thrusting. Jihyo convulsed as she felt his hands run wild over her breasts. She moaned as he massaged and kneaded them.

“Do you like them?” Jihyo asked.

Theseus moaned as he nodded, “your body is evil!” He yelled. So hot and tempting

Jihyo laughed and challenged, “what are you gonna do about it?”

The marks of her demonic heritage grew all over as the flames began roaring going from crimson and orange to indigo and pink. She moaned before yelping in surprise as Theseus picked her up and continued fucking her.

“Keep going!” Jihyo screamed as his cock tore through her.

Theseus moaned as her pussy clamped down on his cock until he exploded inside of her. Jihyo moaned as he kept going sending her over her peak until she came. She gushed all over his cock leaving him drenched as she twitched and moaned.

The flames died down around Jihyo but she felt something in her shift. As if Theseus had awakened something inside of her.

Theseus sat beside Jihyo on the couch, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. The night was quiet now. No weapons. No threats. Just the steady rhythm of shared breathing and the slow, undeniable warmth that had grown between them.

He glanced down at her, surprised at how peaceful she looked. Jihyo — the storm — finally still.

Before long, sleep claimed them both.

⸻

In his dreams, she was everywhere — darting through his thoughts like a spark he couldn’t catch. He saw flashes of her laugh, the way she fought, the look in her eyes when she almost kissed him for the first time.

Jihyo’s dream was gentler. She saw herself dancing barefoot in a sunlit garden, spinning in circles, arms wide, laughter echoing like windchimes. Theseus was there too — distant at first, then slowly drawing near, hands outstretched.

⸻

The knocking shattered the moment.

Bang bang bang.

Both of them stirred with a jolt. Disoriented, tangled under a blanket that hadn’t been there before.

Jihyo blinked. “What the hell—?”

Theseus groaned. “Please tell me that’s not real.”

Another knock. More impatient this time.

Scrambling, they untangled themselves from the blanket, trying to piece together what happened. His shirt was missing. Her jacket had vanished. In the chaos, Jihyo accidentally yanked Theseus’s oversized hoodie over her head while trying to find her top, and Theseus, flustered and half-awake, shoved her beanie onto his head by mistake.

They froze, glancing at each other.

“…I don’t think this is a good look,” Jihyo mumbled, the hoodie practically swallowing her whole.

“You think?” Theseus muttered, adjusting the beanie that was far too snug.

The knocking came again.

With a sigh, he stumbled toward the door and cracked it open — still wearing her beanie.

Megara and Dino stood outside, holding coffee and paper bags.

Megara took one look at him and blinked. “Why are you wearing a pink beanie?”

Theseus opened his mouth. Closed it. “I… was cold?”

Dino leaned to the side, spotting Jihyo peeking out from the blanket behind him in his hoodie.

“Ah,” Dino grinned, elbowing Megara. “Guess diplomacy’s going well.”

Jihyo groaned from the couch. “Don’t start.”

Megara smirked. “We brought breakfast. But maybe we’ll come back in, say, twenty minutes?”

“Make it thirty,” Jihyo called out, already pulling the hood up over her face.

Theseus didn’t even argue. He just nodded and shut the door.

As they finally got dressed properly, Theseus tugged on his rumpled pants and glanced at Jihyo, who was sprawled across the bed, still lounging in his hoodie.

“You owe me a new outfit,” he muttered, buttoning his shirt halfway.

Jihyo smirked, stretching lazily. “If you keep fucking me like last night, I’ll buy you anything you want.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “You are dangerously generous when you’re smug.”

She grinned, then blinked — noticing deep red claw marks trailing across his back. Her smirk faded.

“Huh.”

He turned. “What?”

Jihyo stood and ran a finger lightly along one of the scratches. “Demons don’t scar like humans.” Her voice dropped, thoughtful. “But you do.”

“That’s because I’m not a demon,” Theseus said plainly.

Jihyo’s eyes narrowed. “Okay then. So what are you?”

He exhaled and gave a small shrug. “I’m a Slayer. Born human. Strong enough to kill demons, fast enough to survive them. But I don’t belong to either side.”

Jihyo crossed her arms, skeptical. “You expect me to believe that?”

He raised both hands. “Do I look like I’ve got demon marks?”

She gave him a long, calculating look, taking in his lean form, his scars, his eyes. Then sighed.

“No… you don’t.”

“Exactly,” he said. “But most hunters don’t ask. They just come swinging. So I usually respond with a shot between the eyes or straight through the heart. Saves time.”

She smirked. “What about me?”

“What about you?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“You didn’t go for the kill.”

Theseus chuckled, stepping in to kiss her on the cheek. She let out a small, surprised yelp.

“I kinda did,” he said with a grin. “Just not through the ribcage.”

Jihyo rolled her eyes, but a faint blush crept up her neck. “Okay, Mr. Slayer,” she teased. “But what’s your plan for the other hunters? You can’t seduce all of them.”

He shrugged. “I only really need to avoid you. The rest won’t be expecting me.”

Jihyo raised an eyebrow. “Good answer,” she said, stepping closer, her voice low and possessive. “Because you’re mine now.”

Her aura pulsed — a flicker of demonic energy behind her eyes, like a storm rolling in under calm skies.

Theseus felt the shift, the tension building again — fast and hot. He quickly placed a hand on her shoulder, holding her back.

“Nope. Not happening. I’ve got a radio show to prep for.”

Jihyo blinked. “What radio show?”

He sighed. “The one I’m scheduled to be on for my world tour? You know — the thing I’m currently doing?”

“Oh. You’re an artist?” she asked, blinking in genuine curiosity.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Metal act. Name’s Malevolence. Technically it’s a one-man show, but the name sounds cooler when it sounds like a band.”

She gave him a slow, surprised smile. “Damn. A slayer with stage presence. I really am keeping you.”

He snorted. “I’m flattered. Now get out of my hoodie.”

Jihyo yawned and flopped back onto the bed. “Make me.”

Theseus stared at her for a beat, then turned around before she could tempt him further. “I swear you’re trying to sabotage me.”

“Not sabotage,” she called after him, voice dripping with smugness. “Just claiming what’s mine.”

The sunlight was annoyingly bright when Jihyo stepped outside, hoodie still clinging to her frame like a guilty pleasure. It smelled like him — smoky, musky, warm — and for once, she didn’t mind being marked. She looked at the design on it. It seemed like English but the font was all “fuzzy,” Jihyo thought to herself trying to read it.

She tugged the zipper up halfway, hands buried in the front pocket as she slipped into the bathroom and opened a warp sigil back to her apartment. A sigh left her lips as she stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee beans, lavender, and faint brimstone greeting her like an old friend.

She leaned against the door for a moment, her head tilted back.

What the hell was that last night?

It had started as a stakeout. A clean kill. Observe, interrogate, execute. And now she was home in his hoodie and bite marks left on his collarbone, memories of growled praise and tangled limbs still replaying like a song stuck on loop.

Jihyo groaned and shoved her face into her hands. “you’re an idiot.”

She finally peeled the hoodie off and tossed it over a chair before dragging herself into the bathroom. Her reflection stared back at her — wild hair, a few new bruises, lips that still looked a little too swollen.

She smirked. Her eyes flashed violet for a minute as she felt the demonic fire within rage inside of her.

Yeah, okay. She wasn’t mad about it.

She decided to shower before meeting with Chaeyoung and Jeongyeon As the water from the shower warmed up, she texted the group chat:

Jihyo: Home. On the way in 30. Don’t start without me.

Jeongyeon: We’re at the spa already. You’re late.

Chaeyoung: Bring snacks or suffer <3

She rolled her eyes but smiled. The spa day had been planned weeks ago — a post-mission/ tour treat for surviving another near-disaster involving a possessed subway and a rogue succubus cult. Honestly, Jihyo was just glad she wasn’t limping from that mission.

She grabbed her favorite black leggings, a flowy crop top, and tossed her damp hair into a half-messy bun. Her gaze lingered on the hoodie for a moment — Theseus’s scent still clinging to it like a memory that hadn’t fully left.

She debated taking it.

“Nope,” she muttered. “They’d smell the testosterone a mile away.”

She opted for a clean jacket, something neutral and unassuming, and added just enough concealer to hide the love bite peeking above her collarbone. Just because she wasn’t ashamed didn’t mean she was ready for the third-degree.

Still, as she packed her bag and slid into her shoes, she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

They were absolutely going to find out.

And she absolutely deserved this moment.

Jihyo tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, a slight smirk tugging at her lips as she tuned into the radio station Theseus had mentioned. The static faded just in time for her to catch the tail end of the host’s intro.

“As promised, we’ve got the mosh pit king himself, the mind behind Malevolence — Theseus!”

Applause and background cheers filled the car’s speakers, and Jihyo couldn’t help but laugh softly at how composed he sounded, compared to the absolute menace he’d been last night.

Then one of the hosts let out a sudden gasp. “Wait—are you wearing a TWICE shirt?! Are you a ONCE?!”

There was a pause, then his voice, smooth and low as ever: “Yeah, been one since, like, 2019. Actually, that’s how I met my manager, Megara. We were both fans first. After my first song blew up, she helped me keep my life from crashing into hellfire.”

Jihyo raised a brow. That tracked. Megara had the cool-headed ruthlessness of someone who probably used spreadsheets to schedule destruction.

“Oh, so you’ve been with the same team since the beginning?” another host asked.

“Pretty much. Ride or die.”

The hosts drifted into English banter after that — some quips about tour antics and mosh pit etiquette that Jihyo only caught in fragments — but before she could piece it together, she was pulling into the spa parking lot.

Hand on the ignition, she was just about to shut off the engine when one final question caught her attention.

“So, would you ever invite TWICE to one of your shows?”

There was a beat. She imagined his lopsided grin as he answered, “They’re always welcome.”

Jihyo bit her lip, warmth creeping up her neck.

But then came the kicker.

“Okay, last TWICE question — who’s your bias?”

Her heart skipped. She leaned in.

There was a teasing pause. Then: “It was Jihyo… but due to some recent developments, I think it’s Momo now.”

Jihyo blinked. Her jaw dropped.

What.

“Oh, hell no,” she muttered aloud as she shut the car off. “He’s getting punished.”

Still fuming — though secretly flattered — she adjusted her jacket and strutted toward the spa, already plotting exactly how she’d “correct” his bias in the very near future.

Steam curled lazily in the cedar-scented air as Jihyo stepped through the glass doors of the private bathhouse. The faint hum of conversation, mixed with the soft bubbling of hot water, wrapped around her like a warm towel. She spotted Chaeyoung and Jeongyeon already soaking in the water, drinks on the nearby ledge, their hair tied up in matching towels like tiny crowns of mischief.

“Hey!” Jeongyeon called, waving her hand as she leaned back. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

Chaeyoung smirked, her cheeks already pink from the heat. “You’re late. Don’t think we didn’t notice.”

Jihyo chuckled and slid out of her robe, stepping into the bath with a contented sigh. “I got caught in traffic.”

“That’s what you’re calling it now?” Jeongyeon teased. “Traffic?”

Before Jihyo could shoot back a retort, a familiar voice drifted from the Bluetooth speaker resting on the edge of the tub.

“…and our guest today is none other than Theseus of Malevolence, currently on tour and somehow still managing to look like he crawled out of the underworld in style.”

Jihyo stiffened slightly, but kept her expression cool. Chaeyoung caught the shift instantly.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention—we’ve been listening to the interview while we waited,” Chaeyoung said, grinning. “I can turn it off if you want,”

Jihyo shook her head and said, “No he sounds nice and his voice is surprisingly soothing,”

Chaeyoung turned to her leader surprised and said, “didn’t even know you listened to this guy until now.”

Jihyo rolled her eyes and said, “no his voice is just calming.

Jeongyeon leaned in, her tone teasing but curious. “You do know he’s kind of a big deal, right? Like… underground god of metal and chaos? Total demon hunter fantasy fuel?”

Jihyo scoffed. “Okay and?.”

“Please,” Chaeyoung said with a knowing smirk. “ you expect us to believe that you aren’t into the whole bad boy from America thing?”

Jihyo rolled her eyes but kept her poker face. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Mmhmm,” Jeongyeon hummed. “So how did that demon hunt go, anyway? You ran off so suddenly.”

Jihyo reached for her tea, taking a slow sip to buy herself time.

“It got messy,” she said, finally. “Turned out to be stronger than intel suggested. I had to call in backup.”

Chaeyoung raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Jihyo continued smoothly. “Got help from this American hunter. Real heavy-hitter type. Kind of a lone wolf but good in a fight.”

Jeongyeon narrowed her eyes. “Name?”

Jihyo pretended to think. “I think he just goes by ‘Dio.’” She forced herself not to smile at her own audacity. “Real quiet, didn’t talk much, but he knew how to handle himself.”

Chaeyoung blinked. Then blinked again. “Wait… Dio? Like Jojo’s?”

Jihyo shrugged, giving them the perfect blend of mystery and misdirection. “I doubt it. Common enough name, right?”

Before they could press further, the interview picked up again.

“Okay, last TWICE question,” said the host on the speaker. “Who’s your bias?”

Jihyo braced.

“It was Jihyo,” Theseus’s voice drawled, “but due to some recent developments… I think it’s Momo now.”

Chaeyoung snorted. “Wow. Ruthless.”

Jihyo’s expression didn’t flinch, but the heat in her cheeks had nothing to do with the bathwater. “He’s got jokes,” she said coolly. “Probably just trying to bait clicks.”

Jeongyeon gave her a sideways look. “You okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Jihyo said with a sweet, dangerous smile. “I’ll just have to return the favor next time I see him.”

Chaeyoung laughed. “Damn. Remind me not to cross you.”

Jihyo leaned back, letting her head rest against the tiled edge, her eyes closing for a brief moment as steam kissed her face.

So far so good, she thought. But if they find that hoodie in my laundry, I’m screwed.

A gentle splash echoed through the bathhouse as Chaeyoung stretched out her arms with a groan of bliss. “Ugh, this is heaven. My shoulders feel like they’ve finally forgiven me.”

“I swear,” Jeongyeon added, adjusting the cold towel on her forehead, “every time we do this, I realize how desperately I need it. And how much I hate cardio.”

“You hate everything that isn’t bubble tea and sleep,” Chaeyoung quipped.

“Fair.”

Jihyo let their voices drift around her like steam. Her fingers idly trailed the water’s surface, her expression contemplative behind the relaxed posture.

“So,” Jeongyeon began again, cocking a brow toward Jihyo, “what’s your mysterious American hunter look like, anyway? Asking for, y’know… purely professional curiosity.”

Jihyo’s lips twitched. “Tall. Sharp jaw. Tattooed. Quiet type with that whole ‘don’t ask what I’ve seen’ look.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god, like your exact type.”

Jeongyeon sipped her infused water with dramatic judgment. “And let me guess… muscles like sin and eyes like regret?”

“Something like that,” Jihyo said with maddening calm.

“Mmhmm.” Chaeyoung gave her a long look. “You know if you weren’t already the most dangerous one here, I’d be scared of you.”

“Still scared,” Jeongyeon muttered under her breath.

Jihyo tilted her head back against the tiles, her voice light. “You two really want to know what happened?”

Their eyes lit up in unison.

She opened one eye, smirked, and said, “Let’s just say… he owes me an outfit.”

The silence broke into chaotic splashing as Chaeyoung shrieked, “Jihyo!” and Jeongyeon practically choked on her drink.

“No! No way—you didn’t!”

“I’m not saying what happened,” Jihyo said innocently, “just that clothes were lost and now I’m owed one.”

Chaeyoung was blushing so hard she might have boiled the water around her. “You are so not allowed to keep that to yourself.”

Jeongyeon groaned, laughing despite herself. “This better not end up in a tabloid. Or worse, the demon registry.”

Jihyo shrugged, eyes gleaming. “It won’t he’s still human after all . Technically.”

“Technically sounds like trouble,” Chaeyoung warned.

“Yeah he is and Trouble owes me a jacket,” Jihyo replied.

Then, as the interview on the speaker wound down, her mind drifted back to Theseus’s voice — that teasing lilt, the way he said Momo with a smirk she could hear.

Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a promise. “Anyway, I’ve got plans for him.”

“Oh no,” Jeongyeon murmured, half-laughing, half-concerned. “What kind of plans?”

Jihyo stood, water cascading down her skin like silver. “The kind that makes you regret teasing the leader of Twice.”

Chaeyoung put a hand to her chest dramatically. “Please don’t kill him.”

Jihyo grabbed her towel and smiled sweetly. “Of course not. I’m just going to remind him who his real bias is.”

Later that evening, after the laughter, the warmth, and the scent of eucalyptus faded from her skin, Jihyo found herself standing in front of her vanity mirror, bathed in the soft amber glow of her apartment’s bathroom light.

Her fingers moved mechanically—dabbing cream under her eyes, brushing through the ends of her damp hair—but her mind wasn’t in the room. It was still spinning from everything.

From him.

Theseus.

From the weight of the night before.

From the heat that hadn’t fully left her body.

She leaned forward, inspecting her reflection, but froze.

For the briefest moment—less than a blink—her eyes weren’t brown.

They were violet.

Deep, unearthly. Crackling faintly with inner fire. Like twin smoldering coals in a perfect face.

Jihyo’s breath caught. “…No.”

She blinked rapidly. Brown again.

She held her breath and waited—there. The violet shimmer returned at the edges of her irises, creeping in like ink dropped in water. Unnatural. Hungry.

As she stared, the air around her seemed to ripple. The steam in the mirror thickened and distorted. Somewhere in the corners of the room, a low crackle of heat murmured—and then with a sudden fwoom—a small arc of violet flame licked up from the edge of the candle she hadn’t lit.

She turned sharply.

Another wisp of fire bloomed at the corner of the room, tiny, dancing, and then vanished as if embarrassed to be caught.

Jihyo backed away from the mirror, heart racing, but her blood wasn’t chilled—it was boiling. Her skin felt too tight, like there was something just under it, trying to claw its way to the surface.

“What the hell…” she whispered, her voice slightly layered now—like someone had added a second, softer version of herself underneath.

She gripped the sink, her nails biting into the porcelain. Her mind tried to rationalize it, but something primal in her spine already knew.

It wasn’t a one-time flare-up. It wasn’t going away.

Theseus had triggered something. Not just desire. Not just power.

Recognition.

A part of her—buried deep—had stirred.

And now it wanted out.

She looked back into the mirror. This time, her reflection didn’t copy her. Not right away.

It smirked first.

Violet eyes blazing, lips curling in wicked delight.

Then, only then, did it match her expression of dread.

Jihyo stepped back and hissed under her breath, “No. Not yet. I’m still in control.”

But the fire, even if only in flickers, said otherwise.

Despite her body practically screaming for her to go see Theseus, Jihyo made a different choice. She stayed with Momo.

A small, smug smile crept onto her face at the thought—spending time with his bias while he’s busy? A little petty, maybe. But satisfying.

As always, food was involved. Momo had suggested a quiet Korean BBQ spot just outside the city. The place was cozy, slightly worn, and always smelled like sizzling meat and garlic. Just how they liked it.

They were elbow-deep in lettuce wraps and perfectly charred bulgogi when Momo leaned forward, chewing thoughtfully.

“So,” she mumbled through a bite, “how’d that last hunt go?”

Jihyo swallowed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Tough one. But I had help—American hunter, kind of a weirdo.”

Momo snorted. “Let me guess. Asked for a lock of your hair or tried to lick your boots like that one creepy lady in Louisiana?”

Jihyo’s eyes widened and she waved her hands, laughing. “No, no! Nothing like that. He was actually… pretty normal. Just awkward. Kind of shy.”

“Oh good,” Momo said, exhaling with relief. “I didn’t want to have to fight him.”

Jihyo grinned slyly. “Please. He’s more likely to run from a fight than start one.”

Momo paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. He took the demon out with his revolver, all efficient and no drama. Clean shot to the head. Then he just kind of… nodded and left.”

Momo blinked. “Huh. That’s actually kind of impressive.”

“Right?” Jihyo said with a shrug, feigning casualness while hiding the memory of violet eyes and the lingering heat in her skin.

Momo popped another bite into her mouth and said around it, “Still sounds like a nerd.”

Jihyo laughed, but her gaze drifted to the glowing grill between them. As the meat hissed and popped, she thought—not for the first time—about just how not normal that American hunter really was.

But for now, she’d let it lie.

Let the fire rest. It didn’t last long though.

The moment Jihyo stepped through her apartment door, she slammed it shut behind her and pressed her back to it. Her heart was thundering. Her skin—glowing. Not literally. Not yet.

But it was close.

Heat pooled in her chest, curling through her veins like molten metal. Her breath came shallow. Her fingers trembled as she pulled off her boots, barely making it down the hall before yanking off her jacket and tossing it to the floor.

She passed a mirror and caught sight of herself.

Her eyes were flickering again—deep violet flames pulsing in and out like they were syncing with her heartbeat. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, strands of hair clinging to her temples from a light sweat.

She looked… wild.

She felt feral.

Something inside her was howling.

The meal with Momo hadn’t helped. It had only reminded her of the growing ache—this need—coiling tighter every time she thought of him.

Theseus.

The way he touched her. The way he kissed her like she was something dangerous—and holy—and his.

And gods, the way her demon side responded to him.

No one had ever brought it out of her like that. Not even close.

She stormed into her bedroom and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, fingers already pulling out her phone. She opened Instagram—she didn’t even hesitate—tapping through to Theseus’s page.

The most recent photo was from earlier that day: a shot of him at the radio show, innocent and happy, face half-turned to the camera, flexing without meaning to. She almost growled.

Jihyo didn’t comment.

She hit Message.

And then she typed, her fingers fast, sharp.

[jihyo] Get over here. Now. I don’t care what you’re doing. If I don’t feel your mouth on me in 20 minutes I’m burning this building down.

She stared at the message for half a second.

Then she hit Send.

The instant she did, she felt the heat spike—like her body approved of the choice.

Her room dimmed as the air shimmered with low, supernatural heat. The violet in her eyes returned, brighter now. Hungry.

She stood up, pacing, hands running through her hair, teeth biting down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

Her phone buzzed.

She looked down.

[Theseus] …You okay?

She rolled her eyes, scowling.

[jihyo] No. I’m on fire. And you’re the only one who knows how to put it out.

Three dots blinked. Then stopped.

Then blinked again.

Finally:

[Theseus] On my way. Don’t combust without me.

She exhaled slowly, dropping the phone to the bed.

The flames around her body dimmed. Not gone. Not cooled. Just… waiting.

Waiting for him.

Fifteen minutes after she’d summoned him, Theseus stood at Jihyo’s door—sweat already beading on his brow.

The moment he stepped inside, it hit him: heat. Dense. Radiant. Almost alive. The air shimmered with it, thick and charged, like a furnace wrapped in silk. His breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t just hot—it was otherworldly.

The closer he got to her bedroom, the stronger it grew. His steps slowed. He felt it in his bones—something ancient and wild pulsing behind that door.

He pushed it open.

And froze.

Jihyo was waiting, perched at the edge of her bed like a queen on a pyre. Indigo and rose-gold flames crackled in a perfect circle around the mattress, casting dancing shadows across her bare shoulders and glowing skin. Her demon marks shimmered across her body in slow, hypnotic patterns—alive and moving. Her irises were pure violet, radiant and alien. Her pupils blown wide, devouring him.

She smiled like sin wrapped in silk.

“My slayer arrives… right on time,” she purred.

Theseus felt his pulse spike. Lust. Awe. A very real sense of danger. This wasn’t the Jihyo from the spa, or even the one from last night. This was her unbound.

She rose with slow, deliberate grace. Her hips swayed. Her feet left trails of flame on the floor—blazing pink and violet fire that burned nothing, only sizzled with promise. The air warped behind her.

He barely noticed her hand on his chest until she stopped, eyes narrowing.

“I didn’t appreciate your little joke today,” she said, voice low and teasing—but with a warning edge.

Theseus blinked. “Joke?”

She pouted slightly, then said, “I am your bias. Not Momo.”

Ah.

He sighed, finally catching up. “It was just a tease—”

“Hmm,” Jihyo hummed, tilting her head. “You still need to be punished.”

Before he could speak, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a deep, greedy kiss. Her lips crashed against his like a storm. Her fingers raked down his sides, tugging him closer. Flames flared around them, rising with every second.

Then, without warning, she pushed him backward onto the bed.

The fire-ring parted just enough to let him fall.

She climbed over him, eyes gleaming with hunger and heat, hair cascading around her shoulders like shadow and wildfire.

“You’re mine tonight,” she growled, her voice layered—human and demonic in harmony—as the flames pulsed around them, sealing them in.

And the bed didn’t burn.

But everything else would.

Jihyo’s lips crashed into Theseus’s again, deeper this time, hungrier. Her weight pressed into him as her hands explored, not with hesitation, but with ownership. Each kiss melted into the next, and with every second, the air grew thicker—not just from heat, but from something ancient uncoiling inside her. She rapaciously undressed herself while demanding Theseus remove his clothes.

The flames circling the bed flared outward in rhythm with her breath—no longer sharp and wild, but warm and worshipful, like they now danced for her.

Theseus barely noticed the shift at first—he was too wrapped in her mouth, in her scent, in the way her body moved against his like music only they could hear. But then he felt it.

The pulse.

A power blooming beneath her skin.

Her back arched above him, and her body trembled—not with fear, but with liberation. As if something she’d locked away her whole life had finally been set loose. Her moans carried a new harmony—layered, resonant, almost songlike. Her marks blazed to life in full, curling across her shoulders, ribs, thighs in glowing violet calligraphy. Her eyes shone brighter, not just violet now, but flecked with molten gold. She stared down at him before mounting him. Her body claiming what was rightfully hers.

With possessive violet eyes Jihyo stared at Theseus. Her gaze was both vulnerable and sultry

“Jihyo,” Theseus whispered, breathless, hands on her waist. “You’re…”

“Free,” she said, her voice a soft echo, like it came from both her and some great fire behind her. She leaned down, forehead against his. “With you… I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to hold it back.”

The flames that had roared earlier now kissed the air gently, like firelight at a temple. They caressed Theseus’s skin, not to scorch—but to bless. No pain. Just heat. Desire. Intimacy.

She kissed him again—slower this time. Her tongue traced his lip, her fingers tangling in his hair. When she pulled back, her irises were burning stars.

“I’ve spent so long pretending I was normal,” she said, voice trembling with truth. “Even with Chaeyoung. Even with Jeongyeon. But this part of me… it’s always been waiting. And now—now I don’t want to hide.”

“You don’t have to,” Theseus murmured, his voice low but firm. “Not from me.”

A breath caught in her throat.

Then she kissed him again, and this time it was all of her—woman and demon, softness and fire, fury and tenderness. She rode him with reverence and hunger, not as a demon out of control—but as a goddess claiming her offering.

And all the while, the flames curled around them like a veil.

A sanctuary.

Where no one else existed but the two of them, and the truth they no longer needed to deny. After an hour the heat within melted her desire into pure lust. She got on all fours and presented her swollen sopping pussy to Theseus.

“Fucking take it. Fuck me like you mean it!”

Theseus relaxed then plunged deep inside of her pussy. Jihyo moaned as he pulled out about halfway before thrusting back into her hard and deep.

“Fuck!” Jihyo groaned as Theseus continued his assault on her body. He put his left hand on her left hip and his right on her right shoulder to steady himself before sending another deep powerful thrust. Jihyo clawed at the sheets as Theseus railed her. Her flames rising and falling with each thrust until she came. Her peak was fierce and fiery as you’d imagine.

Her pussy locked around Theseus cock with an almost death like grip. Jihyo moaned and said, “fucking cum! Cum right now! I need it,” she yelled/growled.

Theseus ever the people pleaser complied. He painted her womb white as he spilled inside of her Jihyo purred as her flames died down. She was satiated for now.

The couple passed out shortly after exhausted by the endeavor.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains of Jihyo’s bedroom, casting a soft golden hue over the room. The flames were gone now, replaced by the smell of warm skin and the weight of silence between breaths.

Theseus lay back on the bed, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other gently resting on Jihyo’s bare back as she drew idle shapes on his chest with her fingers. The heat between them had cooled into something gentler—an intimacy no less intense, but now quieter.

“You sleep okay?” he asked, voice still rough with sleep.

Jihyo nodded but didn’t lift her head. “Better than I have in weeks.”

A pause.

Then, softer, “Can I ask you something?”

Theseus shifted slightly. “Course.”

Jihyo inhaled. “Do you ever… feel like the weight of everything caught up to you too fast? Like we started hunting so early, and now everyone looks at us like we’re these untouchable veterans, but I don’t know. Sometimes I see my friends—Chaeyoung, Nayeon, even Mina—catching up and doing amazing, and I just… wonder if I got here too early. If I missed something.”

Her voice broke a little at the end, and she turned her face slightly, ashamed.

Theseus didn’t speak immediately. He lifted his hand and brushed her hair away from her cheek, then tilted her chin up so their eyes met.

“Maybe they’re great now,” he said gently, “because of you. Maybe your leadership gave them the space to grow without burning out.”

Jihyo’s eyes shimmered.

And before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around his torso and buried her face in his neck. “You jerk,” she mumbled, voice thick with tears. “That’s—too sweet…”

He held her, rubbing small circles into her back. “You’re allowed to feel it, Jihyo. You don’t have to carry all of it alone anymore.”

They stayed like that for a while, her clinging to him, his arms wrapped securely around her, until she sniffled and leaned back with a small smile.

“When did you start hunting?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

He smirked. “Started training when I was ten.”

Her eyes widened. “Ten? That’s when I started too. Wait—how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he said casually.

Jihyo blinked.

She smacked his chest with mock offense. “Ya! That makes me your noona! I started a year before you!”

He chuckled. “Guess I’m at your mercy then.”

“You already were,” she teased, but her smile turned a little shy, a little soft. “You’re seriously amazing though… and I’m glad I’m not the only one who started young.”

Theseus tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’re all a little scarred, Jihyo. But you? You turned yours into strength. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Jihyo leaned in and kissed him—not passionately this time, but deeply, tenderly.

“I won’t,” she said. “Not with you around.”

After that, Jihyo smiled and got up, practically prancing across the room with a light bounce in her step. She was radiant, humming to herself as she picked up a hair tie and tossed her hair into a loose ponytail.

Theseus followed a few seconds later, still groggy and dragging his feet like someone who hadn’t fully returned to the waking world. He squinted at the sunlight streaming in from the window.

“So,” Jihyo called over her shoulder, “when’s your show again?”

“Tomorrow night,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Perfect,” she replied breezily. “I’m bringing Momo with me.”

“Of course you are,” he chuckled.

She nodded to herself, then added more casually, “When do you leave Korea?”

“The day after the show.”

“Good.” Jihyo turned, grinning from ear to ear. “Then we’ve got plenty of time to talk about you moving in with me!”

Theseus blinked. “What makes you think I want to move in with you?”

Jihyo smirked and gave him a slow, teasing look. “Because you’re mine now. And besides, I’ve still got things to finish here. But after that, we can live wherever we want.”

“Anywhere but Australia,” Theseus muttered.

Jihyo raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I’ve seen the animals there. Giant spiders. 2 out of the three deadliest Snakes. Kangaroos that box. No thanks.”

Jihyo burst out laughing. “Mr. Slayer is scared of Aussie wildlife? Wow. Okay then—no Australia, you big baby.”

“Cool,” Theseus said, smirking. But his expression softened a little as he added, “Are you sure you want me though? I’m a relentless playboy. A flirt. Kind of a menace, honestly.”

Jihyo laughed—a full, delighted sound that filled the room. “I’ve seen your interviews. You’re a sweetheart. All that music, all the demon-slaying, and you’re still basically a textbook teddy bear boyfriend.”

Theseus squinted at her, defensive. “Just because I believe girls I like should be treated right doesn’t mean I’m a teddy bear.”

“Oh, it definitely does,” she teased, stepping in and wrapping her arms around him in a warm, tight hug. “And don’t worry—I like my plushy, soft, protective teddy bear boyfriend.”

Theseus let out a groan, but he melted into the hug anyway, arms sliding around her waist.

“Fine,” he muttered against her shoulder. “But I draw the line at matching pajamas.”

Jihyo grinned. “We’ll see.”

They lounged together for a while, basking in the morning calm before Theseus—despite his protests—got up to cook.

Jihyo watched from the counter, chin in hand, grinning like a cat who got the cream. “You really gonna cook for me right now? Just leaning into the teddy bear boyfriend role, huh?”

“Do you want to eat or not?” Theseus grumbled, cracking eggs with practiced ease.

“I mean, I’ll eat,” she said sweetly, “but I reserve the right to tease you relentlessly while you do it.”

And she did—commenting on everything from the way he sliced fruit to how he concentrated when flipping the pastries. But the moment she took the first bite, everything changed.

Jihyo let out a muffled squeal as she chewed, eyes going wide in delight. “Mmmf—wait. This is really good.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “Did you just make a sound that wasn’t a laugh or a command?”

She swallowed, eyes sparkling. “Wow. I didn’t know your face could do anything besides scowl when food’s involved.”

“Keep talking and I’ll make your eggs disappear.”

Jihyo laughed. “No no no—praise first. The pastry’s a little sweet, but the rest? Perfect.”

Theseus smirked as he poured himself some tea. “Glad I could impress Her Highness.”

Before she could reply, a sudden knock echoed through the apartment. Theseus looked toward the door, frowning.

“Expecting someone?” he asked.

“Nope,” Jihyo said, still chewing.

Theseus walked over cautiously, peered through the peephole—then blinked.

He turned back to her, deadpan. “Uh, Yo-yo? Not to alarm you or anything, but there’s a giant blue tiger at your door.”

Jihyo’s brow lifted. “Big orange eyes? Slightly crossed? Looks like it’s trying to intimidate the door frame?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Jihyo smiled brightly. “Oh, that’s Rumi. And her boys. You can let them in, Teddy.”

Theseus narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He sighed, scowling as he opened the door.

Standing there was the massive blue tiger, staring at him with mild confusion—and behind it, a tall woman with dark red hair and a relaxed but unmistakably commanding presence.

Rumi, the leader of Huntrix, gave him a once-over and smiled coolly. “Morning. Smells good in here.”

She stepped in like she owned the place.

Theseus shut the door behind her, muttering, “Why does everyone in this country just waltz in like they pay rent…”

Jihyo, already halfway through her breakfast, grinned. “Because they’re family, Teddy.”

Rumi strode in with feline grace, her boots making almost no sound despite the weight of her presence. The blue tiger—twice the size of a lion and still somehow not threatening but endearing—slunk in behind her and promptly curled up by the window like it owned the place. a small bird perched above it's head with a tiny hat.

Jihyo didn’t flinch. She just took another bite of her breakfast and raised her brows. “To what do I owe the royal visit?”

Rumi smirked. “Heard some interesting things through the grapevine. Something about Twice's leader summoning a male slayer through Instagram like a thirsty demon in heat.”

Theseus, halfway through pouring himself more tea, choked.

Jihyo gave Rumi a withering glare. “Please tell me you didn’t get that from Chaeyoung.”

“Jeongyeon, actually,” Rumi said, sinking gracefully onto the arm of the couch. “Chaeyoung just screamed into a pillow when she found out.”

“I told them I had backup from an American hunter,” Jihyo muttered, stabbing a slice of fruit with her fork.

Rumi’s eyes flicked over to Theseus, who stood off to the side with quiet wariness—shirt half-untucked, hair still sleep-mussed. She studied him the way a queen studies a knight who might one day marry her general. Or try to kill her.

“So you’re the Slayer,” she said casually, swirling the words like wine in her mouth. “Not bad looking. Taller than I thought.”

Theseus blinked. “Thanks… I think ?”

Jihyo leaned toward Rumi. “Please don’t interrogate him.”

“I would never,” Rumi said with a grin. Then to Theseus, “But if I were going to, I’d probably ask what your intentions are with our dear Jihyo. Seeing as she’s glowing and floating around her apartment like she’s been possessed.”

Jihyo groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Unnie, please.”

Theseus, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He met Rumi’s gaze head-on. “I don’t have an agenda. But I respect her strength. She is a bit…more than I expected.”

Rumi gave a thoughtful nod, clearly enjoying herself. “That’s fair. And you’re not too much of a coward—considering you opened the door for a tiger with crossed eyes.”

“I was told to,” Theseus said dryly, shooting Jihyo a glance.

“She does have that effect,” Rumi mused.

Jihyo finally sat up straighter and cleared her throat. “Okay. You’ve sized him up, you’ve teased me, you’ve let your giant cat take over the sunniest part of my apartment. Is there anything important you came here for?”

Rumi shrugged. “Just wanted to see you with my own eyes. You’ve been different lately.”

Jihyo raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Rumi gave a small, real smile. “Happier. more fiery, but also sweeter, i don't know. Softer I guess. Like you finally put the armor down.”

Jihyo blinked. That hit harder than she expected.

Rumi stood and ruffled Jihyo’s hair as she walked by. “I like it. Don’t lose your edge—but don’t be afraid to let someone hold your blade for a while either.”

Theseus laughed before saying, "Funny thing is I don't really do swords. I more of a mace/ club guy."

Rumi couldn't have rolled her eyes harder.

She paused at the door, then glanced back at Theseus. “You hurt her, I won’t send the tiger. I’ll come myself.”

“Fair,” Theseus said without hesitation.

Rumi gave a wink. “Smart boy.”

She snapped her fingers once, and the tiger heaved itself up, stretched luxuriously, and padded after her with a lazy swish of its tail. It approached Theseus with a cautious gaze before butting itself into his body. Smiling and purring as Theseus pet him before the giant cat left with Rumi by phasing through the door

As the door closed behind them, Theseus exhaled slowly. “Is it always like that with her?”

Jihyo smirked. “She’s actually being nice today.”

Theseus blinked. “That was nice?”

Jihyo chuckled, got up from her chair, and draped her arms around his shoulders. “Relax, Teddy. You passed.”

He glanced at the door, then at her. “Barely.”

“But you did,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “And that’s all that matters.”

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #twice smut #twice jihyo smut #jihyo smut #k pop demon hunters #K-pop demon hunters fanfic

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elvispresleysdearestfangirl · 2 days ago

Text

There comes a point where we, as a society, have to ask ourselves: How far are we willing to go to get a laugh? And more importantly—at whose expense? Because if we're still using Elvis Presley’s weight as a punchline nearly five decades after his death, something’s broken, and it’s not just our sense of humor—it’s our sense of humanity.

Elvis wasn’t a meme. He was a man. A deeply complicated, wildly gifted, heart-achingly human being. A Southern boy with gospel in his soul and pain in his eyes. He gave everything to the world—his voice, his body, his youth, his sanity. And for what? For us to remember him not as the electric, trailblazing force of nature he was, but as some lazy caricature of “fat Elvis dying on a toilet”? That’s not just disrespectful. It’s cruel. And it’s lazy.

What a lot of people forget—or ignore—is that Elvis struggled. He was sick. He was overworked. He was exploited. The same machine that built him up tore him to shreds. He was trapped by fame, chewed up by a system that saw dollar signs where there should have been support. He suffered from health issues, addiction, and intense mental strain. The weight gain? That was a symptom, not a punchline. But people love to reduce things they don’t understand. It’s easier to laugh at a man than to feel empathy for him. But easier doesn't mean right.

We talk so much about mental health awareness and compassion now—but where’s that energy when we look back at someone like Elvis? He gave his life, literally, to entertain us. He died at 42, exhausted and alone. And somehow people still find a way to mock him as if he was some washed-up has-been who let himself go. No. He was a man crumbling under the pressure of being the most famous person on Earth. And we owe him more than jokes at his expense.

What’s even sadder is how this reflects our society’s obsession with body image. As if someone’s weight invalidates their worth. As if a person stops being a legend the second they gain a few pounds. That mindset? That’s toxic. It’s outdated. It’s dangerous. And it needs to end. Because if Elvis can be the King of Rock and still get mocked, what does that say to the rest of us just trying to exist in our own bodies?

He changed the world with his music. He broke barriers. He gave the voiceless a sound. He moved in ways that got people banned from TV and in love all at once. He inspired generations. And even in his worst moments, even in pain, even bloated, broken, medicated, he still sang. He still performed. He still showed up.

If that’s not strength, I don’t know what is.

So maybe instead of laughing at the image of “fat Elvis,” we should mourn the fact that no one helped him when he needed it most. Maybe we should celebrate the man who made music feel alive. Maybe we should respect the legacy, not tear it down for shallow, outdated jokes.

Let’s retire the fat jokes. Let’s stop dragging the dead. Let’s remember Elvis Presley the way he deserves to be remembered—not for the weight he gained, but for the weight he carried.

#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis history #Justice for elvis

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messysketchyobeyme · 2 days ago

Text

Something hit the back of Satan's head. He snapped his head back and saw a paper airplane flutter to the floor. He was ready to scold Asmodeus for passing notes in class, again, until he saw your face a couple of rows away. Although the way your eyebrows scrunched together in concentration suggested that you were diligently taking notes, the fact that you kept sending glances his way every few seconds tore your ruse to shreds.

You were still relatively new to the Devildom, having only just freed Belphegor from the attic a few weeks prior. Despite having a pact together, you were such an enigma to him. Why pass notes in class when the two of you lived in the same house? What would be so urgent that you couldn't bear to wait an hour to speak in between classes?

Satan picked up the airplane from the dusty floor and unfolded it on his desk. One word was hastily scribbled in the corner.

Hi.

He rolled his eyes. Were you a child? Satan wrote a note of his own. Why are you writing notes in class?

Satan folded the notebook paper into a crisp square and turned to face the demon behind him. He raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head toward you. You were grinning at him in the most conspicuous way possible, but Satan chose to ignore that. The demon followed his line of sight before scoffing and taking his note.

Satan turned back around, not bothering to see if the paper had made it back to you. He didn't need to, considering how, after a few minutes, your note—now folded back into an airplane—fluttered toward him. He grabbed it mid-air. He was glad that the professor was too busy writing on the chalkboard to notice anything going on.

After unfurling the page, he noticed that you had basically written a paragraph this time.

Because it's fun! We do it all the time in the human world. Ask Levi. He would know. Besides, I am SO bored. I would rather listen to another one of Lucifer's lectures than hear a word about how the Devildom used to be a forest or whatever.

P.S. Sorry about hitting your head earlier. That was an accident.

Satan flicked the corner of the page. While he was glad you had apologized, you didn't need to. Satan wasn't upset at you. You probably saw him scowling when he first turned around, but that wasn't directed at you.

I know it was an accident. You don't have to apologize, but you do have to pay attention. We have an exam next week.

He refolded the piece of paper and handed it over his shoulder without turning around. The demon grumbled under her breath, but she took his note, anyway.

In less than a minute, the paper was back on his desk.

Can't. Someone's distracting me.

Despite himself, heat crawled up Satan's neck and sprawled across his cheeks. He squeezed his pen in his fist. What was wrong with him? Satan wasn't the type of person to blush so easily, especially not at a few words messily written in the margins of a page ripped straight from your notebook.

It was nothing. This was nothing! Satan didn't even know whether you were talking about him. You could have been referring to some demon who was smacking their gum or something.

He tried repeating these words to himself, but that did nothing to stop the way his heart had ever so slightly sped up in his chest.

Satan spun around in his seat to face you. You were resting your cheek against the palm of your hand, not even bothering to hide your blatant staring. You were unabashedly waiting for his response. Satan understood your little game, now.

I have a private study room booked after class. Come find me.

He folded the note and handed it back to you.

#obey me #drabble #satan #satan x reader #mc #satan/reader #fanfiction #kind of suggestive at the end

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ckret2 · 2 days ago

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Can you give us more Scaramouche/Aku content please? I crave this ship/their dynamic

With pleasure! have a bunch of headcanons

I'm currently working on a fic so I'm (mostly) trying to avoid headcanons that'd spoil parts of that fic. most of these are ideas I've left in comments or DMs but haven't put in an actual post, so the topics are all over the place.

this is one of those "this got so long that i'm unironically giving it a table of contents so i remember what's in it" posts.

a note on chronology

aku's (baselessly) worried jack could use scaramouche against him

once that's not a concern, EVERYONE'S gotta watch the wedding.

if aku's in love he's insufferable about showing off his beloved.

and insufferable about showing off for him.

scaramouche is the only bot in his line with a crush on the boss

his line was custom designed to meet aku's aesthetic tastes

scaramouche at karaoke night

scaramouche & his aku tattoos engravings

no matter who asks for the first date, it goes badly

aku's big on gift giving. like, 💰💰💰💸💳💎💍👑🔑

lot of people go "aku had a robot boyfriend built for him?? cringe"

don't use cute pet names on aku, it might kill him

"trading assassinations for dinner dates" romcom

1. some of these headcanons are pre-relationship, some are during a relationship. whenever I mentally insert scaraku into canon I never interpret it as "Aku & Scaramouche are having a relationship off-screen we just don't see." Instead, my interpretation is "Scaramouche has a decades-long crush on Aku; Aku would reciprocate if he knew, but he doesn't, and so it's never occurred to him that romance with a robot is even an option."

So any headcanons about them together as a couple aren't set in the canon timeline, but some alternate timeline where they get together (and obviously aku didn't blow up scaramouche's head.)

2. Aku's never struck me as bashful or self-conscious about his desires. If he wants something, it's everybody's business. he's telling the whole planet and if he isn't handed what he wants in five minutes he's stealing it. I imagine he'd be the same way about romance.

With one exception: when Jack's around. If Jack were to fall in love, Aku wouldn't hesitate for a second to use Jack's love interest against him (even, as it turns out, if that love interest is Aku's own flesh and blood), so he sort of assumes Jack would do the same to him. Even though Jack's a good guy. Like that would probably be one of those "for the greater good" things Aku's heard about.

Love is a weak spot. If Jack stabs Scaramouche through the chest, it'll be Aku's heart that feels it. (like, metaphorically—but I guess also literally since Scaramouche is powered with Aku essence? but we're talking about the metaphor right now.) I doubt Aku's been in love or whatever-close-approximation-passes-as-love-for-him very often, if ever before. He's not used to having a vulnerability like that. This little robot is a piece of Aku's heart that's much MUCH easier to kill than the rest of Aku is.

So as long as a guy eager and able to kill Aku is running around, Aku won't want the world to learn about this new weakness. Any relationship is top secret and Scaramouche isn't allowed to get anywhere near Jack.

3. But the second Jack's no longer a threat—OR if Jack somehow finds out about them so there's no point keeping it a secret—every TV channel on the planet is interrupted with a broadcast from Aku going "what's up bitches i'm getting married and you have to watch it or die" (he probably doesn't say it like that.)

if "Jack's no longer a threat" overlaps with "Jack's still alive" for some reason (truce? lost his sword again??), Aku's making a big deal out of inviting his daughter to the wedding and mentioning in the invitation that she can bring a +1. like, oh of course I'M not inviting the samurai, but I care about him so little that i'm not even telling you you can't bring him. that's how unimportant he is. double insult.

the wedding thing's a half joke. but like if it happened it'd go like that.

4. When Aku's got nothing to fear, he'd be SO annoying about being in a relationship. Only the greatest specialest little robot in the world could possibly have won the almighty Aku's attention, much less affection, and that means Scaramouche is the best and Aku's gonna show him off; disrespect this robot and you are disrespecting Aku (he will kill you). This is his Yoko Ono, his George Viliers. Half the world's gonna grow to really hate Scaramouche.

Scaramouche isn't bothered by this. They just hate him because he snagged the ruler of the world. Suck his hypothetical penis.

5. having a romantic relationship would just make aku even more over-the-top. Being in the same room as someone he feels loved by would puff up his ego like a helium balloon. Usually he has to keep that ego inflated by himself! Getting regular tributes from enslaved subjects can only do so much for him when he KNOWS they're only doing it on his orders; having just one person he genuinely likes who thinks the WORLD of him—not because he forced them to—would do more for him than a hundred dumb monuments in the ocean.

Scaramouche walks in and immediately smiles when he sees him and Aku knows he means it and instantly gets a little giddy, and now he's like I've gotta show off. kills the next person who walks into the room.

6. I've mentioned that I headcanon Scaramouche is just one unit in a line of robots designed & programmed similarly to him: same basic body, same initial skillset, same emotion programming—which means same preprogrammed loyalty to Aku.

Yet Scaramouche is the only one who developed a crush on the boss.

The rest of them are like "yeah of course i'm loyal to the boss to the end, but if the samurai ever actually kills him, either i'll keep working for whoever replaces him or go find some other job. i probably wouldn't even be sad about it." and meanwhile scaramouche is like "if the samurai ever kills the boss i'm just gonna kill myself too. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ no, wait. if the samurai kills the boss, I'M gonna have to go find a time portal so i can go back and stop HIM—" and the rest are like "what's wrong with you."

every once in a while he'll have a conversation with the other robo-assassins that ends with something like "what do you MEAN the rest of you don't think Aku's handsome?!?!" "WHAT'S HANDSOME ABOUT HIM??" "if he's not the standard by which you judge all other beauty, then i don't know how to explain it to you."

They're all painfully aware of Scaramouche's crush. They have all let him know they think he's an idiot. Somebody dropped a poll in the robo-assassin group chat, "DO YOU THINK AKU LIKE-LIKES SCARAMOUCHE?" 1 vote yes 11 votes no. The yes vote is a lie based on hope.

7. when Scaramouche's line was being built, the scientists told Aku that these were gonna be some super advanced robots—they've got programming for emotions and evolving personalities so they can continue to develop after they're built, they're designed to be able to survive with like 99% of their bodies blown up so that they can be rebuilt with their memories intact, these are the assassin bots of the future, these things will be usable for centuries if not longer.

And Aku went "well if i've gotta stare at these things for that long, then I at least want to like looking at them." so he told the scientists how he wanted them to look.

Which means that, without realizing it, Aku had these bots custom-designed to be particularly handsome according to his personal aesthetic standards. which shouldn't have been an issue, it's not the first time he's told his scientists "if I'm gonna be using these things then I want to like how they look," that's how he ended up with an army of beetles. except then one of these very pretty bots started hitting on him.

8. aku's in an interesting position where he basically defines "mainstream" culture—he's this world's government and god and has been for millennia, HE'S the one broadcasting propaganda, HE gets to decide what's on the airwaves; but at the same time he's also kind of the counterculture because, like… nobody wants this. nobody likes him being in charge. but in either case he's at the center of global culture. culture is defined by its orbit of him.

so people write songs about him, or songs using him as a metaphor for something else, as one does about major cultural figures. and songs about him might be:

part of mainstream culture: you know those christian rock songs that sing about jesus in a way that kind of makes you go "is the singer in love with jesus orrr—?" those, except about aku

part of the counterculture: you know how christian songs sing about the devil? those, except about aku. he considers songs about him being evil fine, but songs about casting him out/rejecting him/getting rid of him/him being defeated by some higher purer power are Not Approved, you're risking some trouble playing songs like that. but they're still written.

part of the counter-counterculture: you know how like tongue-in-cheek satanic metal bands sing about the devil? "he's awful he's terrible he's the worst yay yahoo hurray we love him"? those, except about aku. they basically loop back around to being mainstream in spite of somehow also being opposite of the mainstream songs.

"what's this got to do with scaraku?" never go to karaoke night with scaramouche because all you're getting is songs from category 1 and category 3.

9. Scaramouche has at least one engraving on his body dedicated to Aku. He possibly gets more. He's got like, you know those full sleeve tats that look like an oni or a dragon or whatever? Gets an engraving like that but it's of Aku.

To whoever does Scaramouche's engravings, he probably comes across as like,, one of those unhinged ultra-patriotic nationalists who gets a bunch of tattoos of the cult of personality dictator. Okay, creepo, as long as you're paying for them

tattoo artist doesn't find out Scaramouche is anything other than a crazy patriot until the day he comes in beaming looking like somebody used a jackhammer to carve the word "AKU" in his chest and asks for it to be filled in with gold. "It's kinda sloppy, you sure you don't want it cleaned up?" "Nope!" "Where'd you get this one done?" "Autograph from the boss himself!" "What." surely this robot means LITERALLY an autograph. Like at a meet and greet or something.

on some other engraving, "Okay, do you want the face filled in with gold like the other engravings, or do you want enamel so I can get it red and green?" "Uhhh… hold on." Pulls out his phone "hey Aku baby!!! Do you want your face in gold or enamel?" "Dude what the fuck, do you have his number?" They're like half a dozen engravings deep before the artist is like wait what do you mean you actually know him. What do you mean you're in love with him. Not sure if that's better or worse than the crazy patriot thing.

10. if Aku's the first one to ask for a date he's gonna unintentionally scare the shit out of Scaramouche. internal monologue: "should i ask him if he's free tomorrow? wait. why would i ask. i'm the one who gives him his jobs, i should know if he's free. i can make him free."

Scaramouche, talking to the robo-assassin group chat: "babes i think i fucked up :(" shares a screenshot with the group chat of a text from Aku that says "I'm canceling your next job. Report to my audience chamber tomorrow."

there are characters who are careful about navigating the nuances of a relationship with a significant power imbalance, and aku is not one of them. (Whatever Aku loves is HIS, and he'll take good care of them, treasure them, give them anything they want—but they don't get a say in the matter. If Aku's in love, the beloved doesn't get the option to say no.)

It's better for everyone if Scaramouche makes the first move—but he's been trying to make the first move for like the past twenty years and the hints fly straight past Aku. He's invited Aku to like five different public executions and every time Aku's turned him down thinking "well he just mentioned he was going to the execution and asked if I wanted to go too, only a fool would talk about their weekend plans in front of the lord and master of all and then exclude him, he only invited me to be polite."

11. Aku's INCREDIBLY grandiose with affectionate favors & gifts. he owns everything, he can do that.

like,, he approaches scaramouche like "hey i do a lot of business in this big city, i should get a permanent place to stay when i visit, you spend a lot of time in that city right? do my househunting for me, let me know which places you think are best. the budget is five million bucks—minimum." and after scaramouche gushes about a few places aku gets one and goes "ok here's the key." "wait, didn't you get this place so YOU'D have somewhere to stay?" "i did. this place has seven damn bedrooms, i'm sure you can keep one set aside as a guest room for me."

Scaramouche doesn't even want expensive stuff. expensive stuff is nice, but that's not what he's here for, he just wants aku. now he gets aku AND expensive stuff. he's the luckiest robot in the world.

he tries to return the favor, but unlike aku he's on a budget. he's not above stealing gifts, though. most common gifts he brings are jewels of various kinds—bonus if they're magical. the boss likes pretty enchanted rocks, and what the boss wants, he gets.

12. there are definitely some people who see Aku, who is the most single a person has ever been, get together with a robot, and assume "that guy's so lonely and so unpopular that he got some kind of sex bot built & programmed to be his boyfriend so he can pretend he's loved."

if Scaramouche overhears any claims like that, his response is generally "do you wanna see just what i was built & programmed to do?" 🗡️🗡️🗡️

"Aku's #1 assassin" isn't a SUPER well-known celebrity position—but it's well-known enough for a lot of people to instantly reverse their position on aku's new toy when they hear his name. oh you mean THAT scaramouche? scaramouche the merciless?? ohhh.

13. Aku is not designed to accept affectionate statements and terms of endearment. ZERO defenses against it. throwing a pet name at aku is like unleashing an invasive species on a delicate ecosystem: that thing does NOT belong here and it's gonna demolish everything in its path. aku has no antibodies for this virus. a single cutesy nickname can KO him for an hour.

Scaramouche calls him "hot stuff" and his entire face catches on fire and that's how Scaramouche learns what Aku's version of a blush looks like.

the latent leftover code from X-49 buried deep in Scaramouche's programming surfaces and he unthinkingly calls aku "sweet thing," and aku excuses himself from his audience chamber to melt in a puddle in his bed and stare at the ceiling. what is this nonsense. he is not a thing that is sweet. it's absurd. he's not thinking about anything else for the rest of the afternoon.

scaramouche is convinced he just keeps accidentally insulting aku.

14. In the IDW comics, in one issue there's a running gag about Aku upgrading Jack's bounty to "20 googolplex and a dinner date with Aku." in the depths of my DMs there's a serial killer romcom fic I'm never gonna write where Aku offers a dinner date as part of the bounty for various high-level targets, with the tacit understanding that what this means is more like "you get aku's attention for an hour to attempt to network with him or plead for your family's safety or whatever you want. and you get dinner out of it."

except scaramouche manages to take out one of these targets, goes on one dinner date, INSTANTLY falls in love even though aku did absolutely nothing to try to impress him, and starts knocking out one name on Aku's Most Wanted list after another to rack up these dinner dates.

the second time it happens aku goes "this bot again?" the fifth or sixth time it happens aku goes "this bot AGAIN???????" after the thirtieth time it happens he's going "it's been three weeks since scaramouche took out a target with a dinner date attached, what's taking him so long??"

after like the 10th date scaramouche is telling everyone he knows "yeah aku and i are definitely officially a couple" and simultaneously aku's thinking "i wonder if scaramouche would be interested in making things official. ... no, of course not, if he was interested he wouldn't only ask me out when he's collecting a bounty."

scaramouche's pals are trying to convince him that if he and aku were an item, aku wouldn't require him to kill somebody every time they go out—"he's a busy guy, that's just his excuse to make time for me!"—and meanwhile aku's sitting on his throne staring at his phone trying to telepathically command scaramouche to call him.

this idea is more silly than anything else. the idea of Aku, Shogun of Sorrow, Master of Masters waiting for a call from his kind-of-unofficial-boyfriend like a lovesick teen just amuses the hell out of me.

#emmel opatia #ask #samurai jack #scaraku #aku #scaramouche #scaramouche samurai jack #headcanons

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wastefulreverie · 12 hours ago

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DP writing prompt: in which Danny wakes up from nightmare after nightmare, right before the scalpel cuts his skin.

taking writing prompts!!

The snap of latex gloves, the dizzying smell of antiseptic and the chill of cold metal at his back. The sharp, unyielding surgical light adjusted to blot out most of his vision. And the sound of metal on metal as his parents sort through their tools, selecting which knife will do the honors. He's long since been stripped of his suit, vulnerable to whatever fresh horrors they have in store.

Mom's stance is poised and delicate and it's the same look she has when mending his clothes after they get mangled in fights. I just tripped, he tells her and she shakes her head and puts his clothes back together again. Now the scalpel in her hand is meant to undo him. Pull him apart.

The cool metal has barely just grazed his torso when Danny jolts awake.

His cheek is wet with drool and he lifts his head as slowly as he can muster, willing his heart rate to slow with careful and steady breaths. An ingrained routine at this point. Look forward, focus on the whiteboard like it's the only thing in the world that matters.

"Fenton?" Dash says, beside him. Eugh, that's right. Detention with Lancer.

He lucked out today, because it looks like he feel asleep while Lancer was out of the room.

"What," he says. "Can't a guy get a minute's rest?"

"That—that didn't look like rest," is all Dash says, an uncharacteristic observation from the biggest human pain in his ass.

"Cool," Danny nods. He looks down at the assignment he's supposed to be working on. He nodded off halfway through the first question, so undeniably he's fucked.

He follows his previous work, double checking the equations and trying to figure out where the hell he is going wrong. If he doesn't have at least the first question before Lancer gets back...

"Are you alright?" Dash adds.

Danny lowers his pencil. "Why the hell do you care?"

Dash opens and his mouth and shuts it. "You were really... um. Twitching a lot and muttering things. About your parents."

"I'm fine. It was a nightmare, nothing real," Danny explains, as if speaking to a toddler. "You gonna bully me for having bad dreams now, or something? Tell everyone in school that I'm scared shitless asleep, too? Go ahead, see if I care."

He has bigger problems.

"That's not—" he runs a hand over his face. "Fine, okay. Yeah, you're right. It's nothing and not my fucking business what kind of nightmares losers like you are having. Just stop being so fucking weird."

Danny tries to return to his assignment, but his attention keeps slipping back to Dash and his watchful eyes. Like someone had removed the wool from his eyes and he was seeing Danny for the first time as a person and not a punching bag. What the hell.

Lancer returns shortly and Dash is quiet. Too quiet, but Danny doesn't care. It's not until their way out of detention that Dash stops Danny with a gentle slam into the wall and asks him:

"Why are you afraid of them cutting you up?"

Danny rolls his eyes. "We all have irrational fears, Dash. Shove it."

He pushes his way out of his grip and keeps walking. He just has to hope that the idiot won't bring it up again, like it's even a big deal. So what? Danny dreams about them ripping him apart all the time, it doesn't have to mean anything unless he thinks too hard about it. Because it's not going to happen. (Probably.)

"Your family is nuts!" Dash calls after him. "You're nuts too!"

Despite himself, Danny just laughs.

#danny phantom #dash baxter #danny fenton #cw vivisection #wrwritings #danny phantom fanfiction #phicc #dponly #fanfic #fanfiction

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thinkblotted · 21 hours ago

Text

Building a Better Star (aka, the Star Essay)

I like Star. I’m getting that shit out of the way right here at the beginning, just in case. I like Star, I like what she is, I think she deserves better writing.

Also - these are my takes. These takes may not be your takes. We can have different takes.

Okay? Okay. Let’s go.

For the purposes of this analysis and suggestion, I’m only going to be going off of movie canon Star, rather than book canon Star, because while they’re basically the same, there are a few background elements in the book that expand on Star’s internal thoughts and relationships with the boys that you could only get from exposition in the book, and that’s not as available a source as the movie, so.

Since I’m either posting this on tumblr for the four people who will read it, or filming myself talking about this like a normal person with normal hobbies, I won’t explain who canonically she is because that’s unnecessary for this audience of me and a discord server, but rather who she is as a character as presented.

The thing about The Lost Boys is that it exists as a double edged sword of characterization for all its characters. They’re all incredibly simple, and in that white space that’s left behind where deeper characterization would be put in other movies, here there’s just a void, leaving the audience to fill in the gaps however they see fit with whatever they can glean from the surrounding world.

The vampires are the prime example of this - of all the characters, they get the least amount of dialogue and have the most void to fill in who they are as characters. Star is the runner up, having more character, but the same amount of void in her backstory.

So who is Star?

Star is The Girl of the group, a trope wherein you have a group of characters who make up the core of your main cast and usually they’re all male, with one or occasionally two exceptions being girls - if it’s two, one will be the ‘nerdy’ or otherwise ‘not strictly desirable by main male cast’ role, and the other will be The Girl, who is almost always the love interest of the main male, who, even though she’s more of a main character then the secondary girl, typically does less than them. As presented, Star fits this trope easily, as well as filling out the subtropes that it consists of.

She’s soft-spoken, pretty, demure, stays out of most of the fights in the story, offers the protagonist advice but never tells him directly how to face the conflict of the story, offers support but never directly physically supports the protagonist. She’s an inciting incident all to herself, but never actually drives the plot forward except to be a shining prize on the mountaintop of the narrative that the protagonist must climb in order to claim.

After being in the Lost Boys fandom for about two and a half-ish years now, there are some take-aways specific to Star that the fandom tends to play on the most.

And I want to add in here, I do not have a problem with these traits being assigned to her. Star, like the rest of the cast, is a very malleable character. The void around her is just as vast as the other vampires, and this is fandom - we play with blorbos from our media like dolls. This entire thing is purely based on what I personally would like to see Star become, and since I’m a freak, I don’t just write fanfic, I also do this. Apparently. So take everything I’m saying with a giant grain of salt.

The traits that I most see attributed to Star are:

-She’s a shrinking violet, either unwilling or unable to interact directly with the conflict of the story

-She’s being held against her will to the point that leaving in any capacity is not only not an option, but would lead to physical harm/possibly death if she tried (ie, she’s an abused captive)

-She cannot be held responsible for any bad decisions she’s made in the past or makes in the current story, or any bad turns the plot takes

The first assertion is held up pretty well by the canon of the movie, and most of the fandom also agrees that it would have been nice if the movie actually did make Star a little less soft. There have been several outcries for Star to ‘vamp out’ like the Boys did, to at the very least give her a scary vampire face! Her tiny confrontation with Max at the end of the movie would have been a perfect space for that, but unfortunately, the movie has 80s-itis and being the female love interest and a victim in the plot, Star isn’t allowed to be aggressive in such a blatant manner.

Star also hangs back whenever the Boys have presence on the screen. She’s never in the forefront, sharing the space, she’s in the background, watching them, only observing. The one time she directly contradicts them, ‘Leave him alone’ she’s told straight up to ‘chill out, girl’, and she doesn’t continue the conflict. When she does decide to try and be more forward with Michael, directly affecting things, she waits until there is no other persons of consequence around in order to do so.

The second assertion of her being held against her will is a little trickier to pin down as a trait, but evidence of this is implied with how she contributes to the narrative - mainly, in asking Michael directly to save Laddie and her from the Boys, or at the very least, the situation she’s in. Though, it should be noted, that Star never makes a direct statement of what that situation is. She hedges that it’s being being driven to kill to sate the vampiric nature, but when taking scenes like David simply saying her name to get her to come to him, being told indirectly to back off when the Boys are hazing Michael, and backing away in a fearful manner when Michael is drinking the blood wine into consideration, there’s the darker notion that she’s being abused in other ways.

Because the movie is meant to be a lighter flick, full of scary-yet-alluring vampire punk boys and over the top monster-hunting gore, billing it as a ‘horror-comedy’ excludes any deeper exploration or more explicit on-screen showing of verbal, emotional, or physical harm that Star may be experiencing. Doing so would take away from the fantastical and darkly whimsical nature of the story, grounding it too much, and making the Boys, though they be villains, into villains we wouldn’t love to hate.

Thus, the darker implications of what Star might be facing behind the scenes, when Michael isn’t around and before he came along, is left to the audience’s interpretation, as well as any ability Star has to struggle against them. The fandom frequently interprets as none, thanks to the plot of the movie being what it is.

The third major assertion that the fandom tends to adopt is that Star is largely if not completely irresponsible for the missteps of other characters and for her own predicament.

This given trait is the most difficult to back up with evidence directly from the canon as it relies heavily on filling in the blank spaces of Star and the other character’s backstories. Star is not responsible for Michael spotting her in the crowd at the concert or deciding to follow after her. Star technically didn’t tell Michael to accept David’s goading to race. Star told Michael she both didn’t know how to help him, and couldn’t explain it. Star is not responsible for Michael’s induction into the Boy’s gang because, well, she told him what he was drinking was blood. Star never directly acts to drive the plot forward until the beginning of the third act when she does admit to Michael that she needs his help, thus, cannot be held responsible even in part to Michael’s involvement.

Lack or acceptance of Star’s responsibility for her own inability to leave the Boys is even harder to pin down, as we have no movie canon for what her life was like before meeting the Boys. The implication from the world around them is that Star is a runaway kid like many of the people seen in the opening sweep of Santa Carla, likely from a crappy home and was taken in by the Boys but soon got in over her head, but this is never directly confirmed.

The idea that Star made a bad choice, and was not just manipulated and coerced after the ‘honeymoon’ period with the Boys is somewhat controversial as it paints Star in a less favorable light. She isn’t an innocent victim, but rather someone who made a bad call and refuses to acknowledge her own agency in that decision, instead placing any and all blame on the Boys.

‘But what if she’s tried that already?’ Unfortunately, that lies entirely in the realm of off-screen possibilities that are not support by any canon. Star in the movie is never shown or implied to have tried escaping before, and in the book she merely has internal monologues about wanting to leave, not that she’s ever attempted it.

Giving Star any one of these traits on their own isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Star is very much helpless in this situation - she’s in a den of immortal man-eating monsters while only being barely half of one herself, and refusing to take the option that would grant her more physical power to assert control in the situation, because the act required would be a shattering of her moral compass. Regardless of her involvement in how she got here, she deserves to be able to leave and make better choices.

But giving Star all of these traits at once with nothing else to her flattens her completely. It does her, in my opinion, an incredible amount of injustice to absolve her of any kind of responsibility in her own problems and then rob her of any bravery to take a risk and change it herself.

And that’s not a good character.

In order to build a better Star, we need to first accept a truth that might be a slightly hard pill to swallow:

A good Star is not necessarily a protagonist.

At least, not in the same way that Michael or Sam can be. Michael and Sam are protagonists in that they’re the heroes of the story. They face the main conflict head on and drive the plot forward with their actions, and are who we’re rooting for to win. We see them and their actions as ‘good’. They are absolved by the framing of blame in what is done to them. (Michael in getting in over his head with the Boys by ignoring the reservations and loose warnings of others, and Sam of murder with the fact that the Boys are man-eating monsters bent on getting back at them when one of their own is killed.)

If you make Star a protagonist in the same way, with her needing to be framed as ‘good’ in the story, but only keeping the character traits previously listed, then she’s a boring character. She becomes only nebulously ‘good’ just by virtue of not technically having done anything that could be considered ‘bad.’ Being counted as a heroine only by default.

And that sucks. That puts her simultaneously on a pedestal where she can do no wrong, but is an empty shell that’s there to smile or cry and do nothing else.

Often, when talking about female protagonists, antagonists, anti-heros and characters with grey morality or amorality, the added layer of them being women forces ten times the scrutiny on not just how they’re built as a character, but on their creators and why they’re choosing to build the character in the way they are. Any mistakes plot-pushing decisions made by the character aren’t as likely to be accepted as just the character acting in the story, but get traced back to the author. The audience constantly asks the question, ‘if it was a male character, would there be consequences for this act, or are you treating this character special because they’re a woman?’

In this case, it’s ‘Michael also fucks up, and yet is treated as a victim, deserving of sympathy and being saved by his brother rather than having to fight all on his own. Their situations are the same. Why not Star? The only difference between them is gender.’

This essay is not about whether or not Star is deserving of being saved, nor is it saying that she deserves being trapped in the situation that she’s in. But much like how Star reminds Michael that she did indeed tell him that it was blood in the bottle and he scoffed at her, Star deserves not to be a lifeless doll being acted upon, and a good female character deserves to not be a pretty, perfect Barbie doll that does no wrong and always looks pretty.

So with the knowledge that a better Star cannot be purely a protagonist, how do we lower her from the boring pedestal?

My suggestion: by inverting her three main traits

The first: If she’s billed as meek and demure and soft, then make her more aggressive and vulgar

The second: If she seems to be kept at silent gunpoint, then give her more freedom to act

The third: Make her at least partly responsible for her own situation, regardless of whether or not she thinks she is

The first revised trait is the most important in my opinion to building a better Star, as it will help direct and reinforce the second two.

A large part of Star’s lack of presence in the movie is quite literally, a lack of physical presence. Star seems to hate even being near the vampires, and depending on what kind of story you wish to show her in, it could make sense. But chances are, if she’s given the shrinking violet trait, she’s been given the other two as well, and that makes a bad Star. She must be allowed to speak, and more than that - she must be allowed to show emotion.

Let Star be angry. Let her be hurt in a way that’s not beautiful and languorous, a wilting agony of suffering in silence. And I’ll say it: Let Star say the Fuck word. As silly and simple as it may seem, such a small detail can transform a character. Star deserves to be as rough-edged and imperfect in her words and attitude as any of the rest of the Boys, possibly more if she’s in a situation that she hates! If she had the bravery to run away from home, then she should be afforded the bravery to be more than a pretty, silent, pure woman who doesn’t know what a cigarette is.

The second revised trait is going to be the most fluid in interpretation because it relies the most on the author or artist or fan’s personal interpretation of what the relationship between Star and the Boys is really like.

In the movie, Star seems to move with the Boys. She’s usually near them enough that they can keep an eye on her, as we see with David watching Star talking to Michael before the beach race. The only times we see Star distance herself physically is right after the bonfire, where she comes to the Emerson cabin to convince Michael to save her, or when she and Michael have sex. The first time, she seems desperate, like she may not have much time, and the second, she’s been left there on her own while the Boys go out and cavort, likely with the implication that she should stay where they can find her when they get back.

Again, this is the trait that can be toyed with the most, but a good way to combat the feeling that she’s being held against her will is to give the notion that there are parts of being around the vampires that she likes. There are tiny hints of this in the movie, and the book expands on this. In the movie, there’s a moment during the race where Star seems to be enjoying herself while riding with David - at the very least, she’s enjoying the speed and thrill, if not the person she’s with. In the book, Star and Paul have the best relationship of any of the boys, with Paul trying to cheer her up and promising a ‘happily ever after’. To keep it from feeling like a full captive situation, give Star a reason to feel a bit conflicted over the pack. She’s there in the first place, after all.

The third revised trait is going to be the most controversial, as it’s a hard thing to admit when people in real life do it.

Admitting that sometimes, the problems we find ourselves dealing with, are our own fault. We make a bad call, we make a poorly informed decision or decide in the heat of the moment. Sometimes, we are lied to, but the lie is flimsy and we chose to swallow it because it’s what we wanted to hear at the time. I like to ask authors writing villains this - what’s worse and more compelling; a villain who lies, or a villain who tells the protagonist a truth they don’t want to hear?

And, as backwards as it sounds, making Star partially responsible for her situation is giving her more agency in her story. It gives her a reasonable character flaw that she has to confront and defeat.

Here is where I’m going to throw in an interesting observation about a specific scene that I think helps lend itself to this particular revised trait: the scene where she asks Michael for help directly. In canon, the scene goes about like this - Star comes to the cabin, Michael tells her that he knows about the vampires, and when he expresses that he thinks it’s basically done for him, Star tells him that it’s not, he’s not fully gone, and that she needs his help to save all three of them. Now, there’s something really, really interesting to me about this scene: Star is NOT a reliable narrator during it. At all.

To say that she’s lying outright about everything would be untrue, but when you examine it, you realize that she’s being untruthful all the same. When Michael gets upset, accusing her of not caring about him because in his eyes she let this happen, she says that she DOES care about him, using physical touch to reinforce this. When she’s soundly rejected, by Michel slapping her hand away and demanding to know why she REALLY came, she very reluctantly tells him that she was hoping he’d help them. It’s her last answer, the last thing she wanted to say. Obviously hoping that the emotions would be enough to persuade him, rather than just saying that she needed help outright, which would be easier to say no to.

Secondly, the WHY. Star states that Michael was ‘supposed to be her first, because it’s what David wanted’. When watching the scene, the delivery, the body language, and given the full context of the plot and how we’ve seen Star behave? We can only come to the conclusion that Star. Doesn’t. Know. That.

Max’s ultimate goal is to get Lucy, and to get Lucy, he needs Michael and Sam to be on board, or at least BE vampires. Killing one of her children would hardly serve that goal. Given the ending fight, Max doesn’t give a dead rat’s ass about Star. And Star? She doesn’t even know Max exists. David telling Star to kill Michael to turn her into a vampire is not only pointless, but going expressly against Max’s wishes. We don’t know how much of Max’s plan David and the Boys know about, or given their personalities and implied relationship with him, even care about, but defying him in this instance doesn’t seem like the smartest thing to do.

Not to mention - Star does like Michael. She hugs him at the end, she does give him a warning about the blood, albeit a weak one. She does attempt to fight Max in the end, even if she fails. As for her thoughts on David, those are more complicated. Whether the relationship is real, coerced, that she’s simply a pawn being used to tug Michael around or whether she and David did like each other at one time, is unknown, but it is clear that Star knows that David is interested in Michael, and doesn’t like it. So it would then be logical to assume, given this, that Star would assume, based on what she knows and has been able to observe, that she’d pain David in a worse light. Insinuating that it’s HIM who’s pulling the string, assuming what he wants and what his intentions are, even if she DOESN’T. KNOW.

All this to conclude: Star is an unreliable narrator taking actions based on her own flawed assumptions. Which means she’s going to make mistakes, and miscalculate her position. She’s going to cast herself in a certain light, and like anyone, maybe not want to admit when that light is suddenly not a reflection of her best.

So, how do I conclude this.

Star is an interesting character, and I do enjoy her. If you managed to sit through this to get to here, and if there’s anything to take away from this, it’s that I enjoy Star and I want her to be a better…her. She deserves to cuss and spit, she deserves to be angry and sad at her predicament, she deserves to be loved as a whole person and not some untouchable angel. Let her fight. Let her bite. Let her bleed for her freedom and personhood.

Most importantly, if you allow the Boys room to be more than they are presented as on screen, then you can afford to give that to Star.

Thank you for reading, if you did.

@misslavenderlady (I almost forgot!)

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #star tlb #star the lost boys #character analysis #writing #meta #I really didn't think I was gonna get it done this fast guys lmao #if this reads more as a script than anything that's because it. was originally intended to be?#I have no video editing skills or equipment though #*puts pot on head like helmet and braces for impact*

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just-dreaming-marvel · 22 hours ago

Text

The Librarian & The Wolverine ~ The Epilogue

THE LIBRARIAN & THE WOLVERINE MASTERLIST

< previous: The End ~ Part 2

Word Count: 3,290ish

Summary: The aftermath.

Notes: The warnings are below the cut. Tread carefully. MAKE SURE YOU'VE READ PART 2 BEFORE THIS.

Warning(s): funeral, time jumps, character death

It rained that morning. Not a storm, just a quiet drizzle— a gray mist that clung to the trees and slicked the stone path winding through the back garden of the mansion. The same path students had walked a thousand times. The same path you had once wandered, hand in hand with Logan.

The school had never been so silent. Every student. Every teacher. Every mutant who had once passed through the halls— they all stood there now, dressed in black, some holding flowers, some holding books.

The casket was simple. Hard-carved wood. No frills. No shine. Just smooth grain, warm color. Logan had built it himself one night when he couldn’t sleep.

Ororo stood by Charles, her shoulders straight but her eyes glistening. Jamie held one of your notebooks in his arms like a sacred text. Hank looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Jean and Scott stood side by side, holding hands. And Logan stood at the front. Still. No tie, no umbrella, no words. Just his hand on the casket.

Charles spoke softly. “She was not one of our warriors in the way the world expected. But she fought. Every day. For all of us. For the truth. For knowledge. For peace. She gave more than any of us could ask. And we are better for having loved her.”

No one moved as Jamie stepped forward. He placed the notebook on the casket. “She saved me,” he said quietly. “Before she ever got between me and a bad day or a mistake… she saved me. With stories. With patience. With kindness.” He stepped back, lips trembling.

And still Logan didn’t speak. He just stood there— drenched and unmoving— until the others began to file away. Eventually, it was just him, your casket, and the rain. He knelt beside the casket, placing a single book atop it— one of yours. The spine was cracked. The corners worn. You had read it a hundred times. He brushed his hand across the wood like it was your skin.

“I don’t know how to stop loving you,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

He stood slowly, fingers curling into fists. Then he turned and walked back towards the mansion. The casket would be buried in the garden. You name was already carved into stone by his own hands. And the world would go on. But Logan wouldn’t. Not really. Because the library was quiet now and so was he.

~~~

The mansion was eerily quiet after the funeral. Most had gone to their rooms. Some students cried in corners, others sat in silence, unsure how to process the gaping hole left behind.

But Logan didn’t rest. He hadn’t changed out of the clothes he wore to hurt you. The black shirt you loved so much was still wet from the rain and clinging to his back like guilt. He stood in his room now, throwing things into a duffel with a kind of haunted precision— like if he moved fast enough, maybe the pain wouldn’t catch him. Boots. Jacket. Cigars. A bottle of whiskey. The small photo of you tucked under his shaving kit. The zipper screamed shut. He threw the strap over his shoulder and turned for the door— only to find Ororo and Jean blocking his path.

He scowled, trying to sidestep them. “Move.”

“No,” Ororo’s voice was firm.

Jean didn’t speak. She didn’t have to— her presence in his mind was quiet, humming, alert. She was ready if he bolted.

“I’m not doin’ this,” he growled. “Not stayin’ here like nothin’ happened.”

“No one’s asking you to pretend,” Ororo said, stepping into his path more. “But running into the woods like a ghost in the night won’t bring her back.”

“You don’t know what I need.”

“I know she wouldn’t want this.”

He flinched.

Jean finally spoke up. “She wanted you to keep living, Logan.”

“I was living— when she was here.” His voice cracked, rough and ragged. “Now, I’m just… here.”

“And that matters. You being here matters. To them. To us.”

“To her,” Ororo added. “Even now.”

His breath was shaky as he looked away. “I see her everywhere,” he whispered. “In every damn hallway. Every book left around. Every student who smiles like she used to.”

“Then don’t run from it,” Jean said. “Remember her. Honor her.”

Logan didn’t move. Jean reached out and slowly— gently— took the bag from his shoulder. He let her.

Ororo stepped forward and placed a hand over his heart. “She loved you. All the way to the end.”

He lowered his head. “I don’t know how to do this without her.”

“You’re not doing it without her. You’re doing it for her.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move or speak. Then finally— a shaky nod. Jean turned away, eyes misted. Ororo stepped back as he stood still, hands trembling. And slowly, Logan sat down on the edge of his bed.

~~~

Logan wasn’t trying to be seen. He was just passing by. Another silent loop around the mansion to fill another empty day.

But Jamie caught him anyway. “Logan!”

Logan froze, jaw tightening. He turned slowly.

The kid looked nervous. Grieving still, but trying to be brave. “I, uh… I’ve been watching the library,” Jamie said. “We all kinda pitched in. Ororo’s been helping too. But…”

Logan waited, arms crossed.

“One of the big shelves— the one near the back window— it snapped yesterday. Old support. I tried to fix it. But it’s… it’s too heavy.”

Logan’s face didn’t change. He flatly responded, “Ask Hank.”

“I did. He’s busy with the labs and teaching. Told me to ask you.”

Silence.

Jamie pushed a little hard. “She’d want it fixed.”

“Don’t.”

The boy flinched.

“You think I don’t know what she’d want?” Logan’s eyes were sharp now, glassy with something dangerous. “You think I forgot?”

“No. I just— I thought maybe it’d help.”

Logan shakes his head. “Leave it. Someone else will do it.” Then he walked away.

Jamie didn’t call after him. He just watched Logan go.

~~~

The door creaked open slowly. Dust floated in the moonlight through the tall windows. Logan stepped inside. He was wearing the same outfit he wore at the funeral. He hasn’t shaved or cleaned up or slept. Logan didn’t look at the desk. Or the little table in the corner you always kept cleared for him. Or the corner where they two of you used to read together.

Logan walked straight to the back window. And there it was. Thee shelf, broken along the side. Books scattered, wood splintered like a wound. He stood there for a long time. Then finally, he knelt. He worked in silence. No gloves or claws. Just his hands. He found the right nails and fit the pieces back together. He reinforced it. He wiped the dust off the spines as he replaced each book. Just how you would have done it.

~~~

The next night, the door creaked open just after midnight. Logan slipped inside, moving without sound. He didn’t turn on the lights. He knew the path by heart.

A fallen cart of books near the front? He made it right and sorted every spine.

A loose bulb flickering in the corner lamp? He replaced it from the drawer behind the desk you used to sit at.

Dust on the tall shelves? He wiped it away with a cloth from his back pocket.

Every book returned that day, he put exactly where you would have— by author, by title, and sometimes by the quiet little subcategories only you would have thought of.

Logan didn’t read while he was in there. Not yet. But he touched the books like they remember you. Like they were listening. And when he was done— two hours, sometimes three— he left the way he came: silent, heavy-footed, vanishing before the sunrise.

~~~

By week two, people began to notice.

Ororo found the dust gone from the windowsills. Jamie’s returns are already shelved each morning. Rogue commented that the pillows on the reading couches were fluffed again. Even the creaky cabinet hinge in the poetry second didn’t creak anymore.

Jean knew and Charles knew. But neither of them said a word. They just glanced towards the library when passing. And smiled— small, soft, yet full of sadness.

One night, Jamie lingered too long after hours, tucked into a corner, pretending to read. Just after midnight, he heard the door open. He could see the silhouette in the dark. He watched Logan, tall and careful, pick up a fallen hardcover with gentle hands and shelve it without a sound. The boy didn’t say anything. He just pulled his blanket tighter and watched the Wolverine fix the world, one book at a time.

~~~

A week later the door to the library opened. Not past midnight, but mid-morning. The sun was slanting through the windows. There were students at the tables, bend over assignments. Jamie was shelving returned. Ororo was near the front desk, cataloging a few new titles.

Logan stepped in. He hesitated in the doorway. No one stared or gasped. But Ororo did meet his eyes. She smiled, faint and quiet, and then returned to a task without a word. Logan walked down the aisle— slow and steady. His boots thudded softly against the floor. He went to the back corner, to the spot you always kept clear for him. The table was still there, cleaned off. Logan sat.

For that whole first week, that was all he did. He sat in silence. But he was there.

~~~

It started small. A nervous student, muttering to themselves about Tolstoy and thematic structure. Logan overheard and muttered something about comparing it to Hemingway instead. The student looked at Logan strangely, then asked a question. He answered.

Another day, he helped Jamie carry a cart of books too tall for the kid. Then he began showing up early. He fixed crooked chairs. He refilled pencil jars. He kept the rowdy students in check with just a single look. And then one day— he knelt beside a student struggling with an essay on ethics in dystopian literature.

“Try lookin’ at it like a survival instinct,” he suggested. “How people justify what they do when they’re scared. Might help it click.”

The student’s eyes lit up and it clicked.

~~~

Ororo found Charles watching from the hallway.

“He’s… different,” she said softly.

“He’s healing,” Charles replied, “even if he doesn’t think he is.”

Logan was still inside, talking with Jamie and another student about The Odyssey.

“No,” she murmured. “He’s honoring her.”

~~~

Logan sat stiffly in one of the armchairs across from Charles’ desk, arms crossed, jaw tight. Suspicious and guarded.

Charles folded his hands nearly on the desk. “I know that you haven’t taught history in a while,” he began. “But you’re no longer listed as a history instructor starting next week.”

Logan frowned. “What?”

“I’ve spoken with the faculty. The course load will be shifted. Jean, Hank, and Scott will still continue to teach the history courses.”

Logan straightened in his seat, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“Because I’m assigning you elsewhere. A full-time role.” Charles smiled softly. “You’re the new librarian.”

“No.”

“Logan—“

“I said no. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to pretend she didn’t—“ He cut himself off.

“No one is pretending.”

Logan stood abruptly and began pacing. “She made that place what it is. Every system. Every shelf. Every breath. That’s hers. You want me to walk in there with a title that belonged to her?”

“You already do.”

Logan froze.

“You’re already the one who mends the shelves. Who teaches the students. Who knows where everything goes. You’ve been honoring her in silence. I’m only giving it a name.”

“It’s not right.” Logan shook his head. “It feels like replacing her.”

“You could never replace her. No one could… But you can carry her legacy forward. You can make sure the students still find safety in that room. You can keep her stories alive.”

Logan turned to face Charles again. “What if I can’t?”

“You can.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I see her in the way you walk through those doors. In the way you look at those books. In the way you speak to every student with the same quiet patience she had. You’re not replacing her, Logan… You’re becoming the echo of her love.”

Logan didn’t answer immediately. But something in him broke loose. A single, shuddering breath rippled through him as he sat back down. “I’m not wearing a cardigan.”

Charles chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare suggest it.”

~~~

The bell rung for second period. Students filtered in slowly— some to work on papers, some to read, some just to nap on the soft couches by the windows. The door to the library was propped open. Inside, Logan was at the front desk— your desk. No cardigan. Just flannel and denim. A fresh copy of To Kill a Mockingbird in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other.

Logan didn’t announce anything or explain and he asked for the same from Charles. When Jamie passed by and gave him a silent nod, Logan returned it. When a student asked where to find a biography, Logan walked them to the shelf without hesitation. When another dropped a book face-down on a table, he corrected them with a quiet, “Spines up. She hated creased covers.”

And the students got it. They settled in a little softer that day. The library felt full again. Not the same— never the same. But warm and alive. And you would have loved it.

~~~

The doors were locked. The windows were darkened. Logan moved quietly through the rows, checking shelves, closing returned books, dimming the lights. He stopped in the back corner— his corner— to the table you always left for him. And he pulled something small from his pocket. A plaque. Simple and bronze. He drilled it gently into the wood just above the bookshelf, where students could see it— but not too bold, not too loud. He stepped back and read the engraving.

In Memory of Our Librarian ~ Miss Y/N L/N

She kept the stories safe, and made us brave enough to live our own.

Logan brushed his fingers over it. Then turned and walked away, locking the doors behind him. But that night— and every night after— the plaque glowed softly in the moonlight. And so did the library.

~~~

The library was quiet. Outside the windows. Snow fell softly across the lawn, blanketing the world in white. Inside, the shelves were full, cared for, and loved. Logan moved a little slower now, but just as steady. He was shelving a return, humming faintly under his breath, when a shadow moved in the doorway. Ororo. She smiled when he looked up. She was still regal, composed, though the years have touched her. She walked with calm confidence— the kind that once belonged to Charles. She held an envelope in her hand.

“Got a minute?” She wondered.

“Always,” Logan responded.

She crossed over to the corner table he had never given up and set the envelope down. “I found this in Charles’ personal effects. It was marked for you.”

Logan looked at it. Just his name on the front. Nothing else. He didn’t move to it right away.

Ororo gave him a nod. “Take your time.” Then she left without another word.

Logan sat. The envelope tremble slightly in his hands as he opened it. Two letters sat inside. One in Charles’ neat handwriting and the other— in older paper— yours. He read Charles’ note first.

Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m no longer there to hand it to you myself. I kept this letter at her request, sealed and untouched, to be delivered only when I was gone and you were still standing.

You are more than we ever deserved.

Charles

Logan’s breath caught. His hands hovered over your letter. He unfolded it. Your handwriting was instantly familiar, taking him back years.

My dearest Logan,

If Charles did this right (and let’s face it, he usually does), it means you’ve outlived me and him— and that you’re probably mad I made him wait so long to give you this.

I’m writing this now, not because I’m afraid I’ll leave you, but because if I do, I need you to know some things.

You saved me.

Not just from the government or my own failing powers— but from myself. From disappearing. You reminded me every single day that I was still here. Still real. Still worthy.

I don’t care how many years pass. If you’re reading this— I still love you.

I hope you still sit at that desk. I hope the books are still in order.

And I hope you’re not alone.

But if you are… open The Secret Garden. Page 247.

You’ll find something there I couldn’t say out loud.

Logan’s hands were shaking as he went and pulled the book from the shelf. He flipped to page 247. There— tucked between the pages— was a small pressed flower. And beneath it, a line in your handwriting, scrawled faintly in ink:

Love alway finds the quiet places.

Logan closed the book slowly. And for the first time in years, he let himself cry. Not because you were gone. But because, somehow, you were still here.

~~~

The school had changed. The building had been rebuilt, expanded. Brighter and stronger. It was full of new faces, new voices, new generations who barely remembered the name of those who came before.

But the library? That stayed the same. And in the center of it, always, was Logan. He didn’t speak much anymore. He didn’t teach or fight. He moved much slower and wore your old glasses. His hair was grey and his beard was full now. But he shelved every book, knew every title, answered every question the way you once had— with patience, with a little gruffness, and sometimes, with the same dry humor that had made you laugh.

Students didn’t fear him. They respected him. Some even brought him coffee the way he used to bring it to you. Your picture still sat on the desk. Smudged at the corners where his thumb always found it. Your favorite chair was still in the corner. Your name was still etched into the spine of a journal on the highest shelf. Logan never moved it, not once.

~~~

Jamie, now head of the school, found him during morning shelving. The doctor had requested a check-in. Logan had sat through it, grunting as Hank’s successor read through the through the scan results.

“You’re healing factor’s too slow now. The adamantium’s killing you, Logan. It has been for a long time. You’ve just been too stubborn to notice or say anything.

Logan looks down at his hands, rough and shaking more now. “I noticed.”

“You need rest. Peace.”

“I’m already where I want to be.”

They didn’t argue. You wouldn’t have wanted them to.

~~~

It was late when he passed. The lights in the library were dimmed, the sound of soft classical music playing from the old speakers Jamie had installed— music you loved. Logan had fallen asleep at the desk. One hand resting on your photo, the other on an open book.

They found him that way the next morning. Peaceful and still. Not clawed or bleeding. There was a note written on the back of an old checkout slip.

She waited for me. And now I’m finally going home to her.

Jamie closed the library that day. And for the first time in years, the halls of the school fell silent. But only for a little while.

Because Logan had left behind shelves perfectly stocked.

A desk still warm.

And a library full of love.

~~~

Notes: Thank you for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it! I love writing it for all of you! Please don't forget to share your thoughts and/or check out more of my works!

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 2 days ago

Text

2025 General Election: “Special Story”

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Spoilers ahead.

When I woke up that morning, the first thing I saw was Ranmaru's beautiful sleeping face.

My heart skipped a beat as I felt his arm wrapped around my back.

(Oh, right.)

(Last night, I ended up staying in Ranmaru's room.)

Even though we live in the same castle, we usually sleep in separate rooms.

That's exactly why mornings like this feel even more special.

(Still, I'm so nervous.)

(Just watching him sleep like this is enough to make my heart flutter.)

Even though Ranmaru and I were lovers now, our relationship was still fairly new.

Ranmaru: "Mmm. Lady Mai?"

Mai: "G-Good morning!"

Ranmaru: "You're already up? You can sleep in a little longer, you know?"

Ranmaru: "You were working late last night. Come on, close your eyes."

(Waah...)

He gently patted my back with practiced affection.

(Wait—what did he just say?)

(I wasn't working late last night. Is he still half-asleep?)

Confused, I looked up at him from within his arms—and our eyes met.

Then, suddenly, his eyes widened in surprise.

Ranmaru: "Am I dreaming? You look different somehow. Like you're not the you I know."

Ranmaru (Future): "I see. So you're the you from ten years ago."

As we talked and tried to make sense of it all, the shocking truth came out.

Though his appearance was exactly the same, it turned out he was Ranmaru from ten years in the future.

(Now that I think about it, yeah, he does feel a little different than usual.)

(And I kind of need to believe that, or my heart might explode.)

Like it was the most natural thing in the world, he sat me down in front of the vanity and began brushing my hair.

(He didn't even give me a chance to protest—he moved so naturally, like he's done this a thousand times before.)

(This must be something we do all the time in the future.)

His gentle, careful touch warmed me inside, though I couldn't help but blush at how intimate it felt.

Ranmaru (Future): "What's wrong? You look nervous."

Mai: "Um, what do I usually do? Do I just sit here quietly?"

Ranmaru (Future): "Hmm. You're mostly dozing off."

Ranmaru (Future): "You tend to sway sleepily, so it actually takes a bit of skill to get your hair right."

(Wait—am I really like that in the future!?)

Mai: "I'm definitely relying on you too much."

Mai: "I should probably start working on that so I can keep it together in the future."

I said it to him through the mirror, and Ranmaru chuckled softly.

Ranmaru (Future): "Hmm? You don't need to, you know."

Ranmaru (Future): "It just means you feel safest by my side now."

Ranmaru (Future): "So I want you to stay just the way you are."

(Ah…)

He gently ran his fingers through my hair, smiling sweetly.

Mai: "I must be really happy."

Ranmaru (Future): "Hm?"

Mai: "I just thought—my future self must be incredibly happy."

Mai: "To be treated so kindly and loved so openly by someone I love is amazing."

Mai: "Thank you, Ranmaru."

I thanked him on behalf of the drowsy version of me from the future—but for some reason, he sighed.

(Huh? Why did he sigh?)

Ranmaru (Future): "Geez. You're just as cute as you were ten years ago."

Mai: "----!"

Ranmaru (Future): "But the me in this timeline has only just started dating you."

Ranmaru (Future): "Even if it's still me, I probably can't go through with the usual 'finishing touches' just yet."

(Finishing touches? It's just my hair. What would he even need to hold back for?)

Confused, I turned around to look at him, and he gave me a playful wink.

Ranmaru (Future): "Curious about what the finishing touches are?"

Ranmaru (Future): "Well, let's just call that a little something to look forward to in the future."

Ranmaru (Future): "I think the 'me' from this time is about to wake up, so I'll leave the rest to him, okay?"

Mai: "Huh?"

The moment he said that, Ranmaru quietly closed his eyes.

When he opened them again—slowly this time—he puffed out his cheeks in slight annoyance.

Mai: "R-Ranmaru?"

Ranmaru: "That's right. I'm the version of myself who's dating you in the present."

Ranmaru: "And also the me who saw everything that happened between you and future me."

Mai: "Wait, seriously!?"

Before I could process it, Ranmaru wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me into a tight embrace.

Ranmaru: "I was supposed to be the one sharing a sweet morning with you—not him."

Ranmaru: "But since he left the final touches to me, I guess I'll let it slide just this once."

Mai: "You knew what he was going to do?"

Ranmaru: "Of course. I mean, he is me."

Ranmaru: "And when it comes to doing something for you—I know exactly what I'd do."

(Ah…)

He turned me around and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

The warmth of it faded quickly, replaced by a tender gaze that made my heart race.

Ranmaru: "I love you with all my heart."

Ranmaru: "I hope today gives you plenty of reasons to smile!"

(Ranmaru…)

Mai: "You know, I was wrong about what I said to future you."

Mai: "It's not just future me who's lucky—present me is just as happy, too."

Ranmaru: "Heh, of course you are. I wouldn't accept anything less."

Still laughing, he gave me another kiss—this one playful and affectionate.

The way he touched me, so much like the future Ranmaru, made me realize just how deep and lasting his love truly was.

#ikesen translations #ikesen jp #ikemen sengoku #ikesen ranmaru #ranmaru mori #cybird #ikesen #otome

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archivewriter1ont · 23 hours ago

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Platonic Obi-Wan and Cody Thoughts

Seriously, people are sleeping on the platonic-blood-brothers-power-duo that Cody and Obi-Wan are as best friends.

Imagine how many times during the war one of the other Jedi commed in to check on Obi-Wan. Maybe the space Zoom was left open or the holomessage went through , but even though the monitor is awake, Obi-Wan is asleep. Mace Windu catches a glimpse of his almost-nephew sacked out against Cody while he and the commander are sitting at the desk. Both of them are still in armor, still holding flimsiwork and datapads, but completely passed out because they're exhausted and the only place they feel safe is with the other one at their back. Mace shuts down the call with a smile, knowing Obi-Wan's not alone -- that he has someone to watch over and protect him like (or maybe better than) Qui-Gon would have done.

Imagine the feeling of knowing you are about to die. At Point Rain, Cody and Obi-Wan knew there was no kriffing way they would make it out if reinforcements didn't get there on time, and it didn't look like they would. So what did they do? They stood together, weapons raised, teeth bared in matching snarls that told the world you can kill us but you can't stop us. That's Aragorn and Legolas style brotherhood -- "you look awful" "you're late (idiot)" merged with "I will follow you to the pits of hell and if we die, I'm going first."

Imagine the fear that clutched Obi-Wan's heart when he saw a missile about to take Cody to the grave and realized Cody knew there was nothing to do but accept it and take death like a man. He's trying to be the Perfect Jedi, so he's not attached to Cody, he's not obsessed with their bond, but that's his best friend and he pushes himself to the very brink and pulls off an incredible stunt to save his life. Then he yells at him, of course, because that's what you do when your sibling tries to get incinerated.

Imagine how Cody felt when he thought Obi-Wan was assassinated. How he grieved in silence, feeling as though the one time he wasn't with his best friend he was murdered.

Imagine that scene when Obi-Wan came back from the "dead" and Cody realized he'd mourned his friend in vain. Now he realizes just how much he loves Obi-Wan (as a friend, as a brother) and he probably lashes out at first, angry and hurt, until he sees the regret in Obi-Wan's face and both of them crumple into a hug, just glad everything is okay now. (I still need to write this because man, the feels.)

And then after the war (because Order 66 didn't happen and everything was lovely)....

Imagine that bear hug when the war ends, when Cody hands Obi-Wan his saber for the last time and knows they can truly know what it's like to be at peace.

Imagine the returning Jedi Generals and their commanders meeting up at the Temple to celebrate, only to find that Cody and Obi-Wan are already asleep because they sat too long in the garden waiting on them. Mace grins because even though it's a repeat of the time he caught them dozing on flimsiwork during a Zoom call, they both look restful now. They're both safe and they know it, but more importantly, they know that each other is safe.

Imagine Uncle Cody with Korkie, teaching him how to defend himself and his family and then taking him out for ice cream.

Imagine Satine and Cody being best friends/siblings-in-law. Tea, gossip, etc -- she loves him like a brother and he's thrilled to finally get to know the family he's always hoped Obi-Wan could go back to some day.

Imagine Obi-Wan and Cody going gray at the same time because Cody's accelerated aging was fixed, and laughing about the times they thought they'd never see the ages they are now. Imagine Korkie's little kiddos running up to see "Grandpa" and "Uncle Cody" and smothering them both in the kind of family love they were sure they'd never experience.

I have so much more where this came from but I'm crying now and I can't see my keyboard.😭

Post inspired by this one courtesy of @margindoodles2407.

#star wars #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #platonic obi-wan and Cody #tcw cody #not codywan #Platonic CC-2244 | Cody and Obi-Wan Kenobi #cody is a great uncle #battle brothers #brotherly bonding #brotherly love #grief #angst #fix it #au

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gwenie-creates · 3 days ago

Text

It's The End Of The World, But All I See Is You

A Zombie Apocalypse Au

read on ao3 here!

Chapter Three

Max stomped into the office, angrily pushing open the door. “What the hell do you think you’re doing making Oscar sleep in Lando’s room!?” he shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Lewis’ chest. Lewis stood up from where he had been leaning against the big wooden desk and knocked Max’s hand away. The others held their breaths, eyes nervously flickering between the two.

“Max,” Charles warned, grabbing Max’s shoulder and trying to pull him back. Max shrugged off his hand, stepping closer and getting in Lewis’ face. “I told you I didn’t want Lando around Oscar, and what do you do? You go and make them room together!”

“Max,” Lewis started, voice dangerously calm. “Get your hand out of my face.” The room had gone deathly silent. Everyone held their breaths, eyes locked on the two, waiting to see what they would do. Max‘s face twitched, his other hand curled into a fist but he stepped back. Everyone let out sighs of relief.

“Thank god we sent the younger ones to bed already,” Carlos whispered, shaking his head.

Daniel nodded, “That would have scared the shit out of Lando.”

“Enough,” Lewis said, turning to look at Carlos and Daniel. Their mouths snapped shut and the rest of the room went silent once again. “Now,” Lewis said, turning back towards Max. “Lando is the only person in this house who doesn’t share a room,” Max opened his mouth to interrupt but Lewis held his hand up, silencing him. “As I was saying, Lando is the only one who doesn’t share a room so he has space while the rest of us don’t. And yes, he doesn’t share his room for good reason but we are running low on space Max. There was nowhere else for Oscar to sleep with Logan in the living room so Seb has easy access and the rest of us already doubled up. Oscar’s around Lando’s age, it’s not like I just let some random fifty year old man sleep in the same room as you little brother.”

Max stiffened, “Still, I don’t want Oscar around him.”

“Well, Max, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they’re living here now so it’s gonna be pretty hard to keep them separated,” Daniel said.

Nico elbowed him. “Don’t provoke him.”

Kimi shook his head, annoyed. “I think we have bigger things to worry about than Lando sharing a room with Oscar.”

Seb nodded, “Kimi’s right, Oscar told us about a group of scavengers who attacked them and burned down their village. I think that’s definitely more important than who’s sleeping with who.”

“Wait, what!?” Max asked, expression changing from a scowl to a look of utter confusion.

“Right, you were upstairs with Lando,” Lewis mumbled under his breath before turning towards Max. “Oscar was telling us how Logan got his injury. Apparently, they were attacked by this group of men– scavengers, who had burned down their village a couple of months earlier.”

“Do you think they’ll come for us?” Max asked.

“I don’t know,” Lewis replied. “There’s no way to know but I think we need to start being more vigilant. Keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, up our defenses and security, and also keep a better eye on the younger ones. I don’t want them going anywhere alone where they could be found vulnerable.” Everyone nodded in agreement. The thought of any of the younger members of their little group– even the new additions– getting injured horrified them.

Seb hummed in agreement, eye catching the clock on the desk. “We should head to bed. It’s late and we all need to be up early tomorrow.” The others didn’t need to be told twice, they all shuffled towards the door, save Max, Charles, and Lewis. Seb paused in the doorway, sending Lewis a questioning look, ‘do you want me to stay too?’. Lewis shook his head, motioning for Sebastian to continue towards his bedroom.

Once the room was empty, Max spoke. “I don’t want Oscar in his room. I’m serious Lewis.”

Lewis sighed heavily. “I mean if it bothers you that much, I can try to figure out some sort of arrangement. But someone is going to have to room with him and the others aren’t going to want to change up their rooming situations. They’ve been the same since we first got here.”

“Just let it be, Max,” Charles tried, voice tired and eyes longingly looking towards the door, begging to escape to their room and finally lie down.

“No, I told you I don’t want him corrupting Lando’s innocence,” Max said, stubbornly crossing his arms.

Lewis sighed even louder. “Is that what this is seriously about? Max, they’ve barely known each other, they aren’t going to do anything.”

Charles threw his hands up, “Thank youuu.” he said, dragging out the end of the ‘you’. “I said the exact same thing but he was all–”

“You guys didn’t see how Oscar was looking at him. I just know he’s going to try something.” Max interrupted.

“–That,” Charles motioned towards Max. “He’s being ridiculous with these conspiracies.”

“They aren’t conspiracies!”

“Ehhh, they kind of are,” Lewis said, shaking his head. “Max, I’m sure Lando doesn’t even know what sex is. Have you had that talk with him yet?”

Max shook his head. “No, I’ve never had a reason to.”

“Reason to!? Max, he's a teenage boy!” Charles said incredulously.

Max shrugged, “He doesn’t need to know about that kind of stuff. He’s doing just fine without that knowledge and I’d like it to stay that way.”

Lewis rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous. Max, if he doesn’t even know anything about that kind of stuff why are you worried?”

“Because!” He paused, moving his hands around angrily. “He’s more susceptible to being corrupted! Oscar might try something with him while they’re alone we don’t know!” Max’s voice rose in volume the more he spoke.

Charles smacked his chest, “Shut up!” he hissed. “You’re going to wake the whole damn house with your ridiculousness.”

“Max,” Lewis started, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but if it bothers you this much we can figure something out tomorrow. It’s late and I would actually like to get some sleep tonight. God knows tomorrow is going to be a disaster.”

Max nodded, happy that Lewis was giving in. “Ok, fine.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Let’s go to bed,” he didn’t let Max reply, grabbing his arm and pulling them towards his bedroom. “I don’t know why you’re so worried, Lando sleeps in here with us ninety percent of the time anyways.” Charles opened their bedroom door, dragged them inside, and walked over to the bed.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to him. He doesn’t need to lose his innocence. He’s too young.”

Charles shook his head tiredly, “Max, you're going to have to have some kind of conversation about these kinds of things with him soon. I’m sure he’s got questions, I mean he’s a sixteen year old boy. Sure, he’s kind of a late bloomer but there’s no way he hasn’t noticed… things,” Charles paused, motioning towards his body before continuing, “changing.”

Max groaned, sitting down on the bed and dropping his face into his hands. “Oh. My. God.”

Charles continued, ignoring Max. “I’m sure someone else could do it if you really didn’t want to but Lando would probably prefer it to be you. It’ll still be awkward as hell either way, but can you imagine Lewis giving you the sex talk?” Max shuddered. “Or Kimi?”

“Stop. Please stop,” Max begged.

Charles fixed him with a look. “I will if you stop being weird about Oscar. Either have that talk with Lando or let them be. Oscar’s here now, whether you like it or not, and he’s the closest one to Lando’s age. Well, both him and Logan are, so look at this like it’s a good thing. Lando will finally have someone his age to just be kids with.”

Max sighed nodding. “Ok, I guess.”

“I would still have that talk though.”

“Oh my god, stop, I’m begging you!” Max shoved Charles’ arm.

Charles moved away, crossing his arms across his chest. “I don’t care how much I love you or your brother. I’m not giving him the ‘your bodies changing’ and the ‘birds and the bees’ talk just because you're too scared. I may help raise that little gremlin, but this is one thing I will definitely be missing out on.”

Max gave him a look and Charles knew then and there that he was fucked. Fuck, I’m going to have to give him the sex talk. Goddammit!

***

Oscar awoke to the harsh sound of coughing. He quickly sat up, eyes scanning the dark room, trying to remember where he was. That’s when he remembered. Remembered being attacked by the scavengers, then the Walkers, then running into Max, Lando, and Charles, and being brought back to their house. Ok, but where am I no– another harsh cough penetrated the silence. Oscar startled, who? Oh shit, Lando!

Oscar quickly got up from his bed, crossing the room so he stood by Lando’s bed. Lando was sitting up, sheets pooled low around his waist, and coughing harshly into his fist. “Shit, are you ok?” Oscar asked, awkwardly placing his hand on Lando’s shoulder.

Lando didn’t respond, his body being wracked with another crippling cough, shaking his entire frame. The coughing fit lasted for around twenty seconds before it finally stopped. Lando sat back, looking up at Oscar with watery eyes.

“It–it hurts,” His voice sounded wrecked, and his body shook.

“What? What hurts, Lando?” Oscar asked, frantic.

“My-my–” he paused, another rasping cough leaving his lips. “My throat and chest,” His voice broke and he moved a hand to rub at his aching chest.

“Ok, ok, umm” Oscar looked around the room unsure what to do. He looked for a bottle of water but came up empty. “Umm, do you want me to go get Max?”

Lando nodded, breaking into another coughing fit, causing more tears to stream down his cheeks from the force. “Ok, I’ll be right back, alright?” Oscar asked, waiting for Lando to nod before he exited the room, taking two stairs at a time. Sure, he’d seen plenty of people sick before, but Lando seemed to be in so much pain. His face would screw up painfully with each cough. Even his breathing had started to sound painful. His chest wheezing with every breath.

When Oscar made it to the bottom of the stairs he stood there lost. Shit, I don’t know where anyone’s room is. He didn’t want to go banging on every door until he found Max, but if that’s what he had to do to make sure Lando was alright he would. Just as Oscar moved to go down the left hallway a voice broke the silence, making him jump.

“Oscar?”

Oscar spun around, nearly giving himself whiplash. Seb stood there, wet rag in hand and a confused look on his face. “What are you doing down here? You should be sleeping.”

Oscar stood there, all words escaping him before a harsh cough flooded down the stairs.

“Wha–”

“It’s Lando,” Oscar rushed out. “He-he’s sick. Or, I don’t know but he won’t stop coughing. He said it hurts so I told him I’d go get Max for him but…” Oscar trailed off. Seb seemed to understand that he didn’t know his way around yet so he wasn’t sure where Max’s room was.

“That’s sweet of you Oscar, but let’s not worry about Max.” Seb moved around him, already halfway up the stairs before what he said had registered in Oscar’s brain.

“What? But Lando wanted–”

“I know, but he always wants Max. Never met clingier siblings than those two.” Seb had made it to the top of the stairs. He entered the room, eyes immediately landing on Lando who was still sitting in the middle of his bed. “Oh, you poor thing.” Seb walked over to him, pressing the back of his hand to Lando’s forehead. “Shit, he’s really warm.” Oscar stood by the door, lost and unsure how to help.

“But you can fix him, right? Like you fixed Logan.”

Seb glanced at him. “Well, one, these are completely different circumstances, and two, Logan doesn’t have an autoimmune disease.”

“What does that–”

“It basically means he gets sick much easier and much worse than the rest of us.” He paused, using his hand to wipe away the tears clinging to Lando’s cheeks. “Oscar said that you said ‘it hurts’, where does it hurt?”

Lando pointed to his chest, and then his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by another coughing fit.

Seb pursed his lips together. “Ok, ok shit.”

“What? What is it?” Oscar asked, getting increasingly more worried as the minutes passed.

Seb sighed, “It might be pneumonia.”

“Is-is that bad? I don’t know what that is.” Oscar’s voice was becoming more panicked, mind racing.

“Well, it’s not great. He’ll take much longer to recover. Depends on how bad, but could be a few weeks to even a few months. We don’t have any more antibiotics so we’ll have to treat it without meds.”

“Can’t you go get more?”

Seb shook his head, “That’s why they were in the woods today. They were supposed to go to the local apothecary and stock up on meds but apparently they weren't home.” Seb sighed, eyes moving from Oscar back to Lando who was half leaning into his hand, nearly asleep. “He wasn’t even supposed to be out there today. It was just supposed to be Max and Charles, but he had begged and begged, said he’d be fine, and was completely recovered from his last illness. I should have listened to Max.”

Oscar stood there, unsure what to say. He anxiously fiddled with the drawstrings of his borrowed sweatpants. “Should we wake Max?” As if Lando had heard him, he startled out of his half-asleep state and started aggressively coughing. His chest heaved as cough after cough ripped from his lips.

Seb quickly moved, using one hand to rub Lando’s back and the other to feel his temperature again. “Fuck, I think he’s getting warmer. Shit, ok yeah, we need to get Max.”

“Should…” Oscar motioned towards the door.

“No,” Seb shook his head. “You don’t know where any of their rooms are. Here, just stay with Lando and make sure he keeps breathing, ok?” Oscar nodded and traded spots with Seb who quickly exited the room, nearly running down the stairs. Oscar stood next to Lando who drowsily leaned into him. His eyes had started to water again from the harsh coughing. Oscar stood there silently, listening to Lando’s ragged breathing and harsh coughs.

Soon the sound of frantic footsteps broke the silence. The whole house seemed to be awake. Seb’s voice throwing orders around and the sound of heavy footsteps running up the stairs filled the air. Max skidded to a stop at the door, having run up the stairs with Charles close on his heels. When he spotted Oscar his frown deepened. He made a shooing motion and replaced Oscar, sitting down on the bed instead of just standing by it.

Charles glanced at Oscar, giving him a small smile before joining Max. He mumbled softly in French, reaching out to card his hand through Lando’s sweaty curls. Lando leaned into it, blinking open his watery eyes and shivering.

“Are you cold?” Max asked, “Do you want me to go get you one of my sweatshirts?” Lando shook his head, grabbing Max’s hand, silently begging him not to leave.

The sound of more footsteps broke the silence. Lewis and Seb entered the room, hushed whispers coming to a stop when their eyes landed on Lando.

“Hey buddy,” Lewis said, stepping closer and ruffling Lando’s sweat-damped curls. Seb held out the glass of water towards Max.

“He needs to drink this. If he gets dehydrated we’ll have ourselves a whole other set of problems.” Max nodded, accepting it with a small ‘thank you’ before turning back towards Lando.

Lewis turned towards Oscar, expression sympathetic. “Do you want to go sleep in one of our rooms? It won’t be very quiet in here for a while so you could go sleep in one of our beds or the living room with Logan. Kimi’s starting a fire so it’s pretty warm down there.”

Oscar took a moment to respond, unsure. “Ummm,”

“Most of the house will be awake now, but the younger ones like Alex and George are going to go back to bed since they can’t really help out, you’re welcome to do the same thing. You must be exhausted after yesterday and hardly getting any sleep.” Seb said.

Oscar’s eyes flickered towards where Lando was surrounded by Max and Charles. Charles was rubbing his back while Max was trying to convince him to drink some of the water. Seb was right, there wasn’t anything for him to do here. He’d only be in the way, and Logan probably needed him.

“Ok,” Oscar said.

“Ok?” Seb asked, eyebrows raised as if he had expected Oscar to put up more of a fight. Oscar nodded, Lewis moved towards him offering to help him get set up in the living room and saying that he would see what they had left for medicines.

Oscar gave Lando one last glance, an odd ache in his chest. He’d only just met Lando, but for some reason, he’d felt the need to bundle him up in a blanket and protect him from all the bad things the world had to offer. If only he could protect him from this sickness.

If only.

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makingfanfictionstosleep · 2 days ago

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theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen

<…previous ... next…>

FORTYSIX

Nanami’s Room – Late Evening

The door clicked shut behind them with a sense of purpose—and trespassing. Nanami sighed heavily, pinched the bridge of his nose, and stared at the two intruders now sprawled across his minimalist couch like they owned the place.

“Why is it always my room?” he muttered, setting down a mug of tea on his perfectly organized desk.

Satoru was upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest, his long limbs carelessly dangling.

“Because yours has the best lighting. And the least haunted energy.”

Suguru, who was already sitting on the floor with papers spread in front of him like some evil real estate broker, grinned.

“Also because your sheets don’t smell like sugar and narcissism.”

“Excuse you,” Satoru flicked a pillow at him. “That’s custom-blend cologne, thank you very much.”

Nanami exhaled deeply and sipped his tea like he was one breath away from resigning from life.

Suguru looked up from the paper in his hands, more serious now.

“Jokes aside, maybe it’s time we actually did it. Got a place together.”

Nanami looked up, brow arching.

“You’re talking about a shared living space. With all three of us. Under one roof. Every day.”

Satoru grinned like a child offered candy.

“And her, of course.”

Nanami stared.

Suguru nodded thoughtfully.

“We’ve been floating around for a while now. Between your place, the school, hotels, and wherever Satoru decides to call a bed for the night... it’s a mess. She's juggling us in between schedules, dorms, missions—maybe we make it easier. Make it... permanent.”

Nanami leaned back against his desk and stared down into his mug, his expression unreadable.

“She did say ‘mine’ earlier,” he murmured after a long pause.

Satoru sat up properly for the first time.

“Exactly. We’re hers. All of us. So what if we made it so she always had a home to come back to? One that’s ours. Cause as much as I hate to admit it, you bastards are going to be family if this works out.”

Suguru’s voice lowered with quiet sincerity.

“Somewhere she can rest. Somewhere safe. Somewhere we’re not waiting for the next knock on the door to pull her away.”

Nanami looked between them. Their posturing had dropped. No more teasing, no fake bravado—just two men who were ready to anchor something real. And, damn it, he felt the same.

He set the mug down with a soft clink.

“Fine,” he said flatly. “But I get the master bedroom.”

“Absolutely not,” Satoru and Suguru chorused immediately.

“I do our laundry,” Nanami reasoned.

“You do it because you can’t stand the way we fold,” Suguru smirked.

“I live in fear of Satoru attempting to cook,” Nanami deadpanned.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, accurate,” Satoru chimed in with a laugh.

They all went quiet for a moment—just existing in that room that had unwillingly become their sanctuary. A silent agreement settled over them.

This was happening.

They were building a home.

Faculty Courtyard – Late Evening

The night settled like a soft blanket over the campus, and for once, the weight of the world seemed a little less crushing. Satoru strolled lazily across the courtyard, spinning his sunglasses by one arm between his fingers, his white hair tousled by the breeze. His path home shifted when he spotted a familiar silhouette beneath the courtyard lanterns.

Yaga sat alone, nursing a quiet drink, his massive frame resting on a bench like he was holding up the entire day on his shoulders. He didn’t move as Satoru approached—he never needed to. He always knew when Satoru was nearby.

“You look tired, old man,” Satoru greeted softly, a hint of affection threading through his usual playful jab.

Yaga took a long sip and grunted.

“You sound like someone who should be sleeping.”

Satoru plopped down beside him with a content sigh, eyes squinting up at the night sky.

“Couldn’t. My brain’s still spinning.”

Yaga gave him a sidelong look, reading the quiet weight under his words. Then, slowly, he asked—

“Satoru. Can I ask you something serious?”

That got Satoru’s attention. He sat up straighter, sunglasses forgotten on his collar.

“Course.”

“This thing between you, Nanami, Geto, and her… It’s real?”

The question hung there for a moment. Satoru blinked, then chuckled—not because it was funny, but because it felt good to be asked without judgment.

“Yeah. It’s real.” He glanced down at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “It’s messy sometimes. But it’s ours. We’re thinking about getting a place. Together.”

Yaga nodded slowly, as if he’d expected as much. Then he swirled the liquid in his glass, thoughtful.

“You might not have to look too far.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“There’s an old four-bedroom house inside the fortress. Near the river, just past the east perimeter. Quiet, beautiful view, solid foundation. Cliff-side. Secluded, but close enough to the school and shelter in case something happens.”

Satoru sat up straighter, interest visibly piqued.

“Why’s it just sitting there?”

“It was built for Master Tengen years ago. But he decided he wanted to live on the opposite end of the fortress. Said the flow of energy felt better there or some cryptic shit.” Yaga sipped again. “So the house was left alone. Tengen’s been thinking of selling the land—modifying the veil and wards around that area to cut it out from the fortress.”

Satoru frowned.

“Wait, but wouldn’t that create a security risk?”

“Not if you buy it,” Yaga said, giving him a knowing look. “If it’s you three—and her—Tengen won’t modify anything. He’ll leave the wards as-is. Hell, he’d probably be relieved to keep that land fortified with you living there.”

Satoru’s lips parted slowly, eyes narrowing in consideration.

“Four bedrooms… riverside… secluded…” His mind was already painting pictures. “That’s perfect.”

Yaga leaned back against the bench.

“Told you. If you want it, I can talk to him. You’d have to handle the paperwork and pay, of course, but… it’s yours if you want it.”

For a long moment, Satoru just stared ahead—quiet, contemplative.

Then he smiled.

“You know, for an old man who yells a lot and plays favorites, you’re pretty alright sometimes.”

Yaga raised his brows.

“Sometimes?”

“Mm. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

They both snorted quietly, lapsing into a silence that didn’t feel heavy or expectant—just comfortable.

Then Satoru tilted his head and grinned again.

“Think I’ll tell them in the morning. The place, the idea of… all of us under one roof… feels good.”

Yaga didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Because deep down, he was proud. Not just of the strongest sorcerer in the world—but of the man who was finally letting himself have a home.

Nanami’s Room – Early morning, next day

Their unofficial headquarters—Nanami’s otherwise minimalist and meticulously organized room—was unusually alive this morning. A half-folded newspaper sat abandoned on the desk. Satoru was lounging sideways in a chair, legs kicked up on Nanami’s bed like he owned it. Suguru was by the window, sipping his tea with his usual graceful quiet. And Nanami… Nanami was rubbing the bridge of his nose, wondering yet again how he had lost control of his own room.

“So,” Satoru started, sunglasses nowhere in sight, revealing those clear, thoughtful eyes. “I spoke with Yaga last night.”

Suguru glanced over his shoulder. Nanami raised a brow but said nothing, waiting for the punchline.

“He told me there’s a house. A real one. Four bedrooms. Inside the fortress, but tucked near the river. It’s supposed to be for Master Tengen, but apparently, the guy wanted the other side of the fortress for ‘better energy flow’ or whatever.”

Nanami blinked.

“And?”

“And it’s just sitting there. Strong foundation, secluded, close to the school and the shelter—but private. Yaga said Tengen was thinking of selling it. But if it’s us, he’d probably hand it over without changing a single ward or curtain. Still fully protected.”

Suguru slowly set his tea down, eyes narrowing in consideration.

“That sounds like it was meant for us.”

“Exactly.” Satoru nodded, sitting upright now, expression bright with an odd blend of excitement and caution. “But I think we should keep it a secret from her for now.”

That got Nanami’s full attention.

“Why?”

“Because,” Satoru replied seriously. “She’s already adjusting to all of this.” He motioned vaguely, as if “this” encompassed their complicated, fierce love, the chaos of school, their shared living situation, and the fact that the three most emotionally complicated men in the sorcerer world were in love with her.

Suguru leaned against the wall, nodding slowly.

“He’s right. She’s strong, but she’s been through enough. A surprise like this—something so permanent—it could feel too fast.”

“Exactly.” Satoru smiled faintly. “I want her to feel safe about it. Excited. Not pressured.”

Nanami crossed his arms, thoughtful.

“So what do you propose we do?”

“We feel it out,” Suguru said smoothly. “Gauge how she reacts to the idea of ‘home’ with us. Bring it up lightly, in passing. Let her dream about it before we make it real.”

Satoru clicked his tongue and pointed at Suguru.

“See? That’s why I keep you.”

Nanami sighed, clearly torn between being annoyed and agreeing with them.

“We’re seriously considering buying a house.”

“We’re seriously considering building a future,” Suguru corrected, voice low but certain.

Satoru leaned back again, folding his hands behind his head.

“Let’s do it right.”

The room went quiet for a beat. Not heavy. Just full of something solid. Something real.

Nanami sat at the edge of his bed, arms braced on his knees, staring at his phone for a long moment.

It wasn’t hesitation. Just... caution. A familiar companion in matters like this.

He finally tapped in the number and brought the phone to his ear.

It rang once. Twice.

Then: “Nanami,” Yaga’s steady voice answered.

Nanami nodded to himself before speaking.

“Sensei. About the house Satoru mentioned…”

Yaga exhaled slowly, like he knew where this was going.

“You want it?”

“Possibly,” Nanami said. “But we need time. She doesn’t know yet. And I don’t want it on record, or circulating through the school until we’re sure she’s ready to take that step.”

There was a pause. Then a quiet chuckle on the other end.

“You’re the responsible one, as always.”

“I’d prefer to call it being considerate.”

“Fair,” Yaga admitted. “I’ll keep it between us. The property will be marked as pending internal decision. I won’t tell Master Tengen or anyone else. Take the time you need.”

Nanami leaned back slightly, letting a breath go.

“Thank you, Sensei.”

“You’re doing well, Nanami. All three of you. For what it’s worth... I think she already feels at home with you.”

Nanami’s gaze softened at that. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe. But I want her to feel safe in that, too. No pressure. No rush.”

“Then I’ll hold the house until you say otherwise. Take care.”

Nanami ended the call and stared at the quiet room around him—tidy, predictable, safe. He thought of your soft laugh, the way you curled up next to him, how you fit into his life like you’d always belonged there.

“There,” Nanami said, tucking his phone inside his suit, “All settled. Time to work gentlemen.”

Shoko’s Room – Last Day of Utahime’s Tokyo Visit

All four of you were crammed under the sheets of Shoko’s bed, legs tangled and arms thrown over each other, the scent of lavender from her diffuser thick in the air. The room was softly lit, calm, and perfectly safe. The kind of closeness that only years of trust and friendship could bring.

Utahime laid on her stomach, chin resting on a pillow as she kicked her legs gently in the air. “I swear, I’m gonna lose it with those two—Mai and Maki. I keep thinking maybe I can get them to be at least cordial with each other. Like Mimiko and Nanako. How did you do it with the twins?”

You chuckled, cheek smushed against Mei Mei’s arm. “They imprinted on me when they were young and traumatized. I didn’t really do much except love them until they healed enough to choose peace. I think that kind of bond just... grew with them. But even if those girls are close, they fight like crazy, but I guess that’s normal.”

Shoko rolled onto her back with a lazy stretch. “First step: get Mai and Maki in the same school. Preferably without knives.”

Mei Mei snorted, brushing her bangs back. “Then try getting them to coexist without killing each other. That’s step two.”

Utahime groaned, flopping dramatically. “You guys are no help.”

“She asked,” Mei Mei replied smugly.

“I did,” Utahime muttered into the pillow, defeated.

After a few seconds of quiet breathing and soft ambient music from Shoko’s speaker, Utahime spoke again. “So... how’s the shelter going? I heard Mimiko and Nanako are running things more lately.”

You smiled, proud. “They’re amazing. They’ve got donation drives going, campaigns circulating... lots of public support now. Suguru’s name is coming up more and more—in a good way. People are seeing how much he’s doing to change the jujutsu world.”

Shoko raised a brow. “That’s the elemental princess effect.”

You blinked. “What?”

She grinned lazily. “Your effect. You soften him without dulling him. You’ve changed the way people see him, too.”

“Definitely,” Mei Mei agreed. “And Suguru puts all his money to good use. Shelter, reforms, education—yet somehow, his bank account still overflows.”

“And don’t even get me started on Nanami,” Shoko added. “That man is the definition of financially responsible. He’s loaded.”

“Satoru is on another level,” Mei Mei drawled. “Old money. Gojo Clan. He probably bathes in yen.”

Utahime huffed a little laugh. “You really do love money, Mei Mei.”

Mei Mei gave a content little hum. “I love what money can do. Especially when I’m the one spending it.”

Then Utahime grew quiet for a beat, her voice softer when she spoke again. “Can I ask something serious?”

You all turned to glance at her. “Yeah?”

“If the boys asked you to move in with them... would you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “After last night... it probably crossed their minds.”

You stared at the ceiling, thoughtful. “Honestly? I wouldn’t mind. It’s bound to happen, right? We’re practically inseparable anyway.”

Shoko nodded from the other side of the bed. “Makes sense. The three orbit around you like planets.”

You laughed, hiding your warm cheeks behind Mei Mei’s shoulder. “Stop.”

Then, turning your attention back to Shoko, you raised a brow. “What about you, Shoko? Don’t you need a man?”

Shoko blinked. “I’m not opposed.”

“I know someone in Europe,” you offered playfully. “Sweet, grounded, a little chaotic but he’s got that smolder—”

“European guys aren’t really my thing,” Shoko interrupted flatly. “Maybe if you know an American guy. I could consider it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t—but Yuki might.”

The entire bed rumbled with laughter.

“You’re gonna set Shoko up through Yuki?” Utahime laughed, half-horrified. “That’s either genius or dangerous.”

“Both,” Mei Mei said, completely serious. “Which makes it worth it.”

Nanami’s Room – Mid-Morning, after Utahime left

It was supposed to be a productive strategy meeting.

The boys were gathered in Nanami’s room, which had unintentionally become their official base of operations—something Nanami resigned himself to with the quiet suffering of a man who knew resistance was futile. Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through some property listings on his tablet, Satoru lay sprawled on his stomach on Nanami’s low couch, and Nanami himself stood in the corner, meticulously preparing his coffee.

“So, how exactly do we test the waters with her?” Satoru asked, sunglasses pushed into his snowy hair as he rolled over dramatically. “Subtle hints? Strategic cuddling? Maybe one of us accidentally calls it home in front of her?”

Suguru didn’t even glance up. “You do that already. Every room you enter becomes your home, Satoru.”

Nanami sighed audibly.

“Okay, okay,” Satoru grinned, flopping onto his back with a groan. “Then what do you suggest, Professor Suguru? You’re the calm one. Enlighten us.”

“I suggested subtle conversation and emotional honesty.”

“Booooooring,” Satoru grinned, launching a pillow at Suguru’s face.

Suguru caught it easily—and threw it right back, smacking Satoru in the side of the head with a dull whump. “You started it.”

“Oh, it’s on, Geto.”

Chaos descended.

In the span of seconds, the two were grappling on Nanami’s carpet like bored teenagers. Satoru tried to pin Suguru with a leg sweep, Suguru retaliated with a half-hearted chokehold, and somewhere between the flailing and laughter, someone knocked over Nanami’s file tray.

Nanami, unfazed, sipped his coffee.

That was the exact scene you walked into: Suguru and Satoru mid-wrestle, panting and grinning like lunatics, and Nanami just… sipping. As if this were Tuesday.

You blinked, eyes wide. “Seriously?!”

All three men froze.

Nanami, to his credit, at least tried to look dignified. “I wasn’t involved.”

You shot him a flat look. “You didn’t stop them either.”

Suguru cleared his throat and slowly peeled himself off Satoru. “Technically, it was a brainstorming session…”

You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. “If this is what I’ll walk into every time I turn my back, how are we supposed to live together in peace?”

Silence.

You huffed and pointed a finger at the three of them. “I mean it! If we all want this to work, you need to play nice with each other. No brawling in Nanami’s room, no random chaos in the kitchen—especially around knives—and definitely no surprise wrestling when I’m not looking!”

More silence.

Too much silence.

You looked up and suddenly realized all three men were just… staring at you. Not with guilt or shame, but with that quiet intensity that made your stomach flip. Like you’d just handed them a winning lottery ticket without even knowing it.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Satoru sat up slowly, blinking. “Say it again.”

You frowned. “Say what again?”

“That thing,” he murmured, lips curving, “about us all… living together.”

You tilted your head, oblivious. “What about it? It’s bound to happen anyway. I mean, after that incident the other night?” You shot them a look. “We traumatized Utahime. I’m not risking Mimiko and Nanako walking in next time.”

That did it.

Suguru, calm, composed Suguru, broke.

He let out a sharp laugh—pure relief—and covered his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning into your space and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

You blinked at him, brain catching up too late.

Satoru chuckled, flopping back onto the floor with a dramatic sigh of joy. “She wants to live with us. I can die happy.”

Nanami, still holding his coffee, finally allowed a small smile to curve his lips. “Well, that answers that.”

You stared at them, slowly turning pink. “…Wait. That was the test?”

“Yes,” all three replied in unison.

But then Suguru tilted his head, brushing a few stray strands from your cheek with a quiet softness. “Well. Technically… it wasn’t meant to be a test.”

Nanami, always the voice of reason, added in his steady tone, “We were trying to figure out how to bring it up with you without overwhelming you. Or making you feel trapped. Or like everything is happening too fast.”

Your brows pulled together, still half in your stern scold-mode. “Trapped? Fast?”

The weight of the words, the tenderness behind their concern, hit you somewhere deep. And yet—

You huffed, scoffing just a little as your arms crossed again. “Aren’t we all at risk of dying in every mission? There’s no such thing as slow or fast in our world.”

They stared again.

And that’s when it dawned on them. Not just how casual you’d been about this life-altering decision—but how emotionally grounded you really were.

You weren’t saying it in panic. Or with reckless abandon. You were just sure. Clear-eyed and calm at your core, even beneath all that fire and rage.

You let out a breath, shoulders relaxing a little as your tone gentled. “You’re scared for nothing,” you murmured. “I’m not some fragile little thing you need to tiptoe around. I’m not the one that breaks.”

You looked at each of them, eyes steady. “We’re the ones that break things. Remember?”

Another round of silence. But this time, it was golden.

“…So,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Are we moving in together or not?”

Nanami set his coffee down with a quiet clink. With all the solemnity in the world, he reached into his folder, pulled out a pristine empty calendar, and in his deadpan voice said, “We’ll need to map out a chore list.”

You lost it.

Your angry façade shattered like sugar glass. Laughter burst out of you, uncontained and bright, and the boys drank it in like they’d just survived something harrowing and divine at the same time.

Suguru chuckled, watching you melt. “You should expect friendly brawls from time to time. Comes with the Gojo package.”

“Regrettably,” Nanami muttered, “Gojo Satoru is part of the household.”

You laughed harder, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Fine. But no breaking furniture.”

Satoru raised a hand like a student. “Except the bed.”

Suguru followed with a casual, “Or the table.”

Nanami, almost too softly, added under his breath, “Probably the sofa as well.”

You stared at them.

Then sighed, long-suffering, hand pressed to your forehead.

“You three should be thankful I love you.”

Silence.

This time, not stunned by your logic. Not by your strength.

But by your heart.

Three sets of eyes locked on you.

And not a single one could speak.

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