#LETS GO FUKUOKA

[hopkei]

03.09.24

[kyunghwannie]

"Midnight Static, Cherry Heart"

Minatozaki Sana x Male Reader

➤ Genre: Psychological Horror Story, Parasocial Love, Soft Obsession, False Stalking, Orchestration/Manipulation

➤Teaser: A voice through the static. A story through the night. A fan through the fear. In the silence between words, she heard you. In the stillness behind fame, you found her.

➤ Note: It's not necessarily a smut. But i just had this idea in my mind so i wrote it. You all should let me know if i should make a part 2. Sorry if the ending feels rushed a little. I was just scared of 1000 block limit

Your late-night radio show, "Whispers After One", is unlike anything else on air. You tell spine-chilling stories — true crime, ancient folklore, and listener-submitted paranormal tales — always with a subtle emotional angle that hits deeper than just scares. Your charm? You never show your face, but you always end your broadcasts with:

"Remember, not all ghosts haunt… some just wait to be heard."

Sana has been a fan for years. TWICE’s members often find her listening alone with earphones in the dark, smiling one moment and holding back tears the next. What no one knows? She’s written to your show before — using a private alias. You once read her story, “The Mirror Girl,” and your emotional insight helped her face a lingering trauma from trainee days. That moment? She fell harder than she should have.

=================================

The air outside was cold enough to bite through my coat, but Seoul at 1:47 a.m. had a strange kind of stillness that felt warmer than it should. Maybe that’s what happens when you spend every night talking to ghosts.

I adjusted my scarf, "Mic check, one, two." The static flickered softly in my headphones — the pre-show hum that always gave me chills. Not fear. Something more like... home.

I slid into the chair inside Studio B, a dimly lit booth tucked behind a noraebang that most people didn’t even know still operated. The light flickered above me once — like it always did when the stories got a little too real. I smiled to myself, "Another night, another whisper."

The red light blinked on. Live.

"Good evening, insomniacs, wanderers, and believers in things that go bump when no one’s watching," I spoke slowly, like the air around me listened. "You’re listening to Whispers After One. And tonight... let’s start with a mirror."

I reached for the first letter. The handwriting was neat, feminine. The envelope? Unlabeled, but I knew this script. Elegant, playful. Familiar.

Inside was a short story.

A girl alone in a hotel room in Fukuoka. A mirror facing her bed that she didn’t remember being there when she checked in. And the voice she heard through the radio — hers, but not quite.

I frowned, leaning in. "Our first story comes from someone who goes by... ‘S.’"

Something in my chest tightened. "Let's listen closely. There’s more than one reflection here tonight."

The paper felt oddly cold in my hand. Not the room. Just the letter. I held it under the dim studio lamp as if warming it would make the story feel less… alive.

I began reading. "February 13th, Room 908. I remember the sound of the hallway more than I remember the room."

The static behind my voice filled the space between her words, like it wanted to interrupt — or warn. "The air conditioner was broken. Not off, not on — broken. It made this sound. Like… breathing. But from the ceiling. Rhythmic. Too human to ignore. Not human enough to follow."

My breath hitched. I wasn’t the only one. Even in the soundproof booth, I swore I heard my producer shift uncomfortably in the adjacent room. "The mirror was across from the bed. I don't remember it when I walked in. But it was there when I woke up."

I paused. Read the sentence again silently.

The mirror appeared after she fell asleep? "I didn’t look at it for hours. Not because I was scared. But because I was convinced… it was looking at me first."

I cleared my throat. The studio was suddenly too quiet. "Some say a mirror at night is like an unanswered call. It reflects — but only what you expect to see," I said, letting my tone dip softer. "Others say… it’s a doorway. Especially if it’s not yours."

I tapped my notes — not because I needed to, but because my fingers were getting stiff. Tense. I continued reading. "At 3:12 a.m., the breathing from the ceiling stopped." The timestamp. Exact. Like a scar on the memory. "I looked at the mirror. My reflection blinked twice. Then didn’t."

I looked up, as if someone else were in the room with me. No one was. Just the hum of the equipment. The flicker of the ON AIR light.

I exhaled slowly. Deliberately. "There’s a psychological phenomenon," I murmured into the mic, more to myself than anyone, "called the Strange-Face Illusion. When you stare into a mirror in low light, your facial features begin to distort. Your brain, overwhelmed by sensory adaptation, starts to fill in the blanks. You begin to see something that isn't you. Something waiting behind you."

I tapped the envelope with my nail. "But in some stories… it’s not your brain."

A moment of silence. Then I finished her letter. "I left the hotel before sunrise. The front desk told me Room 908 hadn’t been booked in three years. They said the last guest broke the mirror with their bare hands and fled. I looked at my phone. I took a photo of the mirror before I left. There was a crack."

I stopped. Checked the back of the letter. One more line. "But I didn’t break it."

The air in the studio shifted. Not physically. Something colder. Internal. Like memory was a temperature. I leaned back and spoke low, as though she was still listening. "S," I whispered, "thank you for the story. Wherever you are now, I hope you're sleeping somewhere without reflections."

A beat of silence. Then the next track queued up — eerie piano in a minor key, soft static underneath. Background comfort. But it wasn’t comforting anymore.

I stared at the ON AIR sign, still red.

Still glowing. And in the glass window in front of me, I saw my reflection blink twice. Then didn’t. I let the silence stretch. Not the kind that’s empty. The kind that listens. I leaned in again, closer to the mic. Quieter now. Warmer. "If you’re still out there, S…"

I let her name rest in the air like a held breath. "It must’ve been terrifying. That moment you felt like something knew you better than you knew yourself. Not the mirror. Not the room. But the silence afterward."

I paused, voice softer. "Sometimes, we survive the strange things. But we don’t talk about them because we’re afraid they weren’t strange. We’re afraid they were us."

The red light above me glowed steady. "But I see you."

My voice faltered just for a second — not from fear. From sincerity. "You didn’t break the mirror. But maybe you wanted to. Maybe you wanted to break the version of you that stares back, quietly pretending to be okay."

I closed my eyes. "Whoever you are… I hope you’re not just surviving now. I hope someone’s voice is making you feel safe enough to sleep again."

I pulled away from the mic. Not a performance. Not a sendoff. Just a wish.

Somewhere, across the city.

In a quiet room with warm blankets and dim lights, Sana clutched her earbuds tighter.

Her knees curled to her chest. Her back pressed to the cool wall of her bedroom. The other girls had long since fallen asleep, but she stayed — like she always did — awake for him.

The voice she’d listened to for years. The only voice that somehow always seemed to know what her heart hadn’t said out loud. Tears slid silently down her cheeks. Not sobs. Not pain. Just the gentle kind of ache that comes from being understood too clearly. "You didn’t break the mirror," he’d said.

But she had. Not literally. But in every way that counted. Back then, in that room, on tour — after her ankle injury, after the comment sections got too loud, after she’d stared too long at herself wondering if she still belonged.

She had written that letter in the airport. Scrawled it with shaking hands. Never thinking he’d actually read it. And yet. "I see you." Her lips trembled. She whispered into the air, not caring if it reached anyone: "I see you too."

Her hand reached for her phone. She didn’t open any app. She just stared at the paused live stream. At the glowing icon. At the voice that somehow always found her — even when she didn’t know how to call for help.

And this time, with a heart full of something more than fear, she whispered again:

"Not all ghosts haunt…" A pause. A heartbeat. "Some wait to be heard."

The ON AIR light glowed again.

My voice returned. Lower. Measured. Not to scare — but to let the weight of quiet truths settle on the listeners' chests. "I got a lot of messages about last night."

I didn’t say thank you. Not because I wasn’t grateful. But because this part wasn’t gratitude. It was confession. "A lot of you wrote about ‘S.’ About the mirror. About the room. About how you couldn’t sleep after."

I let out a faint breath through my nose. "Some of you said it was the scariest story you’ve heard. Others said it reminded you of something. Something you couldn’t quite explain. And a few of you… said it made you cry."

I tapped the edge of the mic with my knuckle. Once. "Fear does that. The real kind. It doesn’t scream at you. It whispers. And then it waits. And then it watches how long you’ll pretend it’s not there."

I looked around my studio. Empty. But not lonely. "I’ve got a lot of stories. I’ve read thousands. But tonight, I want to tell you one of mine."

My throat felt dry. I reached for water. Didn’t drink. "When I was sixteen, I stopped sleeping for two weeks straight. No real reason. Nothing happened. At least — that’s what I kept telling people."

The music under my voice changed — subtle strings, no melody. Just enough to remind the listener that the world was still turning. "I started seeing someone in the corner of my room. A girl. She never moved. Never blinked. Just stood there, in the edge of my peripheral vision. Always after 3:00 a.m. Always at the exact moment I closed my eyes to fall asleep."

I paused. Long enough that listeners might think something went wrong with the signal. "You know what’s weird?"

I asked softly. "I wasn’t scared. Not at first. I thought I was lonely. I thought maybe… maybe she was too."

My lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. "It got worse. She started standing closer. Every night, just a step more. I still didn’t look directly at her. Part of me thought that if I acknowledged her, she’d vanish. And I didn’t want to be alone again."

There it was — the line. The one between paranormal and personal. And I crossed it with the next words. "One night, I woke up to find my pillow damp. Not wet like sweat. Damp. Like someone had been crying on it."

The silence that followed felt brittle. "I finally turned my head. Looked right at the corner."

Another pause. My voice dropped barely above a whisper. "She wasn’t there."

I swallowed. "But my desk chair was turned toward me. And there was a strand of black hair caught on the cushion."

I let those words settle like dust on the listeners' skin. "I never saw her again. The hair disappeared the next morning. So did the sleeplessness. But something stayed."

I touched the back of my neck. "To this day, I still can’t fall asleep unless I leave my chair facing the wall."

I exhaled slowly. "I don’t know if she was a ghost. A dream. A hallucination. Or just some part of me I couldn’t carry anymore."

Then, quieter: "But maybe that’s the real horror. That sometimes, we create ghosts… just to have someone who stays."

The piano returned — faint, distorted like it was playing from a cassette that had been underwater. I leaned back. "Wherever you are tonight… whether you’re S, or someone like her, or someone like me… I hope the silence is softer now."

The music played gently underneath, carrying your voice like a lantern across the dark. The air in the studio felt a little thinner. I tapped the mic twice. Just habit. My voice came slow this time, almost reluctant. "I wasn't planning to share this one. But tonight feels like the right night."

Soft static curled under my voice like invisible fog. "I was nineteen. Staying in Daegu for a few weeks — trying to write, clear my head, play games. There's a place called Top PC — it was on the upper floor of a mall."

A short pause. A shift in tone. Memory clawing its way forward. "That day, I was distracted. Took the wrong elevator. Got off on a construction floor by mistake. Concrete everywhere. Rebar. The ceiling open to pipes. It wasn’t finished yet."

"Worse, the power cut right then. Elevators froze. So I had to find the stairwell."

A beat. My words slowed. "And that’s when I heard it. Footsteps. Not heavy, not loud. Just... wrong."

I remembered the sound clearly. Leather soles on raw concrete. Not rushed. Not careful. Like they belonged there. "I hid behind a cement pillar. Just in case. You don’t want to get caught trespassing on active construction."

"That’s when I saw them."

The room got quieter. Even the hum of my computer seemed to hush. "A man and a boy. The man wore this... long overcoat. Had a cape. Not a superhero cape — no, this was like a funeral coat. The boy looked about ten. Pale. Quiet. Both of them… out of place."

I exhaled — sharp and short. Like I needed to let the weight out before it sank me. "They were standing by the edge. No railing. Just open air. You could see the whole street below. They weren’t scared. They were holding hands."

The next words scraped through me. "And then… they jumped."

Even now, years later, it tasted like rust in my mouth. "I stood there. Frozen. My ears were ringing, and it wasn't just fear. It was the kind that rearranges your bones from the inside out."

"When I found the stairs, I ran. Two at a time, barely breathing. When I reached the ground floor, there was already a crowd. Murmurs. People pointing."

My voice cracked just slightly. "But I was the most horrified person there. You want to know why?"

Silence. Then: "Because on the pavement, there was only one body. The boy."

A long breath. "No sign of the man. No blood. No cape. No coat. The security footage? Mall said it just... glitched. That floor’s cameras were always faulty."

I let the silence sit. "I still don’t know what I saw. Maybe he was a ghost. Maybe he was something worse. Or maybe... maybe he was never there. Just a shadow that borrowed a shape. Maybe it wanted someone to follow."

The words hovered, then landed softly. "Some people think ghosts are the ones who haven’t moved on. But sometimes, the scariest ones are those who help others cross... and vanish after."

My voice shifted. A little warmer. But sad. "That day changed me. I never looked at rooftops the same way again. Not out of fear. Out of grief. Grief that maybe, even in death, some people are still trying to hold hands."

Soft, somber piano drifted in — slow chords stretched thin like foggy breath on glass. "So, to anyone listening tonight... if you feel like you’re standing on a ledge, even metaphorically... don’t hold a ghost’s hand."

"Hold someone real. Even if it's just a voice on the radio."

The music faded.

And far away, in a darkened, quiet dorm room… Sana blinked.

She was sitting on her bed, one knee drawn up to her chest, earbuds still nestled deep.

The rest of TWICE had long gone to sleep. Her phone screen was dark, but she didn’t press it again. She didn’t need to. The words were echoing in her chest. Her hand tightened around the edge of her duvet. She knew your name. Your real face. Not just the voice on the radio.

But this… this wasn’t parasocial, was it?

This felt different. Not admiration. Not even attraction. No, it was deeper than that. It was the way your stories mirrored things she never told anyone. Things she only felt. In the hollow parts. The spaces between comebacks and cameras and fan signs.

Your stories understood loneliness. Saw it for what it was. Not a weakness. But a shape. A presence. Something you could touch. Her lips moved silently, repeating your last line. "Hold someone real… even if it’s just a voice on the radio."

She let out a trembling breath, then tucked her phone under her pillow like a secret. Her heart beat faster, not with fear. But with a growing ache she didn’t have a name for. Yet.

Three days later.

The studio smelled like coffee, sweat, and soundproof foam — the holy trinity of late-night radio.

I leaned back in my chair, legs stretched out, sipping on a convenience store latte that had no right being called coffee. Beside me, Dokyeom sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop on his lap, balancing a slice of pizza on his knee like he was training for a culinary circus.

"You’ve got the emotional depth of a ghost marriage ceremony," he said around a mouthful of cheese, "and yet you still manage to sound hotter than 90% of idol rappers when you talk about death. I swear, your voice is wasted on sanity."

"Was that a compliment or a curse?" I asked.

"Both. Like ramen at 2 a.m." I snorted. This was normal. This was safe. Dokyeom clicked his tongue as he trimmed the last segment of last night’s episode. "Hey, the story of the suicide floor? Trending. Over 90k shares. People are comparing it to urban legends now. Some even claim they saw similar things in Daegu too. You’ve basically created a cult."

"That’s not comforting." "No, but it is brandable."

We both laughed — loud and easy. That kind of laugh that makes you forget for a moment that you speak to ghosts on air. Then he paused. Eyes on his screen. His mouth twisted like he bit into a lemon he didn’t expect.

"Uh... so." He set his laptop down and rubbed the back of his neck. "I was supposed to tell you this earlier, but I forgot. Because, you know, pizza." I gave him a look. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! Technically." He flashed his usual innocent-grimace hybrid. "Okay, so... you got an offer."

I sat up straighter. "From who?"

He picked up his phone and flipped the screen toward me.

JYP Entertainment.

Subject: Collaboration Opportunity — Joint Radio Hosting Pilot with TWICE Member

I blinked. Then blinked again. "You’re kidding."

"Nope." Dokyeom grinned, doing little jazz hands. "Apparently, someone high up loved your voice. Said it’d pair well with one of their girls. Emotional contrast or something. They’re suggesting a co-hosted, biweekly late-night segment with a TWICE member."

I stared at the screen. Cold air crept in under my hoodie like a warning. "...Which member?"

"That’s the thing," he said. "They didn’t name her in the email. Just said she’s familiar with your work. Big fan. Requested you, specifically. That’s all."

I didn’t answer right away. My mind drifted — uninvited — to a dorm room late at night, a girl with earbuds in, lips repeating my words. "Do they know what kind of stories I tell?" I muttered. "I'm not exactly your average feel-good bedtime narrator."

"Yeah, but that’s the appeal." Dokyeom shrugged. "You don’t coddle fear. You hug it like an ex you still miss."

I gave him a deadpan look. "You need therapy."

"So do you." We laughed again, but this time it felt... softer. Offbeat.

A TWICE member. Requested me. Me. The faceless voice behind the mic. She already knew me. But I didn’t know which she. And somehow, that made it eerier than any ghost story I’d ever told. "So?" Dokyeom asked, stretching his legs. "You gonna accept?"

I didn’t respond right away. I just looked down at the email. My thumb hovered over the reply button. "Let’s meet in person," the draft line read. And under it, the signature of someone I hadn’t even seen yet — only felt. I scrolled through the email again, lips tightening. "They know a lot about me."

Dokyeom looked up, still chewing. "Like what?"

"Full name, real name. My Daegu years. Even my university major. They even mentioned the exact rooftop I broadcasted from during my early days. That was never public."

His chewing slowed. He tilted his head like a golden retriever hearing a flute for the first time. "That’s... specific."

"Yeah."

We exchanged a look. The fluorescent lights above flickered once. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was bad wiring. Maybe it wasn’t. "Creepy accurate, huh?" he muttered. "You think they pulled data from our archives?"

"That rooftop stream was analog. I didn't even archive the audio. Only a few dozen people heard it live. One of those bootleg setups, remember?"

Dokyeom rubbed his chin like a fake detective in a sitcom. "Well, JYPE is rich, bro. They probably have KCSI or something. Like, K-pop CIA."

I chuckled. "Right. And TWICE agents sneak through air vents to find hidden mixtapes."

"Don’t joke," he said, pointing a pizza crust at me like it was a holy relic. "Do you know how many people would kill to know who you are? You're basically Korea’s haunted pen pal. You say ‘goodnight’ and people cry. You sneeze and someone makes a fanedit."

I rolled my eyes but smiled. It was comforting how Dokyeom always tethered things back to reality. "Our station’s been careful, though," I said. "They never leaked my image, even internally. I trust them with that."

"Exactly." He leaned back on his elbows. "So if this got greenlit, it wasn’t from a leak. It was... chosen. Deliberately."

I looked back at the email. The words blurred for a second, like the screen was breathing. A part of me felt like I was being watched, not offered.

Dokyeom whistled low. "It’s like you got recruited into a movie or something. Mysterious late-night voice guy teams up with world-famous idol. What could go wrong?"

"That sentence alone should be illegal."

He cackled. "Oh, c’mon. You’ll be fine. You’ve danced with shadows and talked ghosts into therapy. What’s one idol with a fan crush?"

I paused. Thought of the last story I read. The girl who mailed her horror like a secret prayer. The way her pain bled through the paper. The way my voice cracked reading it. No. This wasn’t just a fan. There was something deeper.

"I’ll do it." I finally said, eyes still on the screen. "Atta boy." Dokyeom raised his slice like a champagne toast. "Let’s make romance horror again."

Interlude: Behind the Curtain

"You're sure about this?" the manager asked again, voice tight with concern as they held the tablet out, list of vetted radio personalities glowing on-screen. Sana didn’t even glance at it.

She sat with one leg crossed over the other, sipping from a cold bottle of banana milk like she was lounging in a café—not making an unprecedented talent request to the higher-ups of JYP Entertainment. "Positive," she said with a disarming grin. The manager blinked. "But you haven't seen the shortlist—"

"I don’t need to." She tilted her head, letting her ponytail sway slightly. There was nothing unusual in her tone. Nothing demanding. Just lighthearted, playful… and absolute. "Just... him."

The manager gave a nervous chuckle, scratching behind their ear. "You’re usually the most bubbly during planning meetings. Joking, teasing, making faces… But this time—Sana-ssi, you’re being unusually quiet."

"Am I?" Sana turned to face them fully, resting her chin on her palm. She smiled. But the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The manager swallowed and nodded. "I'll talk to the board." She beamed, like a ray of sunlight. "Thank you." But the manager left the room with a strange cold creeping up their spine.

Late Evening – TWICE Dorm

The air smelled like grilled sweet potatoes and softener-drenched laundry. The kitchen was warm and softly lit, the hum of the fridge the only sound as Dahyun padded in to grab water. She stopped when she saw Sana, arms crossed on the counter, head down, a dreamy smile curling at her lips.

"Sana-unnie?" Dahyun asked, blinking. "You okay?"

Sana slowly turned her head, eyes shining like she’d just woken from a beautiful dream. "Mmm. Just thinking about his voice."

"Huh?" Dahyun opened the fridge.

"The radio host. You’ve listened too, right?"

"Yeah, a few episodes. Pretty popular these days." She took out a bottle of water. "Creepy but... poetic?"

Sana nodded slowly. "That’s what I like about him. He doesn’t try to scare you. He just... sees through things. People, pain, moments. It’s like he walks through the fog and comes back carrying the heart of it."

Dahyun froze with the fridge still open.

"He read that letter someone wrote," Sana went on softly, fingers gently tracing circles on the countertop. "The one about the girl and the thing in her room. The way he spoke—"

She closed her eyes. "It felt like he knew her better than she knew herself. Like he didn’t need to see her face, or body, or even hear her real name. He felt her. And that’s rare, Dahyunnie. You know how rare that is?"

There was a pause. "In our world..." she whispered, "we’re always seen—but never really known. People adore us, but not really us. It’s filtered affection. Edited worship. But he... he could fall in love with a ghost. Isn’t that beautiful?"

Dahyun took a small step back, closing the fridge door slowly. She smiled softly, careful not to let it show too much concern. "Sounds like you really respect him, unnie."

"Mmm." Sana's eyes didn’t move from the counter. "Or maybe... I just want to know how it feels. To be loved without being looked at. Not as TWICE's Sana. Just as... someone."

Dahyun sipped her water and gave a quiet nod. But something inside her twisted—like a gentle hand pressing just a bit too hard against her ribs. A creeping realization she couldn’t put into words. Not yet. Not when Sana’s smile looked so warm...And yet so frighteningly far away.

Dahyun’s Monologue: A Flicker Beneath the Smile

I’ve always loved being around Sana-unnie. She’s warmth wrapped in laughter, flirtation turned into an art form. When things are too heavy, she floats. When we’re too tired to smile, she makes faces until we do. She’s one of the hearts that keep TWICE beating. And I’m the younger one who leans on her…

But lately— I’ve been watching her lean into something else. It’s scary when the ones who make the light start finding comfort in the dark.

I used to think parasocial love was a one-way street. We walk it all the time, right? Fans fall for the image, not the person. They dream of us, not knowing who we are—just what we represent. We live with it. Smile through it. Learn to separate the screaming from sincerity. It's normal. Just part of the job.

But Sana-unnie…She’s walking that street now too. In reverse. The way she talks about him—the radio host. She doesn’t admire him. She knows him. Or wants to. She clings to his words like she’s been starved for them her whole life. Not because they’re scary. Because they see her.

And for the first time, I felt that weird glass wall—the one that usually separates us from them—It flipped. And now I’m on the other side, watching someone I care for…Turn into the kind of listener we protect each other from.

But what can I do? She’s still Sana-unnie. Still bubbly. Still playful. Still brings me my favorite drinks when I’m stressed. She still laughs loud. Still hugs tight. But I see it now. There’s something behind her eyes that doesn’t belong to any of us. Like she’s somewhere else.

I’m scared. Not of him. Not of her. I’m scared of the gap. That space between hearing and being heard. Between wanting and obsession. And what it does to people—even the ones with the brightest smiles.

Because even stars can fall. And I don’t know how to catch her...If I’m the one standing on the ground.

Dorm Hallway – Just Past Midnight

The soft hum of the fridge was the only sound left in the silence after their late snack.

Sana placed her cup in the sink, still smiling faintly—like her lips remembered an old joke but her eyes had long moved on. She turned to leave, slowly, her socked feet brushing against the floor.

"Unnie." Dahyun’s voice wasn’t loud, but it stopped her. Stilled her. Sana turned her head, only slightly, but didn’t speak.

"What are you feeling… really?" Dahyun asked gently. "About this show. About... him." A silence. Not the kind that suffocates. The kind that waits.

Sana finally turned fully, fingers fiddling with the hem of her hoodie. She looked down, almost like she wasn’t sure if she was awake or dreaming.

"I don’t know," she said softly, with a laugh that barely qualified as one. "It’s like... when he speaks, it’s not just stories. It’s like he’s reaching through the static and saying something only I understand. Like he’s whispering to the version of me even I forgot existed."

Dahyun took a step forward, cautious. The unease in her gut pulsed again. "Sana-unnie... you know we’ve all heard him. He’s great. Really. But—"

"It’s not about him, Dahyun." Sana’s voice trembled slightly, but not from fear. From clarity. "It’s about... finally hearing someone who doesn't ask me to be pretty. Or fun. Or Sana from TWICE.

It’s just someone who speaks, and for the first time, I don't have to perform to be seen." Her eyes glistened. But they weren’t teary. They were hungry. "I feel like… he already knows me. And if I met him, really met him… he'd know the parts even I locked away."

Dahyun's breath caught. "Unnie..."

Sana blinked, slow, like she was waking up from a trance—or stepping deeper into one. Then she smiled. Wide. Dreamy. "You know what it feels like when millions love you but not a single one actually knows you?"

"He does. Somehow, he does."

She turned and walked down the hallway. The air felt colder. Dahyun didn’t follow. She just stood there, in the hum of the kitchen light, goosebumps creeping up her arms, wondering—what if love, when unheard, doesn’t fade…but grows louder in silence?

=================================

[The next Night, Late Night Radio Show – 1:03 AM, Station 10.7]

The red light blinked softly. Live. My fingers hovered over the volume dial as I leaned toward the mic, my voice dipping low and even. “And we’re back. Tonight… we received another letter. From ‘S.’”

I paused. “This one’s not like the others.”

The printed pages on my desk were warm from the lights above, but the words felt cold. “It’s titled: The One I Never Got to Say Goodbye To.”

I began to read.

He was the kind of quiet that filled empty rooms, the kind of presence that made silence feel like company. He worked behind voices—made others sound better, heard everything and said little. He had a laugh like the world hadn’t quite broken him yet.

I used to walk by the station’s glass lobby at night. Lights on. Shadows moving. I’d watch him, even when I wasn’t supposed to. Not out of obsession. Not at first. It started as curiosity. How someone could look so alive... just talking into a void.

Sometimes, I think I loved him before I knew his name.

I wanted to tell him. That his stories healed something in me. That his voice made loneliness feel less fatal. But I never wrote in. I was too scared to be another voice in a sea of fans. Too scared to break the illusion.

Then the accident happened. Not to him. To me. A slip in my world that made it impossible to reach his. I disappeared. Like a radio losing signal. And he kept talking, never knowing I had gone quiet.

But lately, I’ve come back. Re-tuned. I listen again. From the same distance. But it’s different now.

Because I don’t want to just listen anymore. I want him to know— I was always there. Watching. Hearing. Waiting.

Not for the end of the story. But for the part where the story finally sees me.

I stopped. The booth was dead silent. My fingers trembled faintly on the armrest. “That… wasn’t horror,” I finally said. “But it might be the most chilling story we’ve ever received.”

There was a weight in my chest. Not fear. Not romance. Something stranger. A whisper behind the ears that you were never truly alone. I adjusted the mic, speaking softer now. More vulnerable.

“If you're out there, S… whoever you are…I hope you’re okay. I hope whatever accident tore you away didn’t take all of you.”

“And if it did—I’ll keep the light on.”

[Meanwhile – Sana’s POV – Dorm Room, 1:18 AM]

She sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, the red glow of the radio station’s live stream light flickering faintly across her face. The others were asleep. Dahyun’s faint breathing from the other room barely audible.

Sana leaned in closer to the screen, lips parted slightly.

“He read it…” she whispered. “He really read it.”

A small smile. But her fingers didn’t move. Neither did her eyes. She wasn’t crying. But she should’ve been. Because something inside her was… breaking, slowly. Not from sadness. From aching purpose.

The kind that makes people wait in the dark for years. The kind that makes someone write and rewrite the same story—until the right person sees it. Until he sees her. Her reflection in the dark screen was almost unrecognizable. Not because she looked different. But because she was looking at herself through someone else’s eyes. And she liked it. Too much.

The red “LIVE” light dimmed. I raised my hand subtly toward the glass—two fingers in the air. Dokyeom caught the cue instantly. He slid his hand over the console and queued the soft instrumental: something ambient, gentle, like wind brushing over sand.

“We’ll be right back,” I murmured into the mic, then flicked it off. I stood up, heart thudding too fast for such a quiet booth, and pushed open the soundproof door. Dokyeom was leaned back on his chair, one headphone off, chewing on sour gummies like it was just another night in paradise.

I walked straight to him, tension stiff in my neck, and leaned on the side of his chair. “Tell me I’m not crazy,” I said.

“What?” he mumbled, mouth half-full. “That was a damn good letter, man. Gave me chills.”

“No—listen.” I lowered my voice. “That story...the guy she described. The way she talked about the booth, the voice, watching him from outside?”

I looked around instinctively, though no one else was there. “She’s talking about me, right?”

He stopped chewing. His brows rose slightly. “You think she’s really stalking you?”

“I don’t know!” I ran a hand through my hair. “I mean, at first it felt like one of those poetic ‘your-voice-saved-me’ kind of things. But tonight? She talked about an accident...a disappearance...coming back...like she never left but I never noticed.”

Dokyeom stared at me, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Bro. You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling,” I snapped. “I’m just asking you if this feels...off. Weird. Personal. Like she’s talking to me. Only me.”

He looked at the mixing board for a second, as if the sliders could answer. Then, calmly, he replied. “Okay. Yeah. It's a little weird.”

I opened my mouth, but he raised a finger. “But, come on. We are a public show. Thousands tune in. It’s natural someone connects more than others. Besides, she didn’t say your name. Maybe it’s just really well-written projection.”

I exhaled slowly. The buzzing paranoia still clung to the back of my neck like static, but...his tone helped. I slumped onto the extra chair beside him, rubbing my eyes. “You ever feel like being seen too closely starts to feel like being watched?”

Dokyeom whistled low. “Damn. That’s deep. Put that in the next episode.”

I smirked despite myself. “I’m serious, man.”

He leaned back in his chair, tossing the empty gummy bag on the desk. “Look. If someone was stalking you, I’d be the first to notice. We track our mail-ins, our audio logs, station IPs. You know that. Nothing suspicious came through. No flagged user, no cross-location pings. The team would've told me.”

I nodded slowly, letting it sink in. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Course I am.” He nudged my arm. “You’re just tired. That story hit weird. Your vibe's been off since she started writing in.”

“…Since the second letter.” Dokyeom raised an eyebrow. “The one about the train platform?”

I nodded. “The way she described how she kept her eyes on the guy’s back, not his face. That line—‘the back was enough. Because once you love someone enough, the front is too much to bear’.”

I looked down at my own hands, voice quieter. “That line didn’t feel made up.”

There was silence for a beat. Then Dokyeom sighed and looked at the screen showing the song timer ticking down. “We’ve got forty-three seconds till we’re back live.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. He looked at me sideways. “You okay?”

“…Not sure.” “Wanna skip the next mail-in?”

“No.” I sat up straighter, voice firm again. “If she’s watching… I want her to know I see her, too.”

The light turned red again.

[Three Weeks Later – JYPE Headquarters, 10:31 AM]

The elevator hummed quietly as I stood inside, hands in my coat pockets, eyes scanning the digital floor numbers rise with a soft ding. 10…11…12… Even now, I still wasn't sure what this whole thing was.

A talk show collaboration? Sure. But with an idol? An actual TWICE member? That part never stopped sounding strange.

The invitation was legit. The contracts came stamped, the clauses surprisingly flexible. Even Dokyeom had triple-checked the authenticity—JYPE’s media team themselves had reached out to our station.

But what still clung to my mind like fog was that no one told me which member wanted this. Not the producers. Not the writers. Not even Dokyeom. I had signed on blind.

The doors opened with a soft ding to the media floor. Glass walls, sunlight through beige blinds, quiet buzz of assistants pacing in heels or sneakers, coffee cups, and papers. I exhaled slowly.

"Morning, Mr. L/N." A young assistant in a sleek black outfit walked up, bowing slightly. She gestured politely toward a meeting room to the left. “The producer is waiting for you inside. The artist will join later.”

“Still keeping it a secret, huh?” I half-smiled. She returned a polite, neutral grin. “You'll understand soon, sir.”

Of course I will. I walked into the meeting room—clean, white, minimalist. One side was entirely glass, the other lined with posters of TWICE’s past eras. Some familiar. Some deeply nostalgic. Some… recent. Too recent.

"Ah, Y/N!" A warm voice pulled my thoughts. JYPE’s talk show producer stepped in—a middle-aged man in round glasses and a scarf that looked like it hadn’t left his neck since 2007. "We've been excited for this."

“You say that like I haven’t been dreading the mystery,” I muttered, settling in. He laughed. “That’s part of the charm. This is her idea, after all.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Right. ‘Her’. Still not giving me a name?”

“It’s… sensitive. Let’s just say, she was very specific.” “About… me?”

He paused. Adjusted his glasses. “About everything.”

I leaned back in the chair, eyes narrowing slightly. “Strange choice, though. An idol voluntarily choosing a psychological horror show host? Doesn’t exactly scream brand synergy.”

The man smiled faintly, but didn’t answer. I looked around the room again, eyes pausing on a framed photo of the “Feel Special” era. Nine girls, bright smiles, dreamy filters.

Which one was watching my show? Which one was listening in the dark?

[JYPE Media Room – Same Day, 10:42 AM]

The producer's voice echoed faintly as he flipped through a printed schedule. “She should be arriving any—”

The door clicked. I turned casually toward it, expecting perhaps a staffer, a stylist, or another assistant with iced coffee and paperwork.

But when the door opened—My breath caught.

She walked in.

Soft brown hair fell in delicate sheets over her shoulders, parted gently to one side, glowing faintly under the fluorescent light. Her ash-toned waves framed a gentle jawline and rested softly over the wide pointed collar of her blouse. The blouse itself—white, vintage, flared at the sleeves—peeked elegantly from underneath a sleeveless, beige A-line midi dress, tailored and subtle in its detail.

The overall palette was almost ethereal—soft pastels, neutral warmth. She looked like someone who had wandered out of a late spring romance film and simply strolled into this world. Cream ankle-strap heels clicked delicately with each step, dainty but confident.

“…Sana?” It slipped out of me before I realized I said her name aloud.

She smiled. And it wasn’t just a polite smile, or one meant for an audience. It was a quiet, knowing smile—one that pressed into her cheeks and warmed her gaze. Her eyes met mine and didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. Like she had been waiting.

"Annyeonghaseyo." Her voice was soft but held the clarity of someone not used to hesitating. "I'm the one who requested this show with you."

I stood, half-awkwardly smoothing my coat as if it could clean up how stunned I must have looked. The producer gave a soft chuckle from the side and excused himself with an obvious smile, mumbling something about giving us a moment.

As the door clicked shut again, the room fell silent. It was just me and her.

"Wow… I didn’t expect you," I managed, gesturing for her to sit, voice lightly cracking from the back of my throat. "I mean… I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be into horror content. Especially psychological stuff."

She sat gracefully, smoothing the hem of her dress with a natural elegance that made even that simple action look cinematic. “I know,” she said, tilting her head a little, smile still playing gently at her lips. “Most people think I get scared easily.”

"Don’t you?" I blinked. She laughed softly. It was breathy, like flower petals tumbling in spring wind. “I do. I still get chills from my own shadow sometimes.”

We both laughed lightly. And yet… she was here. Voluntarily. “So why my show, then?” I asked, voice finally settling into something casual.

She folded her hands on her lap, elbows relaxed on the table. Her posture was poised, refined—but not stiff. There was an unspoken ease between us already. “Because it makes me think,” she said.

That caught me off guard. “About what?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes drifted toward the window, where soft sunlight slipped through half-drawn blinds and painted slow lines across the floor. “…About things that we’re not usually allowed to say out loud,” she replied eventually. “Things that feel wrong to admit, but somehow… the stories on your show made them feel safe to imagine.”

That silenced me. I’d had fans before. Listeners who messaged in, who cried during episodes, who swore we helped them sleep at night, or not sleep. But this… this was different.

This was Sana. A memvber from one of the biggest girl groups in the world.

Famous for her bright laugh, her bubbly warmth, her charm that melted camera lenses—and here she was, sitting across from me in a retro-collared blouse, talking about the comfort she found in my strange little world of haunted whispers and emotional shadows.

“Didn’t expect to be the reason someone like you liked horror,” I admitted, letting a smile tug at my lips. “Most guests come to debate, not compliment.”

She tilted her head again, amused. “I’m not like most guests.”

We shared a brief silence. Not awkward. Just… weighted. There was no flirtation in her eyes. Not yet. Just warmth. Sincere appreciation. But behind her calm demeanor, something still lingered. Not darkness. Not danger. But something. Purpose.

[JYPE Talk Show Conference Room – Rehearsal Space]

The rehearsal room was warm with low lights, a hum of muted conversation buzzing in the corners as sound staff prepped mics and the camera crew adjusted the test angles for tomorrow’s shoot.

I sat across from her again—Sana, now barefoot with her heels neatly set aside beside her chair, the hem of her beige dress brushing the floor as she shifted comfortably in her seat. She wasn’t wearing the full stage-ready face of makeup now. Just soft tones, the natural flush of her cheeks, lips tinted like a fading memory.

“So,” I started, flipping open the concept notebook Dokyeom handed me earlier. “You said you had a topic in mind for this collab, right?”

She nodded, fingers gently playing with the rim of a paper coffee cup that had long gone cold. “It’s called The Echo Room,” she said, voice light but focused.

“Sounds psychological already.” I smiled faintly, tapping my pen on the page. “What’s the idea behind it?”

She looked up at me—directly. The kind of eye contact that doesn’t just meet yours, but searches. Not assertive. Not flirty. Just… sincere. And strangely unreadable. “It’s a story about… someone who leaves messages.”

“Like, voicemail-style?”

“More like anonymous radio broadcasts,” she said. “But they never reveal who they’re for. Just memories. Or confessions. Things they could never say face-to-face. The kind of things you only say when no one can answer back.”

That was… very on-brand for this show. And eerily poetic.

“The twist,” she continued, voice dipping slightly, “is that one day… someone starts replying. But not through calls. Just… things start happening in real life. Subtle things. As if someone heard the broadcast and wanted to speak back. But not through words.”

I blinked. Scribbled something down. “Creepy in a quiet way.”

“Exactly.” Her lips curved just slightly—not quite a smile, but the soft acknowledgment of being understood. But it was more than the concept. As she explained it further—layer by layer, about how the character (a woman) slowly begins to believe her messages are reaching the person she lost, and how her need to be heard becomes an obsession—I noticed it.

That shift. Subtle. When she was addressing the crew, joking with Dokyeom, giggling at something the PD said—she was the Sana everyone knew. Bubbly. Bright. Effortlessly warm. But when she turned back to me…

It changed. Her posture relaxed, her voice dropped just slightly, more melodic. Her gaze lingered longer—never invasive, never inappropriate—but present. As if she wasn’t just looking at me. She was studying me. And her words? They always circled back in a strange, unintentional loop. To me.

“I think the girl in the story… she’s not just lonely,” Sana murmured, almost absentmindedly. “She’s always been around people. Always adored. But she feels closest to the one person who never reached back.”

I hesitated. “…Is it about heartbreak?”

“Maybe.” A beat. Then her eyes locked onto mine again. “Or maybe it’s about needing to be known by someone who sees past the surface. Someone who listens—not just hears.” I felt it then. That slow tug in the air. Like the quiet tension in the moments before rain.

Her words weren’t threatening. Not even intense. But there was something in them… something deeper than fan-level admiration. A tenderness. A familiarity she was weaving without consent or clarity. A bond that existed entirely in her space—but made you feel like you were being drawn into it without resisting.

Parasocial? Maybe. But unlike what I’d studied in theory or seen in fans—hers wasn’t manic. It was soft. Velvety. Beautiful, even. And that’s what made it harder to detect.

“You’ve clearly thought about this character a lot,” I said, flipping a page, trying to stay professional despite the odd flutter in my chest.

“I lived her once,” she said softly.

I looked up. “…What?”

She gave a light laugh—almost as if she didn’t mean to say it aloud. “I mean,” she corrected, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’ve imagined being her. You know. Leaving something out there and wondering if the person it was meant for ever felt it.”

My throat tightened for a moment. There was nothing accusatory in her tone. No implication. But again—that shift. Like the ghost of a feeling dancing in the corners of her words.

Sana leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on the back of her hand, elbow on the table. Her eyes sparkled—not with flirtation, but something far more disarming. “Have you ever felt like someone’s watching your work a little too closely?”

I smiled, deflecting. “That’s the point of a radio show, isn’t it? Hoping someone’s out there?”

She chuckled. “No, not hoping.” Her voice softened. “Knowing.”

That answer sat between us like the fog that rolls in slow. I didn’t feel unsafe. I didn’t feel alarmed. But I felt seen in a way that wasn’t quite normal.

She was still Sana. Still charming. Still graceful. But something behind that smile had gravity. Something that pulled the room ever so gently in her direction—one breath at a time. And yet…I didn’t mind. I didn’t even want to move.

[Whispers After One — Special Episode: Echo Room]

The red ON AIR light blinked to life. Soft instrumental hums floated beneath it—barely there, like whispers clinging to the edges of the night. The scent of paper, ink, and freshly brewed coffee filled the cool air of the soundproof studio.

This was my sanctuary. Until tonight, my face had been a mystery even to my most loyal listeners. Only my voice existed out there—a drifting, nameless presence after 1 AM. "Whispers After One" was never meant to show. It was meant to haunt.

But now, there were cameras tucked into the corners. Their red recording lights burned small holes into the darkness. A quiet staffer approached me with a black satin mask—sleek, simple, covering half my face from just beneath my eyes down to my chin.

I accepted it without hesitation. Better this than surrendering the last fragile boundary I had left. Adjusting the mask over my nose, I took my seat behind the microphone. Across from me, in a matching soft pool of light, sat her.

Minatozaki Sana.

No heels now. Her pale shoes tucked neatly under her seat. That dreamy, oatmeal-colored dress catching the light like mist. Soft brown hair framing her face, falling naturally past her shoulders with a lazy side part. Her expression was... calm. Open. But that glint in her eyes—That same glint from the rehearsal, as if some secret rhythm only she could hear was playing in the background—It was still there. And somehow, it was directed only at me.

The cue light flashed.

3…2…1…

I leaned into the mic, voice dropping into the familiar, soothing register I always used when the world was sleeping. "Welcome back, lnsomniacs. This is Whispers After One… and tonight is special."

The theme music faded in—an eerie piano melody, light as fog, stitched with low ambient echoes. Perfect for the concept we built. "You know this show as the place where we explore the unseen, the unheard... the stories that brush past you in the dark."

My gloved fingers tapped lightly against my notes. "But tonight, we're not whispering alone."

I smiled under the mask, glancing across to her. Sana's lips tilted in a soft smile, almost shy. "Joining me is none other than Minatozaki Sana of TWICE," I said, voice steady but warm. "An artist you know for her light, her charm... and tonight, a very different side you'll hear."

Sana leaned into her own mic. "Annyeonghaseyo~..." she said, her voice as delicate and careful as if she were afraid to break the spell we’d woven in the room.

She glanced once, sideways, at me—not the audience, not the staff. Just me. "I'm Sana," she continued, "and… I'm really honored to be here, especially on a show I’ve secretly loved for a long time."

There was a tiny, almost imperceptible emphasis on secretly. The camera panned softly between us, slow and cinematic, bathing the scene in candlelight tones. I caught it then—listeners would hear the sweetness in her voice. They wouldn’t hear the tiny note of awe, almost reverence, buried underneath it when she spoke to me.

But sitting across from her now? I could feel it. "Tonight's theme," I said, sliding naturally into the next beat, "is something Sana herself proposed… The Echo Room." A soft chime sound marked the transition. "We'll tell a story," I explained, "about leaving memories in the void... and what happens when the void starts whispering back."

Sana inhaled softly, like the concept itself stirred something real inside her. She began: "Imagine… it starts simple. A girl sits by her radio every night, speaking into the silence." Her voice was slow, wrapped in velvet. Designed not just to tell—but pull you in. "She talks about her day. About her memories. About the things she regrets never saying when she had the chance."

Soft ambient echoes bloomed in the background, like faint footsteps down a hallway. I found myself leaning in a little too naturally, matching her tone. "At first, there’s no answer," I murmured. "Just the empty static of being unheard."

Sana’s eyes lifted slightly—catching mine for half a second, as if savoring that line. "But then," she whispered, "the things she talks about… start changing around her. A song she mentions plays in a store the next day. A childhood photo reappears where it was lost. A dream she shares… comes true."

The room seemed to lean closer with us. No one else spoke. Even the staff held their breath, watching the slow, eerie performance unfold.

Sana’s hands, resting lightly on the table, curled slightly. Her next words floated out like fog. "It’s not a ghost. Not magic. It's just… someone, somewhere, listening too closely."

I kept my voice steady. "And maybe," I said lowly, "someone who never intended to stay invisible forever." For a moment, it wasn’t acting. It wasn’t just a show. It felt real—a strange tether tying us, pulling her soft, mysterious aura closer across the table.

She smiled—barely. The kind of smile you'd give if you heard a secret only you were supposed to know. We let the music swell lightly, giving the audience space to breathe—or shiver—before easing into light conversation about loneliness, connection, unseen bonds.

Sana answered thoughtfully—always thoughtful—but whenever she directed a response to me, her voice softened even further. Her glances flickered a bit longer. Her smile tilted slightly more intimate. No one else would catch it. The cameras wouldn’t catch it.

But sitting there behind the mask, the air between us humming with unseen frequencies—I felt it. And for some reason…I didn’t mind at all.

The cameras whirred almost inaudibly. The background music faded down to near silence, leaving only the natural softness of breathing, the quiet clicks of shifting in chairs. We were deep into the middle portion of the show now—the part where the tone always sank a little heavier, a little deeper. The Echo Room was alive in the minds of the listeners now.

Sana tilted her head slightly, the smooth fall of her hair brushing her cheek. She rested her chin lightly on her palm, elbow on the table. Her posture seemed casual at first. But when she spoke next, there was something unfathomably tender in her voice, something that barely fluttered across the air like the wings of a moth.

"Sometimes..." she began, almost as if she were reminiscing instead of answering the latest question, "the scariest thing isn't the ghost itself. It's realizing you've been watched... and cared for... without ever knowing it." A small smile played at her lips—not mischievous, not playful. Soft. Almost… longing.

I nodded slightly, unaware of the undercurrent beneath her words. "Because," I replied thoughtfully, my mind on the story’s framework, "attention unseen is both a comfort and a horror, depending on the day."

"Mm," Sana murmured, low and gentle. "Depending on who’s watching." Her eyes flicked briefly to me again—not dramatic, not lingering. Just long enough that if anyone else had truly been looking... They might have wondered if that line was meant for the microphone at all. Or just for the man behind the mask.

I shifted slightly, adjusting my notes, brushing off the subtle tickle of awareness that something unspoken had passed between us. Probably just the atmosphere of the show. Probably just her talent for acting dreamy. The moment dissolved almost instantly as she leaned back, laughing softly at my next quip about radios "whispering back" too much and scaring people away from technology.

But there it was. A tiny drop of something left behind in the air. Invisible. Undetectable. Undeniably there. Recording continued. Unnoticed by me. But maybe not so unnoticed by Sana.

[Segment: Listener Q&A - Final Portion]

"And we're back," I spoke into the mic, smiling beneath my mask, "to the final portion of tonight’s Echo Room... featuring none other than Minatozaki Sana."

The small studio lights dimmed a little more for mood. The screen behind us flickered with soft visuals—moving mist, phantom lights, silhouettes that swayed without sound.

Sana turned slightly toward the camera, flashing a soft, shy smile that instantly melted the atmosphere. It was like watching sunlight fight its way through a heavy fog. "I’m excited," she said brightly, clasping her hands together on the table. "Listener questions are always the most fun!"

I chuckled. "You say that now... wait until you hear some of the ones our audience dared to send in." Dokyeom gave a small laugh from the control booth, muffled but still heard, like an inside joke shared behind the scenes. I shuffled the cards in front of me and pulled one randomly.

Question 1: "If you were haunted by a spirit, what kind of ghost would you want it to be?"

I leaned toward the mic a little dramatically. "Starting off easy," I teased. "Alright, Sana-ssi. Friendly Casper ghost? Romantic old-school spirit? Demonic possession? Pick your fighter."

Sana giggled, her laughter bubbling like soda but her fingers tapped lightly against the table—nervous energy? Excitement? It was hard to tell. "Mm..." she said, pretending to think seriously. "If I had to choose... I'd want it to be a gentle one. Someone who doesn't scare me... someone who's just... always there. Even when I don't see them."

Her voice dipped softer at the end. The audience probably heard it as cute. I just smiled and nodded. Unaware of how her gaze barely lifted from me—not the camera.

Question 2: "What scares you more — being alone, or being watched?"

I grinned beneath the mask. "Now we’re getting serious."

Sana bit her bottom lip lightly, thoughtful. "Being watched," she said immediately. Then, she blinked as if realizing she should elaborate. "I think... if you're alone, you can prepare yourself. Be strong. But if someone's watching you without you knowing, you can’t protect yourself. You’re... vulnerable. You can't hide."

Her fingers curled slightly in her lap.She wasn’t acting cute anymore. There was something achingly sincere behind her eyes.

I nodded slowly."There’s a strange kind of helplessness in it," I said, keeping the professional tone. "To be seen fully without your consent."

Sana smiled. A small, knowing smile. Almost grateful.

Question 3: "Have you ever had a feeling that someone cared about you... even without seeing them?"

I blinked at the phrasing. It was a little poetic for a listener submission. "Interesting question," I said aloud. "Kind of sweet too, in a creepy way."

Sana took a slow breath, and her voice dropped just a fraction lower. "Yes," she said simply. There was a silence—not heavy, but hanging, like a silk scarf caught on a branch. She tilted her head, looking down for a second, then lifting her gaze slightly—not to the camera, not to the script. Straight at me.

"Sometimes...you just know," she said. "When someone’s out there. Listening. Understanding you... even when they shouldn't be able to." Her smile didn’t falter. It just grew... softer. Almost sad.

I adjusted the mic settings casually, brushing off the odd pulse that tightened in my chest. Probably just the heavy nature of the show tonight. Probably.

Final Listener Submission: "If you could say one thing to someone who has always quietly supported you... without revealing who they are... what would you say?"

The card trembled slightly between my gloved fingers. Not from fear. Just... a sudden, creeping awareness of how delicate this atmosphere had become.

I looked at Sana expectantly. She smiled—a smile like slow, melting candle wax. Lovely. Strange. She didn’t even hesitate. She leaned closer to the mic, close enough that her breath was almost audible through the audio system. "I would say..." she whispered, "You’ve never been invisible to me. Even if you think you are. I’ve seen you all along."

The studio seemed to still. Even Dokyeom, busy behind the screens, paused briefly before resuming his work. Sana pulled back, her smile folding into a sweet little laugh. "Was that too dramatic?" she teased lightly, playful again. "I'm just getting into the theme!"

I laughed with her, nodding. "That’s what the Echo Room is for."

"To let all the unsaid things... finally be heard."

And with that, the final music cue rose gently from the speakers—soft, haunting, like the last ripple of a stone dropped into a dark, endless lake.

The cameras slowly powered down. The soft applause of the production staff filled the room. Not loud. Just a polite ripple. I removed my headset, stretching slightly, feeling the tightness in my shoulders from staying still so long.

Sana rose from her chair, her movements fluid and graceful. She smoothed her dress lightly, then looked toward me with a small, private smile.

"Thank you," she said, her voice meant just for me, not the room. "For letting me talk about things... I usually can't."

I nodded warmly, still not thinking too much of it. Just a beautiful, kind idol being grateful for a platform. Nothing more. Right?

[Post-Recording Lounge: "A Gentle Kind of Watching"]

The small studio gradually emptied after the last camera light clicked off. Producers laughed among themselves, wrapping cables, sharing inside jokes.

Dokyeom passed by, patting me on the shoulder. "Bro, you killed it," he said with a grin. "She killed it too. Good luck topping that one next week." I gave a humble nod, still seated, the studio warmth slowly cooling as the energy faded.

Across from me, Sana removed the small clip mic from her collar, her movements delicate. She stayed in her seat longer than expected, not in a hurry to leave.

A staff member brought in two steaming cups of herbal tea, leaving them on the low lounge table between us. "You can relax now," I joked lightly, pushing one cup toward her.

She chuckled, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic "It wasn’t stressful," she said honestly.."Your show... it makes people feel like they can say anything. Even scary things don’t feel so scary when you’re the one listening."

I blinked behind my mask, caught off guard by the sincerity. "Thanks," I said awkwardly. "That's kinda the goal... I guess."

The lounge lighting was softer here — low, amber, almost like candlelight. Outside the soundproof glass, the hallway buzzed with distant life, but in here it was quiet. Safe.

Yet there was something...something that stayed perched invisibly on my shoulder since the recording ended. A prickle between my shoulder blades.

Sana sipped her tea. She looked down at the swirling steam, then back at me — warm, unhurried. We sat there for a moment, not talking, just... existing. Until I broke the silence.

"Actually," I started, voice a little scratchy from hours of talking. "Since you mentioned feeling like someone’s always listening..." Sana's eyes lifted, alert but still casual. "...I got a weird story letter the other day."

She tilted her head slightly, the way a cat might when curious. "Weird?" she asked, voice dipped in curiosity.

I leaned back in my chair, balancing the tea on my knee. "Yeah. Listener submission. No return address. Just signed with an initial."

Sana set her cup down lightly, folding her hands on her lap. Listening. Really listening.

"The initial was ‘S’." Her lips curved slightly upward — not surprised, just vaguely entertained. "Mysterious," she said airily.

I gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Honestly, it started off delicate. Soft. Almost beautiful in a way." I tapped my fingers against the side of the cup unconsciously. "It talked about loneliness, watching late at night... finding comfort in just hearing someone else’s voice. Made me think it was just someone struggling emotionally, you know?"

Sana nodded, perfectly sympathetic. No cracks. No flickers. If anything, she leaned in just slightly, as if urging me to continue. And I did.

"But then..." I hesitated, searching for the right words. "The second half changed. It wasn’t about loneliness anymore. It got...eerie."

Her eyes widened a little — just enough. A picture-perfect actress playing a curious friend. "How?" she whispered.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the words slip out before I could second-guess them. "It started describing the room I usually record in. Like... in detail. The way the lights look when they’re dimmed. The way my voice sounds when I'm tired but trying to hide it."

I chuckled dryly. "At first, I thought maybe a staff member wrote it as a prank. But it was... specific."

Sana’s hand brushed the edge of the table, fingertips gliding slowly like tracing invisible patterns. Still calm. Still impossibly soft in her demeanor. "And the ending?" she asked.

I swallowed, the tea now lukewarm in my hand. "The ending said..." I paused, half-laughing at how crazy it sounded aloud, "something like, 'Don’t worry if you ever feel unseen. I'm always there. I know the way the light falls over your shoulders when you think you're alone. I watch.' "

The words hung in the lounge like thin smoke. Sana blinked slowly.Once. Twice. No horror. No visible shiver. Just a soft smile curling at the edge of her lips. "Creepy," she agreed gently. "But... maybe it’s not meant to scare you."

I gave a skeptical grunt. "I dunno. When I read it, it felt...directed at me. Like whoever wrote it actually watches me. Not just as a fan. Like... more."

I didn’t even notice how tightly I gripped the cup until my knuckles whitened.vm Sana noticed, though. Her fingers brushed her own wrist as if feeling a phantom sensation there. "Maybe..." she said, her voice a feather, "they just don’t know how else to show affection."

The room felt a few degrees colder despite the tea steam. I smiled thinly beneath the mask. "Hope they find a healthier way soon."

Sana laughed softly — a sound so musical and so delicate that it almost seemed to cleanse the air. Almost. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at the clock. "You should keep the letter," she said, a little mischievously. "One day... it might mean something different."

I tilted my head, amused. "You think so?"

"Mmh," she nodded seriously. "Sometimes things that scare us now... become precious memories later."

Her eyes met mine then, steady and shining with something —something I couldn’t name. Tenderness? Amusement? Pity?

I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that sitting there, in the softened light, facing this dreamlike girl in her soft vintage dress and glowing skin, I suddenly felt—watched. Not the way a stalker watches. Not the way an audience watches. Something... closer. Softer. And infinitely harder to run from.

We finished our tea quietly after that. Small talk resumed, light and simple — favorite horror movies, the best seasonal foods, upcoming TWICE schedules. She laughed. I laughed. The uneasiness folded itself into the edges of my mind, tucked away.

When Sana finally stood to leave, she turned at the door, offering a small wave. "Thanks again," she said brightly, her usual on-camera smile blooming.

But her eyes, for just a split second before she turned away—held something else. Something that wasn’t meant for the cameras. Something that wasn’t meant for the world. Somethi1ng that was only meant for me. And I, oblivious to the gravity of it, simply waved back.

[Goodbye: "A Gentle Invitation"]

Sana adjusted her light cardigan over her shoulders, her delicate figure silhouetted briefly against the frosted glass door. The moment felt suspended —Not awkward, not rushed, but... charged with something unseen.

She shifted her weight onto one foot, tapping her knuckles lightly against her palm in a rhythm that didn’t match any song. Almost like she was... deciding.

Finally, she spoke. "Y/N-Oppa," she said, her voice lower, more intimate than earlier. Not the chirpy brightness she used for audiences. Something closer. Softer. Private.

I glanced up from where I was gathering my things, surprised she hadn't just left with the others. "Yeah?" I answered, trying — and probably failing — to sound casual.

Sana stepped closer. Not into my personal space, but close enough that I could smell the faint trace of her floral perfume, delicate like wild jasmine after rain. Her eyes gleamed with something playful — but not teasing. Not exactly.

"Would it be weird," she asked lightly, her thumb tracing a small invisible circle on the strap of her bag, "if we... exchanged contacts?"

The words fell into the space between us so gently that they almost didn't feel real at first. As if it were the most natural thing in the world — and yet, something no one else had dared ask.

For a heartbeat, I just blinked, registering it. Sana smiled — a smile that wasn’t the bright spotlight smile she showed the world. This one was slower. Sweeter. The corners of her mouth curved up almost shyly, her lashes dropping for a beat before lifting again to meet my gaze.

Goddamn, I thought helplessly. She must destroy men without even meaning to. Heat rose unbidden to my cheeks, and before I could clamp down on the reaction, I let out a soft, breathy chuckle. "Uh... yeah, sure," I said, rubbing the back of my neck like some awkward high schooler. "No problem."

Sana’s smile widened just slightly, pleased but still understated, like a cat who got the cream without knocking over the bowl. I pulled out my phone quickly, trying not to look flustered, and handed it to her unlocked.

She accepted it without hesitation, thumbs moving deftly across the screen. Her contact name, when she handed it back, was simple: Sana-chan💞 with a small heart emoji tucked discreetly at the end. Not over-the-top. Not flashy. Just enough to make the memory of it burn softly in my chest.

"Text me later if you want," she said lightly, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. Then, just before stepping away, she paused — looking over her shoulder at me with a smile so gentle it felt like it wrapped itself around my ribs. "Or..." she added, voice dropping ever so slightly, "just when you feel... watched again."

A beat. A shiver. I chuckled under my breath again, half laughing at the way my heart knocked against my ribs without permission. "I'll keep that in mind," I said, pretending not to feel like a teenager all over again.

Sana gave a small bow — graceful, polite — and then disappeared through the door in a flutter of soft footsteps and fragrant air. Left alone, I stared at my phone for a second longer than necessary.

Then at the door she had vanished through. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a thought stirred —the memory of the letter from "S," the eerie words about watching, about knowing the way light touched me when I thought I was alone.

But I shook it off with another small laugh. There was no way it was related.

The success after the Sana special episode was almost absurd.

Whispers After One exploded into trending charts, my inbox filled with interview requests, sponsorships, and curious fans demanding more collaborations.

But as the dust settled, the familiar quiet of the studio at night returned — just me, Dokyeom working behind the glass, the red ON AIR sign humming softly above.

Tonight was another normal recording...or so I thought.

The new pile of listener letters sat on my desk, neatly stacked and awaiting their turn. I skimmed through most of them easily, smiling at fan dedications, life stories, even silly horror stories that felt like they were written on the bus ride home.

But then my hand paused — brushing against an envelope. Cream-colored. No sticker. A faint scent of lavender. It was unmistakable.

"Another one from 'S'." I muttered under my breath, just loud enough that Dokyeom, adjusting the levels, flicked a curious glance up through the glass.

I placed it carefully on the desk, eyeing it warily for a second before flipping the mic switch back on.

"Welcome back to Whispers After One,"

my voice warmed the night air through every lonely apartment, every sleepy commuter's radio. "Tonight, we have another letter...from someone who's becoming quite a familiar whisper in our community — our mysterious storyteller, 'S'."

I tried to make my tone light, teasing — but a part of me already felt the temperature of the room dip. Something about the way this envelope felt...Something different from before. I broke the seal. Unfolded the soft paper.

And began to read:

Dear Whisperer, Have you ever seen a beautiful garden and thought it would last forever? A sanctuary you stumbled into by accident... A place you weren't supposed to find... Yet you stayed because the air was sweeter there than anywhere else But the longer you stayed... The more you realized you weren't just admiring the garden. You were part of it. The roots grew beneath you. They twined around your ankles. They held you there. You are the garden now. And the one who tended it smiles because you have no idea. Until next time, S

I finished reading.

The microphone crackled softly as I leaned back in my chair, staring at the letter. It was...beautiful. Elegant, almost poetic. But underneath the beauty was something deeply unsettling.

The imagery was sticky — roots, trapping, belonging without realizing it. I blinked a few times, feeling the weight of it settle in my chest.

Shaking it off, I reached for the mic again. "Well," I laughed gently, forcing a little levity into the show,

"S, you really have a way with words. I don't know if I should be honored...or a little nervous." I gave a soft chuckle, then leaned closer to the mic, speaking to all the listeners — but mostly, if I was honest, to S themselves.

"To our dear gardener — wherever you are listening —"

"Thank you for your words. But don't worry. I like gardens. Even if they hold onto me a little too tightly."

I smiled after I said it. It sounded charming enough, soothing enough for a late night crowd. But inside...my gut twisted a little. Was I...comforting someone I should be wary of?

The rest of the recording moved along like clockwork. A few lighter letters. Some fan theories about ghost sightings. I kept my energy calm, measured, like always.

Finally, when the ON AIR light dimmed and the outro music faded into silence, I exhaled and leaned back in my chair. The door to the recording booth clicked open and Dokyeom stepped in, stretching.

"Good one, man," he said casually, plopping down in the producer's chair with a yawn. "Numbers are gonna spike again after that. Everyone loves that 'S' stuff."

I hesitated. My hand was still lightly resting on the letter, tracing the bottom of the paper absentmindedly. I looked up at him.

My voice was lower now. Tightened. "Hey, Dokyeom," I said, trying to sound normal, "Can I...ask you something?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, shoot."

I held up the letter slightly, waving it between us. "Am I the only one who thinks this is...weird?" I said carefully. "Like...not just storytelling. I mean—"

I swallowed. "It almost feels like they're watching me."

Dokyeom laughed lightly, scratching the back of his head. "Dude, you're just spooking yourself out. You host a horror-themed show. People are gonna lean into that vibe, you know?"

I frowned. "Yeah...maybe."

But I wasn't convinced.bThe way the letter described finding a place you weren't supposed to, being trapped there... The way it felt oddly personal. Like I was the visitor. I was the one tangled in someone's roots.

Dokyeom must have seen the lingering tension on my face because he softened. "Look," he said, leaning forward on his knees, "If it gets too weird, we can report it. We got enough eyes on this show now that management'll take it seriously. Okay?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Thanks, man."

"No sweat," he said easily, standing and stretching his arms again. "C'mon, let's go grab coffee before you psych yourself into a horror story of your own."

I laughed a little — a genuine one this time — and shoved the letter into my jacket pocket.

But as I followed him out into the cool night air, I couldn't shake the feeling: Someone was smiling somewhere. Someone was glad I was tangled in the roots. And I had no idea who they really were.

[The Day After — At My Apartment]

It was still early — sunlight barely filtering through the half-closed blinds of my apartment — when the doorbell rang.

Not a normal knock. It was frantic, hurried, like whoever was on the other side needed to be let in now.

I frowned, setting my half-eaten toast down, wiping my hands on a napkin as I shuffled to the door. Peering through the peephole, I saw a familiar, slightly disheveled mop of hair.

Dokyeom.

I unlocked it quickly. "Dude, what are you—?"

He didn’t wait for a greeting.He shoved his way inside, clutching a bundle of papers in one hand, his backpack slung half off one shoulder. His eyes were wide — bloodshot like he hadn’t slept. There was sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill outside. "You need to see this," he blurted, voice low, almost hoarse.

I blinked. "What are you talking about? What's going on?"

He threw the papers onto my coffee table with a heavy slap. They spread across the surface — a messy fan of familiar creamy letters, each one bearing that same faint lavender scent.

"S."

I slowly sat down on the edge of the couch, my fingers hesitant as I picked one up. My heart was already hammering against my ribs before I even started reading.

The first letter:

Whisperer, I saw you today. The way you laughed at the coffee shop when no one else was around. You should be careful smiling like that. Someone might think it’s just for them. I would have waved. But you looked too peaceful. Next time, maybe I’ll sit closer. Maybe you’ll notice me. Love, S

I blinked slowly, skin crawling. I hadn’t gone to a coffee shop yesterday...had I?

Then it hit me — two days ago — after recording night. I had grabbed a quick coffee near the studio, wearing my cap low and hoodie up. There was no way someone could have recognized me that easily. Unless...Unless they knew exactly where I was.

I set the letter down with trembling fingers. Dokyeom was pacing now, raking his hand through his hair over and over. "There's more," he said, almost in a whisper. I reached for another.

Second letter:

Dearest Whisperer, The halls you walk through aren’t as empty as you think. The echoes aren't just yours. Some of us follow quietly. Breathing in the spaces you leave behind. Every sound you make... Every sigh, every hum... It stays with us. We are so close. Love, S

I shuddered. The language wasn’t overtly threatening.

But there was something sickly sweet about it — like a cat toying with its prey, smiling while it tore. "Dokyeom," I said slowly, voice tight, "where the hell did you get these?"

He slumped onto the armchair across from me, hands dangling between his knees. "Management sent them to me this morning," he muttered. "Apparently...they’ve been holding back showing you some of the weirder stuff because they thought it was just a weird superfan thing. They didn’t want to 'stress you out' while the show's popularity was booming."

I stared at him. My mouth opened. Closed. I didn’t even know where to start. "And now?" I croaked.

He exhaled sharply. "Now they're scared too. Security at the building caught someone on cameras last week — twice. Hanging around the studio exit, then again near the parking lot. Same figure. Baggy clothes, hat down low, face hidden. Both times they were moving like they were looking for someone. Asking questions to random interns too."

He rubbed his palms into his eyes, voice cracking a little. "Man, they're trying to cover it up because the show’s hot right now, but...they know it’s bad."

I felt my entire body stiffen, my mind flashing back to the weird feeling I'd had last Thursday — like eyes on the back of my neck when I'd left late, the hairs standing up along my arms for no reason. I thought I was just tired. Paranoid. But it was real. Someone had been there.

I raked my hands through my hair, standing up, pacing now myself. "Okay. Okay, so what do we do? File a report? Get security to—"

"Already done," Dokyeom interrupted, lifting a hand weakly. "They're bumping your security up quietly. Only the top level of the building knows. They're trying not to cause a scene."

I scoffed bitterly. "Right. Because God forbid my safety messes up the profit margins."

He gave a humorless chuckle. Silence fell for a moment — heavy, thick.

I looked down at the letters again. The handwriting was so elegant. Almost fragile. Not the shaky scrawl you'd expect from someone this...obsessed. It was beautiful. It was deliberate. I picked up one more letter, the newest one. And this one...this one wasn’t even poetic.

Third letter:

Whisperer, It’s not fair that others get to have you when you were meant for us. They can't protect you like I can. They can't see you like I do. When the garden is full bloom, you won't remember them. You’ll only remember me. And by then, it’ll be too late to leave. Love Always, S

I dropped the letter like it burned me.

Dokyeom stood up too, the two of us just staring at the pile of letters like it might start moving on its own. The garden metaphor again. Always the garden. Only now...it was starting to sound less like a sanctuary. And more like a prison.

I broke the silence finally, my voice quieter, almost childishly hopeful: "Maybe...it's still just stories. Maybe it's all for the show. You know how some fans get carried away roleplaying..."

Dokyeom didn’t even bother answering. The look in his eyes said it all. This wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a story anymore. It was real. And whoever "S" was...they were closer than I ever wanted to believe.

want:

[Scene: A Day Indoors — First Real Contact with Sana]

I stayed home that day.

The radio team had put out a public notice early that morning — "Today is a Healing Day," they said, inviting listeners to take time to reflect on the unfolding stories in my show, to imagine what paths tomorrow’s tale might take. Officially, it was framed as an artistic pause. Unofficially... It was because I wasn’t ready to face another letter. Not yet.

I sat on the couch for hours, absently flicking through the stack of strange, unsettling letters Dokyeom had brought over.

They weren't just growing weirder — they were growing darker.

One letter had spiraling phrases — sentences that looped in on themselves, almost hypnotic in repetition:

"You belong to the garden. You belong to the garden. You belong to me."

Another had a dried flower taped to it — the petals wilted and bruised, like it had been carried around for days before being attached. There was no writing on that one. Just the flower. And the faintest stain where it had pressed against the paper.

The psychological pressure was mounting. Thick and sour, like the air before a thunderstorm.

I needed a distraction. Something to pull me out of my own mind.

I picked up my phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media, half-expecting to find nothing worth seeing.

But then, a reel caught my eye.

Sana.

Laughing with the TWICE members in matching pink outfits — filming behind-the-scenes clips for their "Talk That Talk" promotions, somewhere inside their "TIME to TWICE" episode. She spun around playfully, her hair flipping over her shoulder, her smile bright under the stage lights.

It felt almost surreal. Like watching a completely different world. One where people laughed freely, touched shoulders without fear, moved through crowds without second-guessing every gaze.

And then I remembered.

The night of our collab.

Right before she left the studio, she'd lingered — just a second longer than the others — as we exchanged numbers:

"Text me if you wanf. Or... if you ever feel watched. - Sana"

At the time, it felt playful. Maybe even a little teasing.

But now... Now it felt different. Almost prophetic.

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over her contact.

It was stupid. It was probably crossing a line.

But loneliness does strange things to people.

And fear... Fear makes you reach for any hand that looks steady enough to hold.

Without thinking much more, I typed out a short message.

Me:

"Hey. It's me. From the show. I... know it’s random but... thanks for giving your number. Might be needing that now."

Less than ten seconds later, my screen lit up.

Sana:

"Hi!!! I was hoping you'd text someday." "Is everything okay? You sounded serious."

Her fast response made my chest tighten strangely — like something inside me uncoiled just a little. Someone was there. Someone heard me.

Before I could even think of a proper reply, my phone buzzed again.

Incoming call: Sana.

I hesitated only a second before answering.

"Hey," I said, voice rougher than I intended.

There was a soft laugh on the other end — not her public laugh. No squealing, no showy giggles. Just a small, quiet exhale of relief.

"Hey you," she said warmly. "I'm glad you picked up."

I slumped back against the couch, the tension in my shoulders finally starting to loosen, if only slightly.

Her tone was different from how she'd been during filming. Less bright, more...grounded. Thoughtful pauses between words. Soft, almost musical chuckles when I said something awkward.

It wasn't the bubbly idol voice.

It was something real.

We talked casually at first. A little small talk about promotions, her exhaustion, her love-hate relationship with the "Talk That Talk" choreography. She teased me lightly about being "Mister Mysterious" for not texting sooner.

But eventually, she circled back — gentle, but direct.

"You sounded...like something’s wrong," she said quietly. "What happened?"

For a moment, I hesitated.

It felt stupid. It felt needy. Like dragging someone into a storm they had no reason to stand in.

But the words spilled out anyway.

Piece by piece, I told her about the letters. The garden references. The figure near the studio. The creeping sensation that whoever "S" was...they weren't just watching from afar anymore.

I expected her to react like most people would. Laugh nervously. Tell me it was probably nothing. Change the subject.

But she didn’t.

She listened.

Really listened.

Silent for long stretches except for the soft hum of acknowledgment every few sentences — the occasional murmur of sympathy that kept me talking when I wanted to clam up.

When I finally fell silent, there was a long pause.

And then her voice, softer than ever:

"I'm sorry you're going through this."

Another beat.

"You're not crazy for feeling scared."

Another pause.

"You're not alone either, okay?"

Something behind my ribcage cracked a little at that.

Not alone.

Sana's tone grew a little more firm — not harsh, but steady.

"Tell me about your radio show. Your team. The building security. How you get in and out. I want to know everything."

I chuckled weakly.

"Why? Gonna become my personal bodyguard?"

She laughed too — but there was a seriousness underneath it.

"I might not be able to fight but..." "My management can push some things." "We can make some quiet calls. Put some pressure on security. Maybe even sneak in a few extra guards without it looking suspicious."

I immediately shook my head, even though she couldn’t see it.

"No, no. You don’t have to get involved. I don't want you stressing over—"

"I'm already involved," she interrupted gently. "You reached out to me. That means you trust me. That means you don’t have to carry this alone."

Her voice dipped even lower — nearly a whisper:

"Let me help."

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was the simple human need to be seen.

But I caved.

I told her everything — the time slots I worked, the usually empty corridors, the neglected side exits. How easy it would be for someone determined enough to slip inside.

She listened in that same quiet, unwavering way.

When I finally stopped, drained and embarrassed, she simply said:

"Okay. I'll take care of it from here. You just focus on staying safe for me."

I almost laughed at how natural it sounded — for me.

As if we were already standing on the same side of the line.

As if somehow, in the span of one strange afternoon, I'd found an unexpected shield in someone I barely knew beyond a few hours in a dim recording studio.

We stayed on the call longer than either of us probably intended.

Talking about nothing and everything.

Letting the silence stretch out sometimes — not awkwardly, but comfortably.

I could almost forget, for a little while, about the letters.

About the garden.

About the shadows moving in the corners of my life.

Almost.

But when Sana finally hung up — promising to text me updates — I stared at the phone in my hand for a long, long time.

Something had shifted today. Subtle, but irreversible.

And whether it was a good thing or a dangerous thing... I didn’t know yet.

After the call ended, I lay back against the couch, my fingers mindlessly scrolling across YouTube. Without even thinking, I typed her name into the search bar. Sana TWICE moments.

One by one, the algorithm fed me a buffet of her clips — everything from downright suggestive stages where her every glance could melt concrete, to chaotic, adorable show appearances where she laughed until she couldn't breathe. I just let it autoplay, sinking into it all. The contrast was insane. How could the same woman who was doing that hip roll on stage just hours later be the same one who talked to me tonight so gently, so... thoughtfully?

Talking to her made me feel... lighter. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like a bit of the weight that had been pressing on me for days finally floated up and away.

I smiled to myself, shifting the pillow behind my back. Maybe... Maybe this was how my listeners felt, too. When they called into the show with their horror stories, trembling voices and hearts still stuck in the moments they lived — and I listened. When I spoke back, tried to ease their nerves, and offered them some kind of shelter from the dark — maybe this was what they felt. A strange kind of peace. A quiet knowing that even if the world was insane, even if shadows crept close, someone else was there. Someone heard them.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, Sana's soft laughter from one of the clips playing faintly through the speakers. It sure feels nice.

Maybe too nice.

The next few days passed like an unraveling thread, pulling tighter and tighter around my chest.

At first, it was just the same — unreadable letters from "S" sliding into the show's inbox, their language growing steadily more desperate, more fixated. There were no overt threats... just descriptions. Descriptions of me. Of how I moved when I wasn’t on camera. Of the little habits I had that no ordinary fan would ever know.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. Stress hallucinations, maybe. But then it started. Real glimpses.

At the corner of my eyes — while waiting at the crosswalk, while locking my car, while jogging late night — I caught flashes of a figure. Not directly coming at me like a typical stalker... no, that would’ve been easier. It was worse. Always in the periphery. Always vanishing when I turned fully.

Security around the building was tightened. Dokyeom was practically living in a constant panic, double-checking the CCTV files every hour. But we couldn't catch anything tangible yet.

Even so... Even so, I found myself still texting Sana almost every night.

Our conversations were strangely grounding. After the voice call that night, it had become a quiet ritual — I would text her little updates, and she would reply with simple, warm check-ins. No fake cheeriness. No excessive worrying. Just realness.

"Eat something good today?" "Don’t read the letters alone at night." "I’m proud of you for holding strong."

It was odd. Sometimes, it felt like she knew exactly what to say before I could even type it out.

Tonight, though... Tonight was different.

It was past 1:30 a.m. I had just wrapped reading another eerie letter sent by "S," the paper oddly scented like flowers this time. I was sitting in the main lounge of my penthouse, half a bottle of water untouched beside me, lights dimmed low out of habit. There was a weight in the air. A heavy, wet kind of silence, like the city itself was holding its breath.

My phone buzzed beside me.

It was Sana.

"If you feel off, don't hesitate to call. Even just for a second."

I smiled faintly, thumbs poised over the keyboard.

"I'm okay. Just tired. Letters getting a bit heavier. Thanks for always replying to me. I’m glad I can talk to you."

Seconds after I sent it, the little 'typing' bubble popped up. She replied instantly.

"Always. You're not alone."

I leaned back against the couch, letting my eyes drift shut for just a moment. The comforting ring of her words curled around me, pushing the cold fear aside, even if only barely.

Then—

THUD.

A sudden, low sound, coming from the front door. My heart jackhammered against my ribs. I sat up straight, pulse spiking.

Maybe just the wind, I tried to rationalize. Maybe—

CRACK.

The sound of the lock snapping echoed through the apartment.

I bolted upright, cold sweat prickling at the back of my neck. The front door creaked inward slowly, almost mockingly, and I saw it—

A silhouette.

Lean. Perfectly still in the doorway.

The only light in the apartment now came from the glowing TV screen and my phone. The figure stood between me and the faint city lights pouring in from the high windows.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

My phone buzzed again on the coffee table. Sana's name lit up the screen.

"Did you hear something?"

I didn’t even have time to answer.

The silhouette stepped inside.

For a frozen heartbeat, neither of us moved.

The silhouette stood like a shadow carved into the air — wrong and still. Not overly tall. Not thick-built either. A thought crossed my mind in the sliver of silence: Is it a woman...?

The shape was slender, compact. Dangerous in a way that wasn’t brute strength — but precision. Like a blade.

My hand, slick with sweat, slid towards my phone still lit up from Sana’s last text. Carefully. Slowly. I swiped up and fumbled to call Dokyeom.

The line barely rang once.

"Bro, listen, don't freak out—someone broke—"

But the slight hiss of my voice was enough.

The figure’s head snapped up. Her body jerked like a wound spring finally released.

In an instant, she lunged. Fast. Too fast.

A glint of white — a mask over her lower face — was all I could register before she closed the distance.

Instinct took over. I swung the doorframe between us hard like a shield, the heavy wood slamming against her shoulder and throwing off her angle.

"SHIT!" I barked, diving sideways into the corridor outside my main living room.

My penthouse wasn't cramped — it was practically a maze. Open floor designs twisting into sharp halls, lounging areas, a half-visible studio space. Plenty of space to move. But also plenty of blind corners.

Heavy footsteps pounded behind me — no longer cautious, no longer sneaky. She was full predator now.

I sprinted, ducking through the first archway into the guest lounge. Breath ripping in and out of my lungs, I slammed the door shut and locked it — Just in time for her to slam against it from the other side.

The whole frame shuddered.

My hands flew over my phone.

"Dokyeom, call the cops! She's in! She's INSIDE!" I hissed through gritted teeth.

The line was crackling, chaotic on his end.

"I'M ON IT! Bro — BRO — are you okay?! Stay somewhere tight — hide — don't fight her alone!"

From the other side of the door, I heard it — Not yelling. Not banging. But a giggle.

A sick, childlike giggle muffled behind the door and her mask. High-pitched. Almost... gleeful.

A new kind of terror slid into my bones. She wasn’t just trying to scare me. She was enjoying this.

I backed away from the door, scanning the room.

Windows? Not an option — too high. Emergency staircase? Across the penthouse — no good from here.

The lock gave a warning groan. She was forcing it.

I took a breath that burned my throat and pivoted, dashing towards the hall again. If I could loop around the apartment’s back corridors, maybe I could get out through the service entrance.

I didn’t look back.

My bare feet slapped against the marble as I raced into the back hallway — a place usually reserved for delivery routes and cleaning staff.

Behind me, the door crashed open.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" A voice sang out — distorted and almost giddy from behind the mask.

It was definitely a woman’s voice. Young. Sweet. Horribly out of place.

I didn’t answer. Just ran harder.

She chased after me, her footsteps light, too light, like she knew this terrain better than I did.

A framed photo on the wall shattered near my head — thrown. I ducked instinctively, heart pounding, eyes blurring with fear and sweat.

I barreled down another turn — closer to the kitchen now, closer to the back exit — when my phone buzzed again.

A text popped up from Sana at the worst possible time:

"What's happening? Tell me!"

Shit.

I had no time to answer.

I heard her laugh again, closer this time.

And then — At the far end of the hall, silhouetted against the faint lights of the kitchen — there she stood again.

Waiting. Arms spread, like she wanted me to run into her.

The only option was sideways — a narrow door leading to the wine cellar. I crashed into it without thinking, slammed it shut behind me, breathing in short, stabbing bursts.

It was pitch dark. Only my phone’s dying glow gave me any view.

I pressed my back against the thick wood door, muscles locked tight.

No sound.

Not even footsteps now.

Had she... stopped?

I dared to glance down at my phone again. Sana was still texting frantically.

Another buzz.

"If you can, lock yourself. Hide. Help is coming."

And then, chillingly:

"Don't let her find you before they arrive."

I tightened my grip on the door handle, locking it from inside with a heavy twist.

But even in the dark, I could feel it. The overwhelming, suffocating sensation.

She was still close.

Maybe even listening at the door.

My body stiffened — every nerve alight.

A slow, deliberate tap... tap... tap began against the wood.

The tapping continued. Gentle at first. Then harder. Almost... playfully testing the wood.

I crouched down lower in the darkness, heart smashing against my ribs, clutching my phone like a lifeline.

How the hell did Sana know? I hadn’t messaged anything after I ran.

Then my screen lit again — the old voice recorder app, blinking red.

A sudden realization made my gut twist. Somewhere during the panic earlier... I must have accidentally pressed the voice record button. It sent her a partial audio clip — fragments of me running, gasping, the crash of something shattering, and my half-whispered curses.

She must’ve heard enough. Pieced it together.

Smart girl...

A shudder ran through me. But no time to think deeper.

Suddenly — creak The window above the wine racks on the far side of the cellar cracked open.

The sharp night air whooshed in, carrying the city’s distant noise.

I bolted my gaze to it.

No. Not her. It was too small for a human to fit through without extreme effort.

Still — another weak point.

My phone buzzed again.

Dokyeom.

I yanked it to my ear, voice low but shaking.

"Bro, bro! Where the hell are the cops, man?!"

He was panting, too — like he’d been running.

"They’re coming! Five minutes out!"

"I don't have five minutes!" I hissed, cutting my voice low when another soft creak came from the door.

"Tell me quick — are the outside maintenance pipelines still intact along the building?" I demanded, swallowing panic.

There was a tiny chance — tiny — the old metal maintenance lines running down the side of the tower could bear some weight.

Dokyeom didn't even hesitate.

"Yeah! Yeah, the security never got rid of ‘em yet, especially on your floor! They're thick — old-school steel shit."

I sucked in a breath, eyes flicking from the door to the half-open window.

"I'm going down the pipes."

"WHAT?! BRO, NO —"

"I'M NOT WAITING TO BE SLAUGHTERED, DOKYEOM!" I barked.

I could almost hear him pulling at his own hair over the call.

"FUCK — be careful, PLEASE, man! I’m racing there too! I swear!"

I didn’t answer — already scrambling toward the narrow window.

Another tap-tap-tap echoed behind me — faster now, desperate.

The door handle twitched.

I squeezed myself through the tiny window opening, my shoulders scraping against the cold stone. One foot out, then the next.

The wind whipped at my shirt. The city lights stretched below me like a sea of fireflies.

I clutched the old maintenance pipe with both hands.

It rattled slightly under my grip.

Hold. Hold... please hold.

I slid my body flat against the side of the building, gripping the rusted metal tighter than I’d ever held anything in my life.

Below me? At least a dozen stories.

Death in one bad slip.

Behind me, a horrible slam rattled the wine cellar door. She was breaking through.

Without another thought, I started shimmying down.

Hand over hand. Legs tight around the pipe.

The old metal bit into my palms, scraping skin. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the sting.

Three floors down. Four.

The lights of the penthouse were getting smaller above me.

The window I’d crawled out of shone faintly — And then I saw it.

The figure.

She leaned out. Mask still on. Watching me.

I could feel her gaze burning into my back.

No shout. No threat.

Just watching.

My chest tightened painfully. I forced myself not to look back again.

Another floor down. Another.

The shouts of security guards started echoing from below — faint but growing.

Sirens wailed distantly — getting closer.

My hands, numb and raw, finally found the ledge of the emergency balcony on the service floor.

With a desperate grunt, I swung myself onto it, collapsing to my knees, gasping.

The guards burst into the service floor hallway a second later, weapons drawn, yelling.

I stumbled up, waving both hands.

"I’m friendly! I'm the tenant! She's upstairs!"

They surrounded me instantly, some guiding me behind them, others radioing furiously.

Through the chaos, I glanced up one last time.

The penthouse window.

Empty.

She was gone.

Like she was never there.

The guards hustled me through the service hall. Sirens were wailing closer now. Somewhere below, more security teams flooded in.

I could barely stand straight, the adrenaline crash hitting me like a truck. The call with Dokyeom was still echoing faintly in my ear — "I'm almost there! Hold on!"

And then — the sharp screech of tires outside. A black van pulling up violently at the emergency lot.

The doors flung open before it even fully stopped.

And there she was.

Sana. Bursting out of the van. Running toward me like the world was ending.

I blinked, stunned, barely processing the guards parting instinctively around her.

She wasn't in some armored jacket or casual airport fit. No. She looked like she had just dropped everything and came exactly as she was.

Sana was in a black satin slip dress, delicate lace tracing the neckline, thin straps barely clinging to her soft shoulders. Over it, she had thrown an oversized pastel pink cardigan, its huge, plush fabric swallowing her smaller frame.

Her hair was a soft mess of loose waves, half-up, half-down, with gentle brown and reddish hues catching in the emergency lights.

A few strands clung to her damp cheeks where — My heart squeezed painfully — where tears were already spilling.

Tears. For me.

Minatozaki Sana, the goddess of a million fantasies, was crying over me.

She ran without hesitation, the hem of her dress swishing against her thighs, cardigan sleeves slipping down her arms.

When she reached me, she didn’t say a word. She just crashed into me.

Her arms wrapped tight around my ribs. Face burying against my chest.

The scent of soft rose shampoo and skin-warm silk hit me all at once.

"You’re safe — you’re safe — you’re safe —" she whispered, half-sobbing against me.

I stood frozen, my battered hands hovering uselessly in the air, mind spinning.

Was this real? Was this actually happening?

Her body was warm, trembling slightly against mine. The silk of her dress brushed against my jeans, the pastel cardigan brushing my arms.

I finally — shakily — wrapped my arms around her back.

Held her.

God, she felt fragile. And beautiful.

Dokyeom's voice broke through the daze, rushing over behind her.

"Y/N! Bro, you're — Sana?!"

He stumbled to a halt, clearly thrown by the scene.

Sana didn't even look at him. She just squeezed me tighter, her small hands fisting into the back of my shirt.

"I was so scared... I thought I'd hear..." Her voice cracked, raw and trembling.

I found myself speaking before I even thought.

"I’m here. I’m okay. You saved me again, Sana."

At those words, she finally pulled back just a little. Looked up.

Her eyes — usually sparkling mischief or teasing charm — were glassy, wide, full of so much relief it hurt to look at.

Under the harsh security lights, she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Her fingers brushed my jawline lightly, as if checking if I was truly solid.

"I should’ve come faster... I should’ve..."

I shook my head, voice thick.

"No. You were perfect. You always are."

She gave a soft, watery laugh — almost disbelieving. The most heartbreakingly beautiful sound.

For a moment — just one suspended breath in time — we stood there. Surrounded by chaos, guards, shouting, sirens.

But all I saw was her.

The city didn't exist. Only Sana in her slip dress and cardigan, holding me like I was something worth crying for.

How... How did it come to this? I asked the universe silently as I stood there, feeling Sana's heartbeat faintly against my side.

When had she gotten this close to me?

We had only texted for a few days. Shared a few voice calls. A handful of conversations at most.

Yet somehow, in those late-night talks, in those quiet, vulnerable exchanges... Sana had slipped past every wall I'd built.

I wasn't someone who attached easily. I wasn't some naive dreamer waiting to be swept away by kindness. I was the host of one of the most famous shows in the country — the man who dealt with psychological horror, who listened to stories of fear, despair, loneliness... and taught others how to find comfort after it.

I was supposed to be the safe space. The listener. The one unshaken.

And yet, Sana — Minatozaki Sana — with her soft chuckles, her introspective silences, her oddly thoughtful questions — had disarmed me so easily after that one night.

Without realizing it, I'd begun looking forward to her name lighting up my phone. To her voice notes that made the long nights less heavy. To the way she seemed to understand — not as an idol, not as a fan — but as someone who had seen shadows too and still chose light.

I wondered if that was what made the difference. If that was why she felt less like a sudden miracle and more like something inevitable.

The flashing lights from the police cars snapped me out of my thoughts. Reality hit like a cold slap.

"Sir, we need your statement." A stern officer approached, not unkindly.

I nodded, stepping slightly forward — but immediately felt Sana tug on my sleeve. Her small hand curled around my wrist stubbornly.

I looked down at her. She wasn’t letting go. Not even for this.

Her cardigan slipped slightly, exposing her bare shoulder for a second before she hiked it up. Her eyes were swollen from crying, but her gaze was fierce, almost daring anyone to say something.

Let them take pictures, she seemed to say. Let them make headlines. She didn’t care.

I gave her a small, tired smile and let her stay pressed against me as I spoke to the officers.

"There was an intruder. Female. About my height, maybe shorter. Slim build. Masked." I recounted everything carefully — the silhouette, the attack, the pipelines, the narrow escape.

Dokyeom occasionally chimed in, adding what he had seen, backing me up.

Sana just stayed there. Head occasionally leaning lightly against my arm. Breathing slow, steady — as if anchoring herself to me.

The staff from my show arrived too, their faces pale and worried. They rushed to my side but paused when they saw Sana clinging to me like a lifeline.

Whispers broke out. Cameras clicked in the distance.

I should've cared. Should’ve pulled away. Should’ve thought about consequences.

But... I didn't.

Instead, I gently tightened my arm around her shoulder.

Because the truth was — as much as she needed me right now, I needed her too.

[One Week Later]

Time moved strangely after that night. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was just her.

That day — the day Sana came running, the day she clung to me under the flashing sirens without a second thought — she offered me something I hadn’t even realized I needed.

Her presence. Not words. Not promises. Just... her. Her warmth, her stubborn loyalty, her very existence beside me.

I wasn’t someone who ever let my mind wander into ridiculous daydreams. I didn’t believe in miracles or "what ifs" when it came to people like her.

Even during our collab, when we laughed between recordings, when she made those bright jokes only she could deliver, I'd chalked it up to chemistry — professionalism — a dreamlike, fleeting moment in a life full of passing strangers.

But now... Now I could see it clearly. Minatozaki Sana cared. More than a colleague. More than a fan. More than just polite concern.

She cared like someone who felt something real — and wanted me to feel it too.

And for once, I let myself want it. Want her.

The investigation moved fast.

Turned out — The intruder wasn’t a random criminal or a twisted anti-fan. No, it was a fan of mine. A girl, barely past twenty, who'd built up an entire world inside her head — a world where I belonged only to her, a world where anyone near me was the enemy. Including Sana.

She had been stalking from afar for months, building fantasies from my shows, from my voice. And when I started hinting about growing close to someone, even unknowingly, something in her snapped.

Thankfully, Sana had pushed for management intervention the night we first talked seriously. Her instincts had been dead-on.

Because of her, security tightened around me without me even knowing. Because of her, the girl was caught before anything worse happened.

The police later announced she was being transferred to a mental rehabilitation program after the court deemed her psychologically unstable.

It should have been the end of it. A clean break. A return to normal.

But something had shifted. Something between us.

During that week, Sana made time for me in ways that were almost reckless for an idol.

Between rehearsals, she sent voice notes. Late at night, when the city slept, she called — soft-spoken, careful, asking nothing except if I was okay. On her rare free afternoons, she showed up, cardigan slipping off one shoulder, takeaway coffee in hand, grinning like she had every right to be there.

No cameras. No management breathing down her neck. Just Sana. Just... us.

And every time she appeared, the invisible gap between us shrank a little more.

Small moments grew roots:

The way she'd swing her legs lightly while sitting on my couch, hair tied messily. The way she'd lean closer when I spoke, as if my words were some fragile secret she didn't want to miss. The way she'd smile sometimes — not the big, dazzling Sana-smile the world knew — but a quieter one, softer, just for me.

Things between us... Grew.

Maybe too fast. Maybe too recklessly. But at that point — I didn't care.

(Another week later)

The kitchen hummed with the low whirr of the blender as Sana scooped handfuls of ice into the machine. The pastel pink of her cardigan sleeves were rolled up, and her dark hair was tied back loosely, tendrils falling around her face, giving her that effortlessly lovely look she always carried without knowing.

She was humming. A soft, sweet melody, barely recognizable unless one listened closely — the same tune I'd once played on the outro of my most famous radio episode. The same tune she'd clung to on sleepless nights. The same voice that had comforted her... even before we ever met properly.

And now, two days after we officially started dating, she was mine. No — I was hers. Sana smiled to herself, stirring her slushie in the tall glass, thinking how surreal it was — the voice that helped her breathe during hard nights was now the man whose arms could be wrapped around her if she so wished.

The universe had folded itself neatly into her hands.

The dorm door clicked open quietly. Footsteps padded in.

Sana glanced over her shoulder, still smiling faintly as she sipped her slushie.

It was Dahyun.

The younger girl looked a little restless, fidgety even. Something was on her mind.

Sana didn’t say anything first. She waited, stirring the icy drink slowly, letting Dahyun find her words.

"Unnie," Dahyun said after a beat, voice tentative. "Can we talk?"

Sana nodded, inviting her closer with a gentle glance. Of course, she would always have time for Dahyun.

Dahyun came up beside her, leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at the pink-tinged slushie as if it could give her answers.

"I know about you and... Oppa," Dahyun said finally, a small smile twitching her lips. "I'm really happy for you. You deserve it."

Sana smiled too, soft and genuine. "Thank you, Dahyunnie."

But the younger girl didn't leave it at that.

Her fingers drummed lightly on the counter, a subtle tension stiffening her posture.

"But…" Dahyun hesitated, looking at Sana closely now. "Unnie, that night... when the whole stalker thing happened… I couldn't shake this weird feeling."

Sana said nothing, only continued sipping her slushie with an unreadable expression.

Dahyun licked her lips nervously.

"You were too calm," Dahyun said slowly, choosing her words with care. "Too prepared. And when I remembered… the 'S' in the signed letters… it didn't sit right. It felt like someone trying too hard to fake being someone else."

Sana swirled her straw through the ice, the sound crackling sharp against the glass. For a moment, it was just the hum of the kitchen appliances and the slight buzz of city life outside their windows.

Then, after what felt like a lifetime, Sana spoke.

"You're smart, Dahyun."

Her voice was soft, but there was a weight behind it, something so heavy and knowing that Dahyun shivered despite herself.

Still, Dahyun pushed forward.

"Unnie… tell me the truth."

Sana turned fully now, setting her slushie down carefully.

She studied Dahyun's face with a fondness — almost like a big sister patiently watching a little sister trying to piece together a difficult puzzle.

"There was no random stalker," Sana said calmly.

Dahyun blinked, frozen.

"It was me," Sana said, voice steady, almost eerily calm. "I orchestrated everything."

The words dropped like stones into a still lake.

Dahyun gaped at her, mouth parting, eyes wide.

Sana tilted her head slightly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

"The letters? I wrote them. The woman who entered Oppa's place? I hired her to just scare him, not hurt him. She vanished right after, as instructed. The supposed 'arrest'? Faked. I made sure everyone thought she was taken to rehab, to tie the story off neatly."

Dahyun backed up a step without realizing it.

"W-Why?" she stammered. "Unnie, why would you…?"

Sana smiled, soft, sad, infinitely tender.

"Because I fell in love with him," she whispered. "Long before we properly met. When I listened to his show, when his voice was the only thing that felt real during my loneliest nights. He wasn’t just a host to me. He became my anchor."

Dahyun shook her head slightly, disbelief warring with understanding. This wasn’t the Sana she knew — the bubbly, playful, slightly airheaded unnie.

This was something deeper. Something far more intense and haunting.

"You manipulated him into trusting you," Dahyun whispered.

Sana shrugged lightly.

"I guided him," she corrected. "I gave him someone to turn to when he needed comfort. And he did. He chose me when he needed safety."

Dahyun stared at her, struggling to form coherent thoughts.

"That’s not love," Dahyun said, a little harsher than she intended. "That’s... parasocial. That’s obsession, unnie."

Sana’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it softened.

"Parasocial?" she echoed, almost amused. She stepped closer, placing a hand gently on Dahyun’s shoulder.

"If I wanted to possess him, if I wanted to destroy him, that would be obsession. But I wanted to love him. I wanted to give him something he didn’t even know he was missing."

Dahyun swallowed hard, her mouth dry.

"Unnie… do you even realize what you did?"

Sana smiled again — that same ethereal, bittersweet smile.

"I do," she said. "And I don’t regret it."

She picked up her slushie again, sipping it quietly, as if the confession she just delivered wasn’t earth-shattering.

"I love him," Sana said simply. "And now, he loves me. Naturally. Not because I forced him, but because I was the one who was there when it mattered most."

Dahyun felt like she was underwater, trying to surface.

"Are you… planning to tell him?"

Sana tilted her head again, playful, almost childlike.

"No," she said lightly. "And neither will you."

Dahyun opened her mouth to protest but Sana was already stepping forward, wrapping her arms around Dahyun tightly.

Her embrace was warm — sickeningly warm — and Dahyun could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

"Because you love me too, right?" Sana whispered into her ear. "You're my precious little sister. I know you won’t hurt me."

Dahyun stood there, paralyzed, as Sana pulled back with a dazzling smile.

For a moment, Dahyun almost believed it too.

Almost.

Later that night, when Sana was back in her room and Dahyun sat alone in the living room, staring blankly at the TV that wasn’t even turned on, a heavy silence wrapped itself around the dorm.

The world outside buzzed as usual — cars, neon signs, the endless hum of the city.

But inside, everything had changed.

And somewhere, far from the knowing, I sat oblivious — smiling at my phone, reading Sana’s latest text:

"I miss you already, Oppa. Sleep well, my love."

======================================

How far would you go for love? Where does devotion end and obsession begin? Is it wrong to create opportunities… if in the end, the feeling becomes real? Is a love born from lies still love… if it brings happiness?

In the end — Is it better to never know the truth?

Or is ignorance... the cruelest kindness of all?

[grenadehearts]

surprising geto or hawks w pretty flowers for the valentines requests mayhaps 🫣

SWEET BOY hawks x f!reader

authors note: so much fluff like seriously.. anyways happy valentines day my lovelies!! kisses 4 all of uuu annnd thank u sm for requesting this anon its the cutest idea ever..extra kisses 4 uu mwah <33 m.list

You had scoured through every single floral shop in town for a specific type of flower.

But none of them had it. None. Zero.

You had originally planned to go to you and your boyfriend’s favorite flower shop, but it was still closed—the owner, a kind old lady, had taken a few days off to tend to her husband in the hospital.

You still remember the first time you went there.

The little bouquet shop, the warm scent of fresh florals, and the elderly woman at the front counter who practically had your name memorized—because your boyfriend loved to spoil you with flowers.

One year, he sold her entire shop out. She even had to import a whole truckload of special flowers, driving straight through the city of Fukuoka, Japan.

You hadn't even known about this until you walked into the shop one day, needing flowers for a friend's birthday. The moment you gave your name for the order, the shop owner practically tackled you to the floor. Apparently, your boyfriend had gushed about you endlessly—like a teenage girl with her first crush. He had described your appearance so vividly that the woman had no trouble recognizing you the second you walked in.

She went on and on about how much he loved you, pinching your cheeks and cooing, "You're such a beaut!" before spending twenty minutes rambling about how much of a hunk Pro Hero Hawks was.

Oh yeah. Did I not mention? You're dating Pro Hero Hawks.

The infamous red-winged hero who soars through the skies, sending swarms of teenage girls to their knees, squealing over him.

Which is why you’re especially pissed off, stomping through the streets of Japan, because today is Valentine’s Day, and it’s nearly impossible to get your boyfriend anything. Simply because he desires nothing.

As much as you love him, it seriously irks you. You want so badly to spoil him, but he never shows interest in anything—except for you. Well, you and food. Specifically, chicken skewers. And, much to your disgust, chicken liver. Yuck.

But you can’t just take him out to dinner constantly. That’s not a real gift. Especially when he’s always doting on you—showering you with flowers, buying your favorite trinkets, paying for your salon trips (which racks up a lot since you constantly change your hair).

And if he ever catches you trying to pay for anything yourself—even something as small as coffee—he’ll insist on paying. He'll even go so far as to let you think you paid, just to console your pouty bottom lip and incessant need for independence. Then, when you're not looking, he'll go to the cashier and swap the cards.

Which is exactly why you’re so dead set on surprising him this time.

Yes, you could just buy chocolates or any random bouquet.

But this is different. This needs to be special—meaningful. Something that comes straight from the heart.

You want him to see right inside you—to your beating heart that only beats for him.

And today marks your one-year anniversary.

You still remember the day you met him. You were stuck in that shitty café job, your manager constantly harassing you and treating you like a scapegoat. You were itching to quit.

And then he walked in.

Glorious. Breathtaking. He made your entire body freeze, your breath hitch, your cheeks flush red.

He looked like no one you had ever seen before.

The sun had just risen, bathing him in molten gold. His messy blond strands fell over his face, his strong arms flexed under a tight compression shirt, and his glorious, large red wings shifted at his back.

He looked like an angel.

Then, he walked right up to you and ordered the most insanely sweet coffee. You actually giggled.

He cocked his head to the side, golden strands falling back to reveal more of his chiseled face. And then, he flashed you the most boyish grin.

And you fell to your knees.

Well—let me rephrase.

You fell because your incompetent manager had spilled a drink and never bothered to clean it up.

It was supposed to be humiliating—a cruel twist of fate, embarrassing you in front of the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

But then—he hopped over the counter.

And proceeded to fall flat on his face.

Whether it was deliberate or he was actually a klutz, it didn’t matter. Your heart pounded all the same.

Then, he laughed—airy, full of life, so refreshing.

And then, he spoke the words that sealed your fate.

"See? I fell too. Guess we’re both klutzes, huh?"

You were sure your heart was about to beat right out of your chest.

Positive your face was a deep shade of rouge.

But you couldn’t seem to care.

Because then—he stood up, extending his hand. It was rough, jagged, yet inexplicably soft against your own.

And when he pulled you to your feet—

The sunlight caught him once more, pouring through the café windows. A golden shimmer of orange and yellow, illuminating his sandy blond hair, casting a soft glow against his tanned skin.

He looked like—

"tiger lilies!"

The word bursts from your lips, snapping you back to the present. Passersbys give you weary glances as you let out a meek, "Sorry."

You blink, reality settling back in as your gaze falls upon a display of fiery orange lilies. And that’s when you realize—

You’re only a block away from your shared apartment.

Keigo had insisted you move in with him after last year's holiday—when he had given you an entire truckload of flowers.

“Kei, there’s no way I can fit all this in my place,” you had sputtered, overwhelmed and on the verge of tears.

But he had just grinned, cupped your face, wiped your tears away, and cooed, "Shhh, it’s okay, baby. Just come live with me."

And before you knew it, you were sharing an apartment with the No. 2 Pro Hero, Hawks.

Your gaze returns to the flowers—realizing they’re right in front of your favorite floral shop.

The little old lady is outside, flipping her sign to Open.

You bolt.

Nearly tackling her in a hug, you babble incoherently. She barely makes out the words "boyfriend" and "flowers" before smiling and ushering you inside.

Which leads to now.

Opening the apartment door, flowers in hand—

And being met with a completely exhausted Keigo.

His entire body visibly relaxes at the sight of you, but the scuffs, loose feathers, and ripped shirt tell you everything you need to know.

Still—despite his rough day—he rushes toward you like an overexcited puppy, melting into your arms.

Then, you pull the flowers from behind your back, grinning.

“Kei, my sweet boy. Look.”

His ears perk up at the name, golden eyes locking onto the bouquet of fiery hues.

“These for me, babe?”

He’s ecstatic. Exhaustion completely forgotten, he effortlessly picks you up, smothering you in messy kisses. Your giggles fill the air.

Then, you nudge him slightly, a pout forming on your lips—only for him to kiss it away.

“Sorry, had to. Now, continue,” he murmurs, amused.

You sigh, relieved, before teasing, “Don’t you wanna know why I got them for you?”

Keigo tilts his head, clueless.

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day?” he guesses. “Which, don’t forget, I have plenty more surprises in store for you—”

You cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips.

“Shh.”

He immediately sits—obedient, waiting.

As you explain the meaning behind the flowers, recalling the first time you met him—how the morning light made him look exactly like a tiger lily, wild and beautiful—

His golden eyes soften.

And then—

He kisses you.

Deep, fervent, breathtaking. A kiss that tells you everything you need to know.

A slick trail of saliva connects you when he finally pulls away, his breath uneven, his golden eyes glossy and intense.

And you know.

He loved his Valentine’s gift more than you ever expected.

p.s commissions are open as always! alsooo trying to find a good ending for this was so hard bc i did not want to drag it on.. but this is my valentines gift for all of uu mwahhh xo

[uhzuku]

╰─▸ ❝ 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒! ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐬. 𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “If I see that stupid bitch touch you again, I’ll kill her,” you growl, then yelp when he suddenly flips you, your chest and cheek against brick and his chest to your back. // “If she ever pulls that shit again, I’ll let you.”

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: my hero academia | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: shouta aizawa/f!reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 9.30k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: age gap, previously established relationship, jealousy, canon typical harrassment, heavy miss joke bashing, death threats, fem reader, villain reader, possessive reader, reader is just a bad person chat idk what else u want me to say, discussions of trauma ( but aizawa refuses to call it that ), morally ambiguous aizawa, ngl he’s also not a great person but he’s hot so it’s okay, villain/hero, femdom, maledom, teasing, biting, nipple sucking, oral sex, slight choking, switch reader, switch aizawa, dacryphilia, fingering, pussy slapping, tit slapping, spitting, creampies, daddy kink, marking, hickeys, also a cat, tko = tofu knockout, class 1-a are little shits.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: kinktober fourrrr !! hnngggg aizawa is always a must <33 and ngl? fucking hate miss joke so we gon bash <3

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

“C’mon, Eraser, just one date! Just one!”

“No means no, Joke — we’re in the middle of a fucking job, so leave me alone and do your part,” Shouta mutters just loud enough flr her to hear with nothing short of sheer annoyance in his voice as he overlooks the streets and back alleys surrounding a building in east Fukuoka just past midnight that night. The Smile Hero, Miss Joke, stood at his right shoulder; due to a necessary team up at the request of the Commission upon Hawks’ request for backup to assist in breaking up a newly discovered human trafficking ring, the duo were paired up and sent to the rooftops for out-of-sight assistance, where Eraserhead could use his quirk without the risk of interruption as the team below entered the building. 

Well. Almost without that risk. 

“Oh, don’t be that way, Eraser, at this point us meeting up all the time’s gotta be fate!” she laughs quietly, grinning brightly at him. He grumbles a little to himself, but doesn’t turn away from where he was glancing around below for any threats that could potentially fall upon the strike team moving through the halls of the building, their locations revealed by the large windows.

More of Joke’s chatter drones on in his ears, and Shouta fights off the annoyed growl that threatened to escape him; why couldn’t it have been Hizashi he was paired with so he’d have backup? At least Hizashi knew how to be quiet and professional, what with his hero persona just being a face for the public — and it wasn’t as if Miss Joke didn’t know how to do her job, she actually did it very well, she just ceased to properly function whenever he was a part of the picture for some reason. Hizashi and Nemuri had both thought it was funny at first, but that was years ago, before it had become an actual problem. 

Shouta tenses up when an overly-familiar hand squeezes his shoulder, and he grits his teeth. “Stop touching me,” he snaps lowly. “For God’s sake, Joke, be fucking professional.”

Miss Joke sighs. “I never see you outside of the rare team up for work, Eraser, what do you expect?”

“I expect you to keep your hands to yourself and for you to do your job,” he says coldly, shaking off her hand. She sighs again, this time in a more dramatic way. 

“Nothing’s gonna happen up here!” She mutters, “We’ve been up here for an hour. They aren’t going to patrol this area, and if they weren’t we should have moved.”

“This is the best vantage point for me to see as much of the building as possible,” he replies, silently relieved that she’s actually discussing the job and not some aspect of his body. 

A groan follows his words, and then a startled curse. He turns in time to catch sight of her grappling with a much larger man with a fly mutation quirk, something he couldn’t cancel. Spitting out a curse of his own under his breath, he leaps into the fray to help as three more men starm the roof. “Neither of you should be up here!” One snarls. “This is private property — you’re trespassing.”

“Shut up,” is all Shouta says, and the fight starts. He leaves Joke to the man with the fly quirk and takes on two of the three other men, the third standing back and watching as Shouta doles out his fair share of bruises while receiving plenty of his own. Once he’s almost completely handled his pair, he sees the third guy make his move from the corner of his eye, his musculature growing as he activates his quirk. Activating his own, Shouta turns his body to brace for the impending impact that would come with the guy jumping at him. A low grunt escapes him as the air is knocked out of him, and as he locks eyes with his new opponent he distantly hears Joke let out an angry shriek after likely taking a particularly harsh hit. One of the guys Shouta had been fighting had abandoned him to go join the fly guy in fighting Joke, so she likely had her own hands full and wouldn’t be able to help in any way — not that he needed it. The only really talented fighter out of the four enemies on the roof was the last man to join the fray, and Shouta could handle him. With a few skillful throws of his capture weapon, Shouta’s more or less finished up his end of the fight. 

A sharp cry from Miss  Joke practically yanks his attention from his opponent so he can look at her, and he finds her on her back against the roof with one of the men with their thick hands around her throat; she’s clearly struggling to breathe. The other man is unconscious, but unbound. A tiny shot of worry races through Shouta’s veins. 

The brief moment that he’d looked away was more than enough for the unnamed enemy to re-engage his strength quirk, and the man burst from the slightly loosened confines of Shouta’s scarf, throwing his entire weight at him. With a surprised shout, he’s thrown faster than he’d expected over to Joke. The man on top of her leaps to the side just before Shouta slams into her, and for a moment the world turns end over end before they’re falling from the roof of the ten story building. 

It takes a second for Shouta to right himself, but before they hit the ground he’s able to wrap one arm around Joke while the other throws his scarf at an overhang on the building he’d been scoping. It catches as intended and they drop to the ground safely, Shouta stumbling a little with the added weight of Joke clinging to him. He can hear the men on the roof opposite them snarling angrily, fixing themselves up and shouting threats against their lives. While they do, the team that had rushed into the building begins filing out, handcuffed traffickers in hand and victims being led out by a few officers. The shouting on the roof silences almost immediately. 

“You alright, Eraser?” It’s Hawks that asks after appearing over his left shoulder with a bound, angry looking man in hand and dangling as the massive red wings on the pro hero beat against the air; the Number Two tilts his head to the side slightly in curiosity while his golden eyes flash in concern as he asks. 

“On the roof,” is all Shouta says, getting straight to the point. “Four men, all working for the ring inside.” Hawks’ pupils narrow to sharp slits, and a dozen feathers zip into the air and over to the roof Shouta had nodded his head towards. Loud yelling and shouts fill the air, followed by shrieks as the feathers binding the men bring them down to the ground. They’re quickly apprehended by the police force assisting the pros in the bust, and all at once the entire event is over. The human trafficking ring that Shouta himself had been focused on bringing down for nearly four years now was destroyed, and all current victims were safe. 

He wishes he could sigh in relief, but there’s an annoying weight on his shoulder. 

“Get off of me, Joke, the danger’s over and this is incredibly unprofessional,” he growls, noticing the way people were staring; he rubs at his eyes to soothe the ever-present burning that came with his quirk use, especially now after the USJ incident; the scar on his face aches at the memory.  

“But something could happen!” Miss Joke exclaims, clinging tighter to him and looking up at him like what he’d said was crazy. “More could be waiting — and I haven’t even gotten to make you laugh yet or agree to that date.”

“You won’t get to do either, now get the fuck off of me!” He snarls, practically tearing her from his side and stepping away. She looks hurt, but he can’t bring himself to care. He was done being nice — clearly it wasn’t working. 

“But Aizawa—!” she starts to whine, but he cuts her off. 

“It’s Eraserhead. You have no right to call me anything else.” With that he storms off, disappearing into the darkness of a nearby alley before making his way through the shadows. All he can think about is the shower waiting for him when he gets home and how filthy he felt having Joke’s hands on his chest and shoulders. It’s why he’s taken by surprise when a heavy figure pushes him into the wall and binds his hands with his own weapon. 

Instinctively he struggles, snarling out a quick threat before the familiar scent of a perfume he’d bought himself reaches his nose, and he relaxes. 

“Evening, Eraserhead,” you murmur lowly, eyes narrowed in displeasure as you look over him, and inwardly he groans. Judging from the tone of your voice, you’d seen all of Joke’s behavior,  but had heard none of what he’d said. You had to have been out of range. 

It didn’t surprise him; Shouta knew you were fond of keeping a watchful eye over him or Hizashi or Nemuri whenever on of them was on a mission like this. You’d have accompanied any of them, Shouta especially ( and tonight of all night most definitely ), but that would have been a foolish decision on your part and everyone who knew you personally would not have been pleased with any possible outcome that followed.

A known villain like yourself would have been swiftly arrested by any police officer or pro hero that didn’t know your civilian identity — and only the three aforementioned people did. 

“It isn’t what you think,” he says tiredly, and a bitter laugh escapes you. Shouta winces; you were hurt. 

“Isn’t that what they all say?” you ask coldly, and Shouta does not reply. He’s too busy staring at the slight tremble in your chin and the way your eyes are getting slightly wetter. 

God. Joke really did have to fuck up everything.

He sighs. “I mean it. It isn’t what it looked like.” You look at him, pondering the denial; Shouta wasn’t a liar. Not once throughout the years you’d known him had he lied to you, even when he’d been after you to arrest you before the two of you had started dating. 

Fine. 

You narrow your eyes. “Talk.”

So he does. He admits to the harassment, to Joke ignoring boundaries and not caring about how many times he’s requested she leave him be. He talks and explains and confesses to things he’d kept secret from you for years, and it takes over half an hour. Over the course of his explanations, the grip you’d had on him goes from a deadly one to one so loose he can barely feel it. The spots would bruise, but he’d wear them with pride as he did any other marks you gave him; you’d not meant to hurt him, and he’d be damned if he let you get into your head about how tight your grip had been. 

By the time he’s finished, you’re shaking — not from the cold, he knows, but from ill-concealed rage. 

“So you’re telling me that you told her to get off of you and to stop touching… and she didn’t?” Your face has been swiftly schooled into an impassive blank canvas, a look he hasn’t seen in years and therefore can no longer read. Hesitantly, he nods, and your eyes flash with an anger he’d not seen since Nemuri was kidnapped by a sex trafficking ring three years back. “And this has been going on for years, but you haven’t told me until now because you thought it would strain the relationship.” Another nod. Your eyes narrow. “Noted. She’ll be on the news tonight.”

You release him from his binds and disappear, scaling the wall and racing across the rooftop. Shouta barely has time to think, but he doesn’t have to in order to follow you, quickly catching you and standing in your way of getting to Joke’s usual patrol route.

“No, you can’t kill her. Not tonight,” he says warningly, and you look angry. 

“You told her to stop and she didn’t. You've told her to stop for years. She doesn’t listen, and she thinks it’s okay. Heroes won’t ever do anything, Shouta, you know that.” The venomous tone you’re sporting  is unmatched, and if Shouta hadn’t known you as well as he does, he’d think it was aimed at him; thankfully he’s known you for years. That being said, he did know that, and honestly it stung a little. 

“I can handle it tonight.” The poison in your voice has transformed into the thickest, most sweet honey as you tempt him. Your eyes are soft, your gaze gooey and only possibly described as sticky sweet. “It could all be over, baby — she’d never bother you again.”

It’s tempting. More tempting than a pro hero should ever allow — but Shouta’s never been the kind of man to balk in the face of the wicked and condemn them for their actions without thought. He was not a good man, and  he doubted there ever was one — he was kind, he was wise, and he was gentle when required, but if he was as good as society deemed the word, he would have turned you in five years ago when the two of you met and he’d captured you after you’d murdered three men. Instead he’d been attracted to you, and a game of cat and mouse had started between the two of you that only ended when he’d caught you again and taken you in an alleyway. 

“That’s wrong,” he murmurs, hands shaky as his heart rate quickens; god, you were so fucking sexy when you promised to murder for him. 

“I never implied that it was right,” you admit casually. For a moment silence stretches out between the two of you, Shouta once again pondering the offer you’d made, then he shakes his head again. 

“No. Not tonight. I don’t feel like scrubbing blood out of the bathroom again,” he says tiredly, and you pout. 

“It’s never usually mine,” you grouse, crossing your arms and turning to look away. 

“And you know how happy that makes me,” he replies warmly, “But I want to be able to hold you and go to sleep tonight without the looming pressure of scrubbing the bathroom in the morning; you know how Hizashi is with blood, and he wanted to go out for breakfast tomorrow before work.”

You let out a wordless grumble, still not looking at him. He searches what parts of your face he can see with the angle you’re turned, and jumps a little when you look at him with nothing but promises of death in your eyes as he lets you push him against the wall again. “If I see that stupid bitch touch you again, I’ll kill her,” you growl, then yelp when he suddenly flips you, your chest and cheek against brick and his chest to your back. 

“If she ever pulls that shit again, I’ll let you,” he promises while pressing slow kisses along your bare skin, biting at your neck and drawing a whimper from your lips. He grins against you. “Go back to the apartment and let me finish my patrol so I can get the hell home and fuck your dumb little brains out, kitten.” A shaky moan falls from your lips and you push your ass back against him. 

“Or you could just fuck me here?” you offer hopefully, your eyes glittering darkly with a newfound interest he knows all too well. “Please Daddy, I’m so wet for you-” A sharp smack to your ass makes you cry out. 

“You fuckin’ heard me, brat — go home.”

With a growled huff, you tug yourself free from his grip, still pouting. Shouta raises an eyebrow; your next move was yours to make. Would you defy him and go after Joke, or would you listen and go home? Either decision would be preferable, and if he was honest he wouldn’t mind you doing what you pleased to Joke tonight as long as you didn’t track blood into the apartment, but why would he admit that now?

You huff again, and promptly disappear into the inky blackness — away from the direction of Joke’s patrol route, and Shouta barely fights off an amused chuckle. 

You always were such a good girl for him. 

When Shouta finally gets home at half past four, the apartment is dark. He can smell the scent of food from his favorite takeout place, though the initial strength of it is soft and faded, and the soft hum of the television in the bedroom keys him in on where you’ve retreated to.  Toeing off his boots, he wanders into the bedroom, rubbing at the back of his neck as he takes in the sight of you curled up in the bed you shared with him, surrounded by pillows with the little grey cat you and he had taken off the streets curled up in your lap, dozing. Shouta sighs; as calm as he was now, Shouta knew damn well the little monster you’d for some reason named Tofu was going to slap him for no fucking reason later, so he thanked whoever was listening that the little guy was napping right now so he could take a break and wash off all the filth from tonight’s bust and patrol. 

He wanders into the bathroom, stripping down to the clothes he wore beneath his hero uniform and kicking the black mass of cloth towards the laundry hamper; the urge to piss was far greater than any need to pick them up off the floor right away. 

After finishing up, he hops into the shower, eager to rid himself of the grime he’d collected overnight, and once he’s done he makes his way back into the bedroom, lazily toweling himself dry before moving to the dressed to pull out a pair of sweatpants.  

“What are you watching?” he asks you quietly as he puts them on, and you shrug. 

“I don’t know,” you reply, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“You don’t know?”

“No, I haven’t been paying much attention,” you admit quietly, gently playing with Tofu’s tail; he keeps dozing, unbothered. “I’ve had a lot to think about.”

Suddenly the warmth Shouta had felt like he’d sucked in from the shower disappeared, leaving him cold and nervous. You’d had several hours to think about everything he’d told you, and he worried that you were mad at him now. Admittedly he’d technically lied for a long time, keeping secrets from you and not telling you how he felt about Joke for years, so he really couldn’t blame you for being upset with him, even just a little ( or a lot ). The only comfort was that you were still here — because Shouta knew you. If you were going to leave him, you wouldn’t have been in the apartment when he’d returned. Just like you’d first entered it all those years ago, so would you leave it should you choose to abandon the relationship: quickly, silently, and without any reasons to raise suspicion. 

Thinking about it, Shouta didn’t even know if you’d take Tofu if the two of you separated. How would that work?

“We aren’t separating, and I’m not leaving you,” you say tiredly, and Shouta fights off the urge to kick himself; he’d spoken out loud without meaning to. 

You sigh. “That being said, I do want to know why you didn’t tell me.” Shouta tries to repeat what he’d told you, but you look away. “The truth, Shouta. Not the excuse you made before.”

Silence. 

It takes a moment, but finally Shouta just drifts to the bed and sits down on his side with his back to you, looking down at his hands. “Shame,” he finally whispers, and you look at him with a confused gaze. “I just… how could I admit that I couldn’t get her to stop when I’m a pro hero?” Your eyes turn soft and understanding, and he continues in a tone of disgust, refusing to look at you. “I feel so weak. I’m a grown man and I couldn’t fucking stop her — I can’t stop her. I already know the next time we cross paths she’ll be the same. Nothing will change, and I’ll always be… stuck.”

A second silence overtakes you both. You say nothing, only watching the way his shoulders have a slight tremble, before moving Tofu and kicking back the thick layers of blankets, crawling on your hands and knees over to him. He doesn’t look up at you, still staring at his own hands as you cup his head in yours and move his head up so you can see his face. 

He still doesn’t lock eyes with you. 

“Shouta,” you murmur softly. “Look at me.” He makes no attempt to move. “Please?” He does as asked, and you smile softly. “There’s that handsome face,” you murmur, your voice as warm as his morning coffee, and he scoffs. 

“Don’t coddle me,” he mutters, and you grin, not missing the way his lips quirk up in a soft, blatantly fond smile.

“If I don’t, who will?” you ask teasingly, and his tiny smile widens ever so slightly. You grab one of his hands in yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles as you sit back on your calves, and your sweet smile twists. “Besides, haven’t I made it obvious to you? You’re mine. Nothing’s gonna change that, Sho, and no one is going to be able to take you away from me.” A murderous gleam flickers in your eyes, and Shouta finally looks up at you just in time to catch it. 

His shoulders droop as he relaxes, his muscles losing the tension he’d built up tonight. Somehow, despite the very clear ( though unvoiced ) notion of just what you could and would do if someone tried to take him from you would normally frighten someone else, he felt at ease. 

His eyes close and he relaxes into your touch as you creep close again, this time straddling his thighs while holding him close; he lets his head fall to rest on your chest, and he sighs from the comfort. “Do I need to spell it out?” You whisper softly to him as you lean down to press an open-mouthed kiss to his stubbled jaw, your hands roaming over his shoulders in a way that has him tensing up for an entirely different reason. 

“Maybe — Maybe you do,” he whispers shakily, tilting his head just enough for you to get to that special, ever-so-sensitive spot that you knew had his cock twitching. You laugh softly, your teeth lightly scratching along his heated skin, and he shakes a little as he fights off the urge to move. 

You gently push him back to rest against the stack of pillows you kept on the bed, and his head falls back in pleasure as you purr out a warm, gooey, “M…” against the base of his throat. Laving your tongue across the skin there, you feel him swallow hard, and you laugh lowly again, your voice thick and sweet like syrup as you continue with a simple, “I…” before moving down to his chest. From the corner of your eye you see one of his hands fist in the sheets, and you fight off yet another chuckle as you slip your way down his body before stopping at your next target: one of his dark, hardened nipples. You don’t hesitate to take it into your mouth, your hot tongue circling the sensitive flesh in a way that has his upper body trembling. It presses hard into the soft, wet pad of your tongue, and the breathy sighs falling from his lips as you lavish it in attention while twisting the other amuse you. Grinning slightly, you take it between your front teeth and tug at it a bit, relishing the sharp whine and stuttered moan he lets out from the feeling; his chest had always been so sensitive. “N,” you say, drifting down yet again. Your fingernails dig ever so slightly into his skin and follow the rest of your body down, scratching across his sensitive nipples and leaving him whimpering louder than before. You finally still before your prize, thick and heavy and hard and hidden from you, and you breathe out a wanting, “E…” as you curl your fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants and pull them down slowly to reveal the tip of his dripping cock. 

Eyes glittering eagerly, you draw his sweatpants down further, releasing the rest of his length as well as his balls, and you gaze at the way it bobs up to slap against the skin of his stomach. His balls are fat and heavy, and you swallow the drool that’s accumulated in your mouth before taking his cock in one hand, slightly turning your head to the side, and tracing a thick line from his balls to his drooling tip with your tongue. A choked noise is ripped from his throat, and you press your tongue against the sensitive spot under his head and lap at it softly before purring a pleased, “Mine.”

It takes a moment, but as his thighs tremble around your head and his breathing gets heavier and heavier, Shouta finally manages to reply. “Yours,” he whispers, and your grin turns wicked with anticipation.

“Yeah, you’re all mine,” you murmur to yourself before taking his cock into your mouth again, this time sucking lazily at the tip until Shouta’s shaking. Looking up at his messy figure above you, you soak in the picture of his heavy breathing and his squeezed-shut eyes as he falls to pieces beneath your touch. Splaying out your fingers, you run your hands across his thighs as you work your way down to the thick, dark curls around the base of his cock. Your fingernails scratch at his sensitive skin, and his thighs quake as you finally fully nestle his cock in your throat, your nose buried in his pubes. He’s clean, as always, and he’s used your favorite body wash; Shouta lets out low noises of pleasure as you slowly begin to bob your head along his length, sending it down your throat then pulling off it all over again until he’s sitting up, his stomach rolling ever so slightly as he stares down at you while panting. 

“Fu-uck, wait, I-!” he moans, instinctively bucking up into your mouth. You laugh a little around him while languidly sucking at his cock, and he groans deep and hard from the feeling of the vibrations before fisting his hand around your throat and tugging you up. “Y’gotta — Y’gotta stop, I’ll cum,” he grunts, holding you up by your neck. You use one thumb to swipe at a smear of pre on your cheek before sticking it in your mouth to suck it clean. 

“That’s the point, Sho,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I want it.”

“And you’ll get it,” he replies with a growl before yanking you up so you’re laying on top of him before rolling you over onto your back with him hovering over you. “Only you’ll be taking it in this tight cunt of yours, so I hope you’re ready.”

He watches the way your pupils blow ever so slightly, and his tongue darts out to wet his slightly chapped lips as you gaze up at him with soft, gooey eyes. With a grin you ask, “Well Daddy? I thought you were going to fuck me?”

A warm hand comes up and gently grips the column of your throat, and your eyes widen slightly as Shouta leans down with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Do you really want to tempt fate tonight, sweetheart?” he asks coldly, a wicked smile on his face, and your legs spread a little in response. 

“I don’t feel anything,” you purr teasingly, “Don’t tell me it’s already in?”

Without warning, his free hand claps down onto your already sensitive pussy and you let out a choked howl, eyes wide with surprise. During your quick reaction he’d buried his face in your chest, sucking and biting at whatever he could get into his mouth as the hand that had just slapped your cunt gently begins to toy with it soothingly, cooling the stinging and causing a tightness to start building in your belly. 

Shouta was no stranger to the sweet spots scattered across your body and eagerly took advantage of each and every one, biting down on sensitive flesh as his fingers gently eased inside of you and began feeling around inside — teasing, of course, considering he knew where the most sensitive spots were inside of you and he purposefully kept himself from touching them. His thumb runs rough, lazy circles on your clit, and you start rolling your hips up into his hands as he worms his way down the bed, finally releasing your throat. You’re practically dripping now, a small wet spot forming on the sheet below you as your juices roll down past his hands and the curve of your ass to puddle on the bed before soaking onto the fabric. Shouta bites aggressively at your inner thigh, and you whine sharply and reach down to take his hair in your hands, tightly fisting your fingers in it as you needily tug his head toward your center. He just laughs and shakes you loose, slapping your thigh to usher a new cry from your lips before taking his thumb off of your clit so he can use his now free hand to slowly play with the sensitive bundle of nerves and focus his other hand entirely on fitting a third finger inside your sopping wet hole, watching greedily as your cunt swallows them up. 

You’re openly moaning now, sharp cries and whimpers falling from your lips as he curls his fingers and starts playing with an especially swollen, especially sensitive stretch of flesh inside that has you nearly writhing. You can’t stop yourself from rutting your hips up into his touch, however, when that free hand starts making hard, fast circles over your clit at the same time as his curled fingers piston in and out of your cunt at a brutal pace that has you wailing. “O-Oh god, Shouta, please!” You faintly hear him let out a breathless laugh, but you’re too busy gripping the sheets with one hand and your pillow with the other while thrusting your hips in time with each borderline violent press of his thick fingers inside that you barely even make note of it. 

“C’mon now, sweetheart, you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growls lowly, an excited glint in his eyes as the sounds of your cries changing in pitch signals that you’re about to cum all over his fingers. God, he wants to lap it up like a cat drinking milk; tasting you was always a favorite pastime. He rolls his hips against the mattress, grinding his aching cock between it and his hips and chokes down a shaky whine of his own as spikes of pleasure shoot through him. “Gonna cum for Daddy?”

“Yes! Yes! P-Please, Daddy, let me cum!” you beg shrilly, your entire body shaking. “Please, wanna cum, gotta cum, feels s’good-!”

Shouta knows that if he looked up at you he’d see little tears beginning to gather along your waterline, glittering in the low light like the most precious diamonds, and the thought has him groaning and grinding against the bed harder. “Y-Yeah,” he moans lowly, “Cum for Daddy, baby, cum for Daddy…”

Your cunt tightens around the three fingers he has buried inside you up to his palm, and he replaces his hand on your clit with his mouth, roughly sucking and lapping at it in a way that has you screeching. Your legs fly up to lock around his head and he lets them, enjoying the tight squeeze of both them and your cunt as you fall apart in his mouth and on his fingers.  “That’s right, sweetheart, just like that,” he moans into your pussy, licking up all of the shocks of wetness that had started dripping down his hand as you came. 

Above him, you’re in tatters, your entire body trembling in a seemingly never-ending spasm. Your eyes have rolled back, and you thoughtlessly clench your thighs around your boyfriend’s head as a means of keeping him in place, desperate to keep coming until you’re screaming.  “G-God, oh god — Fuck, Daddy, p-please-!”

Shouta groans into you like a drunken man into a half-empty bottle, and slowly eases up on the movements of his fingers as your thighs slowly loosen. He doesn’t stop circling your sensitive clit with his tongue, though, until you weakly push him away with one foot. Finally he comes up, though, hair wild and face from the nose down soaked in your cum. In the faint light from the television his chin shines, and your heart thumps heavily in your chest as he climbs up the bed as well as the length of your body before slotting himself between your legs, pressing his wet mouth against yours and initiating a heated kiss that leaves you own taste smeared across your lips and in your mouth. His stubble scratches across your cheeks and chin roughly, and you moan into his mouth from both the feeling as well as the feel of his tongue in your mouth. 

As the two of you kiss, you allow your hands to wander across his chest and shoulders and around his waist and back, feeling the way he rolled his hips against you and ground his hard cock against your messy cunt and loving it. With each rough rut the head of his cock caught on your clit and left you a moaning whore beneath him — as if he was much better in his place above you. 

“Lemme fuck you, please,” he begs weakly, rutting against you desperately, “Please, please — God, I wanna fuck you so fucking bad, sweetheart, please-!”

“Y-Yeah, fuck me!” You gasp, “N-Need it, Sho, need your cock!”

“Fuck yeah, gonna fuck you so good — God you’re so fuckin’ wet, so perfect…” Shouta rambles, fumbling with pressing his cock inside. Gone is the sadistic man who’d lain between your legs taking you apart, and in his place is a man who had already fallen apart at the promise of getting to force his cock inside.

Sitting up, you watch as he uses one trembling hand to press his cock against you, letting out a whimper when it pops inside. The following roll of his hips that buries his length to the base inside you has you letting out a shaky cry; you let your head fall back onto the pillows, your thighs trembling as you boyfriend pulls out then presses inside all over again, quickly building up a rhythm that has the headboard banging against your wall hard enough to have the decorations hanging on it start to shake. In the back of your mind you thank anyone listening that no one had moved into the apartment next to yours yet, and felt a little guilty for whoever would inevitably take up the space. 

“F-Fuck — oh god, Daddy, please-!” you whimper, letting out a shriek as a hand cracks across the fat of your tits, the sensitive flesh stinging sharply as tears spring up in your eyes, threatening to roll down your cheeks in a never-ending river showing off the pain and pleasure Shouta was putting you through. The feeling of his cock inside of you leaves you trembling, the heavy drag so fucking good and perfect. It leaves you so very full and pleased that when he roughly fucks against your cervix it punches a sharp gasp out of you, the feeling lmost too much alk at once. You cry out for him, a soaking mess, and he moans into the base of your throat as he keeps his quick pace steady and rough, using your cunt like the little hole of his to fuck that it is and seeking his own pleasure like a starving man does food. 

“Oh god, Sho, please!” you wail, tits shaking from each brutal roll of his hips. You throw one leg over his waist as he grunts into your throat, and he wraps an arm under it and hoists it over his shoulder, the position only serving to allow him to bully his cock even deeper inside than before. Tears spring up in your eyes as his head slams against yet again against your sensitive cervix, and you could almost swear that he’d have worked his way into your womb with how rough he was being if that had been possible. Unfortunately it wasn’t, and when he laughs at the fucked out expression on your face it just triggers full tears, which well up quickly in your eyes becore beginning tk roll down your cheeks and temples, fucking ul your makeuo in a way you know will drive him fucking crazy. 

“Th-That’s right baby, cry for Daddy!” Shouta moans, gazing down at the tears and mascara streaking down your face hungrily, “What a good fuckin’ girl, crying on that dick — feels that fuckin’ good, huh?” 

Your nails dig into his back, scratching near-bloody lines across his skin as you struggle to hold onto him; he growls with each deep scratch. “Y-Yeah!” you sob, trying to speak but unable to get much out as he practically destroys you. “F-Fuck, Daddy, c-can’t think — it’s too hard, too hard to th-think when you’re mixing up my insides-!” 

“You can take it,” he growls in response, eyes and hair wild as he starts losing himself to the pleasure. “You can fuckin’ take it, can fuckin’ take this cock — c’mon baby, you’re my good little whore, aren’t you? Gonna take this fat fuckin’ cock like a big girl and milk me dry?” 

You wail, completely overwhelmed in only the best way as that ever-familiar knot begins to tie itself up in your lower belly, nodding wordlessly as his thrusts just get rougher and rougher. Your jaw falls open from the pleasure, you eye crossing and eyelashes fluttering, and he spits a fat glob of spit onto your mouth and watches gleefully as you immediately swallow it down. His own eyes roll back at the sight coupled with the sudden feeling of your pussy starting to clench, and he moans out a low, “That’s it sweetheart, cum again for me — cum again for Daddy, cum on my cock!” and relishes the sharp sobs you let out, your pussy spasming around his thick lemgth nd your body shaking in his grip. You cling to him, desperate and needy, and he groans hard as his pace gets messy and loses fluidity as he gets closer and closer, then finally starts cumming. 

“Oh g-god, oh fuck-!” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shuts as he fucks intk you messily, filling you with rope after rope of thick heat until he’s left twitching weakly inside of you. He eases to a stop and the two of you lay tangled up like that for a moment before he carefully pulls out. A mixture of his cum amd yours pours out of your hoel, and the sight makes his spent cock twitch twice before he uses the same  fingers he’d used to stretch you open to press it back inside once, twice, then one more time, less coming out each time before he stands on shaky knees and starts slowly working his way to the side of the bed to walk to the bathroom that stops with your hand curled around his wrist. 

“S-Stay,” you whine plaintively, a soft pout on your face and tears still in your eyes. “Don’t go, stay.”

“I gotta clean us up, honey,” Shouta murmurs softly, eyes fond and warm, and he smiles slightly when you shake your head and deepen the pout. 

“No. Tomorrow.” Your voice leaves no room for argument. “Stay.”

With an affectionate sigh, Shouta nods. “Okay. Tomorrow,” he murmurs, getting back in bed with you. You both worm your way into comfortable positions under the blankets and slot yourselves together, content to cuddle until the two of you fell asleep and inevitably drifted to your previously appropriated sides of the bed. 

The television, still on, drones monotonously in the background as the two of you lay there together, some late night program that neither of you care about playing as you bask in a shared afterglow. Shouta loves moments like this; they’re always so soft and perfect in ways he never thought he’d get — and yet here you were. 

He snatches up the remote and changes the channel a few times before finally muttering to himself and turning it off completely. His stomach grumbles a little, and he considers running to the kitchen for his food, but decides against it until you gently prod him away. 

“Go eat,” you mumble, having heard his stomach. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

He huffs out yet another fond laugh and pads into the kitchen, followed swiftly by Tofu, who had long since disappeared from the bedroom when their ‘activities’ had started. He grabs a fork while passing the silverware drawer then  reaches the fridge and opens it, searching through it lazily for a moment before finding his containers of takeout and snatching one up, digging into the chicken pasta hungrily. Several sharp pricks tickle against either side of his left ankle, and he nearly drops the container at the slightly painful feeling before looking down. 

“Tofu, you fucking bastard, let go of my fucking ankle!” he hisses, and the cat looks up at him through wide eyes for a second before turning and biting the back of his ankle hard. “You fuckin’— get off, you little shit!” The cat just growls around its mouthful of his Achilles tendon, and Shouta shakes his leg a little to try and loosen it to no avail, ultimately tossing his food back in the fridge after shoving several more bites in his mouth so he can reach down and snatch up the furry attacker. The cat writhes in his grip, but Shouta refuses to let go and eventually the tiny bastard goes limo in acceptance, and Shouta gets to go back to his food. The cat swipes at a thick piece of chicken, but Shouta puts the fork out of reach just in time. “No fuckin’ way; maybe if you’d not been a little asshole you could have had some, but you decided to be a little shit and bite me. No chicken for you, and I’m telling Mom.”

The cat meows plaintively, and Shouta shakes his head. “Nope, face the consequences of your actions and suffer.” A screech from the cat gets no response, and Shouta quickly finished up his pasta before tossing the box in the trash and closing the fridge; he had more food, but he wasn’t hungry enough to eat them right now, so they could wait until tomorrow. 

He pads back into the bedroom, finding his sleepy girlfriend scrolling through her phone through half lidded eyes. He drops the cat onto the bed and it sprints to her, curling up at her hip on her side of the bed, and he says deadpan, “Your little monster ambushed me.”

You scoff playfully, picking Tofu uo by the armpits and shaking him ever so slightly. “Tofu would never, he’s just a baby,” you purr, laughing a little as he bats at your face with nothing but fluff — a literal sharp contrast to how he’d dug his claws and teeth into Shouta in the kitchen. 

“He’s got you completely fooled, I can’t believe it,” Shouta says, shaking his head and smiling as he climbs into bed next to you. You press close, craving the feeling of his skin against yours, and he worms around until he’s comfortable. A simple silence falls between the two of you, Shouta melting into the mattress just like he’d craved since the night had started.

You’re the one to break the silence. 

“I hate her,” you mumble quietly, drawing invisible pictures on his bare chest with your index finger. You hear him hum in acknowledgment beneath you, then one of those big hands cups the back of your head. 

“I know you do,” is his reply, and you sniff a little and nuzzle closer to him. 

“It isn’t fair,” you pout. “She gets to put her hands all over you even though you don’t like it and no one bats an eye, even when you ask her to stop.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he croons softly, trying to calm you down from the inevitable fit you would have, but this doesn't comfort you. “I have you to make it all better.”

You push yourself up some so you can look at him, your lip jutting out in a vicious pout that he’d already heard in your voice. “You shouldn’t have to handle it, Shouta,” you say seriously. “She should fucking listen when you say no.”

Shouta just nods. “I agree,” he replies gently. “But she won’t change. We both know that.”

You shrug. “Then she’ll die,” you say simply, eyes dark and filling with the beginnings of bloodlust. Shouta hums a little yet again and seemingly ponders this, then nods again. 

“…Hmm. If that’s what you want, it’s fine by me,” he says simply, clutching you tightly. You scoff. 

“I wasn’t asking permission.”

“I wasn’t giving it,” he replies, recognizing the teasing tone. He presses back into the mattress with a sigh and allows all the tension to leave his body, relaxing into the bed he shared with you. You nuzzle against him again, and he hums happily at the contact and closes his eyes as the smoky edges of sleep flicker around in his mind. He can feel one of your hands playing with his hair, your fingers running through it and gently working out the knots. 

God, he was exhausted. 

“Sleep, Sho,” you murmur softly, pressing one hand to his cheek. He smiles faintly and leans into your touch as you smile back at him tenderly, and everything fades into a blissful silence. 

A weight on his chest and a soft paw slapping his nose is what rouses Shouta from the deep sleep he’d been in, and he blearily opens his eyes to the sight of Tofu sitting on him smacking him across the face — just like every morning. 

Who needs an alarm clock when you have a cat?

Shouta groans and sits up, stretching and ignoring the annoyed mrrp! his cat lets out when forced to hop down. Glancing to your side of the bed, he smiles softly at the sight of you with wild hair and drool dripping down your chin with one hand thrown over your head, and he leans down and nuzzles you affectionately. You hum softly and slowly blink awake, your first sight of the day being him bumping his nose against yours. 

You grin. “Hi,” you whisper, and he grins back. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, and you giggle. You glance at the clock and then smile eagerly, a sudden lusty look in your eye. 

“Think we could have a quickie this morning before you go to class, Sensei?” you purr, and he groans and lets his head thump against your shoulder, closing his eyes. 

“If you were anyone else, that wouldn’t have been so fucking sexy,” he mumbles, and you giggle before pressing a quick series of kisses to his stubbly jaw. 

“Well, Sensei?” you ask playfully, and he looks at you with dark eyes. “Aren’t you going to teach me a lesson?”

He grins wickedly and doesn’t respond, instead jumping you and pressing you into the mattress. You accidentally let out a gleeful shriek as he begins to lave open-mouthed kisses across your skin, suckling at your skin long enough to leave marks alongside the bruises from last night. 

He pulls away, lips slightly swollen, and locks eyes with you, smiling breathlessly. “I’m gonna take you apart,” he says proudly, and over the next hour he does just that before padding off into the bathroom for another shower, leaving you spread out on the bed with a racing heart. Your entire body feels like a bowl of mush, and as the sounds of him showering in the bathroom reach your ears you groan, forcing yourself to move. You’d wanted to make him a bento this morning, and you damn well were going to. 

It’s done by the time he leaves the bedroom, fully dressed in his hero uniform, and you’re resting on the sectional with Tofu dozing on your lap and one of your several computers on hand. Shouta doesn’t want to know what you’re looking at so excitedly and pointedly ignores the screen as he dips down and catches your lips with his, kissing you deeply. 

“I’ll see you tonight, I don’t have patrol tonight,” he mumbles against your lips before kissing you again. You smile softly and nod. 

“Okay hun. Oh, and don’t forget your lunch on the kitchen counter!” youncall, and he grunts a response. He heads to the kitchen and grabs his keys and a coat as well as his capture weapon, and during all of this Tofu wakes up. The cat darts off of your lap and into your kitchen and then, judging from the choked screech your boyfriend lets out, proceeds to jump the man and start biting. 

“Fucking why, Tofu?!”

You giggle softly and call the cat, and the little menace bounces back to you as if he’d not done anything wrong, curling up in your lap and starting to purr happily. Shouta grumbles the entire way out the door, and then he’s leaving, and you’re still giggling. Hizashi was at the door, ready to grab breakfast with Shouta as expected, and he calls out a quick greeting and says ‘hello’ to Tofu before setting out with your boyfriend, letting the house fall silent. 

You grin and get back to work. 

Hours later you’re hungry, so you put your… less than legal work to the side and head to the kitchen, leaving Tofu asleep on the couch. As you go in, you pause, glancing at the end of the corner of the kitchen counter where the bento you’d made Shouta sits. At first you’re annoyed, but then you grin; he must have put it down in the struggle for his life when he went head on against the cat. 

Grabbing a pretty pink and white handkerchief, you wrap the large box up so you can hold it by handkerchief loops and begin making your way to U.A. School, buying yourself lunch along the way ( Because honestly? You deserved it. ). It takes around an hour, but eventually you make it, and after a few more minutes you manage to weasel your way inside and begin your trek through the halls to Class 1-A’s room. 

Ahead of you is a familiar white bundle of fur wrapped up in a small suit, and you giggle softly to yourself.  “Hello, Nedzu!” you greet brightly through a grin that mimicked a shark's predatory smile. The stoat ahead of you freezes, then turns quickly and responds in kind, his small black eyes shining darkly as the two of you — a frequent pair online when it came to tearing down certain aspects of hero society — coem to meet in the hallway. 

“Hello! What brings you to U.A. today?” he asks kindly, walking beside you as you continue on your way,  and you laugh genuinely. 

“Shouta forgot his lunch at home, I was just bringing it to him,” you explain with ease, and he nods. 

“Oh, how kind!” he replies, and smiles again while narrowing his eyes. “Though next time we will have to get you a security access card; it won’t do to have unannounced guests slipping in and out of the school!” Though the two of you could be considered ‘friends’, the slight warning was clear; while he wasn’t upset with you for coming in, he’d have preferred to not have a weakness in security that you could take advantage of enough to enter the school undetected.

Oh well. He’d patch the ‘hole’ and you’d find a new way to worm yourself in until the security system was sl tightly woven a drop of water couldn’t seep through. That was the entire purpose of this game, after all. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” is the only response you give, and it seems to please him enough. The rest of your walk to Shouta’s classroom is spent in interesting conversation, various subjects coming and going until finally you reach the classroom door. 

“Well, this is your stop!” Nedzu says brightly. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you!” you call kindly as he disappears around a corner, and you knock then enter. 

All eyes lock on you as you come in, and out of all of them the only ones that don’t shine with confusion are your boyfriend’s. He stands from his chair and strides over to you quickly, an eyebrow raised, and growls quietly in a tone many ( but not you ) would consider harsh, “Now you know damn well you aren't supposed to come here — do you realize how many people there are here who could identify you?” 

You just smile brightly. “You left your bento on the kitchen counter!” you say, and he pauses for a moment and looks down at the pink bundle. 

“…Oh,” he mumbles simply, then nods. “Thank you, then.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile, and he turns to put it on the desk then pauses. You tilt your head to the side curiously, still ignoring the twenty pairs of eyes on the pair of you, as he turns around. 

“How the hell did you get in?” Shouta asks, both curious and confused, but you just giggle and give him a quick, soft kiss on the lips. 

“That’s a secret for me and Nedzu to know, honey,” you say sweetly, then disappear out the door. Aizawa stares after you, then sighs. 

“Well fuck,” he mutters. “That’s a match made in hell; god, why did I introduce those two to each other?” He turns and faces the sea of children he’d momentarily forgotten he had, and freezes. For a moment he fears they’ve recognized her, but then he registers that all twenty of his stupid children are grinning like the little devil spawns they are, and he fights off the urge to groan. “Why me, god?”

“Aizawa-Sensei has a girlfriend!” Ashido shrieks excitedly, and his entire Hell Class devolves into excited banter and rambling, endless questions pouring his way from all twenty, even the handful he trusted to be the quiet ones. 

“Why didn’t you tell us about your girlfriend, Sensei?!” Ashido asks, mimicked afterwards by nearly twenty voices. 

“Is she our new mom?” Kaminari asks, glancing at Kirishima through a grin that was brightly returned. The entire class giggles at the question. 

“Sensei has a girlfriend! Sensei has a girlfriend!” comes a random cheer from seemingly nowhere, likely Hagakure, and Shouta collapses into his chair with his face buried into his hands as twenty voices pummel him with question after question and the shrieks never end. 

“This. This is why I never told you,” he grumbles in response to Ashido, and the entire class devolves into more giggles and talking. Shouta sighs; it was only Monday. 

This was panning out to be a long week. 

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[flannel-cladpika]

Hawks x F!Reader - Better Late Than Never

A/N: I kept imagining what he'd be like as a dad, and what he'd go through after finding out that he is one.

TW: Slight Angst, Suggestive Themes, Fluff

It had just been a drunken one night stand.

You'd been pretty tipsy at the bar, trying to get over your long-term boyfriend-turned-ex who cheated on you.

The next thing you knew, you were kissing an equally drunk, very handsome blonde with red wings, and dragging him out of the bar and into your bed.

You awoke the next morning alone, with an ache in your back and a killer hangover.

It wasn't until you missed your next period that you realized what you'd done.

And that was how you got your little buddle of joy, Sen.

You tried to find the guy who'd turned you into a single mom, but you couldn't remember his name. You were pretty sure he'd used a fake name anyway, since it sounded like the name of a bird. Heron? Eagle? You couldn't quite remember.

Your family pestered you with questions about who the father was, but were ultimately supportive of your choice to keep the baby. You got a place not far from your parents, who helped you with raising your daughter and were there to give you advice and support when you needed it.

Your little Sen looked just like her father, golden hair and daffodil eyes with a smile that could melt even the iciest of hearts.

Eventually, you caught sight of him on the news one night after putting your 3 year-old to bed. He was saving hostages from a bank hold-up, his red wings spread wide as he used his feathers to get people out of the building.

Turned out; the father of your child was the freaking number two hero of Japan.

Your first instinct was to freak out. What if paparazzi found out about your daughter? After all, she was clearly her father's child. What if villains targeted her for being related to him? What if-

But then you did some digging into the winged hero and found out he operated mostly in Fukuoka, which was a relief, because you lived 10 hours away in Okayama. Well, it was 3 hours by air (you checked flights to see how far he would've had to fly), so Hawks must have just stopped over for a night of letting loose to get away from his hero life that night.

After that, you just went about your days like normal. You never tried to contact the pro-hero, nor did you ever tell your daughter. She didn't need to know that her father was someone who she'd never be able to meet. Nor did she need to know that he had no idea that she even existed.

---

"Mama! Ice-cream!" your small daughter exclaimed excitedly as she held onto your hand, pointing towards an ice-cream stall.

You smile down at your blonde 4 year-old and chuckle softly, watching as her little red tufts of feathers wiggle excitedly.

You were visiting your brother in Tokyo and had brought your little one to see the sights and her uncle, whom she hadn't seen since New Years.

A lot had happened in the hero world, what with a major battle against a villain organization that had proved fatal for some pro-heroes. You had silently hoped that Hawks wasn't one of them, and when his name wasn't on the list of the deceased, you breathed a small sigh of relief.

You pick up your little golden-haired child and held her in your arms as you kissed her nose playfully.

"Sure, sweetheart~. How about we get some ice-cream and then go to the playground?" you offer, smiling as you hear your daughter giggle happily.

"Okay!" she replies, smiling brightly.

You walk up and get a small dish of ice-cream for your daughter and a medium for yourself, handing the smaller one to your child who is still in your arms.

"Here you go, sweetie"

As your daughter is about to take a lick of her frozen dessert, you stop her.

"Sen, what do we say to the nice man who just gave us ice-cream?" you prompt, waiting for her to say it.

The little girl turns towards the teenager behind the stall, and smiles.

"Thank you, mister!" she says, beaming.

The young man smiles at the sight, clearly endeared by the adorable small child.

"You're welcome" he says as the two of you walk away towards the park.

She gobbles down her ice-cream in the blink of an eye, throwing away her container and rushing over to the playground to walk up the steps and go down the slide as you watch from the nearby bench and finish your own frozen treat.

Suddenly, Sen loses her footing, and your world seems to go in slow-motion.

As she starts to fall off the play structure, you run to save her, your feet carrying you faster than they ever have before, your arms outstretched, prepared to catch your child.

But someone else gets there before you do.

"Woah there little bird! Careful now. Don't want you getting hurt, now.~" says a smooth, masculine voice.

You look up to see a familiar hero holding your daughter aloft, having caught her mid-fall in his arms.

The little girl looks at the citrine-haired man with wide eyes, amazement and wonder in her expression.

"Angel?" she asks, looking at his sparsely feathered wings, trying to reach for his feathers.

The blonde male chuckles as he looks down at the child with a bright television-worthy smile.

He pauses as he notices her saffron hair and amber eyes.

"Achoo!"

Your eyes widen as you rush forward and take your child from his arms, watching as her crimson baby feathers ruffle as she sneezes.

The man's eyes widen as he sees you and looks down at the child in your arms that resembles him so much, slowly piecing things together as he steps back.

You back up, holding your daughter close.

"Mama, you're squishing me!" she giggles, not sensing the change in atmosphere.

Her voice jolts you out of your trance and you look down at your child in your arms, checking her for injuries.

"Sorry, honeybee. Are you ok? Did you get hurt?" you ask, checking her over.

The little one in your arms shook her head.

"Nuh-uh. The angel saved me from getting hurt!" she said, smile on her face as she looked over at the blonde man.

You look over at him and awkwardly bow.

"T-Thank you, sir. We should be going-" you begin, about to step away before he steps closer, his hand outstretched, but not reaching you.

"Hang on. You...we... is she..?" he started, clearly trying to find the words for this situation.

You hold your daughter away from him and step back.

"N-No...she's not" you respond unconvincingly, not able to look him in the eye.

The blonde scoffs. "Really? Cause she sure looks a lot like me. Practically a carbon copy."

You glare at him holding her close as you set down at the young girl.

"Sen, sweetie, why don't you go play in the sandbox over there while mama thanks this nice man?" you say softly.

The small child nods happily and runs off towards the nearby sandbox where you could keep an eye on her. You then sit down on the bench from before and pat the spot next to you as you look at the man you'd dreaded meeting.

"Well?" you ask, raising a brow with an unenthusiastic expression.

He took a seat next to you, rubbing his face as he groaned.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, looking at the ground.

You scoff mirthlessly. "And how would I have done that? Not like you left a name or number to contact you." you respond a bit bitterly.

The man winces slightly. "Yeah, that was kind of a dick move on my part. But I'm sure you know who I am. You could've come to my agency, or something."

You roll your eyes. "And what would I have said? 'Oh hey, one of the top heroes knocked me up in a one-night stand, let me see him'? Yeah, I'm sure THAT would've gone well."

Hawks sighs as he runs a hand over his face.

"You're not wrong... but still, you could've called my agent or... something. Anything to let me know."

You rub your temple as you let out a sigh. "And what could you have done? You're a top hero, and have a reputation to uphold. You have a lot of female fans that like you because you're hot and single and they can dream of dating you. We would've hurt your image."

The man groaned as he put his head in his hands. "I hate that you're right...goddammit..."

You give him a sympathetic smile as you pat his back reassuringly.

"Hey...it's ok. You can walk away. I wouldn't even blame you. I don't expect you to suddenly become a father, especially after everything you've had to go through recently. I promise I won't ask for money or tell anyone."

The topaz-eyed hero looked up at you, before looking up and glancing at his daughter playing in the sandbox, her tiny wings spread out as she pretended she was digging for buried treasure. A small smile crept up his face as he watched her.

"Nah. I think she might be exactly what I need right now. Hell, I bet the media would be happy to see me playing the doting father role." he half chuckled.

You narrowed your eyes as you grasped his chin and made him look at you, your voice drenched in venom and warning.

"My daughter is not a prop for you to use to increase your popularity, Hawks. Whether you're her biological father or not."

The hero's eyes widened at your tone and raised his hands in surrender with a smile.

"Hey now, I was just kidding! I would never do such a thing to my own kid."

You continued to glare at him as you released him and looked back at your child with a softer expression.

"She's a wonderful girl, you know. She's so curious and adventurous." you say gently.

The man looked back at his child and smiled. "She seems like it. And if you'd let me, I'd like to be there for those adventures."

You glance his way as you chuckle softly. "Maybe. I'll give you a 2 month trial. Then we'll talk."

Hawks smirked as you looked your way.

THE END

"Deal~."

EPILOGUE

"Papa!"

A/N: Not sure if I love this one, but I might edit it later

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 814: Naruko, run away!!

Pag 1

1: Beppu city, in the Oita Prefecture, a town located inside of a large bay on the east coast of Kyuushu, surrounded on three sides by mountains

2: Known for hot-springs and sight-seeing areas, it's always been visited by a lot of people since old times

The old springs boasts the largest amount annual volume of water in Japan, and it's one of the highest in the world

3: Hot-springs gush out all over the city

4: The “Hell Tour” around the spring ponds is also famous

5: You can enjoy the magnificent mountain scenery, the volcanoes, the seafood, and a panoramic view of the city from the Tsurumi peak at 1375m of altitude

Pag 2

1: Beppu Port, the opening to the sea, connects to Kansai's and Shikoku's main ports and it's an important route for logistics and tourism

2: Started in Kyuushu, Fukuoka Prefecture, the race went south

3: passed the sprint line and the mountain line, then turned towards the Beppu Ferry Terminal and the Minato Parking lot

4: This is where this year's Inter High's

Pag 3

1: first day finish line is

Pag 4

2: Alright, we're in front of the finish line!!

3: On!!

We're in time!!

4: There's the final gate!!

I see it, on!!

Run!!

Yes!

Ye-yes!!

Pag 5

1: Really, when we had to stop at traffic lights twice on the way I thought we wouldn't make it

Ooon!!

2: Rokudaii!!

3: Kaburagi... Danchiku...!!

4: Miki, what's the situation!?

5: The race entered the coastal highway already!!

6: Naruko-kun is running away alone!!

Kyoto is following with two people

Imaizumi-kun is waiting in the group behind!!

There are

Pag 6

1: 3.5km left!!

3: 3500m left!!

Pag 7

1: They're coming!!

There's only one person in the lead!!

Amazing!

He's running away alone!!

It's Sohoku!!

2: So red!

That guy's incredible!

He stands out so much!!

3: Have I shocked, Hakogaku-san!? Didi you attack, Midosuji!?

4: Since I was running in front of Hotshot until I jumped ahead at the 5km mark, they thought I was the assist!!

Pag 8

1: And because of the situation you were expecting, your decision was several seconds too late!!

Those seconds turn into a wide distance in road racing!!

2: The strategy of not deciding an ace sounds good, but should set just one rule?

3: We'll carefully listen to each other's strategy, and if one of us agrees with the other he'll help

Yeah, I'll do my best. If we agree

4: You'll help me so much!!

I don't really trust you

… you think I do?

Oi

5: Alright, I have one thing too

It's trivial, but everything needs a name

6: A name?

8: We won't choose during the race, but

Pag 9

1: That day, whoever passes the finish line first is the “ace”!!

3: Kakaka, nice, let's do it!! Good!!

4: That was interesting, Hotshot

5: If I keep going like this I'll be the one who'll take it!! And with a large difference!!

In road racing...

Pag 10

1: There are two ways to win flashily!!

The “top goal” at the head of a pack of sprinter

2: And another one, is when a single person attacks and jumps ahead alone when no one expects it

3: and he runs away

4: and runs away and shakes off those behind him who are desperately chasing

5: And takes the finish line alone

It's the “escape goal”!!

6: This will be the most exciting thing for the audience today!! I!!

7: Will be at the Inter High's big stage!!

Pag 11

1: I......

2: seeee....

3: youuuuu

Pag 12

1: Naaruukooo!!

Pag 13

2: I saw you!!

3: As expected.... that presence earlier, it was you, Midosuji!!

4: Kakaka so you chased me?

But that's fine, I just won't let you catch up

Let's do it!!

5: You'll come with me to the finish line!!

That way

6: the audience will be even more excited!!

Pag 14

1: Ru-

2: shaaaaaa

Pag 15

1: Waaa what an incredible speed!

The pack is chasing the three people ahead!!

Waaa incredible!

They're so close!

2: The Hakogaku in the lead has a face like a demon!!

3: Huh, “demon”, you said- now that you mention it, two years ago in this race there was the “Straight-line Demon”

Idiot, don't you know it!?

Huh

4: That demon is his little brother!!

Pag 16

2: Shinkai Yuuto!! He's fast!!

3: He's fast, yon!!

Ah, this is road racing's top speed

Mountain bikes are fast on downhills, but this- woah!!

4: This is another kind of risk!!

5: It's amazing, this impetus!!

Pag 17

1: I'm shaking!!

Sorry, Sonomoto-chan, but I'm going ahead!!

2: With this acceleration of Yuuto

3: many people fell behind!!

Pag 18

1: I was left behind....

What's with that acceleration

You can have that acceleration on paved roads....?

2: I'm sorry.... Higashimura-san....

My.... legs.... can't...

3: I had underestimated road racing a little....

4: Please..... Higashimura-san...

Pag 19

1: Ninoshima!!

You entrusted Hiroshima's fate to me!!

2: The ones who fell behind now are Gunma, Ninoshima, and one more person....

3: It's this acceleration.... clinging to them was hard for me too

It's understandable that they fell behind

4: The guy from the “selected team” too

Pag 20

2: 3km left until the finish line!!

[tbhk-twt-events]

Phantom Thieves

January 10th, 2018 -> February 1st, 2018

Translations and images from the Jibaku-Shounen Hanako-Kun Wiki page and AidaIro's Twitter

Character Roles

[This section is sourced from this post and the wiki]

Hanako as The Phantom Thief — "Tonight, this great phantom thief is coming for your treasure! ♡" | Nene Yashiro as The Detective Apprentice — "I���ll definitely find the truth."

Kou as The Police Officer — "I'll arrest all the bad guys!!" | Mitsuba as The Journalist — "I wonder how much this info can sell for, hmm~ 🎶"

Tsuchigomori as The Legendary Detective — "I've already retired, though…" | Teru as The Police Chief — "……you’ve been bad, haven’t you."

Tsukasa as The Client — "Do you want to know the phantom thief's true identity?" | Akane as Phantom Thief #2 — "This town doesn’t need two phantom thieves."

[No Image]

Aoi as The Waitress

January 10th

Detective Apprentice

"From today, Hanako-kun Cafe Fukuoka-kan will start! And Sapporo-kan will start serving food! Let’s go, Chief!!"

Legendary Detective

"It's closing time..."

Original Tweet

January 20th

Narrator

"Detectives VS Police"

[Google translated from the original tweet may be inaccurate]

Original Tweet

January 26th

Police Officer

"Special mission! Give flowers to that cute girl!!"

Original Tweet

January 29th

Narrator

"Mission Failed"

Journalist

"...Why do I have to take this?"

Original Tweet

January 31st

Apprentice Detective

"An advance notice from Hanako-kun…!?"

Letter

"Tonight, I’m going to snatch the moon! – Phantom Thief Hanako"

[Translation from this post]

Original Tweet

Narrator

"Premonition of an incident!"

Original Tweet

Phantom Thief

"Phantom thief is here! I got the moon!!"

Original Tweet

February 1st

Phantom Thief #2

"So the Akihabara cafe starts from today… o' cutest waitress in the world, how much for your smile…?"

Waitress

“Orders are closed for the day ❤︎”

[Translation from this post]

Original Tweet

[delaware-lemme-smash]

IIIIIIIIIIIII.....have an idea!! How about some reaction headcanons for Tokoyami’s cute, girly girlfriend changing up her style to a dark Victorian styled dress for him on their one year anniversary dinner date that she plans herself. Any ideas as to how that date would go? 😬

Yeeesss, you are a genius!

Characters: Tokoyami Fumikage/Tsukuyomi

Contents: fem!reader

Tokoyami Fumikage/Tsukuyomi

Fumikage has never tried to influence your style to fit his tastes, because he completely respects who you are and how you express yourself. If your tastes are at polar opposites of the spectrum, then that's fine by him. The only time it might be an issue is if you two move in together, but he figures you two can come to some kind of interior design compromise. When it comes to your clothes, however, he doesn't care if you're clean girl, cottagecore, coquette, etc.

When you told him that you wanted to plan your one year anniversary, he double-checked with you several times that you didn't organising everything, and told you to save all you're receipts so he could pay back his half of the expenses when the surprise was over.

Tokoyami Fumikage: gothic aesthetic, modern values.

He's surprised when a vintage black Cadillac pulls up outside of Hawks' office to pick him up after work, a uniformed driver sitting behind the wheel. Tokoyami ignores Hawks' teasing and climbs inside, his expression stoic even as his curiosity rises. Just what have you been planning?

Instead of taking him home or to one of the downtown restaurants you guys use for date nights, the chauffeured Cadillac glides up outside what appears to be an abandoned church. Its weathered facade is covered in climbing ivy, which sprawls across the cracked paving stones of the courtyard, and twines around the wrought-iron gates.

The gates stand open, as if expecting him. In the growing twilight, he can see flickers of light inside the church, painted jewel tones by the stained glass windows.

"Is this my destination?" he asks the driver.

The driver gives a solemn nod. As soon as Tokoyami climbs out of the car, it draws silently away, abandoning him to his fate. He starts down the overgrown path, wondering how on earth you found this place in the middle of Fukuoka.

The front doors creak open ominously as he approaches, and a bank of fog rolls down the steps, like someone rolling out an ephemeral red carpet to welcome him. Tokoyami's feathers start to stand on end.

"Dude, too much dry ice!" hisses a familiar voice. Kaminari?

"Sshh!" That sounded a lot like Kirishima.

There's the sound of a throat clearing, and then your voice calls out through the clouds of fog.

"Tokoyami Fumikage! I welcome you on this eve! The first anniversary of our dark union!"

Aiyo!?

Tokoyami stumbles to the top of the stairs, and finally his eyes behold the interior of the church. The old pews have been cleared away. Candles line the walls. and elaborate iron candelabras fill the gothic archways. A carpet of mist swirls across the floor, making the dinner table, draped in a crimson tablecloth and set for two, appear to float in the middle of the flagstone floor.

Bird boy can't quite believe what he's seeing. It's like something straight out of his favourite gothic manga. Or Castlevania.

"What is all this?" he asks, his tone almost reverent.

Footsteps echo through the cavernous space and his head whips around to see you emerge from the clouds of mist. Tokoyami's beak falls open, and even Dark Shadow comes creeping out to take a better look.

Black and crimson, velvet and lace, ribbons and ruffles. You're a vision of romantic, gothic elegance, like the tragic heroine of an Edgar Allen Poe novel or one of his favourite gothic manga.

"You..."

Words fail him for once, and all he can do is let you take him by the hand and lead him toward the table. More figures appear out of the mist, and he barely restrains a squawk when he realises it's Midoriya and Iida, both wearing waiters' uniforms and grinning. The 'waiters' pull out your chairs, bow, and retreat to fetch the first course.

"Is...everyone involved in this?" he asks, pitching his voice low, even though it echoes through the church.

You grin, looking very pleased with yourself and all the friends you've managed to rope into helping you with this dinner date.

"Yep. They were all very excited to help with our mad banquet of darkness."

AO3 | Other Blogs: Bungo Stray Dogs | Bleach | Naruto | JJK

[demonslayedher]

A Tale of Two Kamado Shrines

Religious sites often turn into anime holy sites due to coincidences. There are a handful of shrines with "Kamado" in the name, including these two in Fukuoka Prefecture, Homangu Kamado Jinja in Daizaifu City and Mizoguchi Kamado Jinja in Chikugo City. Unsurprisingly, both have been visited by a lot of Kimetsu no Yaiba fans in the last few years. If you're coming as a tourist, please make sure to observe shrine and fandom etiquette.

That said, if you're coming as a tourist, one of these shrines will be easier to get to than the other, but I found the harder to get to one a more rewarding experience.

This started because I love Kimetsu no Yaiba and I was in Fukuoka City for Kimetsu related stuff anyway. I slipped in a trip to Daizaifu that afternoon via a highway bus that goes straight there from Hakata Bus Terminal. It was pretty loaded with tourists, partly thanks to Golden Week increasing the number of travelers everywhere, and partly thanks to the nearby Daizaifu Tenmangu Shrine being kind of famous. You know Tenjin, the god of scholarship? Pretty popular kami, though I have reason to think he doesn't like me. He was also known as Sugawara no Michizane, a Heian court noble who got bullied and exiled, and some time after he died there were terrible thunderstorms terrorizing the capital (now known as Kyoto), so they were like, that's probably him, let's appease him by declaring him a god. Anyway, Daizaifu is where he was exiled and died. There's a lot more Tenjin lore I could go into, but I have come across a Japanese fan theorist saying that Kaigaku might have been inspired by Michizane. I don't really buy that, but I do find it kind of funny to compare Kaigaku to an old Heian scholar.

Anyway, Homangu Kamado is about a 10-minute bus ride away from that more famous shrine and the train station, but I was in a bit of a hurry so I snagged the open taxi.

"To Homangu Kamado Jinja, please."

"Where???"

"Kamado Jinja?"

"Oh. Kamado Jinja."

"Nobody says the 'Homangu' part, do they?"

"Nope."

You could not miss it; there was lots of signage both around the station and on the way to the shrine. Very close to the parking lot I saw a local restaurant called "Kagura" advertising "oni-yaki" yakisoba. Didn't get much of a chance to read it as I passed by, but I think it was yakisoba grilled on hot roof tiles, a thing you see sometimes in western Japan for historical samurai warfare related reasons, but perhaps they used onigawara tiles (the decorative ones meant to scare off evil)? Anyway.

The shrine itself is one that has multiple locations depending on how much of a spiritual benefit you're in for. The whole Kamado Mountain is a spiritual training site for a mountain ascetic practice called Shugendo, and I would love to draw parallels between Tanjiro's mountain training and his attire as he walks long distances with someone precious in a box on his back, but I shall digress for today. What you need to appreciate here is that the Shugendo practicioners of Homangu Kamado wear checkboard clothes!! The same Ichimatsu pattern as Tanjiro and the whole Kamado family! You can see a photo of them fire-walking on this page.

That is why they have a nice big bright room for selling omamori (protective amulets, which in all technicality you don't buy, you make a donation for it, of a certain minimum amount). I did not take pictures of things I did not purchase because it's frowned upon, but suffice to say they have two kinds of omamori set up in easy to find places: oni-shaped ones for people in certain years of their life that attract more misfortune, and Ichimatsu/checkerboard pattern "cho-mamori" (super protective) amulets which are super-powered thanks to all the Shugendo that goes on at that mountain.

So yeah, even if they recognize it on a surface level, they are fully aware of why they have an extra burst of popularity nowadays. A couple other omamori have protective "uroko" (aka triangle) patterns, albeit in a more traditional form than a certain yellow haori. There are many stations around the bright omamori room with pencils, erasers, and colored pens for ema (prayer board) artists of all ages. I always appreciate the array of artwork at anime holy sites.

I did not spend that much time here, so I did not climb the mountain, but I was happy to spy some blooming wild wisteria. There are cherry trees that droop their branches directly over the stairs leading to the main shrine, and in this later period of spring, there were many other little ponds and rock gardens and forests and flowers to appreciate. Besides tourists, there were also many locals walking their dogs.

Although there were other colors to choose with white checkers squares, I chose an all black cho-mamori in honor of Tanjiro's Nichirin blade and Kamado family charcoal-making history (I love charcoal a lot).

I rode the crowded bus back down to Daizaifu Station and later had to wait a while for a spot on the crowded buses back to Fukuoka, but not too bad of a wait. That's just what you expect with Golden Week crowds. Especially when there is a big festival coinciding with your visit to the area. At least I got most of my work done that night, so I'd be able to take the whole day to go out to Chikugo---

HOLY YORIICHI I DID NOT FACTOR IN TRAFFIC JAMS TO MY TRAVEL PLANS

Since I was going to need to take highway buses that only come once an hour or less and be in time for transfers at big highways smack in the middle of rural Fukuoka, I ate a piece of bread for breakfast and figured I'd had time to grab my regular dose of caffeine from a vending machine at the first bus center, but when I saw the line for the first bus I stayed put in it and did not realize I forgot caffeine until I was seated in the back of the bus. That turned out to be an awkward place to sit, because I would need to get off at one of the first stops and make all the passengers in auxiliary seats in the aisle get up.

I started getting a little concerned about making it to my next bus in time.

I started getting more concerned when we were two minutes away from the scheduled arrival time at my stop. I got even more concerned when I saw how far away we were.

Golden... Week... Traffic.

I stayed cheerful and positive. I got the first bus that morning so I'd have leeway. If I missed the first one--and timing wise, I must have by a long shot--then I would have less time to wait until the second one! That would even give me a chance to take the stairs down from the highway bus stop back to civilization to grab some caffeine, because surely there would be a vending machine nearby, right? I'll spoil this story now by saying that this excursion would be marked by a certain lack of vending machines, convenience stores, and public toilets. Also, I had only my emergency anti-hangry rations with me. That "ration" was tiny and singular.

So anyway! I did not miss that first bus after all. That bus, and all the ones before it, were stuck in traffic.

I considered cutting my losses and turning back. Spoiler alert, I didn't, but I did seriously consider it while standing at the side of the highway with a few similarly stranded passengers on the bench behind me.

After 50 minutes after it was scheduled, the bus going in the direction I needed came! Except I don't think that was the right one after all. I thankfully realized this in time, but it was going to skip past the stop I needed.

So I found myself at the side of the highway again, this time surrounded by rice and tea fields. I opened up taxi apps for the first time in forever--I don't usually use them because my trust for them is irrationally low--only to find I was out of range for them. Well then! I was about to depart on a full-hour walk (not unusual for me when I'm hunting for neighborhood shrines in the middle of nowhere), but then the original bus I intended to ride came by and I rode it one more stop. Yay! Fandom gods looking out for me!

From there I took a half-hour walk among more fields and bamboo thickets and a river tucked into a forest. The air smelled sweet, and many houses had cheery flower gardens and vegetables. There were cars going by, but no taxis whatsoever, unsurprisingly. I had already made my peace with walking back and waiting a long, long time for the first of my buses back. It was a quaint area; the sort of community-oriented farming community where their neighborhood shrine they grew up with suddenly getting famous was beyond their imagination.

Speaking of imagination, I'd like to imagine this is the sort of place Gotouge-sensei grew up. We know Sensei is from somewhere in Fukuoka, after all, and that family is important enough for them to hurry and return from their busy mangaka career in Tokyo. We know many characters like Rengoku are based on real people, and compared to the cities, the rural communities like this throughout Japan thrive on attitudes of people like that. But again, this is only my imagination for fun, and I respect Sensei's inclination to privacy enough not to assume---OH MY GOSH GATOR SIGHTING AT A DENTIST

(Note: Please take that as a joke as intended and do not make any assumptions about where Gotouge is and what they are up to now. I do not believe they would purposefully put the name of their neighborhood in a manga. Ironically, I was just in a different rural Mizoguchi/Mizokuchi area in Tottori Prefecture for oni-related reasons.)

So anyway, the shrine is out among the fields, and has the sort of ambiance I love finding when I purposefully venture far out of my way to visit shrines I find special for whatever reason. Because this is the Mizuguchi/Mizukuchi area, the signs nearby only referred to it as "Kamado Jinja." There were a couple other fangirls walking around together, a group of old guys sitting on tree stumps by the parking lot, a guy drinking something from the vending machine by the toilets, and a taxi!!! Oh, how the fandom gods has smiled upon me.

The driver was waiting for the two fangirls, but he called a taxi to collect me in about 10 minutes (I should have asked for longer). I used the nice clean toilet (they were marked with green and pink Ichimatsu/checkerboard signs), started my visit, and totally neglected to get caffeine when I had the chance.

This shrine is of course popular among Kimetsu fans not only for the "Kamado" part of the name, but also because Rengoku misremembered Tanjiro's name as "Mizoguchi." It sounds pretty random, so it made a lot of fans suspect it was a reference to this shrine. Throughout the shrine architecture, there's a consistent water motif, and some fans think the boxy sign with the name of the shrine on one of the torii gates looks a bit like Nezuko's box.

What's a little more obvious is the pattern left on the trousers of one of the guardians in the wooden gate. Ichimatsu/checkerboard!

Odd to have two shrines within a few hours of each other have the same name and clothing motif, huh? Actually, they are related (though I don't know if this is why the statue wears those trousers). The two shrines share the same god; the spirit of the god can be shared among multiple locations--in this case, Tamayorihime no Mikoto, with that spirit having brought here from Homangu. The "why" is a bit complicated, but it comes down to both shrines being built to protect other places from evil influences coming in from the northeast, that is, the "oni gate" (kimon) direction. This region felt the Homangu shrine long protected them from that direction anyway, albeit further away.

That "Kamado" is in reference to the same fire god (hi no kami, written at this shrine with 火 for fire, though if you go back far enough in Japanese religion, there are cases of 'hi' conflating fire and the sun). Often, fire-related shrines are a place to pray for safety with fire (hence they often involve water-related elements), and this shrine also has a fire festival every September. There are also a bunch of sacred trees to protect this neighborhood.

So anyway! It is small and makes for a quick visit. And oh boy, what a visit!! Look! Look!!!!!

There were also photos of cosplayers--including a large photo of a full group, and a Mugen-Ressha style train!! There was a guest book asking for the age and number of people, and I wrote that I came from America so that people reading it later would be like, "wow." I did mention to the old man working at the tiny shrine office that I live in Japan, though.

That brings me to the old man--he was so friendly! It made me feel comfortable fully admitting that I was all the way out there because I am a fangirl. Since they don't sell omamori, I decided to draw on an ema (after dashing over to the parking lot and asking the taxi driver to give me 5 more minutes).

The old man then set up a folding table and chair and gave me a bunch of colored markers to use. I decided to stick with something simple in black in white.

"Please protect all the Kimetsu fans around the word. (Asked by an American representative, Buri. I finally made it here!!)"

The taxi driver was then also very nice and got me to the spot of the highway where I figured buses would stop more often, and although those ones were delayed too, I got back to the city much earlier than expected. Thank you, fandom gods! I suppose I could have spent more time out there, and in hindsight, I could have asked the driver to take to the giant Yamanaka wisteria trellis nearby to see if it was still mostly in bloom, though the wisteria festival there ended last week.

Anyway. I have finally visited not one, but two Kamado shrines, including the one I was really curious about. It was so worth it.

[causenessus]

love notes

part 0.12. SUPPORT SMALL BUSINESSES DAY

"trace me onto you."

from title fight, left in saitozaki, fukuoka

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

INKED AND MY BISQUE BEAU REFERENCES!!! DEFINITELY PLEASE GO CHECK OUT THESE FICS THEY ARE AMAZING <3 (thank u to @eggyrocks and @wyrcan <33)

AND THANK U AGAIN TO EGGY FOR THEIR AWESOME PLAYLIST <33 LET'S GO TITLE FIGHT

atsumu acted so offended when y/n immediately tagged him saying kiyoko was off limits but he was definitely thinking about asking for her phone number...but that's bc he's an idiot

when suna saw y/n's tweets about buying her coffee he texted osamu like "hey what if u dropped off coffee for y/n and ur girlfriend. i'll pay"

osamu is trying his hardest to maintain that they are NOT dating (yet) but he's secretly getting giddy everytime someone calls mbb y/n his girlfriend (SORRY LMAOOO FOR ANYONE WHO HASN'T READ MBB THIS IS PROBABLY CONFUSING THAT JUST MEANS U SHOULD GO READ IT!!!)

he also (pretending to complain about it) agreed to drop off coffee but he's a gentleman and paid for mbb y/n's coffee and suna paid for (love notes) y/n's coffee <3

double dates between the two in the future?? both pairs are so cute 👀

WAIT AND TRIPLE DATE WITH KIYOKO AND INKED Y/N??? hold on i'm cooking

suna and y/n are both fighting for their lives trying to remain casual but they are literally the FARTHEST THING from acting casual

gonna reinforce this again but literally all the art suna sends y/n is actually stuff he's put up with her in mind <3

and suna got too nervous to say anything about how he feels to y/n because the timing just didn't feel right and then she was like "oh i forget we haven't been BEST FRIENDS forever"

he was biting his fist and going thru the five stages of grief trying to interpret the deeper meanings of that text

and atsumu was not sleeping yet while suna was texting y/n (and technically he did not giggle, it was just like little huffs of laughter whenever she said something cute, yk?)

but they both shut off their phones and immediately went to bed after seeing omi's reply they were literally laying in the dark terrified they were going to hear footsteps and banging on their door

i love including my own experiences in my writing (yes i was forced to learn relative tuning before ANYTHING else in a guitar class and then my high e string broke and attacked me </3)

and!! actually the picture suna uses on his twitter (the "i miss you) is a picture i took in new york <3 if u were wondering why it looks so ugly

and an extra note to provide more context for next chapter!! this away game is the last one before winter break <3 y/n mentioned the holidays in her earthen kiln post because next chapter will be about winter break just so everything is clear <3

taglist: @0moonii @iluvmang @bluebeanbee @oyasumeii @froyaoya @gyuijns @nbcvs @milkteade @guitarstringed-scars @makkir0ll @mylahrins @cherrypieyourface @vivian-555 @sharkerino @r0seandth0rns @staileykout @lunavixia @thvvluvr @elliott0o0 @wolffmaiden @rockleeisbaeeee @toges-cough-syrup @cnnmairoll @ryeyeyer @hibernatinghamster @localgaytrainwreck @lemonocity @bows4life @sereniteav @madiexuberant @eclecticeggknightpsychic @phoenix-eclipses @sonicsolos @httpakkeiji @brkfclub @snail-squasher @starry-magicshop @cr4yolaas @kitnootkat @zzzlevislothzzz @iluv-ace @iluvaquaphor @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @applepi25 @twiishaa @girlkissersco @sleepystrwbrryy @encrypta

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon Prompt #15

Pairing: ShigaDabi

Rating: Explicit

Prompt: Freestyle!

Contents: Makeouts, Cumming in Pants, Premature Ejaculation, Domestic Terrorism is a great date plan for your arsonist boyfriend, Dirty Talk

Tomura isn’t sure that he ever expected to be in this position. He didn’t expect his teacher to get captured and have them sent away. He didn’t expect to end up remembering who he was before he was Tomura Shigaraki. He certainly didn’t expect to find six people in the world that he not only doesn’t hate, but that he wants to see have good lives after they’ve helped him win their war. He absolutely did not expect to find himself falling for one of them. But after his prosthetic fingers are on, and his foot is healed and out of his cast, he decides that he wants to see where else that can go. 

He doesn’t think that Dabi expected it either when he pauses them once they’ve finished their work for the day and asks, “Will you go on a date with me?” Because the arsonist stares at him, his thumb lit and halfway to the cigarette in his mouth, but definitely not actually doing anything with the flame. And he doesn’t move for a solid minute. He doesn’t move until Tomura closes the space between them and wraps three fingers around his wrist and pulls his hand to the end of the cig to help him light it.

He thinks that the other is going to say ‘no’ and maybe tell him to fuck off, but after another second, and a drag of smoke into his lungs, Dabi finds his composure again far too late to not have endeared Tomura even more to him, and says, “Fuck it, why not?” He shrugs and turns to leave. “You better think of something good, Duster. I don’t have time to waste.” 

Dabi is always running towards something no matter how lazy and laid back he pretends to be, but Tomura is pleased with this development and feels like he’s vibrating a bit as he watches him go. He’ll think of something good. He’ll make the other man slow down and be worth it for him.

///

They can’t go just anywhere, but Tomura does plan a good date for them. He grills Twice and Toga, the two who have been consistently closest to Dabi, and finds out that he’s particularly annoyed about his continuing mission with Hawks and that he’s been wanting to piss off the bird badly enough he forgets his mission and avoids him for a while. So he has them teleported all around Fukuoka, letting Dabi torch places, before they end up in Esuha where they get some street food, make it into a bar for long enough for Dabi to swipe two bottles of alcohol, before that place is burning too and they’re stumbling as they cough out the last of the teleportation gunk as they end up back on the roof of the villa. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Dabi smiling and laughing like this before, and he’s not sure if his chest has ever felt so warm either. 

They make it back downstairs, into his office instead of a bedroom because he doesn’t want to be presumptuous, sharing the awful bottle of gin and whisky that Dabi managed to snatch as they go. 

They’re about halfway through the bottles, and Tomura is definitely feeling it, knowing that his slowed metabolism will have him absolutely wasted when he passes out tonight and that he’ll be hung over well into the morning if not to the afternoon, before Dabi sets his aside so that he can move. Tomura doesn’t expect him to climb right into his lap, but he’s certainly not complaining, especially not when Dabi doesn’t even flinch as he wraps his hands around his hips, careful not to hurt him, and tilts his head up. Their kiss taste like alcohol and smoke, and he finds out how his scars and staples feel against his tongue as he completely forgets that a first kiss probably shouldn’t so blatantly tell Dabi how badly he’s wanted to fuck him for the past few months, but he can’t help it. Besides, Dabi doesn’t seem to be complaining as he tangles his hands in his hair and moans into his mouth. The other man hasn’t even used his quirk, but that might as well light him on fire. 

Tomura gives him kiss after kiss, trying to map out every section of his mouth, his hands moving up along Dabi’s sides, stroking his skin through his thin shirt, finding the places that make Dabi gasp. He thrills to feel the other man grinding into his lap after just a few, another little moan coming out of him. When Dabi starts to push his hands up under his shirt and spread his legs wider so he can rock himself into his lap, when he feels that he’s starting to get hard, Tomura puts aside any thoughts of being particularly gentlemanly. They are both a little too inebriated for him to feel comfortable fucking him tonight without having talked about that, but he’s more than happy to let their makeout get hotter and heavier. 

“Fuck, Dabi,” he groans against his lips, his hands going down to cup Dabi’s ass, squeezing him tight and pulling him so he can make him grind down harder against his body. “Never thought you would be so sensitive– or so eager. Were you just waiting for this, baby boy? Just wanted me to give you my attention?” It is a hell of an ego boost when Dabi lets out a sweet little moan as his face flushes and he tries to kiss him again to shut him up and hide how cute his expression is. 

Tomura allows the kiss, but he keeps their hips moving together. Dabi’s cock feels good against his, even through their clothes, though there’s a strange texture to his that makes him wonder if he’s stapled there too. It doesn’t matter. He’ll happily learn how to stroke and suck at him if it means he can keep feeling how his body gets hotter as he’s touched. He moves along his neck, licking and nibbling at his scars and earning a more frantic twitch of Dabi’s hips against him. 

“Fuck, you’re so cute. All that attitude and it just takes one date for you to be humping my leg like a needy little whore?” It’s not a line that he would use on anyone but Dabi, because he knows that Dabi has the biggest attitude on the planet, and he has a very, very strong suspicion that he’ll like that being prodded at like this. 

He’s proven right when he gets a weak growl out of him, “Shut up,” but he can’t even stop the movements, instead pulling at his hair to get him to keep kissing his skin. 

Tomura laughs against it instead. “You’re so easy, baby boy. Let you cut loose a little, and you can’t contain yourself. I bet you could cum in your pants just like this. I don’t even need to touch your pretty cock. I bet you’re going to have to be trained to take my cock, because otherwise you’re just going to cum all over yourself as soon as I start to push in–” 

He’s not sure if he expected the words to have Dabi moaning loudly, an embarrassed, whiny tone in it as his rhythm falters and his body shudders as he cums. Tomura’s mind turns to white noise for a moment as Dabi gasps and trembles, his face burning. 

He only gets his brain to stop buffering when he sees that Dabi is starting to tense with his embarrassment, and he doesn’t want him to pull away, not when–

“Oh, precious,” he coos at him, catching him in another kiss, just as hot as all the ones before it, but slower and deeper, teasing him as much with the feeling as with his next words, “You needed it that much? Baby, you should have told me sooner. I would have taken care of you, sweetheart.” 

“Shut up, Duster,” he’s still blushing hot, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to pull out of his lap. “...It’s been a while.” 

“That’s okay, firefly. I’ll give you as many as your body can take. At least one every day until you can hold out while I’m touching you. Going to see how many times I can get you to ruin your pants before you can take my cock without falling apart immediately.” He teases. But he wants that. He’s perfectly happy to have Dabi be so needy and oversensitive, and even when he’s not able to cum so quickly, he’s going to work him over the edge over and over again until he’s crying from it. He’ll look so cute completely at his mercy. 

“You’re a fucking pervert, and I should have never said ‘yes’.” He doesn’t mean it though, because he immediately leans in and kisses him hard again, nipping at his lips as punishment for his teasing that does nothing to cool the heat in his veins. “You better be able to live up to those words,” he tries to growl, “And you can start by fucking me over your desk.” 

“Nothing would make me happier, baby boy, but I don’t have any lube down here, and I don’t want to hurt you–” 

Any other protest dies on his tongue quickly when Dabi reaches into his back pocket and smacks two packs of lube into his hand. “Got a condom too, but I’m really hoping you’re clean.” 

He doesn’t think he really has to worry about how much they’ve had to drink if Dabi was ready for the night to go this way since before they left. All he needs to worry about is making his firefly feel good. 

It’s definitely not a position he expected to be in, but he can’t say he doesn’t feel extremely privileged as he finds himself in it. 

Thanks so much for your participation! If you want to join in, there are two hours left to get in a prompt! Check out my Ko-Fi here! 

[mononijikayu]

pied piper — gojo satoru.

he couldn't let you slip away now, not after you had already left such a lasting impression on him. the taste of sin lingered on his lips from that fateful encounter, and he craved more of your sweet essence. he was willing to risk everything, even the ire of principal gakuganji, to have you by his side. with a sense of determination burning in his heart, gojo satoru resolved to lead you astray like a pied piper, guiding you down a path of forbidden desire and unbridled passion. and he was confident that you would follow, unable to resist the allure of his magnetic charm and the promise of untold ecstasy.

Genre: Pre - Hidden Inventory Arc, 2006 - 2007;

Warning/s: Romance, Love at First Sight, Strangers to Lovers, Colleagues to Lovers, Pet Names, Banter, Fluff, Comedy, Profanity, NSFW, R-18, Smut, Explicit Sex, Making Out, Unprotected Sex, Aftercare;

masterlist

listen: pied piper by bts

note: everyone is a year older in this fic, so both gojo and you are eighteen when this happened!!! i debated a lot if I was going to keep the smut but well, it is valentines day. i might as well give you a hurrah before i become a bit inactive once my uni break closes and i return to uni. this is the last for 2024's valentines day!!! happy valentines day everyone!!!

YOU DIDN’T KNOW HOW MUCH YOUR LIFE WOULD CHANGE DURING THIS MISSION. As you faced off against the formidable opponent, the air crackled with tension, thick with the malevolent aura emanating from the curse. Despite the gravity of the situation, your attention was inexplicably drawn to the white-haired boy with the ridiculous dark glasses observing from the building opposite you.

His gaze was intense, and you couldn't help but narrow your eyes in uncertainty as you continued to battle the curse with your double-edged spear. With each strike, the curse let out a heinous cry, its grotesque form writhing in agony before disappearing into oblivion.

This mission wasn't originally yours; Utahime-senpai had asked for your help to cover it, sensing her exhaustion from her previous assignment. Without hesitation, you had agreed and rushed to the field, determined to fulfill your duty.

But as you fought, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched by the mysterious white-haired boy. His presence was distracting, his cheers of encouragement ringing in your ears as you faced the relentless onslaught of the curse's attacks. Despite the chaos around you, his gaze remained fixed on you, igniting a spark of curiosity and uncertainty within you like never before.

As you battled the curse, the weight of the white haired boy's intense gaze seemed to linger, as if it bore into your very soul. Each time you landed a blow, his cheers echoed in your mind, driving you to push harder against the relentless onslaught of the curse's attacks. Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, his unwavering focus on you filled you with a mixture of intrigue and unease, stirring emotions you had never experienced before.

As you turned your attention to the building where the white-haired boy had been observing, you were taken aback by what you saw next. With a rush of adrenaline, he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, closing the distance between you in a daring display of agility. Your eyes widened in surprise as you watched him descend gracefully, his smirk growing wider with each passing moment.

You couldn't help but let out a startled scream as he landed with perfect precision, his bravado emanating from every inch of his tall, imposing figure. His confident demeanor only seemed to grow as he approached you, his dark uniform perfectly in place despite the acrobatic display.

He was definitely a student, you realized, his presence exuding an air of youthful confidence and energy. You found yourself wondering about his origins—was he from Tokyo or Fukuoka? It seemed he was pondering the same question as he observed you with equal curiosity.

As he drew nearer, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness, his towering height casting a long shadow over you. You took a step back instinctively, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow over the scene. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as he adjusted his dark-rimmed glasses, his gaze fixed firmly on you amidst the moonlit backdrop..

"Hey there, tough fighter," he called out, his voice laced with amusement. "That was quite the show you put on back there."

“You could have died!” You retorted, pointing to where he was and where he is now. “Do you not, do you not see where you jumped from? You could have died right in front of me too!”

“You have really funny reactions.” The white haired boy says, almost excitedly. “I like that!”

“That is so fucked to say.”

“Ohhhhh, you kiss your mom with that foul mouth?”

“And what is it to you, creep?”

He snickers. “Everything to me, doll.”

You eyed him warily, still unsure of his intentions. "Who are you?" you asked, keeping your guard up.

He chuckled, unfazed by your cautious demeanor. "Just a curious observer, doll." he replied cryptically. "I couldn't help but be impressed by your skills. You've got quite the talent for handling curses."

You frowned, finding his flattery both unsettling and intriguing. "What do you want?" you pressed, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye.

His smirk widened, and he took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "I want to see more of what you can do," he said, his voice low and enticing. "How about we team up for the next mission? I promise it'll be worth your while."

You frowned, your skepticism evident. “I don’t even know you.”

He raised a brow at your incredulous response. “What do you mean you don’t know me?”

“First of all, you look like a creep,” you retorted, your tone laced with suspicion.

“Am not,” he countered with a playful grin.

“You were watching me throughout my mission, clapping and cheering like you know me. But I don’t know you, and not to mention, I could have been killed!” you exclaimed, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “And you were just watching.”

He chuckled at your reaction, seemingly unfazed by your pointed remarks. “Nah, you wouldn’t.”

“What do you mean I wouldn’t?” you demanded, your frustration mounting as you awaited his response.

“You seem strong,” he remarked, his grin unwavering as he gazed at you with bright blue eyes that seemed to gleam in the moonlight. His hands remained casually tucked in his pockets, exuding an air of confidence.

Your brows furrowed at his compliment. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No,” he responded nonchalantly, his grin still in place. “But it makes me intrigued about you. And I wanna know more.”

“You sound like a brat,” you retorted, your tone sharp as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“That sounds like a compliment coming from you,” he teased, unfazed by your glare.

“It’s not,” you clarified, your expression serious as you adjusted your grip on your spear. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

He chuckled softly, the moonlight casting a faint glow on his features as he stepped closer to you. "My name is Gojo Satoru," he introduced himself, his tone surprisingly sincere despite his earlier playful demeanor. 

As you lowered your weapon and studied Satoru Gojo, a wave of memories washed over you, triggered by the mention of his name. You recalled the countless times Utahime-senpai had returned from missions, regaling you with tales of the infamous sorcerer known for his unconventional methods and unpredictable behavior. According to her, Gojo Satoru was the epitome of chaos, a force of nature that caused her no end of frustration and stress.

You couldn't help but wonder if your experience teaming up with him would mirror Utahime-senpai's encounters. Would he prove to be as infuriating and exasperating as she had described? Or would you discover a different side to him, one that defied expectations and challenged your preconceived notions?

Utahime-senpai often spoke of Gojo Satoru and his friend Geto Suguru as a formidable pair to contend with in the world of Jujutsu sorcery. They were renowned for their power and skill, often entrusted with missions that surpassed the typical assignments given to others, including Utahime-senpai herself. It was a testament to their strength and reputation within the Jujutsu world.

As you reflected on Utahime-senpai's words, you couldn't help but acknowledge the truth in them. Gojo Satoru's imposing presence and undeniable power were evident in every interaction you had with him. He exuded confidence and authority, carrying himself with the assurance of someone who knew their capabilities.

Despite his formidable reputation, you knew there was more to Gojo Satoru than just his strength. He was a member of the esteemed Gojo family, a lineage known for producing powerful Jujutsu sorcerers. His tall stature and commanding presence only served to reinforce his status as a force to be reckoned with.

However, beneath his intimidating exterior, you sensed a complexity to him that intrigued you. There was a depth to his character that went beyond his power, a side of him that you were curious to explore further. But you also understood the potential ramifications of getting involved with someone like Gojo Satoru. His power and influence could easily overshadow your own, leaving you feeling insignificant in comparison.

Despite these reservations, you couldn't deny the allure of someone like Gojo Satoru. His presence commanded attention, drawing you in with an irresistible magnetism that left you captivated. But as you navigated the complexities of your interactions with him, you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Gojo Satoru than met the eye.

“What do you say?” He smiles at her, lowering his glasses once more. His blue eyes pierced her once more. She gulped. “Humor me?”

“You’re so—”

Satoru Gojo's phone suddenly buzzed loudly with an incoming call, and he swiftly retrieved it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. He gave you a look, as though he was asking for a moment. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics. You didn’t know it then but the phone ID revealed Suguru Geto's name, his bestest friend. You would meet him later, that was certain. But you didn’t know that yet. Instead, you knew the sense of urgency to have that call happen in that moment. 

He looks at you, a bit flustered. “Do you mind?”

You furrowed your brows. THis would be a perfect opportunity to escape and leave. “.....Not at all.”

Gojo grins. “Perfect!”

With a quick press, he accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

"Suguruuuuuuu! What's up?" Gojo Satoru inquired, his usual carefree demeanor continued to echo in his voice. He sounded almost like a child then. “You missing me already?”

"Satoru, we need to go. Now," Suguru's voice conveyed a sense of urgency that immediately grabbed Satoru's attention. 

Perplexed tones etched across his face, Satoru asked, "What's going on? Why the rush?"

"It's Yaga. He's onto us," Suguru revealed, the gravity of the situation evident in his voice. “Shoko says he’s doing room inspections! Come and find me already!”

Your brows furrowed. You heard of Yaga Masamichi. From what you’ve heard, he was a strict individual. But nicer perhaps than principal Gakuganji. Yet he was highly respected. Utahime-senpai says that he's someone that could control the two strongest sorcerers right now.  whose scrutiny they couldn't afford.

Gojo Satoru's brows furrowed as he processed Suguru's words. The implications of Yaga discovering that they ran away to go and buy the new magazine Waka Inoue was modeling for, they’d be cooked. It was after curfew at the dorms after all. And Shoko could only do so much in distracting Yaga–sensei. 

"We can't let him interfere. I'm on my way," Satoru affirmed, his mind already calculating the fastest route to their meeting point. “Just stay where I left you!”

Suguru's response was a curt, "Hurry already, Satoru. I'm not going to suffer another lecture because of you!"

With a sense of urgency in the air, Satoru swiftly ended the call and pocketed his phone. Suguru's urgent tone had triggered a cascade of events, and they knew they had to act swiftly to avoid detection by Yaga Masamichi. Time was of the essence, and Satoru wasted no time in springing into action, his mind already racing with plans to evade their superior's scrutiny.

However, as he turned back to look at you, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "I hope you won't be a stranger the next time I see you," he remarked playfully, his tone light despite the seriousness of the situation.

You couldn't help but argue back, frustration evident in your voice. "You don't even know me!"

Satoru laughed in response, his laughter ringing out amidst the tension. "No, I won't," he agreed, his grin widening.

Raising a skeptical brow, you challenged him. "And how sure are you of that?"

"Because I'm your pied piper," he replied with a grin, his blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "And you'll follow me, doll."

You couldn't help but snicker at his confident remark. "You can try, you creep."

He tutted in mock offense, smirking at you. "Not a creep."

"Oh? And what are you to me?" you countered, curious despite yourself.

"Your future boyfriend," he quipped with a wink before disappearing into the night, leaving you to ponder his words in the wake of his departure.

You blinked at his words.

You couldn’t process it.

But when you do, you blushed.

“What do you mean by that?”

THE NEXT TIME YOU MEET GOJO SATORU, IT WAS AT THE SISTER SCHOOL GOODWILL EVENT. As you stood beside Atsuya Kusakabe, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach. The presence of Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, and Shoko Ieiri looming before you sent a shiver down your spine. Their formidable reputation preceded them, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of intimidation wash over you.

To your right stood the first years of Kyoto, their gaze fixed on you and the other first years of Tokyo, Haibara Yu and Nanami Kento. The tension between the two groups was palpable, each side silently sizing up the other in anticipation of the upcoming challenge.

However, it was Gojo Satoru who commanded your attention the most. His white hair stood out in stark contrast against the sea of students, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue. His grin, though seemingly friendly, sent a chill down your spine, his gaze seemingly capable of seeing right through you.

Beside you, Kusakabe whispered in concern, his brows furrowed as he observed Gojo's intense scrutiny. "Why is he looking at you like that?" he murmured, his voice tinged with apprehension. "He seems so intimidating... It's creeping me out."

You swallowed hard, your nerves on edge as you tried to mask your own unease. "You don't want to know, Atsuya," you replied tersely, your lips pressed into a thin line as you avoided making eye contact with Gojo. The last thing you needed was to draw any more attention to yourself in this already tense situation.

Kusakabe glanced at you, concern etched on his face. "Is there something I should know?"

You shook your head subtly, your gaze still fixed on the formidable figure of Gojo Satoru. "It's nothing, Atsuya. Let's just focus on the task at hand."

As Yaga-sensei's voice resonated across the courtyard, signaling the start of the Goodwill event, the tension became palpable. Students from both Tokyo and Kyoto exchanged nervous glances, sizing each other up for the imminent challenge.

During the introductions, you found yourself drawn to Geto Suguru's quiet confidence and genuine kindness. In a sea of unfamiliar faces, his presence provided a reassuring anchor, and you couldn't help but feel a budding admiration for the Kyoto sorcerer.

Observing Shoko Ieiri, you recognized echoes of Utahime-senpai in her demeanor—reserved yet poised. Considering the potential camaraderie between them, you made a mental note to introduce the two sorceresses, sensing the possibility of a strong friendship.

However, when it was time to greet Gojo Satoru, a wave of discomfort washed over you. His initially innocent smile quickly morphed into a smirk that sent chills down your spine. The glint of mischief in his eyes was unsettling, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized.

Maintaining a polite demeanor, you exchanged greetings with Gojo Satoru, attempting to mask the unease simmering beneath the surface. Stepping away, you sought to put some distance between yourself and the enigmatic sorcerer, hoping to avoid any further unsettling encounters during the Goodwill event. You didn’t want to interact with him more than you had to. 

But the gods had other plans.

You wanted to scream into the void.

You sighed, looking at him in front of you.

“You missed me already, doll?”

You groaned. “Not you again.”

“Oh, but it is me again!”

As the team battle unfolded, the air crackled with tension as spells clashed and movements blurred in a flurry of action. Atsuya, as the elder of the third years, reluctantly took on the role of leading the charge, a responsibility he openly despised. You couldn't help but stifle a giggle at his visible frown, finding amusement in his discomfort. Despite his aversion to leadership, however, you knew that Atsuya was a capable leader, and you trusted him with your life.

Amidst the chaos of battle, you found yourself locked in a fierce confrontation with none other than Gojo himself. His Six Eyes bore into you with a mix of challenge and curiosity, sparking a determination within you to prove yourself in combat.

"Atsuya, go!" you called out to your friend, your voice carrying a serious tone as you glanced over at him. "I'll handle this!"

"I can't just leave you here!" Atsuya protested, his brows furrowing in concern.

"Yes, you can," you retorted firmly, frustration bubbling to the surface. "You know they'll gain more points if they defeat us with a bigger curse. None of us can lead them there. Go!"

With a reluctant nod, Atsuya finally relented and dashed off to join the fray. "Damn you, you stubborn idiot!" he shouted back at you over his shoulder as he hurried away.

"You can yap on about it later!" you called after him, your attention fully focused on preparing to face Gojo Satoru head-on. Ready to prove your mettle, you readied your spear and braced yourself for the coming confrontation.

“Don’t tell me I have a love rival.” Gojo Satoru exclaimed back at you. “Already? It’s only been a couple of months!”

As Gojo Satoru frowned at you with a hint of playful jealousy in his expression, you couldn't help but blink in surprise. His words caught you off guard, and a rush of heat flooded your cheeks as you processed his implications.

"Idiot, he's not my lover," you retorted, your voice tinged with embarrassment. "And also, I haven't accepted you as anything!"

To your surprise, Gojo gasped dramatically, feigning hurt. "Do you not care about my feelings right now?" he exclaimed in mock dismay, his expression comically exaggerated. "I thought we had something special!"

Rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you shook your head in exasperation. "Just shut up and fight already!" you snapped, feeling flustered by the unexpected turn in conversation. Raising your spear defensively, you focused your attention on the task at hand, determined to push aside any distractions and focus on the battle ahead.

As you unleashed your cursed technique, a surge of power pulsed through you, and the world around you seemed to come to a standstill. Time itself bent to your will, freezing everything in its tracks, including Gojo Satoru. His eyes widened in surprise as he found himself unable to move, trapped in the temporal stasis you had created.

In that frozen moment, you seized the opportunity, rushing towards him with determination etched on your face. Your spear gleamed in the dim light, poised to strike with precision. With each step, you closed the distance between you and Gojo, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins.

But just as you were about to deliver the finishing blow, time began to unfurl once more, and Gojo's eyes snapped back into motion. With lightning-fast reflexes, he blocked your attack with his arms, the impact sending a shockwave rippling through the air.

You glared at him, unfazed by his sudden resurgence. Despite the interruption, you maintained your focus, the anticipation crackling in the air as you pressed forward with your assault. With each movement, your actions were fluid and precise, navigating the battlefield with expert skill and unwavering determination.

“You can stop time.” He says it ever so nonchalantly as he moves opposite you. He looks excited at the thought. “I’d not seen someone who could do that.”

You narrow your eyes at him, wary of his sudden interest. "And you can control six eyes," you retort, keeping your guard up as you face him.

Gojo's grin widens at your response, his excitement palpable as he revels in the thrill of the battle. "True," he acknowledges, his gaze never wavering from yours. "But your technique is truly remarkable. It's not often I encounter someone with such unique abilities."

Despite your wariness, a sense of pride swells within you at his compliment. You may not trust him entirely, but his recognition of your skills is undeniably gratifying. "I don't plan on showing it off to anyone else," you reply, your tone firm as you assert your determination to keep your abilities hidden from prying eyes.

Gojo chuckles, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as he takes a step closer. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," he reassures you, his grin bordering on mischievous. "But I can't promise I won't be tempted to challenge you again in the future."

You meet his gaze head-on, a flicker of amusement crossing your features. "You're welcome to try," you challenge, a hint of defiance lacing your words as you prepare for whatever comes next in this unpredictable encounter.

As the whitish-blue energy emitted from you, the world around you seemed to slow to a crawl. Time itself bent to your will, your cursed technique designed to confuse Gojo's Six Eyes and gain the upper hand in the battle. With a surge of energy, you invoked your technique, causing the air to crackle with anticipation as you prepared to launch your next attack.

Swiftly, you rushed towards Gojo, your spear poised for a strike. But Gojo, ever the formidable opponent, anticipated your move, dodging your attack with lightning-fast reflexes. In the frozen moment, you focused all of your concentration on him, analyzing his movements and calculating your next move with precision and skill.

With determination burning in your veins, you aimed your spear at his defenses, ready to strike with lethal force. The air hummed with energy as you unleash your attack, your movements fluid and precise as you sought to break through Gojo's defenses and emerge victorious in this epic clash of wills.

Even as time seemed to stand still, Gojo's unparalleled skill and formidable abilities allowed him to break free from your temporal grasp. His six eyes scanned your every move with unwavering focus, enabling him to anticipate and counter your attacks with lightning-fast reflexes. With effortless grace, he parried your strikes with precision, effectively neutralizing your offensive maneuvers.

Despite this setback, you refused to waver in your determination. Fueled by an unyielding resolve, you continued to press forward, undeterred by the formidable opponent standing before you. As time resumed its normal flow, the intensity of the clash between you and Gojo only grew, each of you unleashing a relentless barrage of attacks in a desperate bid for victory. The air crackled with energy as the battle raged on, the outcome hanging in the balance as you fought tooth and nail for supremacy on the battlefield.

As the battle reached its climax, you and Gojo exchanged fierce blows, each strike resonating with the force of your determination. With each clash of your weapons, the courtyard seemed to tremble under the weight of your confrontation.

Amidst the chaos of the battle, Gojo's voice cut through the air, filled with a mixture of amusement and admiration. "You're quite the fighter," he remarked, his tone tinged with genuine respect.

You gritted your teeth, your focus unwavering as you continued to press forward. "Save your compliments for after I defeat you," you retorted, your voice laced with determination.

Gojo chuckled, the sound reverberating through the air. "Confidence suits you," he replied, his six eyes gleaming with anticipation. "But don't underestimate me."

With renewed determination, you launched yourself into another flurry of attacks, each strike fueled by the intensity of your desire to emerge victorious. The clash of your weapons echoed through the courtyard, a symphony of steel and determination as you fought tooth and nail for supremacy.

Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against you, you refused to back down, drawing upon every ounce of your strength and resolve to overcome the formidable opponent standing before you. With each strike and evasion, you could feel yourself growing stronger, more attuned to the flow of battle as you sought to outmaneuver Gojo at every turn.

As the battle raged on, the tension in the air reached its peak, the outcome hanging in the balance as you and Gojo locked horns in a battle of wills. With the fate of the Goodwill event hanging in the balance, you steeled yourself for the final push, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead in your quest for victory.

It was as if the courtyard seemed to hold its breath, heavy anticipation pressuring thick in the air. With every strike and parry, you and Gojo danced around each other in a mesmerizing display of skill and determination.

Suddenly, Gojo's expression shifted, a glint of excitement flickering in his eyes as he launched a powerful attack. With lightning-fast reflexes, you countered his move, deflecting his strike with precision and skill. The force of the impact sent shockwaves rippling through the air, shaking the very ground beneath your feet.

In response, you unleashed a devastating barrage of attacks, your movements fueled by a surge of adrenaline and determination. With each strike, you pushed yourself to the limit, channeling all of your energy into overpowering Gojo and emerging victorious.

As the battle raged on, the courtyard became a whirlwind of motion and energy, the clash of your weapons echoing through the air. Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against you, you refused to back down, drawing upon every ounce of strength and skill at your disposal.

You watched as the dust settled and the echoes of your clash faded. It was over. You smiled as you stood victorious, your chest heaving with exertion as you surveyed the battlefield. The adrenaline coursing through your veins slowly began to ebb away, leaving behind a profound sense of accomplishment and pride.

With a mixture of relief and satisfaction washing over you, you allowed yourself a moment to catch your breath. The weight of the battle lifted from your shoulders, replaced by a surge of elation at your hard-won victory. Despite the exhaustion that gnawed at your muscles and bones, you couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline-fueled excitement coursing through your veins. 

You could feel the rustling movements of your defeated opponent. Gojo Satoru was too good at drawing your attention back to the fallen figure of Gojo Satoru. His eyes met yours with a mixture of awe and admiration, his expression a stark contrast to the confident smirk you had grown accustomed to.

"I..." His voice was barely above a whisper as he struggled to rise to his feet, his gaze unwavering as it bore into yours. "You're strong too, huh."

You raised a brow, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. His words hung in the air, lingering between you like an unspoken challenge.

"Yeah, what of it?" you replied, your tone tinged with a hint of defiance.

"Marry me," he blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips in a rush of emotion.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, stunned into silence by his sudden proposal. The world seemed to come to a standstill as you processed his unexpected declaration.

"What?" you stammered, unable to comprehend the gravity of his words.

"I'm serious," he insisted, his gaze never wavering as he looked up at you from where he lay on the ground.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation, the tension of the battle giving way to a wave of amusement. "You're serious? You just met me, Gojo. Don't you think you're moving a little too fast?"

He grinned up at you, undeterred by your skepticism. "Hey, when you know, you know. And I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

You shook your head incredulously at his persistence. "You're insane, you know that?"

“Well, I did say it.” He exclaimed at you. “I’m your pied piper.”

“Good luck making that happen, Gojo.”

“Oh trust me, it will.”

As Gojo leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye, you braced yourself for whatever ridiculous stunt he had planned next. But nothing could have prepared you for the sudden warmth of his lips pressing against yours. Your eyes widened in shock at the unexpected gesture, your mind reeling with confusion and surprise.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you grappled with the intensity of the moment. Gojo's lips were warm against yours, his touch gentle yet firm as he held you close. And then, in an instant, it was over, leaving you breathless and flustered in its wake.

As he pulled away, a smug grin played on his lips, his eyes dancing with amusement at your stunned expression. "I couldn't help it," he confessed, his voice low and husky. "You just look so pretty when you're flustered."

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, your entire face flushing scarlet as you struggled to regain your composure. "You... you're impossible," you stammered, your words coming out in a breathless whisper.

Gojo chuckled at your reaction, a playful sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. "I'll take that as a compliment," he replied, his grin widening at your flustered state.

The next day, you called in sick for the individual games.

You couldn’t handle it, seeing Gojo Satoru again.

You really wanted to curse out Gojo Satoru, you really did.

Because now you realize, you can’t stop thinking about him.

Your heart flutters at the thought of seeing him smile at you.

But most of all, you think about when you’ll kiss him again.

THE NEXT TIME YOU BOTH SEE EACH OTHER, YOU WANTED TO RUN AWAY. Months had passed between that kiss and yet, you kept thinking of him. He started getting busier these past few months, the higher ups giving him more and more missions on his own.  As the evening progressed, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled deep within your bones. Each time you glanced in his direction, you felt a wave of heat wash over you, your palms growing clammy as beads of sweat formed on your forehead. It was as if his mere presence had a magnetic pull, drawing your attention like a moth to a flame.

Sitting across from his table, you could feel his eyes on you, boring into your very soul with an intensity that left you breathless. Despite the lively chatter and laughter that filled the banquet hall, you couldn't escape the sensation of being watched, the weight of his gaze hanging heavy in the air like a suffocating fog.

Beside you, Atsuya attempted to engage you in conversation, his voice a distant echo against the backdrop of your racing thoughts. You struggled to focus on his words, your mind consumed by the overwhelming presence of Gojo Satoru.

The speeches being delivered by the higher-ups faded into background noise as your attention remained fixated on him. Normally, you would have been attentive, eager to absorb every word spoken by the esteemed guests. However, tonight was different. Tonight, your mind was clouded with thoughts of him, your senses heightened by his proximity.

Principal Gakuganji's quizzes at important functions flashed in the back of your mind, a reminder of the need to remain sharp and focused. Yet, despite your best efforts, you couldn't shake the feeling of being enveloped by his gaze, his Six Eyes piercing through you like daggers throughout the night.

Your eyes inadvertently met those of Gojo Satoru, who stood across the room, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Despite the lively atmosphere of the banquet, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease under the weight of his unwavering stare.

As the evening wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the sensation of Gojo's gaze following your every move. Each time you glanced in his direction, you found his eyes locked on yours, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as if he could sense your discomfort.

Despite your best efforts to focus on the festivities, you couldn't deny the effect his presence had on you. The way he looked at you, with a mixture of amusement and intrigue, stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you, leaving you feeling flustered and off-balance.

With each passing moment, the intensity of his gaze seemed to grow, until you found yourself unable to concentrate on anything else. Every time you tried to engage in conversation with others, you couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on you, his presence looming over you like a lingering shadow. But you knew just as much, you couldn’t help yourself to look at him too. To yearn for him too. 

As Gojo Satoru's gaze locked onto yours, a pristine smile graced his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. You knew that look all too well, and it filled you with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. His small wave caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but blink in surprise before quickly averting your gaze, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Beside you, Atsuya noticed your sudden change in demeanor and leaned in, concern etched across his features. "Are you alright?" he whispered, his voice filled with worry.

You nodded hastily, your panicked tones barely audible as you whispered back, "I'm fine, just... a bit overwhelmed."

As you turned away from Gojo, you could feel his gaze lingering on you, his eyes following your every move with a predatory intensity. His smile only widened as he observed your flustered state, a knowing glint in his eyes as if he found your discomfort amusing.

Meanwhile, Gojo Satoru's thoughts were consumed by you. It had been so long since the Goodwill event, and he couldn't shake the memory of your fierce determination and unwavering strength in battle. Despite his attempts to reach out to you, you had refused to call him back, leaving him longing for more.

He couldn't let you slip away now, not after you had already left such a lasting impression on him. The taste of sin lingered on his lips from that fateful encounter, and he craved more of your sweet essence. He was willing to risk everything, even the ire of Principal Gakuganji, to have you by his side. With a sense of determination burning in his heart, Gojo Satoru resolved to lead you astray like a pied piper, guiding you down a path of forbidden desire and unbridled passion. And he was confident that you would follow, unable to resist the allure of his magnetic charm and the promise of untold ecstasy.

Soon after that, you excused yourself to the restroom, you couldn't shake the feeling of Gojo Satoru's gaze burning into your back. You hurriedly made your way through the crowded hallways, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence of your mind. With each passing moment, the anticipation gnawed at your insides, the weight of his unspoken desires heavy on your shoulders.

Moments later, you found yourself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, your hands trembling as you tried to steady your nerves. The events of the evening swirled in your mind, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume you whole. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging within you, but the turmoil refused to relent.

Just then, the door swung open, and Gojo Satoru stepped into the restroom, his presence filling the space with an intensity that left you breathless. His bright blue eyes bore into yours, a silent plea echoing in their depths as he closed the distance between you.

"We need to talk," He said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumultuous emotions coursing through your veins. The air crackled with tension as you stood face to face, the space between you charged with an electric energy that defied explanation.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion as he cupped your face in his hands. "I've tried to stay away, to wait for you. But I can't resist you any longer. And I know…I know you can’t do it anymore too.”

A surge of warmth flooded your chest at his words, your heart pounding in rhythm with his as you leaned into his touch. Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that left you gasping for air.

In that moment, the world fell away, and all that mattered was the intoxicating taste of his lips against yours, the heat of his touch searing into your skin as you lost yourself in the blissful oblivion of his embrace. He pushes you against the vibrant marble walls, your hands getting lost in his snow locks. You couldn’t breathe, but neither could he. It doesn’t matter. 

He wanted to be ruined by you.

He wanted to ruin all of you. 

You bit his lower lip harshly.

You wanted to tease him.

You wanted to draw him in. 

He kisses you deeper. 

You wanted more too.

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway outside, mingling with the distant hum of conversation as people moved about, oblivious to the intimate moment unfolding behind closed doors. Yet, despite the faint cacophony of activity, the bathroom felt like a sanctuary, cocooning you and Gojo Satoru in a bubble of privacy where time seemed to stand still.

With each passing second, the outside world faded into the background, the only sound that mattered was the soft, steady rhythm of your breath mingling with his. The air crackled with an electric energy, charged with the anticipation of what was to come.

In the intimate confines of the restroom, you and Gojo stood locked in a silent embrace, your bodies pressed together as if drawn by an invisible force. The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a timeless moment of shared desire.

Despite the faint awareness of the world beyond the bathroom door, it was as if nothing else existed outside the bubble of intimacy you had created. The sound of people coming and going served as a distant backdrop to the palpable tension that hung in the air, heightening the intensity of the connection between you and Gojo with each passing moment.

His heart was racing as he looked at you standing in front of him. Your hair was messy, and your face flushed with excitement. He reached out and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you closer to him. Your lips met again, and this time, there was no holding back. When you parted lips, it didn’t last very long. You came back as soon as your lungs filled with enough air to sustain that hunger. Your hands roaming all over each other's bodies. 

As you broke apart for a moment, you whispered in his ear, "I want you so bad right now."

Without any further words exchanged, Gojo Satoru began to unbutton your blouse, revealing your soft, smooth skin underneath. He trailed kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake. His hands found their way through your body, and he cupped your flesh in his palms. You moaned into his mouth, feeling his hot breath against your skin. Satoru moved his hand lower, removing your trousers with endless ease. With one swift motion, he pulled it up, exposing your legs to the cool air of the bathroom. He couldn't help but grin at how beautiful you looked in nothing but your underwear.

The rest of your clothes came off quickly after that, and soon you were naked together in the small space. You had never done anything like this before, but you both knew what you wanted from each other. As you lay on the floor of the bathroom, Satoru felt you move beneath him. He slid his fingers through your hair, gently stroking your scalp as he kissed your neck.

You arched your back, giving him better access to your body. He let out a deep groan, feeling your heat and wetness against his hand. You continued to make love in the cramped space, the sounds of your passion echoing throughout the empty alleyway. It was intense and intimate, something neither of you would ever forget.

His hands were only warm for you.

He was ruining you, you were ruining him.

But every touch was forgiveness.

Every touch was life blossoming over and over.

You can’t live without the pied piper leading you.

Nor could he live without you, following him.

You wrapped your arms around him.

He squeezes his hold on you tighter.

“I love you.” He whispers on your neck.

You smile. “I know.”

extra: back at Jujutsu High

As you lay entwined with Gojo Satoru in the aftermath of your passionate encounter, the air was thick with the lingering scent of your shared desire. The room was bathed in a warm, hazy glow, the soft light casting shadows across the walls as you basked in the aftermath of your lovemaking.

The night had been a whirlwind of fervent kisses and eager exploration, each touch igniting a fire within you that burned with an insatiable hunger. It had been a greedy night, filled with a longing that consumed you both, yet left you yearning for more.

But as the hours passed and the intensity of your passion began to ebb, a sense of exhaustion settled over you, weighing heavily on your limbs and clouding your thoughts. You could feel the ache of exertion in every muscle, the physical manifestation of your fervent lovemaking.

Yet, despite the weariness that threatened to consume you, Gojo's care and attentiveness never wavered. With gentle hands, he helped you clean yourself, washing away the traces of your shared desire with a tenderness that left you breathless.

He made sure you were fed and hydrated, tending to your needs with a thoughtfulness that touched your heart. His massages were soothing, his touch gentle yet firm as he worked out the knots of tension that lingered in your body.

Despite his efforts to comfort you, sleep eluded you both, the lingering adrenaline of your passion keeping you awake long into the night. You lay beside him, your bodies intertwined in a tangle of limbs, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

As the minutes stretched into hours, you found solace in the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a sense of peace. In that moment, surrounded by nothing but the quiet sanctuary of his dorm, you felt a profound sense of contentment wash over you, knowing that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Both of you settled deeper and deeper in each other’s flesh.  The world didn’t exist beyond the confines of this bed, both of you want to believe. It was too enjoyable to be comfortable with each other, abandoning the world. Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of your steady breaths mingling in the air. Satoru’s bright blue eyes searched for yours, a softness replacing the usual mischief in his gaze.

"I meant what I said before," He finally began, his voice echoing every essence of sincerity."I want to marry you"

You felt a pang of warmth and uncertainty grip your heart at his words. "But we're so young," you protested softly, the weight of his proposal settling heavily on your shoulders.

Gojo's expression softened as he reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "I know we are," he admitted, his thumb tracing delicate patterns along your cheek. "But I'm serious about this. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

You met his gaze, searching for any hint of doubt in his eyes, but all you found was unwavering sincerity. With a deep breath, you nodded slowly, a flicker of hope igniting within you.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "But I need time to think."

Gojo's lips curled into a tender smile as he leaned in to kiss you softly, his lips conveying a depth of emotion words could never express. "I'll wait for you," he murmured against your skin, his breath warm against your cheek. "I'll wait for as long as it takes."

As you melted into his embrace, a sense of peace washed over you, knowing that no matter what the future held, you had found someone who would stand by your side through it all. and in that moment, as you lay together in the quiet sanctuary of his dorm, surrounded by nothing but each other's love, you knew that everything would be okay.

You never felt more comfortable in your entire life.

Being in his arms felt like finally coming home.

The world could wait, you think to yourself.

Right now, being together — it's all that you want.

[triptychgrip]

New series: 18yo Yuuri time traveling 10 years into the future

Part 1 in my new series about 18-year-old Yuuri time-traveling 10 years into the future is now up on ao3!

Each part of this hurt/comfort saga (I've got 3 planned) will be from a different POV, and first up is Viktor's. Now retired and living in domestic bliss in Fukuoka with his Olympic Champion husband and their 3 poodles, he's more than a little confused when what he believes to be a Yuuri look-alike randomly shows up in their living room during the 2021 off-season.

See below the cut for an excerpt, and if you end up reading/liking the story, I'd love to hear what you think! (For context, 'Yuuri-kun' = 18 year old Yuuri, while 'Yura' = Yuri Plisetsky)

Part 1 Excerpt:

Viktor had tried not to take it personally, but it stung rather acutely when four days had passed, and Yuuri-kun still hadn’t managed to reciprocate his “good morning” greeting. 

He tended to go as still as a statue if Viktor spent more than five minutes at a time in his presence, and unless he was dancing in their at-home dance studio or holding on to Makkachin (who had happily slept in the guest room with him the previous three nights), he seemed unnaturally stiff, not to mention red-cheeked. 

And that wasn’t just around Viktor, either. 

Yuuri-kun was even that way around Yuuri, though when his husband had pointed this out to him last night before bed, it hadn’t made him feel any better. How could they give him any support (support Viktor craved to give, knowing how difficult Yuuri’s first year in Detroit had been), when any substantive conversation was impossible?

They’d taken him to Yu-topia two days ago with all 3 of the dogs, and he hadn’t been able to relax in neechan, okaasan, or tousan’s presence, either. Or around the Nishigoris, though to be fair, who could relax around the triplets? 

Viktor loved them dearly, but they weren’t exactly “chill” individuals, and Yuuko had gone on the longest shouting tirade he’d ever witnessed – truly, one that could rival Yakov’s, even – when Loop had almost tweeted about the time-travel. Yuuri-kun had looked impressed as well as like he was about to pass out.

Amazingly, the only person he seemed to be able to let his guard down around was Yura.

The two were currently playing video games in the living room, and he and Yuuri were quite conspicuously eavesdropping on them from the kitchen.

“You suck, Katsudon! I thought you said you were good at this game!” Yura called out, in passable Japanese.

Read more here

[aohisworld]

MAGNETIC PULSE! 01

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ Aohi is signed into a CO-ED contract and meets her future members alongside another female member, but she’s not necessarily welcome..

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ eventual poly!ot7 x added member!oc. (ri-ki centric). content warnings: bickering, a bit of cursing? a little cringe writing.

| : ̗̀➛ MINTIE’s NOTES: Enhypen was considered a boy group prior to this chapter. Aohi was tied to girl group, XG before Enhypen. (ft. members of XG, other idols.)

| : ̗̀➛ WARNING! How I write ENHYPEN is not meant to portray the idols irl, this is my au and I write this for fun. contains angst and a little bit of bickering/awkward tension.

✧. ┊   AOHI wasn't one to be a leader, and she knew that from a very young age. She loved to follow the crowd, keep up with trends and go along with any flow her friends set.

Aohi also knew she was one to set things in stone once planned, she was always ready to do things, anything her friends asked of her or plans they wanted to do, she followed orders, that was her whole thing but..

When Aohi had to face the decision of basically being kicked out of her group, being singled out by the company for reasons she didn't know yet, all she had to work with was her manager's soft and sympathetic gaze on her, and that wasn't much.

The rest of the meeting went through one ear of hers and out the other, I mean, why wouldn't it? Why wouldn't it when the group you trained so hard to join was finally gaining recognition, and only now, did management think you weren't right for the concept and kicked you out?

"I'm really sorry, Aohi. You'll do great things, just... not with us." Yuzi spoke softly, Aohi knew her as one of the higher-ups, her manager's boss.

"But...I worked so hard.." Aohi could only blurt out, standing up from her seat. "It's not that you'll be sent back, Aohi," Yuzi did what she could to cool any emotion down before they could leave Aohi's lips.

"You're just, not the concept we want, not.. now." Yuzi chose her words deliberately as to not spark any unwanted feelings inside of Aohi, Yuzi wasn't a bad person, nor was she heartless, hell, she even treated the entirety of XG as her daughters, so Aohi couldn't be mad.

"What do you want me to do then? Where will I go?"

"You'll be moved into a co-ed project, the higher ups, and Hybe, wanted to create something new, and they picked you, Aohi." Yuzi spilled, reaching over to hold a motherly hand over the young girl's shaking fingers.

"So I'll just be put into a new group? That's it for me?" Aohi asked after a slight pause, her head was in a ramble trying to process the information given to her.

"You'll be put into Enhypen." Yuzi confirmed, Aohi paused for a bit, she was versed in various k-pop groups, being the sole reason on why she was an idol now.

"But isn't that a boy group? Why would they want to turn it into a co-ed project last minute?-" Aohi's eyebrows furrowed as her personal manager finally made a move, placing a hand on Aohi's shoulder as if to tell her to calm down. she had been sitting in the corner for a while, listening in on the conversation.

"Aohi, calm down, okay?" Her personal manager softly whispered, her hand squeezing at Aohi's shoulders, trying to ease the girl into a calmer mindset.

"I don't know-" Yuzi couldn't even continue before Aohi is being sat down by her own manager.

"How could you not know?" She challenged back, her hand retracting from under Yuzi's hold and combing itself through her hair.

"I just don't, Aohi!" Yuzi was starting to get frustrated quickly.

Aohi's questions and irritated feelings was starting to frustrate her as she couldn't explain why, why BE:LIFT decided to pick Aohi, why she had to let her go—

"Listen, you don't have to do it, but it is a choice." Yuzi spoke in a tone that felt finalized, in other words, she was telling Aohi to make a choice.

"I've seen your progress, and I don't want a talented person like you to go back to Fukuoka without a chance." Yuzi continued.

Aohi could only stare back at her, she could feel the shock buzz in her body, her jaw threatening to slack open.

"Aohi, please take this offer, I promise you, it'll be worth it, you won't get far with us, with staying in our company." Yuzi had surrended to begging Aohi.

As a motherly figure, she didn't want Aohi to give up because she wasn't in XG— this whole decision to let her go so that HYBE could bring her up for their co-ed project, was better than any offer they could've gotten for Aohi.

Silence filled the room for a few moments, but to Aohi it felt like forever.

She didn't want to give up easily, XG was her group, she basically grew up with the members like they were her older sisters.

Aohi knew they wouldn't want to see her retreat back to Japan, not when she worked so hard to train to be an idol.

"Well?" Yuzi asked after a moment of silence from Aohi. "Aohi, you have the choice, but you need to make it now."

Aohi's throat felt dry as she wondered, if she returned back to Japan, would her family be disappointed, seeing her come back, not even a year after debuting?—

"Okay, I'll accept the offer."

— It felt unreal, Aohi staring at her old dorm bed, which was hers for not even a year, sitting down on the bare bed, running her hand through it. God, she really didn't want to go— nobody did.

Hinata just watched Aohi silently sit in their bedroom for a while with a heavy heart. If she could just keep Aohi here, with them, she would've.

"Ready to go, batsy?" Hinata's voice broke Aohi out of her thoughts, making the girl look up at one of her sister figures. "Nata-nee, won't you miss me?" Aohi sadly mumbled, looking back down at the bed, still unsure of her decision.

"Aish, just because I'm not crying doesn't mean I'm not sad that you're leaving." Hinata sighed, forcing Aohi to scoot over her bed as she sat beside her.

"You don't know how upset I was when I heard of your termination from XG." She spoke, rubbing gently at the younger girl's shoulder.

"We adore you so much, batsy. You don't even know." Hinata squeezed Aohi's shoulder, feeling her eyes sting at the threat of tears.

"Sometimes, things go this way, and just because we won't be idols together, doesn't mean that's it for you." Aohi looked up at Hinata, sadness evident in her brown orbs.

"What if Yuzi was wrong? What if I'm not well received?" Aohi asked, she felt like she had regressed back to her childish self, asking her older sister things she wasn't supposed to be worrying about.

"Well, then you have us, we'll always be here for you to fall into. We'll be your safety net." Hinata smiled, pinching at Aohi's nose, trying to cheer the younger up.

"Let's go, we've wallowed long enough, it's time, Aohi." Hinata slowly stood up, holding Aohi's hand like a sister would to her younger sibling, squeezing tight in reassurance.

Aohi left the old dorm room, an ache of emotions beating in her chest.

"Aohi, take care of yourself out there, okay?" Harvey approached the young girl.

There was barely any sunshine outside, it was as if the world knew how upset Aohi was, her emotions controlling the weather.

"I don't want you to go, I really don't." Juria said in hushed whispers beside her, hooking her arm around Aohi's tightly, hoping her grip could possibly make Aohi stay.

Juria whispered her words to Aohi because she felt like she would be reprimanded if anyone even heard her loud enough.

"I don't want to, either, Juria." Aohi rubbed her hand in the tired girl's head, trying to comfort her however she could.

Aohi sighed, the girl barely keeping her composure before dropping her grip from her luggage and pulling Juria into her arms, holding each other tightly.

"Be strong, batsy." Harvey approached the two as she placed her arms over their embrace, hugging Aohi and Juria tightly.

It was ironic though, being told to stay strong when Harvey's morning skincare was easily ruined by the salty tears that ran down her face.

"They better treat you well at be-lift." Cocona punched Aohi's exposed shoulder, laughing through her own tears.

The rest of XG joined along, trying to turn the sad moment into a memorable one. They wanted to remember their batsy in good spirits.

It felt like time had fastened for Aohi, because their manager couldn't be any faster when she had entered the girls' shared dorms. Aohi could hear her name being called, a shaky sigh leaving her lips.

Aohi picked up her luggage, trying to pull it out of the dormitory. Their manager offered her help with the bags that didn't fit in the suitcase, throwing it over her shoulder.

As Aohi walked further and further away from the girls, she dreaded leaving the dorms even more, because she knew— she knew that if she steps out, she won't be considered a part of XG anymore.

She'll be leaving her sisters behind. She—

As if her thoughts was easily read by the girls, Jurin called after Aohi one last time. Her sisters called her name. "Aohi!" She swore the world stopped for a moment, just for them.

"You have a home here, with us. If everything gets too much, you can always run to us." Jurin left her with words of reassuring.

Even as Aohi was leaving Jurin's duty to lead, to care for her members— to be a pillar of stability for her sisters, shows.

Aohi let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "Always such a leader, Jurin-nee."

AT HYBE HEADQUARTERS, TUESDAY, 9:32 AM—

✧. ┊    The meeting room could be considered empty the way it was silent, The current members of ENHYPEN had woken earlier than they should be to meet up; per their management's request, to meet the potentially new members of ENHYPEN.

"Are they here yet?" Heeseung grumbled from his seat. A tired Ri-ki was on his shoulder, using his hyung as a pillow to try and catch the hours of sleep he's missing by being at the meeting.

Sunghoon was busy spacing out by his seat, while Sunoo was trying not to doze off in his own chair.

"Just be patient a little longer, boys." Their manager tried to soothe the boys' tired annoyance.

"Sorry, sorry!" An unfamiliar staff member entered into the room, two masked girls entering after them. Heeseung looked up, slightly curious.

He assumed from the way they seem to stick to the staff member, and how their own manager lit up at the sight of them, they must've been the reason for the meeting.

"Took you while enough." The manager glanced at the staff member in charge of the girls. Heeseung wasn't sure what to think of the two girls who huddled together.

Aohi already felt close to her member, well, even if they only met a few minutes ago, it was a few minutes longer than the boys of ENHYPEN. Aohi had gotten to know her unnie’s name, Xiulin.

Xiulin was in a similar situation as Aohi, picked off from a group to join Aohi in the co-ed project, 'How considerate.' Aohi thought at the time, at least she didn't feel like she was alone.

Of course, Aohi felt awful that Xiulin had gone through the same thing, especially when she had heard that her unnie was the leader of her own group.

Aohi could only imagine how Xiulin felt.

"Boys, this is Aohi and Xiulin. They'll be the new additions to Enhypen." The staff's gaze turned from the boys to the girls, Ri-ki and Sunoo were now at full attention, glancing at the girls with an awkward look.

Although, the silence must've been unbearable since after just a minute had passed, the staff ushered any one of the boys to say something.

"Yang Jungwon, it's nice to meet you two.." Jungwon took the first move for the group, bowing professionally before reaching his hands over. A handshake, Jungwon was waiting for a handshake.

Aohi hesitated for a bit, looking anxiously at Jungwon's hand, but before she could even decide to shake his hand, Xiulin reached over and took his hand for her.

"It's nice to meet you, Aohi and I look forward to working with you, please take care of us." Xiulin spoke gently, bowing as she held Jungwon's hand. Aohi could only look in awe and admiration at Xiulin.

Xiulin reminded her so much of Jurin.

Aohi quickly snapped out of her awed gaze before turning towards Jungwon and shaking his hand as well, bowing politely, showing her respect to him.

In Jungwon's head, he kind of thought of Aohi as peculiar, Xiulin had a mature personality and was willing to take over for her members, shaking his hand for Aohi was already proof of that.

Aohi has not spoken a single word since they had seen her, only opting to follow after her unnie, sitting down alongside her.

"So, let's get the gist down for what will be Enhypen's schedule now that Xiulin and Aohi are here—" The manager sat middle of the members.

"Enhypen, was always planned to be a co-ed group. We wondered adding female contestants into I-land, but there was never a right time to introduce them." The manager seemed to open a folder of sorts, Aohi and Xiulin listening intently to her words.

"I'd like to think we were doing well on our own, as a boy-group.." Sunoo softly spoke, looking slightly apologetic to Aohi and Xiulin for his opinion.

To an extent, Aohi understood why Sunoo thought so and his hesitance to the addition of girls into the group.

Aohi knew that if she were on the other side of the meeting table, she would be confused, and even frustrated if XG made member additions, much less of the opposite gender when they were told it was strictly a girl group.

The teenage girl looked around the room, observing the other members of ENHYPEN.

As an idol, it would be embarrassing if she didn't know her future members and their names, so she made the courtesy of at least learning their names and faces.

Aohi's gaze landed on Jake, at least she hoped it was Jake? His features was somewhat displaying a perplexed look, spinning in his chair as he seemed deep in thought.

"Well, yes but— see, the co-ed plan was set before Enhypen was even formed as an idea." The manager replied to Sunoo, making the boy deflate as he leaned back to his seat.

It wasn't a secret that their stay in I-land or anything relating, was exactly fun. It was something the members were unsure to explain.

The boys struggled a lot with trying to debut, their journey was turned into a source of entertainment. It was called a survival show for a reason.

Heeseung seemed to struggle at wrapping his mind around the fact that these girls were just being added, firstly it felt unnecessary, and the girls would just not understand.

Jungwon was more frustrated at the fact that this means the girls would have to debut at a later album and it'll complicate what the group was already working on.

"Do they have to join our group? Wouldn't it be better to place them with a group that'll debut together?" Jake bluntly asked, Aohi couldn't lie and say she wasn't offended, because she was.

Aohi was taken aback by Jake's sudden question, so shocked in fact that she could just feel her jaw slacking before it even attempted to open physically.

"What Jake-hyung meant was that, the girls will struggle with our concept- as well as our fans might not receive them well and—" Sunghoon tried to save face for his hyung in front of the staff members and the girls.

Xiulin stared at Jake offended while Aohi only looked appalled.

"What can you do? I mean, these girls have nowhere else to go but be here." The manager's fingers pointed down at the table, emphasizing her seriousness with the taps to the table.

"Their companies have already terminated their contracts, their idol dreams end here if they don't debut with you boys."

The manager no longer felt lenient with the boys, at first, their manager wanted to be understanding, knowing it was an incredibly big change for both sides.

"We've already debuted a while ago, they'll struggle to keep up." Jay wanted to defend his brother, sitting up in his chair.

"If you think we can't handle it, I assure you Xiulin-unnie and I can keep up." Aohi replied, speaking for the first time after she entered the room. She frankly felt offended that this group, was so against them debuting with ENHYPEN.

"You don't know that." Jungwon retaliated, "You don't know us either." Xiulin countered.

"We both left our groups so we could debut with you, I went through that so I could be here," Aohi sighed, "I understand why you're upset, but I've sacrificed more than what I was willing to give to be an idol and I'm sure Xiulin-unnie had to as well."

Aohi had a determined look in her eyes, it was clear that the girl wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"So I'm going to debut, whether you guys like it or not."

"Fine. If you want to debut, don't expect us to help," heeseung replied after a few moments of silence. "Show us you're worth adding into our group."

"Heeseung! That's not—" Their manager scolded the eldest, Heeseung only glancing at her with a blank look, his gaze returning to Aohi.

Heeseung and Aohi was somewhat stuck in a staring contest, as if trying to test each other's patience.

Aohi could feel her jaw clench at this, just what was this group's problem?!

"We will, just see."

— ENHYPEN APARTMENTS, GIRLS DORMS, 11:18 am—

✧. ┊ AOHI just met her new bandmates, and they already dislike her. Well, the seven of them, at least. Xiulin seems to like her! She hopes…

Silence filled the new dorms as Xiulin and Aohi unpacked, both girls focused on returning a sense of familiarity in an unfamiliar space.

Aohi tried her best to replicate her old room, using trinkets given by Harvey and Jurin to give her comfort. Aohi sat down on her bed, it was too soft for her liking. She could feel her lips start to tremble when the situation sinked in.

Thankfully, Xiulin noticed before she could say anything.

"Looks good." Xiulin spoke from the other side of the room. Aohi sniffled, looking up as if wondering what she meant.

"Your part of the room. It looks nice." Xiulin repeated.

Aohi stared at her unnie for a second before returning her gaze to her hands, responding. "Thanks."

"Worried?" Xiulin continued, taking her response as a green light that Aohi was up to talking. Xiulin folded her clothes as she spoke, placing it on the side in a neat pile to store for later.

Aohi scoffs at her short question— as if it wasn't obvious. "Is it that obvious?"

"If this is about this morning, I'd rather either of us not worry about it."

Xiulin stood up from her spot, bringing her clothes into the dorm's closet, disappearing for a few minutes.

"Didn't you hear them though? We're on our own, and the first album we release with them will be a disaster." It was Xiulin's turn to scoff, Aohi looking back up at the sound of that. "Don't tell me you believe his bluff."

"How would you know it's bluff?" Xiulin sighs, she knew it like it was the most common thing in the world. "They can't leave us to fend for ourselves, how we perform affects them too."

"If you make a single mistake, or cause a rumour, it'll ruin all of us, not just you."

Aohi furrowed her eyebrows, looking down at her fingers. "Maybe, I'm not cut out for this—" Xiulin laughs, catching the younger girl off guard. "C'mon, don't let those boys scare you, we worked just as hard to get here."

"We got this, don't you worry."

BE:LIFT PRACTICE ROOM, THREE WEEKS LATER, 6:43 PM—

— Aohi loved dancing, sure, she wasn't a prodigy or anything, but her dance style was one to lure you into the performance.

Any concept and she's got you, hook, line and sinker.

For some reason though, Aohi felt like her ability was sucked out of her, the way she couldn't even keep up with the practice Ri-ki and Jake gave her and Xiulin.

"It's not that difficult! Switch your feet and you got it." Jake groans. Xiulin and Aohi have been bickering with Jake for the whole practice. The girls could only feel bad for the maknae, who stared at his hyung with an embarrassed look.

Honestly, it felt like Jake was only ever talking to prod at the two girls.

"We're not even used to the steps yet! Give us time!" Xiulin huffed out, glaring at Jake through the foggy mirror of the room.

"Seriously! We're trying, yelling at us won't magically make us do better!" Aohi followed after Xiulin's words. A small silence washed the room, Jake looking at the two girls with a tired and annoyed expression.

After a bit, Jake just turns away, he runs his hand in his hair, walking away. Ri-ki looked up at Jake, wondering what he was doing.

"They really are trying, hyung.." Ni-ki spoke softly enough for Jake to hear. The youngest was obviously trying to soothe the tension between the new members and his hyung.

"Well, obviously not hard enough." Jake replied, taking one last glance at the girls, who looked appalled at his words. Before either girls could retaliate, Jake leaves the practice room, slamming the door behind him.

Ri-ki could only hope that Jake would return after a breather.

"Gosh! The nerve of that guy!— Whatever, I'm going to steam off!" Xiulin grumbled, standing from her spot on the floor and walking off, slipping out of the dance room.

Only and Aohi and Ri-ki were left alone in the practice room, the tension being replaced with awkwardness. This was the first time Aohi was left alone with her male bandmates without staff.

Aohi only ever spoke to her members when it was necessary. Aohi has never freely chatted with any of the boys, not even the youngest.

Aohi positioned herself from the middle of the practice room, to the sides, sitting down to wait for Xiulin to return. She tried her best to keep her distance from Ri-ki, since she already assumed he wouldn't want to talk to her.

Ri-ki, unsure of what to do, sits beside her, a reasonable feet apart. It was quiet, the hum-buzz of the air conditioning was the only sound accompanying the two.

"I'm sorry about Jake-hyung." Ri-ki softly mumbled towards her, picking at the skin on his nails.

"Why're you apologizing? Unnie and I want to hear it from him." Aohi replied curtly.

Ri-ki sighed at this response. Ri-ki was a very understanding person, he knew why his hyung was so easily frustrated by anything. He also knew that frustration wasn't an excuse to take it out on Aohi or Xiulin.

"Jake-hyung's just upset, he's trying to adjust." Ri-ki felt like he needed to defend Jake first, despite feeling guilty about the way the boys and the girls bickered all of the time.

"And what makes you think we aren't as well?" Aohi poked. "We're already trying our best trying to follow his instructions,"

"It only makes us even more exhausted that he keeps prodding at the little thing we do wrong." Ri-ki listened, turning to Aohi, "And to think we left our groups for this.."

Ri-ki felt like a dim lightbulb went off of his head— ah, he remembers, their first meeting. Ri-ki would've thought that the girls were picked exclusively.

"Which group?" The younger boy softly spoke, trying to change the subject subtly, trying to keep the neutrality of the two people going.

"XG, my sisters. I left XG to be here, so I could debut with you guys." Aohi nodded along with her words, her fingers fiddling with each other in her lap.

"Did you grow up with them?" It was Aohi's turn to look at Ri-ki, the way he looked at her curiously made a ghost of a smile appear on her lips.

"Eung.." Aohi confirmed, "I didn't join XG until I was about sixteen, then I started to train with them." She shrugged, thinking about her earlier years. "I'm sorry you had to leave." Ri-ki expressed, making the girl shrug.

Aohi didn't really expect Ri-ki to apologize, especially when he was one of the only members who didn't argue with her and Xiulin at every chance.

"You don't have to apologize, at least you're nicer than your hyungs, hm?" Aohi mumbled, giving Ri-ki a lopsided smile before tilting her head back, hitting the wall with a thud.

Ri-ki followed suit, turning away and staring straight in front of him.

"Aohi-noona?" She hummed a response, expecting a question. "Yeah?"

"Where did you grow up, you know, with your group?" Ri-ki spoke back, scooting closer to his noona, feeling a bit more comfortable around her.

"Fukuoka, Japan."

"Ah— you're from Japan too?!" RI-ki's face turned from relaxed to shock, almost gaining whiplash at the way his face whipped to look at Aohi.

"I thought you knew, Ri-ki-san." Aohi used an honorific to tease the boy, who just smiled brightly. Ri-ki was happy that he could have someone to talk to, not just in korean.

"I didn't! Now, I really am glad." Ri-ki laughed, "What?— Why?" Aohi laughed back, finding Ri-ki's starstruck eyes pointed at her amusing.

"I just, miss it there. I mean, Jay-hyung speaks Japanese but, it barely lessens the loneliness.." Ri-ki replied, his wide smile morphing to that of melancholy, Aohi could obviously tell that the younger boy was reminiscing in his head.

"I get it." Aohi spoke in a soft tone, one that gave made Ri-ki feel a little less homesick. Aohi approached the boy, before hesitantly wrapping her hand around Ri-ki and gently patting his shoulder.

"I miss my hometown a lot as well, not just in Japan, but in the Philippines as well."

Aohi felt Ri-ki relax in her hold, allowing her to continue. "I had the girls in XG help me with that homesickness, but you—.." Aohi leaned into him, making him move slightly to the side.

Ri-ki just stared beside him, looking at Aohi with a soft look, wondering what the girl could possibly follow up with. "The point is, I don't think I'll be kicked off anytime soon.." Aohi sighed, removing her hand from off of his shoulders.

Ri-ki felt a little sad, slightly missing the warmth her hold had, but it was the less of his worries.

Aohi didn't really know what she was trying to say after that sentence, she wondered if it was better just shutting up.

"I'm saying, I'm here now, so if you feel homesick, at least we can be homesick together.." The girl gently punched at Ri-ki's shoulder, trying to cheer the boy up.

Ri-ki just stared at Aohi in awe, they've only seriously talked, like one other time, and it wasn't even as personal as this, who was this noona to just declare that for him?

He was astonished at the way Aohi just seems to wear her heart on her sleeve.

"You mean that?" Ri-ki hesitantly asked, "Look, we might not know each other much, but I'm serious, especially about that." Aohi replied, in reality, it just really slipped her lips, but she also knew it came from her heart.

Aohi was weak to those who's got similar experiences, and she was always one to mediate and make people feel better.

Ri-ki looked back down at his lap, a shy smile on his lips at the thought of Aohi staying true to her words, someone to talk to when you feel homesick? It gave a Ri-ki a small warmth in his chest, spreading happily throughout his body.

"Hey.." Aohi caught Ri-ki's attention, making him look up. The girl gently offered her closed fist, a truce of some sorts, a fist bump.

Ri-ki happily took the offer, raising his own fist and bump it against hers, their rings clanking against each other, a dull 'clink!' being heard.

"You're not so bad." Aohi amusingly spoke, a soft smile on her face. "And you're really pretty, noona." Ri-ki replied, mirroring Aohi's smile with his own lips.

It was the way Aohi almost choked on her own spit had she not caught herself. "Yah! Ri-ki-san!" Aohi jokingly scoffed, slapping his shoulder, a form of expressing amusement.

"What was that for?"

"I thought I should just let you know, it was a compliment!" Ri-ki giggled, his smile turning from mirroring Aohi's to one of mischief.

"You don't just tell girls they're pretty, Ki-ah." Aohi smoothly used a nickname she made for the younger boy at the spot, making Ri-ki buzz at the new nickname.

"They'll think you're in love with them and then they'll fall in love with you!" Aohi jokingly scolded the younger boy, Ri-ki's cheeks flushing as he realized.

Aohi's cheeks weren't any different though, despite being a rising idol, she still wasn't used to the compliments anyone gave her.

"Well, are you?" Ri-ki asked, his mischevious grin turning to that of a soft happy one. Ri-ki felt relieved to smile like that for a bit, epseically with his hyungs being down in the dumps with the girls.

Aohi snorted, unsure of his seriousness deep inside and deciding to laugh it off.

Suddenly, the easy atmosphere of the practice room was sucked out, when Jake returned, a weird look on his face. Aohi and Ri-ki instantly jumped away from each other, just now noticing their close proximity.

"Manager wants us up." Jake spoke slowly, still suspicious of the two and what he had possibly walked in on.

"Well, that's us," Aohi replied, standing up and dusting off the imaginary dust on her pants.

"C'mon, Ki-ah."

"Ki-ah?" Jake mumbled, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Ri-ki and Aohi, just what happened while he was gone that the two were all buddy-buddy?

Ri-ki just nods, standing up as well, using the wall as a support. Aohi looked on with a slight smile on her face, she was satisfied that she didn't have to fight with one of the boys today. (except Jake, of course.)

It meant, to her, that she was making progress, and she was happy with that.

Aohi hopes that Ri-ki's friendliness wouldn't last just for that day, because she intends to keep her promise to Ri-ki, and it can't happen if they're going back to being awkward.

She walks towards the door, bag in hand as Ri-ki tailed after he like a puppy. Ri-ki and Aohi left that room giggling with each other like the teens they were.

Jake just looked at the pair, tilting his head like a confused dog.

For once, Aohi thinks, that maybe, just maybe, the boys could learn to accept her.

[pillow-anime-talk]

33. "Let's stay like this forever, please." for hajun yeon from paradox live, maybe in a context where mc fem wants to comfort him so she extends her arms to give him a hug because she saw hajun down / sad, a soft moment hehe uvu

# tags: scenario; current relationship; soft romance; fluff; comforting; hugs; sfw

includes: female reader ft. hajun yeon {paradox live; bae}

author’s note: hope you like it, anonnie!

33. “Let’s stay like this forever, please.”

The last week had been incredibly tiring for Hajun; not only had he played four concerts in Osaka, Tokyo, Kyoto and Fukuoka, then had a fight with Allen while writing a new song for his upcoming album, but on top of that, the atmospheric pressure had given him a massive headache that even a pill couldn’t handle. That’s why the twenty-one-year-old hadn’t been able to do anything productive today except lie down, sleep and drink a lot of water.

You came back from work after three in the afternoon and you immediately felt on your skin that something was wrong. Hajun hadn’t been playing on the console, tapping his fingers on the counter looking for inspiration, singing to himself, taking a shower or cooking dinner for the two of you like he usually did when you went on morning shifts. However, you could feel a dead aura coming from the bedroom, and as soon as you peeked out from behind the threshold to see what was going on with your boyfriend, you felt slightly sad when you saw him sleeping and cuddled up to your pillow. On the nightstand you also saw a pack of headache pills and a glass of water with an ice cube that was slowly melting.

Not wanting to wake your partner from his sleep, you slowly went to the kitchen to prepare a quick meal and a warm drink for the two of you; you decided on simple onigiri with tuna paste, sriracha and pumpkin cocoa with lots of small marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles. You finished the preparations in less than an hour, and at the very end you placed eight onigiri wrapped in nori on a tray next to two cups of drink.

After turning off the light in the kitchen, you went to the bedroom, put the trays on the nightstand, and then sat down on the bed, touching Hajun’s warm forehead. He didn’t seem to have a fever and he definitely wasn’t sick, but you knew perfectly well how he reacted to high blood pressure and stress.

“Hey... Hajun…?” You whispered, not wanting to scare him. The boy opened one eyelid, then the other, then frowned at another attack of pain in the temples of his skull. “I made some snack for us... Does it hurt a lot?” You asked worriedly, to which he nodded slightly. “Aw. Poor thing.” You sat on your ankles next to him, massaging his head. This caress didn’t last long, however, because after a moment your boyfriend grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him, causing you to fall onto the mattress and pillow right next to him. You spread your arms and without surprise you felt his head melt into your chest, and your breathing normalized.

“Let’s stay like this forever, please.”

“But our food and cho…” You started, but Hajun only hugged you tighter.

“Please.” He repeated, avoiding your gaze. After all, you hadn’t seen him in a meek, calm and submissive version for a long time.

“… Fine.” You replied, hugging his neck tighter.

You didn’t even realize when the cocoa and onigiri were forgotten and you were attacked by sleep and the desire to rest. It was a really positive ending to the day.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 805: Sohoku's morale

Pag 1

1: The banking angle is like this

2: It's like putting the weight on the very edge of the round part of the tire

3: Keep braking at a minimum

4: Right before the curve, switch one gear lower while braking

7: While taking the curve without decelerating as much as possible...

Pag 2

1: push as hard as you can when moving up!!

Pag 3

1: Shorten it....!!

2: The eight minutes distance...!!

To a four minutes distance!!

3: I can go further!!

4: Let's go!!

With everyone's strength!!

5: Woah, is that the selected team!? They passed me

Six people... no, it's seven people!?

Kyofushi joined them at the very back!!

6: Until the “lead” ahead of us....!!

Pag 4

1: The cyclists are here, there's the pack!

Do your best!

They're so colorful!

So fast!

These is the Inter High's.....

Pag 5

1: lead!!

Pag 6

2: Amazing!

They're so fast..!

They caused the wind!

Fighting!

Gooo!

Pag 7

1: The ones in the lead pulling the pack is....

2: the local from Kyushu, Fukuoka Josei!!

Kumadai is there too!!

4: So your best....!!

They looked here and smiled at us

Take the finish line ahead!!

Mokkosu!!

Pag 8

2: The finish line, huh!!

3: Yeah!!

4: The race is already turning to its final stage

5: Also this is the assembly stage now

A small climb... or after that? When Hakogaku will raise their pace and slip through the locals who are now pulling...

(Fukuoka do your best!

Kumamotoo!

They looked this way and smiled!)

Pag 9

1: the real battle for the finish line will start!!

2: It's gonna be a fight we absolutely cannot step back from!!

3: Step back? Not even a millimeter!!

4: You'll be pulling until then

Danchiku!! Kaburagi!! Team SS duo!!

Yessir!!

Yeah!!

5: I'll pull, horuaa....

6: But

7: Will Onoda-san be alright? He's exhausted for all the work he did on the mountain

Uh!! Danchiku is so considerate!! Also,this is a problem!!

Pag 10

1: Aaalright, me too

That's right!! Onoda-san

2: is basically at death's door!!

This guy...

The way he said it...

3: So-sorry... yeah...

I'm.... alright... I rested while on the long downhill earlier

4: What, are you really okay?

Oi, Issa, you're being too direct!

5: By the way, uhm.... we were in a rush when I joined you again... so I couldn't say it

7: I couldn't.... say it properly...

Pag 11

1: I'm sorry....

I lost....

4: He lost!?

We saw it on the sign board!!

5: Even though it was just around 20cm... even though I pedaled with my strength...

6: I didn't take... the mountain prize

Even though... everyone

7: sent me off

Pag 12

1: What are you talking about!! Onoda

What are you apologizing for!! Onoda-kun!!

Pag 13

1: Ima.... izumi-kun...

3: Naruko-kun....

5: I'll buy you some juice later

Ju-juice?

Kakaka!! That's not a big deal!!

Ah, but...

We

6: were fully happy that we got to send you off, Onoda-kun

Pag 14

1: You could run with Manami with all your strength, and that's good enough

3: Well, when you came back to the team all worn out and we saw the distance on the sign board, I knew that it had come true!!

5: You were even annoyed by Doubashi-san!

Ah, so that was for the mountain prize, I see

6: It raised the team's morale

That's enough

Pag 15

1: Teeh...!!

2: Yeah

Right now, the thing that will raise the morale more than anything

3: it's probably them

5: You're right, now there's

6: the water station

Pag 16

2: Onoda-san is in a pinch!!

Onoda-san is in a pinch!!

He's feeling weak, teh!!

3: I have to do something, teh..!!

Kinaka-kuuun!!

4: Onoda-san's ina pinch, teh!!

Give me all your food supplements and bottles, teh!!

Pag 17

1: Rokudaiii!!

Huh!?

So many!?

Why so much stuff!!

2: I thought you would say that, so I got ready, Rokudaii!!

Pag 18

3: I'll leave the senpai to you, Rokudai!!

4: Goooo!! Rokudaiii!!

What... that's an absurd way of delivering it

So much, on!!

What's with this guys... he delivered such a huge weight of supplies in one go!!

Pag 19

1: Ou- teh!!

2: They're perfectly in sync

Amazing

3: ….. Toji-san

4: This year's finish line...

Yeah, it's further away after the mountain stage than it usually is

From here on, after a few hills it goes on with an up-and-down

Pag 20

1: Then they'll enter a long downhill of around 5km

2: After the coastal national away they'll turn right

3: and they'll enter the town where the first day's finish line is

Pag 21

2: There are probably 10km left...

3: and after that

4: the race for the finish line will start

Pag 22

1: And those who are most likely to win will move!!

There's still more

Th-thank you

That must be heavy

6: There are 12km left until the finish line