#this is something that has been on my heart for ages and it's not going to kill me overnight. i understand it's unhealthy. im working on it

[mononijikayu]

toxic till the end — fushiguro toji.

“You can’t fix everything. You should know that.” you replied, your words trembling as they left your lips. “I don’t know if I can ever forget that.” He nodded slowly, his expression one of deep regret. “I know.” Silence grew once more between the two of you.  You could feel the tears pricking your eyes harshly. And you could tell that he was noticing as much as you.

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, nsfw, r-18, smut, making out, biting, scratching, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, fingering (female receiving), creampie, pet names (babe, etc....), age gap (reader is late 20s, toji is mid 30s) love, humor, light-hearted, long-term relationship, secret relationship, cheating, break-up, falling out of love, toxic relationship, drama, depression, grief, sexual intercourse, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of naked bodies, depiction of cheating, depiction of grief, depiction of depression, mention of sexual innuendo, mention of sexual intercourse, actor! toji, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 15k words

NOTE: i know i disappeared for almost a week and im really sorry,,,,,i just wasn't feeling well and in the middle of that - i was also busy. i genuinely wanted to publish something but there were things that came up - including me finishing a commission. and also worrying about uni stuff. its a really long one, i still have stuff to edit for bonus cuts for that. i am really sorry but i come back with a fury with toji!!! anyway, i hope my absence didnt make yall leave. enjoy and i love yall :']

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YOU NEVER LIKED BEING PERCEIVED. Even if you were an actor, you didn’t want to be. You absolutely hated the attention, you hated having to be known to people you didn’t know on the street.

He knew that. Which is why you never allowed yourself to go on dates with him in that local restaurant. Or ever allow yourself to be comfortable kissing him, knowing paparazzis were following you both. 

But he was loud about his love for you. He always has been. It was obvious when he looked at you during press tours. It was obvious when he heard the sound of your name and smiled like it was the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

He was never good at hiding the fact that he was in love. That’s just how it was with loving a man so magnetic and passionate as him. He tried to convince you that he wanted the world to know. 

Yet, you weren’t prepared to do that. You weren’t prepared for the world to know, for the world to be in your bed. You didn’t want everyone to know that you were his, because you were scared. You were scared of what could happen.

You’ve gone through the trauma of it before, your own ex–boyfriend announcing the break–up before you even knew about the break up. And all the people that hated you, for making him sad. For all those fantasies in their head of all the things you did wrong. You were frightful that it would repeat all over again.

Perhaps he got tired of that. Perhaps he got tired of waiting. Maybe he got tired of you. And you were scared of that. You were scared that this was the case.

You were horrified that he would do the same thing like that ex-boyfriend you loved before. You didn’t want to manifest it. But you also didn’t make a move. You were right. He would get tired of you. You made it this way. You let this happen.

The apartment was eerily silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on you, making every breath feel heavier. You stood in the living room, arms crossed, heart racing as you waited for Toji to come home. He had a late night shoot, he told you. They’d extended the shoot, because of the weather. That’s what he said in the next text. He won’t be home until today.

But as you waited home, all that plagued your mind was the conversation with your friend this morning. You felt sick as the words repeated over the phone.

It won’t go away, not even when you want it to. It remained ever so present, still echoing, hammering deep in your mind. It was as if the weight of her words settled deep in your chest like a knife would. 

"I saw Toji last night." she had said, her voice hesitant. "He was with someone else."

“What….what do you mean by that?” You muttered back at her, still reeling from the words that slipped from her mouth. “Surely it was just another cast member—”

“They were kissing, babes.” She told you earnestly, yet you could tell she was having a hard time with it. She knew that everything she’s saying was breaking your heart. “I’m so sorry.”

“No…no, thank you for telling me.”

You hung up after that. You didn’t know what else to say. What could you have said that could have made it any better? You couldn’t think of anything. All that remained were the years of memories together, now scattered across that empty space where love should be. 

The betrayal, the doubt, and the fear had been building in that space where you should feel your love for him. A place where it is still there, that love, bleeding and tattered by all that grief that comes with mourning the relationship. And now, standing here in the place you both called home, it felt like you were about to explode.

The door clicked open just around lunch time. You had remembered you had given Toji a separate key for your house. Just as you had a key for his. You didn’t want to see him just yet. Not right now. Fushiguro Toji stepped in, face covered by the levelling of his cap. His usual confident demeanor clouded by an unease you hadn’t seen before. He looked at you, the tension in the air immediately palpable.

Babe, didn’t know you’d be awake." he said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

"You said you’d never do that to me." you replied, your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and anger. “You said you wouldn’t be like him.”

He nodded, closing the door behind him. "Alright. What’s going on?"

"I know you were with someone else last night, and you kissed her. My friend saw you." you spat, your voice breaking with the anger and pain you kept hidden. "How could you do this? How could you betray me like that?"

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked caught off guard. Then his expression hardened. "It’s not what you think."

"Not what I think?" you repeated, your voice rising. "Then explain it to me, Toji. Explain why you were out with someone else while I was here, thinking everything was fine."

"I was tired, okay?" he snapped back, his voice louder now, the frustration evident. "Tired of feeling like I’m not enough, like I’m just waiting for you to trust me."

“How long has it been?” You asked him. “How long have you and your lover been going behind my back?”

“Babe—”

“How long?”

He looked away, the contorting guilt bellowing all over his face. This was a look you had seen time and time again. “A few months.”

"A few months." You repeated.

“Yes, but it was casual hook ups and she has a boyfriend too—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you shouted, tears streaming down your face. "You think that’s going to fix anything?"

"I didn’t plan for it to happen." he said, his voice softening, but the damage was done. "I was just... I felt alone."

"You felt alone?" you repeated, the hurt in your voice cutting through the air. "What about me, Toji? Do you have any idea how alone I’ve felt, wondering if you’d get tired of me, if you’d leave me like everyone else has?"

He took a step closer, his expression filled with regret. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did." you whispered, the fight leaving your body as the weight of it all pressed down on you. "God, I just….is it my fault? Is it because I have a busy schedule? Or is it just because I haven’t allowed the world to know about you? And you were desperate to be seen with someone?”

He shook his head. “That’s not the case.”

“It seems to look like it.” You laughed to yourself, almost mad in the thought of your grief. “You did say she had a boyfriend. I doubt that would have changed much, if she knew that you belonged to someone.”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with a regret that almost made your heart ache. His voice, usually so steady, trembled with sincerity. "Please, let’s talk about this. I can make this right."

The words hung in the air, heavy and bittersweet. You wanted to believe him, to let those words soothe the rawness inside you. But they felt too late, like a balm for wounds already too deep. You shook your head, the fight draining from your body as the weight of it all pressed down on you.

"You cheated on me. So brazenly." you whispered, your voice barely audible, laced with pain. "Just like he has. Just like every other man I’ve ever let into my life." The admission stung, the truth of it settling in your chest like a stone. 

“Babe…..”

"Maybe you were just another number, another ex."

His face twisted in anguish, his hands clenching at his sides. "Babe, please, listen to me—"

“I’ve listened to you long enough.” Your voice was soft but firm, carrying the finality of a decision made. Tears blurred your vision, hot and relentless, streaking down your cheeks. “Just... leave your keys. I’m going. I can’t stand to look at you or stay with you here.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Toji's gaze faltered, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something more, to plead, to explain. But no words came. Slowly, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the keys that once symbolized shared moments, shared spaces, and placed them gently on the table.

“I’m sorry.” he said, his voice barely a whisper, a final echo of the love that had once been so vibrant between you.

You didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say. You turned, each step feeling heavier than the last as you walked away, leaving behind the remnants of a relationship that had once held so much promise. The door clicked shut behind you, the sound resonating like a chapter closing.

After that, he took all his stuff from your place and left. Even the keys. And you were glad he did. You were glad he wasn’t there. You blocked his number, you told your friends to stop relaying any messages from him he sent. You even cancelled any appearances with him for work, especially those for the Japanese leg of the press tour for Jujutsu Kaisen. 

And then you disappeared, as though you didn’t exist.

You moved apartments, you didn’t tell anyone where you were. Only your manager knew, just so you could make it easier for her to pick you up for work schedules when you start doing them again. And changed phones and deleted your social media presence. You just wanted to be alone. You wanted to process the death of a seven year relationship. 

Over half a year later, they start to see you again. The last they had seen you, you were still red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. You had explained that you dealt with some personal loss, which wasn’t untrue. People had speculations, they always have. But you didn’t want to admit to anything. You just let them have their fun and you let yourself have your grief. 

The mirror had become a stranger for a while, reflecting someone you barely recognized, a shadow of the person you once were with Toji. The truest you had been yourself was with him. And now you have lost that. You had lost the version of yourself you had loved so dearly. And you hated how that too had revolved around him. Your most beloved life was him.

You hadn't planned on disappearing, not really. But each day felt heavier, each step harder to take, until retreating into the quiet solace of your loneliness and grief became the only thing you could manage.

And everyone in your agency was understanding of that. You haven’t truly taken a break in your entire career. And with that burn out, as much as the heartache, you had to have your time to yourself.

Little by little, you started to pick yourself up from the ruins of the failed relationship. Little by little you found yourself able to breathe again, even though you were still against the crashing waves of pain. At the very least there was some progress. At least you were getting somewhere.

Though, you couldn’t escape him. How could you, when he was so beloved by the world? Every corner of your world seemed to echo with the ghost of him. His face, smiling and confident, stared down at you from every billboard, a constant reminder of what you had lost years of your life to. Years you were the prettiest to yourself.

His voice filled the airwaves, every interview a cruel twist of fate, his laughter a haunting melody that played on repeat in your mind. Fushiguro Toji. His name was a bittersweet whisper, both a comfort and a curse, lingering in the recesses of your heart.

No one else knew that you had broken up. It was a secret you held close, it was a grief that belonged to you and only you. It was a wound too fresh and raw to expose to the world.

You hadn’t found the courage to say anything, convinced that speaking it aloud would make it all too real. Besides, you believed you didn’t have to explain yourself to anyone. Your pain was yours alone, a private storm that no one else could weather.

As you walked through the winding streets of Tokyo, the city lights blurred against your vision, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. The vibrant energy of the city felt distant, a stark contrast to the numbness that enveloped you. The world moved on, oblivious to the turmoil within you.

No one understood what you felt. No one probably ever would. It wasn’t just the loss of a relationship; it was the loss of a dream, a shared future that had unraveled before your eyes. The quiet moments, the laughter, the unspoken promises. They were all gone, leaving behind an emptiness that you didn’t know how to fill.

You kept walking, the sounds of the city fading into the background, your mind a whirlwind of memories and emotions. The ache in your chest was a constant reminder of what once was, and what could never be again. But even in the midst of the pain, you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. Life was waiting, and somehow, you had to find a way to live it again.

The door to your apartment closed behind you with a soft click, but the silence inside felt deafening. You slipped off your shoes and let your bag fall to the floor, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. The familiar surroundings felt foreign now, as if the air itself had shifted, carrying the remnants of memories you weren’t ready to face.

You wandered through the small space, your eyes scanning the room aimlessly. You knew you should do something, anything to distract yourself. So you started cleaning, hoping the mundane task would occupy your mind. You wiped down the counters, straightened the cushions, and folded the laundry. But every movement felt mechanical, your thoughts drifting back to him.

Then you saw it—his jacket. Your mouth went agape at the sight of it. It hung innocuously by the door, just as it always had when he would visit your apartment. You didn’t know you still had it, from the move. You didn’t know the movers packed it too. He didn’t take it with him when he left the house. 

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. It was the same jacket he had worn countless times, the one that carried his scent, a mixture of cologne and something uniquely him. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers grazing the fabric.

The moment you touched it, the floodgates opened. The tears came fast and uncontrollable, pouring down your face as you clutched the jacket to your chest. You sank to the floor, the weight of your sorrow too much to bear.

The scent of him enveloped you, bringing back a rush of memories. His arms around you, his laugh, the way he would kiss your forehead when you were feeling down.

You cried for everything you had lost. For the love you had poured into a man who could never fully be yours. A man older, with a life that always seemed just out of reach. A man who cherished his independence, who was never truly tethered to you in the way you had hoped. You had given him your prettiest years, the best of yourself, only to be left with the pieces of a broken heart.

Tomorrow was the shoot, and you knew you had to pull yourself together. The contract was signed long before the breakup, back when you thought working together would be another way to share your dreams, your passions, your lives. Now, it was the weight pulling you into a reality you weren’t ready to face.

Tonight, the pain was too fresh, too overwhelming. How could you stop crying when every corner of your life was a reminder of him? When his presence still lingered in the smallest things, like a ghost haunting the spaces you once shared?

You stayed there, curled on the floor, clutching the jacket as the tears continued to fall. It wasn’t just about losing him. It was about losing the future you had imagined, the dreams you had built together.

And as the night stretched on, you let yourself grieve, knowing that somehow, you had to find the strength to face tomorrow. But for now, all you could do was cry.

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MORNING ALWAYS DOES COME. And when it does, you try to make the effort to still stand on your own two toes. When the morning came, exhausted and numb, there you were facing the inevitable.

You bowed to everyone, greeting them with as much enthusiasm as you could muster. You smiled as though there was no problem at all. Chattered and sat there on the make–up chair like nothing had happened. As if there was nothing at all that shattered you to nothing. 

The studio lights felt harsher than you remembered, their unforgiving brightness illuminating every inch of the set—and every crack in your heart. It was as if they knew, as if they were exposing the rawness inside you, the pain you had tried so hard to bury. The bustling crew moved around you, adjusting cameras, checking props, but their chatter seemed distant, muffled by the storm in your mind.

You couldn’t help but feel nervous, your hands trembling ever so slightly. It felt strange, almost surreal, like this was your first time stepping in front of the camera. You had done this a hundred times before, but today was different. 

Today, you were a different person. The warmth of reassurance that once came from a simple touch, his hand brushing against yours, his quiet, steady presence—was gone. You were on your own now, and the weight of that reality pressed down on you like a heavy cloak.

You swallowed hard, the bile rising in your throat as the familiar sting of tears threatened to break free. Your muscles tensed, contorting as you fought the overwhelming urge to let go, to release the tears that had been building up inside you. But you didn’t. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t let yourself fall apart here, not now.

Not now, you repeat to yourself, a mantra you clung to with every ounce of strength you had left. You didn’t want it. You didn’t want the tears, the loneliness, the pain. You didn’t need it. You had told yourself this over and over again. You didn’t need to feel this, not here, not under the glaring scrutiny of the studio lights and the watchful eyes of everyone around you.

Your breaths came in shallow, shaky gulps as you forced yourself to focus, to channel everything into the character you were about to portray. The lines blurred between the role you played and the person you were, but you clung to that thin line of separation, hoping it would hold. This was your sanctuary, your escape. If you could just hold on a little longer, maybe the pain wouldn’t consume you.

You could do this, you told yourself.

You could survive this, you know you could.

It’s only for a few weeks of this misery.

But as you lifted your eyes, you saw him again.

And all that resolve dissolved almost instantly.

Fushiguro Toji stood across the room, talking to the director, his usual charm evident in the way his shoulders shook with laughter. The sound of it, rich and familiar, carried across the set, drawing the attention of those nearby. He looked relaxed, his posture loose, his smile easy. He seemed to be in happy spirits, more than the last time you saw him.

It was a sharp contrast to the last memory you had of him—tense, conflicted, the weight of your shared history etched into every line of his face. But now, he seemed lighter, as if the burden of your breakup had lifted from his shoulders. The sight of him like this stirred a mix of emotions within you. Jealousy, sadness, and an aching longing you tried to suppress.

You watched from a distance, your gaze lingering longer than you intended. It was painful, seeing him so carefree, as if nothing had changed, as if the past weeks hadn’t unraveled you both. But there he was, moving through the room with an ease that seemed effortless, while you struggled to keep your composure.

The director clapped him on the back, and Toji’s laugh echoed again, brighter this time. You quickly averted your eyes, pretending to busy yourself with your script, but the image of him remained imprinted in your mind. It was harder than you thought it would be, being in the same space, breathing the same air, while feeling worlds apart.

For a moment, you wondered if he had truly moved on, or if this was just a façade, a mask to hide whatever he might still be feeling. But you pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was surviving this day, this scene, and the countless others that would follow. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable interaction. You had to face him eventually.

The director’s voice cut through the low hum of the studio, calling for everyone to take their places. “Alright, let’s get started! Everyone, introduce yourselves before we begin.”

You took a deep breath, forcing your shoulders to relax as you stepped forward with the rest of the cast. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on your chest, but you reminded yourself to stay calm, to keep it together. 

Your eyes, however, betrayed you, flickering towards Toji for the briefest second before you snapped them away, focusing instead on a point somewhere beyond him. You were a professional. You had done this countless times before. You had been through worse—or so you told yourself. You could do this. You had to do this. 

As the introductions began, your turn loomed closer. Each name and face passed by in a blur until the spotlight shifted to you. You bowed to each and every one, smiling at them as best you could even though you couldn’t process it all just yet. 

“Hello, nice to meet you all!” you said, introducing yourself. Your voice is steady despite the storm within. “It’s great to be working with everyone.”

Your words were polite, professional, and utterly detached. At least you notice it. But the others didn’t seem to. You could see the blur in all their smiles towards you, shining in a way you couldn’t recognize. You barely registered the murmured responses of the others, your focus pinned on keeping your composure. Then it was Toji’s turn.

He stepped forward, his presence commanding as always. “Fushiguro Toji.” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. There was a familiar warmth in his tone, one that made your heart clench. “Looking forward to working with all of you.”

His blue–green eyes flicked to you, just for a moment, but it was enough to send a ripple of tension through your body. You held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than you intended, before quickly looking away, pretending to be engrossed in the script in your hands.

The director clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “Alright, let’s dive into it! Remember, the first scene is a heavy scene, so take your time and feel it out. Call for a cut any time you want to. So let’s start, like we rehearsed.”

You nodded at the director. Everyone moved to their places, and you found yourself standing just a few feet away from Toji. The air between you felt charged, the unspoken history hanging like a shadow over the set. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost cautious.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. “Yeah.” you murmured, your eyes fixed on the floor.

Toji hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but the director called for action, and just like that, you were thrust into the scene. The lines between fiction and reality blurred once again, and all you could do was hold on and hope you made it through without falling apart.

As the cameras rolled and the scene began, you pushed everything else aside, locking the pain away in a corner of your heart. The studio lights continued to shine, harsh and unrelenting, but you stood your ground. You didn’t need your tears. You didn’t need your loneliness. All you needed was to make it through this moment. And somehow, you would.

The first scene couldn’t have been more ironic if the universe had written it itself. A husband and wife, embroiled in a bitter argument, their marriage on the brink of collapse. Every word in the script seemed like a cruel reflection of your own reality. The dialogue cut too close, each line a dagger, the emotions too raw to ignore.

You had told yourself you could handle it, that you could compartmentalize the character’s turmoil from your own. But as the words spilled from your lips, it felt as if the character had seized control of your body, dragging all your buried feelings to the surface, laying them bare for everyone to see.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” you shouted, your voice cracking with the weight of suppressed emotion. The accusation wasn’t just a line; it was a scream from your heart. “You’re always so wrapped up in your own world! What about us? What about me?”

The tears that pricked your eyes weren’t from the script. They were your own, threatening to fall, the pain of the breakup echoing in every syllable. Across from you, Toji’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening as he stepped into his character. His voice, sharp and filled with a familiar bitterness, mirrored your own anguish.

“Don’t act like I’m the only one who made mistakes!” he shot back, his tone rising, the frustration palpable. “You think it’s easy, carrying the weight of everything? Maybe if you tried to understand instead of blame—”

“Understand?” you interrupted, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. The sting in your eyes blurred your vision, but you pressed on. “I’ve tried! I’ve given everything, and it’s never enough for you!”

The room felt electric, the tension between you both so thick it was as if the air itself might shatter under the weight of it. Each word hung in the air, resonating with a truth neither of you could ignore.

The director’s voice called out, “Cut! Let’s take a moment.”

The tension didn’t dissipate with the end of the scene. It lingered, heavy and suffocating, as if the raw emotions couldn’t be contained by the simple call for a break. You stood there, your chest heaving with the effort of keeping your tears at bay, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

Toji remained across from you, his jaw tight, his eyes still locked onto yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, as if frozen in the aftermath of the words that had been exchanged—not just between the characters, but between the two of you.

You stood frozen, your chest heaving as the emotions coursed through you. Toji turned to face you, his expression unreadable. You saw him take a step toward you, and panic clawed at your chest, but you forced yourself to stay put. Running away wouldn’t solve anything. You had to face this, face him.

“Hey.” Toji said softly, his voice gentler than it had been during the scene. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding even though your body betrayed you with a slight tremble. “Yeah. Just… caught me off guard, that’s all.”

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge how much of the scene was acting and how much was real. “It felt real.” he admitted, his tone cautious. “Too real.”

“Yeah.” You murmured, not looking at him. You didn’t want to. You didn’t know if you were prepared to just yet. 

The tension between you and Toji was palpable, thick like fog, clouding every inch of the set. You stood there, heart pounding, as the reality of the situation settled deeper into your bones. This was not just a fleeting moment; this was going to be every day, side by side, pretending like everything was fine when it was far from it.

Toji shifted on his feet, his usual confidence seemingly faltering as he took in your guarded expression. “I didn’t think you’d come today.” he admitted, his voice lower, more vulnerable than you remembered. “Thought you’d call in sick.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I have a job to do.” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Besides….you showed up too.”

Silence befell the two of you after those words. You started fidgeting with your fingers, something you would do when you were nervous. As you feel your throat closed up, you purse your lips into a flat line. You thought it was time to walk away, to take your time away from him before the next take.

Finally, Toji broke the silence, stepping closer, his voice lower but no less intense. “It was just acting.” he said, his tone softer, almost vulnerable. “I’m sorry for my tone.”

You swallowed hard, your throat constricting. “So was I.” You whispered, your voice barely audible. 

The tears you had been holding back now threatened to spill over, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him. Toji’s gaze grew softer as he looked at you, the anger from the take earlier melting into something more akin to sorrow. Something you think you were more familiar with.

“I didn’t want things to end that way.” He admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Can we not talk about it—”

“But I want to.” He tells you in his retort, abruptly cutting you off. “I need to. I want to fix everything.”

“You can’t fix everything. You should know that.” you replied, your words trembling as they left your lips. “I don’t know if I can ever forget that.”

He nodded slowly, his expression one of deep regret. “I know.”

Silence grew once more between the two of you. 

You could feel the tears pricking your eyes harshly.

And you could tell that he was noticing as much as you.

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again. “I’m glad you’re here….at least.” he said quietly, sincerity lacing his words. “I know it’s hard, but maybe… maybe we can find a way to make this work.”

You almost laughed, the irony of it all hitting you. “Make this work?” you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief. “You mean like how we were supposed to make us work?”

Toji winced, the pain in your words cutting through him. “I didn’t mean it like that, you know that.” he said softly. “Look, I….I know I hurt you. I know things didn’t go the way we wanted. But this project… it’s important to both of us. Can we at least try to be civil? For the sake of the work?”

You bit your lip, torn between the urge to lash out and the need to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Civil.” you echoed, testing the word on your tongue. “I guess we can try.”

He offered a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

A tense silence settled again before he spoke once more. “Look, I don’t want to make things harder than they already are. If you need space, I’ll give it to you. Just... don’t shut me out completely.”

Your heart ached at his words, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “Space would be good.” you agreed, your voice firmer now. “Let’s just focus on the work. That’s all we need to do.”

Toji nodded, accepting your terms. “Okay. Work it is.”

The director called for everyone to reset for the next take, but the two of you remained locked in place, the world around you fading into the background. It was a moment of unspoken understanding, a shared pain that neither of you could fully articulate. As the crew moved around you, preparing for the next shot, Toji took a step back, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. 

“Let’s get through this.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that spoke of more than just the scene ahead. “We owe it to ourselves.”

You nodded, unable to speak, and turned away. Your assistant handed you the script once again and you found yourself trying to focus on the script in your hands. The show had to go on, but the lines between fiction and reality had never felt so blurred.

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, a mix of relief and sorrow washing over you. This was your new reality. It probably always will, when people like your chemistry together. 

You are going to be stuck working side by side with the man who broke your heart. But as you watched him go, you realized something: you weren’t the same person you were before. You had been broken, yes, but you were also stronger now.

You knew that. And maybe, just maybe, that strength would see you through this. You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. The day had only just begun. But you were praying that he doesn’t look at you with that look in his eyes again. 

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DAYS ON SET BECAME A NEW STANDARD OF LIVING. You haven’t been sure you were used to it yet after a long time away, but you were sure about to get there. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself.

As the days turned into weeks, the rhythm of the shoot became oddly familiar. Early morning calls, practice for heavy scenes, dress rehearsal, the chaos of set preparation, and the god awful long night to morning shoots. 

This was the relentless cycle of takes transformed into your new daily standard routine. You and Toji fell into an unspoken pattern between the two of you, though. But you had to be, if you wanted to keep your jobs. It was a strange thing to witness, if one was being honest. It took a lot of effort to memorize the dance. And every bit of that was equal parts effortless and exhausting. 

On the surface, you were professionals—co-workers delivering lines, executing roles, keeping up appearances. Especially him, he was your senpai too. He was good at maintaining that mask on him more than you were. 

But beneath the polished veneer, tension simmered, weaving itself into every glance, every exchange, every shared silence. You could tell just by looking at his eyes. No one else but you could do that, after all.

The studio became your shared battlefield, its walls echoing with unspoken words. You threw yourself into the work, burying raw emotions beneath layers of performance day after day.

But when the director yelled for the cut, you knew that the veil dropped most instantaneously. And that always leaves you vulnerable to the presence of the man who had once been your everything. 

Fushiguro Toji was close enough to touch yet felt a world away from you. And you were certain that he felt the same way about you too. After all, you had a wall he couldn’t reach. You wouldn’t let him reach it. There was no way for him to know what to do with you. 

But this doesn’t stop you from looking. Nor did it stop him from doing the same thing. You had noticed everything about him and what he does. It was obvious how hard it is to be exes on set. It was even harder when you were soulmates. 

There was the slight hesitation in his laugh, the way his smile sometimes faltered at the edges. He was both familiar and foreign, a stranger wearing a face you had loved. Everything about him was something you knew and everything about him was something that was a mystery. It was a really intriguing thing. And that was the worst thing of all. You were intrigued about the man you loved and hated all at once.

Conversations were sparse at first, clinical and focused on the work. You both clung to professionalism like a lifeline, avoiding anything that might hint at the depth of your shared history. The lines were clear: scenes, blocking, timing, delivery. Anything beyond that was dangerous territory.

You were determined to keep things professional, to relegate your relationship to the sterile confines of work. But no matter how hard you tried, the walls you’d built between yourselves began to splinter under the weight of the unspoken.

The first crack came during a late-night shoot. The two of you stood under the harsh glow of the heavy set lights, running through lines while the crew adjusted the framing. Toji, leaning casually against a prop table, smirked at a mistake you made while stumbling over a particularly convoluted line.

“That’s the third time now.” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. There was a teasing edge to it, but it was softer than you remembered.

You shot him a sharp look. “Thanks for keeping count.” you replied, your tone clipped, though your lips twitched against your will.

His smirk widened, but there was no malice in it, just a faint warmth. “You’re welcome. I thought I’d help out since you seem… preoccupied.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing him off. “Preoccupied with carrying this scene, maybe.”

The banter was fleeting, but it lingered in the air long after the cameras rolled again. Once again, you did the best you could and continued to bring your spirits up. As the night progressed, the director started to feel a little bit more satisfied with one or two shots. And that had at least allowed you the hope of going to sleep soon.

Later, during one of the scene changes, you caught him watching you as you adjusted your new  costume. He didn’t look away quickly enough, and your eyes met. For a moment, the distance between you felt less insurmountable, the years of hurt and silence shrinking into the space of a single glance. That glance was the longest moment of your life, you were sure.

“What?” you asked, a touch defensive, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, as if debating whether to respond, then shrugged. “Nothing. You just… remind me of something.”

You wanted to press him, to ask what he meant, but the vulnerability in his expression stopped you. His eyes, usually so guarded, were uncharacteristically soft, as if he was on the verge of saying something he couldn’t quite bring himself to voice.

Instead of pushing, you turned back to the mirror, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingered, tracing the reflection of your face as though searching for something. It was recognition, understanding, forgiveness.

But then you caught yourself. The silence was becoming unbearable, the air between you thick with things neither of you dared to say. You cleared your throat, the sound breaking the tension like a sharp crack in the stillness. 

“We should start rehearsing.” you said, your voice steady, though your heart was racing. “For the scene.”

For a moment, Toji didn’t respond. He seemed to weigh your words, as though deciding whether to challenge the sudden shift or let it go. Finally, he tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing in quiet disbelief.

“...Are you comfortable doing that with me?” he asked, his tone careful, hesitant. It wasn’t the confident Toji you remembered, the one who always seemed so sure of himself, even when everything around him was chaotic. This was different—softer, almost unsure.

You hesitated, the question throwing you off balance. There was a part of you that wanted to lash out, to let him know how much his presence still affected you, how rehearsing with him wasn’t just work. But you swallowed it down, forcing yourself to focus on the here and now.

“Yeah, why not?” you replied, shrugging as though it didn’t matter. Your tone was light, almost dismissive, but the tension in your voice betrayed you.

Toji’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but not entirely neutral either. “Why not, huh….” he echoed softly, more to himself than to you. He took a step closer, crossing into your personal space but stopping just short of overstepping. 

“Okay.” he said finally, his voice steady now, though his eyes still carried that flicker of something unresolved. “Let’s rehearse.”

You nodded, turning away from the mirror and moving toward the small table where the script sat. You busied yourself with flipping through the pages, anything to avoid looking at him directly. But you knew, you could feel it — he was looking at you and only you.

As you both settled into the familiar rhythm of line-reading, the tension between you didn’t fade entirely, but it softened, shaped by the shared focus on the work. There were moments, brief but poignant, where you caught glimpses of the man you had once known in the way he delivered a line or the way he watched you deliver yours. 

Yet you knew when you said these things, you knew it would be bad. You knew they would hit too close to home, too personal. And that was what happened. When the two of you were finally shooting the emotional scene, it was more real than your practice and perhaps, that’s what fueled your acting. 

The dialogue was heavy, charged with the kind of raw emotion that mirrored your real-life tension a little too closely. It was a confrontation scene this time around—a breaking point between two lovers teetering on the edge of collapse. As you delivered the lines you had practiced, the words felt too personal, too sharp, cutting into wounds that hadn’t fully healed. And you hated it.

“That’s all you ever do, isn’t it?” your character accused, the anger in your voice reverberating through the silent set. “You push people away the second they get too close. You think it’s easier to walk away than to face what you’ve done.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel every pair of eyes in the room on you, the weight of the moment pressing down like a vice. But your focus was on Toji.

He stood across from you, his character’s guilt written across his face, but there was something else there—something unspoken that made your chest tighten. Somehow, it was his real face. Somehow, it was his truest blossom of regret.

The director called for a break, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. The crew scattered, murmuring amongst themselves, but the energy in the room remained electric, charged with the kind of intensity that couldn’t simply be switched off.

You turned away quickly, grabbing a water bottle from the craft table. Your hands were trembling slightly, your pulse still racing. You focused on the coolness of the bottle against your skin, anything to ground yourself, to pull you out of the emotional spiral the scene had sent you into.

“You okay?” Toji’s voice came from behind you, quiet but insistent.

You stiffened, refusing to turn around. “I’m fine. Just… in the scene.”

“Right.” he said, but there was a note of skepticism in his voice. “You sure that’s all it is?”

Something in his tone made you snap. You spun around to face him, your eyes blazing. “Why? Do you think I’m talking about you?”

Toji’s jaw tightened, his posture rigid. For a moment, his mask of calm slipped, and the vulnerability beneath it was laid bare. “I don’t know.” he said, his voice low and even. “Are you?”

The question hung between you, the weight of it almost unbearable. His gaze locked onto yours, unflinching, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you standing there, raw and exposed.

“What if I was?” you shot back, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “Would it even matter?”

His lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, neither of you willing to back down, yet both too afraid to fully engage. Before either of you could break the impasse, a crew member approached, clipboard in hand. 

“We’re resetting for the next take.” they announced, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. “Five minutes.”

You tore your gaze away from Toji, nodding curtly at the crew member and quietly thanked them before turning on your heel and walking away. Your footsteps echoed in the cavernous studio, each one feeling heavier than the last.

As you retreated to the corner of the set, you could feel Toji’s eyes on you, his presence lingering like a ghost. Even as the crew busied themselves with preparations and the director barked instructions, the tension between you remained, an invisible thread pulling tauter with every passing moment.

You leaned against a prop, exhaling shakily, trying to center yourself. The scene was over, but the emotions it had stirred up were still thrumming through your veins. And as much as you tried to tell yourself otherwise, you knew this wasn’t just about the script. This was about the two of you—about all the things you’d left unsaid and all the wounds that still refused to heal.

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YOU HADN’T READ THE NEXT PART OF THE SCRIPT YET. You had been too emotionally exhausted about what you had been doing for work that you had put off reading the script. Which was fine, you were able to memorize things easily when you see it long enough. That’s why you have this sort of career in the first place.

So the next morning, you arrived on set early with your manager. You greeted everyone as you were clutching your script tightly in your hands. Your manager quickly greeted everyone and went to you, before telling you that he’ll get you both coffee from the coffee truck. You nodded at her, telling her that you’ll just be sitting on the trailer.

It had become a habit, one you told yourself was about preparation — ‘it will work out’; but deep down you knew it was also a way to mentally brace yourself for whatever the day might bring. You have told yourself that phrase for years now, but perhaps, it  didn’t hit as hard as it has now. Much more because you were working with the man you were in a relationship with for quite a lot of years. 

Working with Fushiguro Toji was a constant balancing act, teetering on the edge of professionalism and the unresolved tension that hung between you like a storm cloud storming away with its raging thunder and its hurling battering rains. That was just what it was, when you were working with someone you still had unresolved issues with. 

You settled into your usual corner, flipping through the script for the day’s scenes. You moved to take the pen from your bag, and started highlighting things you wanted to work on and things you wanted to ask for feedback from the director. As you skimmed the pages, your eyes caught on a block of stage directions that made your stomach drop. A part you hadn’t seen just yet.

Hiruka steps closer to Suzaku, their faces just barely inches apart. The tension between them is palpable, one that pushes them together like gravity and after a beat, they kiss.

Your mouth went agape at what you had just read. This was not what you expected. You clutched your heart, feeling how it skipped a beat. For a moment, you just stared at the words, as if doing so would somehow make them disappear. But they didn’t. The scene was there, in black and white, unavoidable.

"Everything okay?" a voice broke through your thoughts. One of the assistant directors, passing by with a clipboard, glanced at you with mild concern. 

You forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah. Just going over the script.”

She nodded, already distracted by another crew member waving her down, and you exhaled slowly, your mind racing. You haven't kissed Toji since… well, since before everything had fallen apart. 

The idea of doing it now, even in character, felt like reopening a wound you’d barely managed to scab over. Even though it had been six, seven months since the breakup, the thought still wasn’t something you had gotten used to. The memories of what had been lingered like a ghost, haunting the edges of your mind whenever you let your guard down.

But then again, no one knew you were dating. To everyone else, you were just friends. Friends and co-workers. That was the story they had always known, the one you had carefully curated and protected. It wasn’t their fault—they didn’t see the quiet moments shared off-set, the way his hand used to linger on yours, the stolen kisses behind closed doors, the whispered promises of something that had felt so certain at the time.

You… you weren’t ready to tell anyone. The idea of opening up that part of your life to the world had felt too vulnerable, too risky. So you had kept it quiet, only sharing the truth with a handful of people you trusted—close friends who had sworn to keep your secret. Back then, it had felt like the right choice, like something sacred and yours to guard.

Now, though, it felt like a double-edged sword. No one on set knew about the history between you and Toji, which meant no one understood how charged this scene truly was. They didn’t know how much it would take to get through it without letting the weight of the past seep into every glance, every word, every touch. To them, it was just another part of the job.

But to you? To you, it was a reckoning.

You rubbed your temples, trying to shake the thought away, but it clung to you stubbornly. You were here to work, to act, to tell a story. You had gotten through every other scene with Toji, no matter how tense or emotionally taxing it had been. You could get through this one too.

Couldn’t you?

Your internal spiral was interrupted when Fushiguro Toji walked onto the set, his usual calm demeanor in place. He spotted you almost immediately and gave a slight nod in greeting, but his expression shifted when he noticed the look on your face.

“Something wrong?” he asked as he approached, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You hesitated, holding up the script instead of answering. “Have you read today’s scenes?”

He frowned slightly, taking the script from your hand and flipping through it. You watched his blue–green eyes scan the page one after another, his expression shifting from neutral to surprised and then to something you couldn’t quite place.

“Oh.” he said simply, his voice unreadable.

“Yeah.” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh.”

Toji closed the script, handing it back to you. “Well….” he began, his tone measured. “It’s part of the job, right?”

His casual response made your irritation flare. “Don’t act like this is nothing.” you shot back, keeping your voice low but firm. “You know it’s not. Not with us.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying it’s nothing. I’m saying we’ve done this before. We’re professionals for a reason. We’ll handle it.”

The word professionals felt like a jab, as if he was reminding you that whatever was between you didn’t matter anymore. You opened your mouth to argue but stopped yourself, biting back the words. Instead, you took a step back, putting more space between you.

“I just... wasn’t expecting it.” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I guess I should do more reading on the script before I say yes. But then again, we were together before this. I would have thought differently if we were….”

You stopped yourself from saying anything. You sighed as you took the script back from him, not looking at him. You fumble through the script once again, stopping at where you were reading earlier. For a moment, Toji didn’t respond. He simply watched you, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded. 

“Neither was I. But maybe it’s a good thing.”

You frowned. “How could this possibly be a good thing?”

“Because….” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “If we can get through this, we can get through anything else this job throws at us.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond to him whatsoever. There was a sincerity in his tone that caught you off guard, a reminder of the man you used to know, a man you once loved—the one who could somehow say the exact thing you needed to hear, even when you didn’t want to hear it.

“Let’s just get it over with.” you muttered finally, turning away to avoid meeting his gaze. You hoped the words would end the conversation, but Toji, ever persistent, wasn’t ready to let it drop. “As soon as possible.”

“Are we going to rehearse—”

“We are not going to rehearse kissing.” you interrupted sharply, spinning back toward him with a pointed glare before he could finish the thought.

He blinked, momentarily startled by your tone, then raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. No rehearsing. he said, his voice calm but edged with a hint of amusement. “I wasn’t going to push it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, still skeptical. “I mean it. We know how to kiss for work. It’s technical, not personal. We’ll hit our marks, make it look convincing, and that’s it.”

“Got it.” he replied, his tone unreadable. But the faint twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, and it made your chest tighten with a mix of irritation and something far more complicated.

“I’m serious, Toji.” you added, folding your arms across your chest. “This doesn’t have to be a thing. Let’s just focus on the scene and move on.”

He tilted his head, his gaze softening just slightly. “I know. I’m not trying to make it a thing, I promise.” he said quietly. “But it’s not like we can pretend it doesn’t feel... different.”

You froze, his words hitting you harder than you expected. Different. Of course, it felt different. How could it not? You had kissed him before, really kissed him. Many countless times in another life, when things had been simpler, when you weren’t standing on opposite sides of an invisible wall you’d both helped build.

But you couldn’t let yourself dwell on that now. Shaking your head, you turned back toward the set. “It doesn’t matter.” you said, more to yourself than to him. “It’s just a scene, Toji. That’s all it is.”

You didn’t wait for his response as you walked away, but you felt the weight of his gaze on your back, heavy and lingering. And as much as you tried to push it down, you couldn’t shake the sense that, for Toji, it might not be just a scene after all. You looked for your manager. 

You needed to get that coffee from her as soon as possible. 

And perhaps, a donut. You need enough sugar to get through the day.

And so you let hours pass by, trying to get the idea of the kiss off your mind. You were not going to think about it until you had to. That’s what you tell yourself. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

How will it happen? How will you end up lasting with how he would touch you? How could you keep this professional? You shook your head. You hated how much you were getting too into this.

When you finally make it off to set once again, you find yourself overwhelmed already. After going through the worst of thoughts while on the makeup chair, you couldn’t help but feel even worse here.

The set was quiet as the crew adjusted the lights and cameras for the upcoming scene. You stood off to the side, arms crossed, your script clutched tightly in one hand. The weight of what was about to happen pressed on you like a physical force, making it hard to breathe.

Toji was across the room, leaning casually against a prop table as the makeup artist gave him a last touch-up. He looked calm. Too calm, like this was just another day, another scene. Like there was nothing to freak out about. It irritated you. How could he be so composed when every nerve in your body felt like it was on edge?

Soon enough, the director called for everyone to take their places. You moved to your mark, heart pounding. Fushiguro Toji approached, his steps measured, his expression unreadable. The tension between you thickened as the cameras rolled into position, and the director gave the signal to begin.

The scene started smoothly enough. The dialogue flowed naturally, your voices blending together in a rhythm you had mastered over weeks of working together. But as the emotional intensity of the scene built, you felt the lines between acting and reality begin to blur.

“That’s all you ever do, isn’t it?” you said, your voice trembling with both your character’s anger and something far more personal. “You push people away the second they get too close. You think it’s easier to walk away than to face what you’ve done.”

Toji stepped closer, his character’s frustration mirroring something unspoken in his own eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” he shot back, his voice low, dangerous. “You don’t know what it’s like to carry this kind of weight.”

“I don’t know?” you snapped, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know, because I was there. I was always there.”

The director hadn’t called the cut, so you kept going, even though your hands were trembling and your breath was coming faster than it should have been. Toji’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might break character. But then he stepped even closer, closing the gap between you.

And then it happened as naturally as breathing —the kiss.

It started the way it was supposed to, his hands lightly brushing against your arms as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours with the perfect mix of tension and tenderness. But as the seconds ticked by, something shifted. The scene was supposed to end with a brief, restrained kiss. I twas just enough to convey the characters’ unresolved feelings. But Toji didn’t pull back, and neither did you.

Instead, the kiss deepened even more, the intensity between you igniting like a spark meeting gasoline. Fire blossoming in the spark of that gasoline, over and over as you both push and pull.

His hand moved to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek in a way that felt far too familiar, far too real. Your hands, which were meant to stay at your sides, found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if you were anchoring yourself to him.

The room around you faded from your reality. The set, the cameras, the crew—it all disappeared as the kiss pulled you under, dredging up emotions you thought you’d buried. Pain, longing, regret. All of it crashed over you in an overwhelming wave, pushing and pulling you towards him.

“Cut!” the director finally called, his voice sharp enough to break through the haze.

You and Toji  finally let loose and separated abruptly, both of you breathing hard. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the equipment and the muffled sounds of crew members shuffling around. No one said anything, but the charged atmosphere was impossible to ignore.

The director, who had been watching the monitors intently, clapped his hands together. “That was… intense.” he said, nodding approvingly. “Let’s reset and do one more take.”

You couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze, least of all Toji’s, as you stepped back to your mark. Your lips still tingled, and your heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of your chest. As the crew moved around you, resetting for the next take, 

Toji leaned in close, his voice low so only you could hear. “You okay?”

You nodded stiffly, refusing to look at him. “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t. And as you prepared to shoot the scene again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had just happened wasn’t just acting—it was something far more dangerous. Many things were pushing through your mind over and over again. Things you shouldn’t think about. People you shouldn’t think about. 

You touch your lips, before stopping and closing your eyes to take a breath. Toji was still looking at you, as though trying to make sure you were alright. But you couldn’t be coherent, you couldn’t think straight. Not when his lips tasted like forbidden fruit, from paradise, from heaven.

The moment the director called for another take, you felt your chest constrict. You couldn’t do it again—not right away, not with how raw everything felt. Your hands were trembling, your head spinning, and your heart still hadn’t slowed from the intensity of the scene—or the kiss.

“I need a break, director.” you muttered, barely audible, before turning and walking off set without waiting for a response. “Please….I…”

You started to move before you could register it. You ignored the crew members and assistants milling about, their curious glances following you as you navigated through the maze of equipment and props.

You didn’t stop until you found a quiet corner near the back of the lot, where the noise of the set faded into a distant hum. Leaning against a wall, you exhaled shakily, pressing your hands against your temples as you tried to steady yourself.

You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt his presence before he spoke.

“Hey.” Toji’s voice was soft but steady, cutting through the silence.

You stiffened, not turning around. “I just need a minute.”

“I know that.” he replied, his tone careful, as though he were trying not to spook you. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

You scoffed, your laugh bitter and hollow. “Why do you care if I’m okay?”

His footsteps grew closer until he was standing just a few feet away. “Because I do.” he said simply. “I always have. You know that.”

You spun around to face him, your frustration bubbling over. “You don’t get to do that, Toji. You don’t get to pretend like everything’s fine, like you care, after everything—”

“I’m not pretending!” he interrupted, his voice rising just enough to cut you off. His jaw was tight, his expression pained. “You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted any of this to happen?”

“You walked away, Toji.” you shot back, your voice shaking. “You made your choice. And now you’re acting like—like—”

“Like what?” he challenged, stepping closer. “Like I regret it? Because I do. I regret everything, alright? But I can’t change the past. I can’t undo what I did. All I can do is try to…” He trailed off, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Try to do what?” you demanded, your own anger simmering beneath the surface. “Make yourself feel better? Redeem yourself? Because that’s not how it works, Toji. You don’t just get to show up and act like we can fix this with one stupid kiss!”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” he said, his voice softening, though the intensity in his eyes didn’t waver. “I just… I miss you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to look away from him, but you can’t. How could you, when he was looking at you like that? Like he still sees you to be the only one for him. Like he still loves you most in this world.

“Toji…” you started, but your voice cracked, and you couldn’t finish the sentence.

His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, his expression torn. “Tell me to stop.” he murmured, taking another step forward. “If you don’t want this, just say the word, and I’ll walk away.”

You wanted to say it. No, you wanted to scream at him. You wanted to push him away and shove him and be angry with him, to tell him that you were done, that the past was the past and there was no going back. That you do not love him anymore. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, when he closed the distance between you, cupping your face with his hands, you didn’t pull away. His lips found yours, and the kiss was nothing like the one on set. It was desperate and unguarded, filled with all the things neither of you had been able to say.

Your hands clung to the fabric of his shirt, almost as if you needed the physical contact to ground yourself. The kiss deepened as your body pressed against his, the tension between you both crackling in the space that had once been filled with affection and now was choked with pain and unresolved emotion. His lips were insistent, hungry in a way that told you just how long he had been holding this back. The rawness of it, the desperation, sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands moved to the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair as if he were afraid you’d slip away again. When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, both of you stood there, forehead to forehead, your breaths heavy and unsteady. The world around you was a distant blur, and all that mattered was the way his chest rose and fell against yours.

The silence was suffocating, yet neither of you moved to speak. You couldn’t find the words, couldn’t find the strength to pull away from him again. He, too, seemed frozen in the moment, as if this brief touch of something real had left him equally shaken. But then, before you could fully collect yourself, he pulled you even closer. His body heat, his scent, enveloping you in the tight space between you.

Your eyes met once more. This time, there was no confusion, no uncertainty. The vulnerability in his gaze mirrored your own, and for just a heartbeat, you both let the walls crumble just enough to see each other for what you were—people who had been broken, but still searching for something to hold on to.

And then, his lips were on yours again, more forceful this time, as though he couldn’t hold back any longer, as though the weight of everything between you was too much to bear in silence. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. 

The emotions inside you were tangled, each one vying for dominance. Hurt, longing, anger, and something deeper. A desperate need to feel something other than the emptiness that had been haunting you both for months.

His hands slid lower, tracing the line of your back, and you gasped against his mouth as your body pressed into his more firmly. It felt dangerous, reckless, but in that moment, you didn’t care. There was something that felt like freedom in this chaotic, emotional storm that you both had been trying so hard to avoid.

But it wasn’t just about the kiss. It was about everything that led to this point. The unfinished conversations, the words you both kept swallowing, the feelings you couldn’t express. His lips softened against yours for just a moment before he pulled back slightly, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t know how to fix this.” he murmured, his voice rough, laden with frustration. "But I need you to know... I never stopped caring."

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat ringing in your ears. You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. "Then why did you leave?" you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady.

His eyes darkened, his face tightening with regret. “Because I was scared,” he said, the words slow, deliberate. “I thought I could push it all down, but it just… it just made everything worse.”

You could feel his hands trembling against your back, his words raw with honesty. And for a moment, you let the weight of that honesty sink in.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you fought the lump in your throat. “But I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

Toji’s thumb brushed over your cheek, and you could feel the conflict in him—he wanted to comfort you, to make things right, but you both knew there were no easy fixes, no simple words that could undo the damage done.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice full of sorrow. “I know, but I’ll be here. I’ll be here until you decide if you want to give me a chance to make it right.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as you rested your forehead against his, the exhaustion of the emotional rollercoaster threatening to overtake you. You weren’t sure what this meant, what the future held, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to feel it. 

The rawness, the tension, the connection. The kiss wasn’t just a kiss—it was a fragile promise, a silent acknowledgment that, despite everything, there was still something worth fighting for between you.

But you both knew that this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning of something uncertain, something that would require more than a kiss to fix. But for now, you didn’t need answers. You just needed this. This seesaw game. 

The more you were on this seesaw, the more you got to him. The more he’s here with you, locked in this cage of your own toxic desires. His touch, his presence, and the understanding that, for the first time in a long while, maybe you weren’t as alone as you thought.

“This doesn’t change anything.” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“I know.” he said softly. “But it doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.”

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the rush of emotions flooding through you, but it was no use. Whatever had just happened, whatever this was. It wasn’t over. And you weren’t sure if that terrified you or gave you hope. Because it means you were no better. Your resolve crumbled so easily. How could you, when it was him? 

“We have to go back to the set.” You whispered to him. 

“Let them wait.” He whispers back to you, his breath hot against you.

That’s how you ended up back in his trailer, under him just like you had been six months ago. You had all but abandoned everything outside the door. From your mic packs left on that corner wall a few meters away, to the costume clothes left on the fridges of the trailer door. 

Your lips echoed loud moaning ripples that could embarrass you had you cared enough for it at that moment. But you didn’t. All you cared about was the pleasure of being underneath him, being choked by his figure pressed against you as you squirm over and over again with the breath you didn’t have against his firm grasp. 

All you could do was wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to where the sweat and the drool mixed onto you over and over again. With every tug to pull him closer, you found yourself being pummeled with his member deeper over and over again — taking away the dry spell that had kept your resolve for the past six months.

You could feel him burn you inside, searing you whole with the sheer size of him, taking over every inch of your crevices as though it belonged there. As though all of you were made for all of him.

You couldn’t help but release another moan, feeling your insides close against him, as your inner thighs quivered against the side of his waist repeatedly. The force of his thrusts were so strong that you were sure the bed was going to break.

His fingerprints were being engraved against your thighs with the way he pushes against your flesh, keeping you intertwined in this vicious downfall with him. Toji couldn’t help but laugh as he pressed closer against your body, the build of his cock sliding through your tummy and he could feel it. He felt proud of it. No one knew how to make you feel this electrifying feeling of being alive the way he could. No one else. And you knew that too well. 

Calluses started to form on your reddening skin, pelted with golden sweat as he pulled in and out of you with the speed of a thunderstrike. One moment he’s into the point you could feel him down your throat choking and the next, it felt like you were freed from the vestiges of being full of everything heavy, only to feel so empty that you long for him to choke you whole with his cock. 

And he does. Repeatedly. Over and over again, until you are on the verge of tears you know you shed because of the pleasure you succumb to, to your shame. To your love, to your desires. To him. No, for him.

Because you knew, no one else can love you like this. No one else can make a mess of you like this. No one else can make you feel so whole and broken all at once that it breaks you into many pieces.

You found yourself clawing at his back, successive moans with your breaking tone sounding like music to his ears. He hums in acceptance of the pain, trying to keep his composure as your nails bring blood streaming down his back. You move slowly to bite his shoulder, deep and whole and raw. You find him grunting slowly at the pain of it. You dug so deep that you knew you also drew blood there too.

You find him accepting it knowing that this is your love. This is the love that you have for him. And it will never change anymore. You wanted to love him and love him to the point he hurts. You want him to hurt. You want him to cry. You want him to bleed. Because how dare he make love to you, knowing you didn’t want to be hurt by loving him?

“I hate you.” You cry to him, his blood metallic in your tongue. You cry again, in between your incoherent moans. “I hate you more than anything in the world.”

“I love you.” He whispers to you over and over again, digging deeper into you that he has carved a home in you. “I love you. More than anything. More than life itself.”

You cry at his words. Because you knew they were true. You knew that he does love you. And yet you don’t want to be with him. You don’t want to let him back in. But he is here, with you. He is you, in you. He was everything that encompasses you. He was your first love. He was your first everything. And you can’t take it back. You can’t unlove him, even for your own good. Not even if the heavens wanted you to.

Toji couldn’t help but snarl as he pushes deeper and deeper, his sound animalistic and raw. He was close. You know this too well, once he stops talking. He devotes himself to the task. He pushes through over and over, the beckoning of his thrusts growing more erratic as he nears his peak.

But you knew him too well. He never comes inside of you without making sure you get your fill first. His long fingers reach down to where you're joined, finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles that send jolts of electricity shooting up your spine.

“T–toji!” You cry out loud, arching deeper into his touch as the pleasure coiling on your belly echoing over and over. You could feel his fingers work you perfectly, expertly as he pushes through over and over as he pushes his masterful fingers and his thrusting hips. “I….I’m….I’m close!”

"That's it, baby. Come for me too." he coaxes, his voice a low rasp in your ear. "Let me feel this pretty pussy squeeze the cum out of me."

He only gets this way when he finds himself close, his words disappearing into the reality of pleasure with you. You push against him, throwing your head back against the pillows. You shatter with a keening moan, your walls clamping down around Toji’s shaft as ecstasy crashes over you in waves.

He follows moments later with a guttural groan, pumping you full of his hot seed. You were shaking as you cling to him tightly, mewling softly against his shoulder blades. You could feel his body heavier against you as you both rode out the aftershocks, still gasping and twitching with the intensity of your shared climax.

As the fog of passion clears, you slowly come back to yourself, awareness returning in increments. You purse your lips as he presses kisses against your neck and then your jaw and then your cheeks. The warmth of his seed seeping off you as your hands loosen their hold on his body.

“We can’t do this again.” You whisper to him exhaustedly.

“I know.” He whispers back to you, his eyes shot with the look of love. Or was it lust? You could not tell. “I know.”

But you knew you were both lying to yourselves. 

He was going to come back again and again.

And you would let him in, just as you had now.

══════════════════

YOU HAD SAID YOU DIDN’T WANT TO PARTICIPATE IN ANY PRESS TOURS. It had taken a while before you had even budged to the demands of the director. But you knew that you couldn’t admit that to be a resolve without the act. All Toji had to do was ask you, in his own way and you knew you would say yes. And you hated that it was the case. 

As the lights of the red carpet flickered around you, you smiled, the cameras flashing as you and Fushiguro Toji posed side by side. His presence, tall and imposing, was the perfect foil to your poised elegance, but inside, you felt something altogether different. It was truly a quiet storm of conflicting emotions that you could barely contain.

The interviewer, enthusiastic and bright-eyed, approached you both with a microphone. “You two are the talk of the town! After months of speculation, you’ve finally confirmed your relationship with that press announcement. How does it feel to have it all out in the open?”

You met the interviewer’s gaze, your smile steady, though you could feel the weight of the question pressing against your chest. You exchanged a brief glance with Toji, his expression unreadable. He gave a small nod, as if reassuring you to continue, but you knew the truth—there was nothing to reassure, nothing to calm.

“We’re happy to finally share our truth, really.” you said, your voice smooth, practiced, like you were reading from a script. "It's been an incredible journey, and we're excited for what's next, both in our professional and personal lives."

The interviewer’s smile widened, practically giddy with excitement. “It’s clear that you two are truly in love! Your chemistry on and off-screen is undeniable. Toji, how does it feel to have such an amazing partner by your side?”

Toji’s lips quivered into a half-smile, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “It feels like a new chapter, honestly. I’ve always admired her strength, her talent. She’s someone who challenges me, changes me, in ways I didn’t expect. I think that’s what makes it work.”

The words were kind, but you heard the undertone. You knew what it was. It was the unspoken acknowledgment of the past. The past you’d both tried to bury under layers of public appearances, press releases, and carefully crafted smiles. The past you had come to hate  with all your hatred.

What had started as something deeply painful had morphed into something else entirely, something you didn’t quite understand but couldn’t escape. This was a gilded cage that you had allowed him to trap you in.

One that you couldn’t escape. That’s why you were here, standing next to him, because you couldn’t tear yourself away. You couldn’t fly away. Even when you hated him. Even when you knew better.

You felt the interviewer’s eyes shift back to you, awaiting a response, her curiosity piqued. "And for you, how does it feel to have him by your side now, after everything you've been through?"

Your chest tightened. The words to explain your truth were there, just beneath the surface, but they never quite made it to your lips. You gave another practiced smile, masking the turmoil that churned inside you. 

"It’s complicated, yeah." you said carefully, choosing your words with precision. "We’ve both had our struggles, but that’s part of growth. That’s a lot of work, to make it all go smoothly. We’ve learned a lot from each other. And we’re both better for it."

The words hung in the air, a soft veil of politeness that couldn’t hide the undercurrent of something darker. The toxic bond, the cycle of love and hate, of pain and yearning. You hated that you were still here. You hated that you could never quite leave him, no matter how much you should. And yet, there was no escaping the pull. Not now. Not after everything.

The interviewer beamed, satisfied with your answer, but all you could do was nod politely, your gaze flickering to Toji again. The smile he gave you was the same one you had seen countless times before, the one that made your heart ache, the one that made you question everything about who you were, about who you were becoming.

You knew you should’ve been stronger. You knew you should’ve walked away a long time ago. But here you were, caught in the web you had spun and truly hated it. You hated him, but you still stayed. You knew, deep down, that this was your reality now. 

Your love for him would never be pure. It would never be something that anyone deserves to have. It was not worth living a life of destitution and desperation. And yet, it was what you had. It would never be easy, it would never be anything other than toxic.. It would always be tangled up in mistakes, in forgiveness, in betrayal, in passion.

And so you stayed.

Because even if he would hurt you, even if you would hurt him, this was the life you had chosen. You had crossed that line long ago, and now, there was no going back. There was no way to escape the chaotic love you shared. It would make you happy. It would make you miserable. It would always be the same, because it had always been this way, and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

For better or for worse.

For the horrid to the frigid.

You both were toxic till the end.

The moment you stepped inside the theater, the noise of the red carpet event faded into a dull hum, replaced by the quiet buzz of the room. The lights overhead gleamed off the polished surfaces, casting long shadows over the seats where the audience had yet to arrive. 

Fushiguro Toji walked beside you, his presence commanding and strong, but the usual ease between you felt heavier now, charged with a tension neither of you had addressed since the interview. Since you were now a couple in the public hemisphere. And he was too aware of it all. 

As you made your way toward the dressing room, you felt the weight of his blue–green gaze on you, sharp and searching, as if he was trying to decipher something in your posture, in the way you carried yourself. You ignored it, pretending to focus on the steps ahead, the noise of your heels clicking against the floor, the rhythm of your breath.

When you reached the door, you paused for a moment, the cold handle beneath your fingers reminding you of the distance that had always existed between you and Toji, even when you were close, even when you thought you understood each other. Even when you were now stuck in this disturbed romance.

The room was empty except for the faint scent of makeup and old costumes, a reminder of the countless times you’d shared similar spaces before everything had unraveled. Toji followed you inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His footsteps were quieter now, the usual swagger in his walk subdued, but his presence still loomed larger than life.

You didn’t turn to face him immediately, choosing instead to adjust your dress in front of the mirror. The reflection staring back at you seemed almost foreign—perfectly poised, with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Not fully. And you didn’t know when that would ever happen again.

“You okay?” Toji’s voice was low, cautious, as though he wasn’t sure whether to press you or give you space.

You met his gaze in the mirror, seeing the uncertainty there. It made something inside you tighten, but you refused to show it. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” you said, though the words felt empty as they left your mouth. “It’s just... another night, another show.”

Toji stepped closer, his reflection merging with yours in the glass. “You don’t have to pretend, you know.” he said softly, his tone edging with a familiar vulnerability that made your chest tighten. “You don’t have to say everything’s fine when it’s not, babe.”

For a moment, you thought you might turn to him, reach out for him, let the rawness of it all spill over. But then you remembered the cameras, the words you’d both spoken on the carpet. The image you were meant to present. The lies you’d wrapped yourselves in, hoping no one would see the truth beneath.

“I’m not pretending.” you replied, a little too quickly. You broke your gaze with the mirror and turned to face him now, your eyes narrowing as if daring him to say something more. “What’s the point? Everyone’s watching, Toji. Everyone’s waiting to see if we’re going to fall apart, if we’re going to crack under the weight of it all. So why give them the satisfaction?”

Toji didn’t flinch at your sharp words. Instead, he took a step closer, his eyes softening, his voice quieter. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending too. Maybe I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

You shook your head, stepping back from him, though your heart thundered in your chest. “It’s too late for that. It’s too late for us, for anything real. We’ve already made our choices, Toji. This….whatever this is—this is just for show. This is what we have now. This is what we’re stuck with. And you know what the root cause was.”

For a brief moment, silence hung in the air, thick and oppressive, before Toji took a step forward, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your wrist, stopping you from retreating further. His touch was steady, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes, something that you could feel without needing to see it.

“I don’t want to lose you.” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you. I know I did, but I swear, I’m trying to fix it. I’m trying to fix us.”

You looked at his hand on your wrist, the heat of it seeping into your skin, and for a moment, you wondered if you could believe him. But then reality crashed back in, the weight of everything you’d been through. His betrayal, your own resentment, the lies you told yourselves about what you were.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again, Toji.” you whispered, your voice shaky, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to be before. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

He watches as you halted, taking a moment to gather yourself. Before you looked at him again. “But god, we are just miserable with and without each other. Nothing changes. And yet here we are.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if pleading for you to see something, anything, in him that might make a difference. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can earn that trust back. If you’ll let me.”

The words hung in the air, suspended between you, as the unspoken tension between you both remained unresolved. There was a part of you that wanted to believe him, that wanted to give in, to fall into the comfort of what you once had. But there was another part of you, the part that had learned from the mistakes, the hurt, that knew better.

“I don’t know.” you said quietly, pulling your wrist free from his grasp. “But I’m not the person I was before, and neither are you. So maybe we just need to accept that.”

Toji’s eyes dropped for a moment, the weight of your words clearly sinking in. He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to change your mind. Instead, he nodded, as if acknowledging the truth you both shared, no matter how painful it was.

“I don’t want to lose you.” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

But this time, there was no more fight left in you to give. 

The words hung between you both, unresolved. 

And for the first time, you wondered if you ever could let him go.

You wondered if you both would ever be free from each other.

Yet you knew that was wishful thinking, you knew that was a dream.

“You don’t have to worry.” You whispered back to him. “I’m not going anywhere….But you already knew that. Didn’t you?”

[cei1ne]

—You have Amnesia and it begins taking a toll on you and your husband

༺ღ༒ Summary: You got into a accident which lead to you not remembering your life with your husband. As you arrive and don’t remember a single detail, it slowly begins to burn Bakugou out and in the end, an argument leads into you falling into a coma.

* . : ｡ ✿ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader

˚ ೃ࿔₊•Tags: Angst; Angst with fluff ending; Fluff; married life; Aged!up

*˚⁺‧͙Warnings: Amnesia; Angst; swearing maybe; Coma; Arguments?

•˖*⑅♡Word count: 4.2k

ˏˋ°•*➷A/N: I was feeling sad and thought, why not make a scenario of a tsundere man breaking down and living a miserable life after his wife he adored more than anything can’t remember a single about him? English isn’t my first language! I’m sorry if you shed a tear xx

The hospital smell still lingers on you as you step out of the car, Katsuki’s hand firm yet careful on the small of your back. He walks beside you silently, guiding you up the path to your home—his home. The once-familiar sight of the towering house now feels foreign, even intimidating.

Katsuki hasn’t said much since picking you up. His usual fiery demeanor has been subdued, his sharp tongue dulled into quiet restraint.

“It’s your home,” he mutters, his voice unusually soft, laced with an almost painful longing. “Our home.”

The words hang in the air as you stare at the house, your mind blank. He’s hoping for something—anything—a flicker of recognition in your eyes. But nothing comes.

After the accident, everything changed. The doctors had explained the severity of the head trauma, the memory loss that might be permanent. It wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t make it any easier for him to accept. Katsuki Bakugou, the number one Pro Hero, couldn’t protect the one person who mattered most to him.

He takes a deep breath, opening the door for you. “Go ahead.”

You step inside hesitantly, the space feeling vast and unfamiliar. The faint smell of burnt caramel—a scent that should’ve been comforting—makes you wrinkle your nose instead.

“It’s…nice,” you say after a pause, your voice awkward and distant.

His ruby eyes narrow slightly as he studies you. The words feel hollow, a far cry from the warmth and vibrancy you used to radiate. You weren’t smiling like you used to. You weren’t cracking jokes or teasing him like you used to. And most of all, you weren’t looking at him the way you used to—with love.

“Take your time,” Katsuki says gruffly, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for you. “It’ll… come back.” But even he doesn’t sound convinced.

__________________________________________

Weeks after the accident, your condition had not improved much. The bruises on your face, though fading, were stark reminders of what had happened. Bandages still wrapped tightly around your head served as a physical representation of the mental gap that now defined your life. Your movements were slow and cautious, often unsteady. Sometimes you’d pause mid-step, as if unsure where to go or what to do, and Katsuki would rush to steady you, his hands firm but trembling slightly.

Your demeanor had shifted entirely. Where there was once a spark in your eyes, a curiosity and a fire that drew people to you, now there was only a distant emptiness. You spoke softly, often hesitantly, as if the words you were saying didn’t belong to you. Simple things—like recognizing objects around the house or remembering how to make tea—became monumental tasks, and each failure weighed heavily on you.

Katsuki noticed it all. Every stumble, every fleeting expression of frustration that crossed your face when your memory failed you, he took it to heart. At first, he masked his emotions well, trying to be the strong one, as he always had been. But it was impossible to hide the cracks forming beneath the surface. COME BACK GIRL WE NEED YOU

_________________________________

He started skipping meals, spending every waking moment either helping you or drowning himself in work to avoid his thoughts. His patrols as the number one pro hero became a crutch—an escape. But even there, he wasn’t the same. He’d snap at his sidekicks over minor mistakes or growl at reporters asking about your condition.

When he was home, he barely slept. Most nights, he sat by your side, watching you sleep restlessly. Sometimes you’d mutter in your dreams—names of people he didn’t recognize, fragments of a past life that wasn’t tied to him—and it killed him inside. He’d reach out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, hoping that maybe, just maybe, something would change.

But nothing did.

His physical appearance began to reflect his inner turmoil. Dark circles formed under his eyes, and his sharp jawline became slightly hollowed from missed meals. His usual confidence—bordering on arrogance—was nowhere to be found. Even his explosions, once a controlled release of power, became unpredictable and reckless during training sessions. He was pushing himself too hard, too fast, as if trying to outrun the reality of what had happened.

_________________________________

One night, after a particularly grueling day, he came home to find you sitting in the living room, staring blankly at a family photo. It was one of the two of you from a happier time—your arms around each other, your smiles radiant. You turned to him as he entered, your eyes filled with confusion.

“I… I don’t remember this,” you said, your voice trembling. “Was I happy?”

The question shattered him. He crossed the room in three strides, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands cupped your face, his eyes burning with an intensity that only he could possess.

“Of course you were,” he said, his voice breaking. “You were the happiest damn person I knew. You lit up every room you walked into. You made me… you made me better.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. You nodded, as if trying to accept his words, but the doubt in your expression was unmistakable. He felt his chest tighten, the weight of your uncertainty crushing him.

Later that night, after he thought you had fallen asleep, he sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He didn’t hear you stir, didn’t see the way you watched him through half-lidded eyes as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. NOOO STAY STRONG MY BABY

_________________________________

The days pass in a haze of awkward silences and hesitant conversations. Katsuki tries to act normal, but the cracks in his fiery confidence start to show. Every time you flinch at his touch or hesitate to respond to him, it’s like another stab to the heart.

You spend most of your time wandering the house, unsure of what to do with yourself. Katsuki keeps himself busy training or patrolling as much as possible, but he never strays too far. He’s always home by nightfall, keeping a watchful eye on you from a distance.

One evening, you’re sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a plate of food that’s long gone cold. Katsuki sits across from you, arms crossed, his expression tight with frustration.

“You haven’t eaten all day,” he says, his voice low but firm.

“I’m not hungry,” shut your big back ass up girl you murmur, not meeting his eyes.

“Damn it, you’ve got to eat something,” he snaps, the edge in his voice slipping through despite his efforts to keep calm.

You look up at him, frowning. “I said I’m not hungry.” I say as I’m devouring a whole chips bag while writing this

The silence that follows is heavy, the tension between you palpable. Katsuki stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want.” He stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Later that night, you lie in bed, tossing and turning. The bed feels too big, too empty, even though Katsuki is right there beside you. His back is turned to you, his breathing steady but shallow. You can tell he isn’t asleep.

Your eyes drift to the walls, lined with framed photographs. Pictures of the two of you—laughing, kissing, holding each other. There’s even one of you in his hero agency, grinning proudly with your arms around his neck.

You should feel something looking at them. Nostalgia, love, something. But all you feel is emptiness.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the darkness.

Katsuki hears you. His fingers twitch, and for a moment, it seems like he might turn over and pull you close. But he doesn’t. Instead, he clenches his fists under the covers and mutters, “It’s not your fault.” MY SHAYLAAA

_________________________________

As the weeks drag on, Katsuki begins to unravel. The fiery determination that once defined him is now replaced by a simmering frustration he can barely contain.

One afternoon, you’re sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. The news is playing, but you’re not really paying attention. Suddenly, a memory surfaces—a fleeting thought about a song you used to like.

“I remembered something!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter.

Katsuki, who’s just walked in from patrol tired and pissed as always, raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? What is it?”

“I think I used to like that song… the one that goes, uh…” You hum a few bars, struggling to recall the rest.

His face falls. “That’s it? That’s what you remembered?”

You frown. “Well, yeah. It’s a start, right?”

He scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck. “A start? That’s useless.” I can’t blame him, I hate this girl even tho I created her

The words hit you like a slap. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Every time you remember something, it’s something stupid like a song or a movie. What about us? What about the things that actually matter?” Boy it’s not our fault ain’t no way you’re blaming us!?

“I’m trying my hardest!” you shout, standing up to face him. “Do you think I like not remembering? Do you think I chose this?”

The argument escalates quickly, both of you yelling over each other until finally, Katsuki storms out, slamming the door behind him.

_________________________________

You wander aimlessly, tears streaming down your face. Your vision blurs as you make your way to the kitchen, your heart pounding in your chest. You don’t see the edge of the counter until it’s too late.

The sharp corner slams into your injured head, and you collapse to the floor. Pain explodes in your skull, and darkness begins to creep into the edges of your vision.

Katsuki hears the loud thud and rushes in, his heart stopping at the sight of you on the floor.

“Shit!” He’s at your side in seconds, his hands trembling as he lifts your head gently. Blood seeps through the bandage on your head, staining his hands and the floor.

“Celine, stay with me!” he barks, his voice shaking with panic.

You look up at him weakly, your lips trembling. “Katsuki… I’m sorry… I’m sorry for being a horrible wife…” “UNNIE” — “Young-mi! Young-mi!”

“Don’t say that!” he growls, his voice breaking. “You’re not horrible. You’re perfect. You hear me? You’re fucking perfect.”

Your eyes flutter shut, and Katsuki’s heart feels like it’s being ripped out of his chest.

_________________________________

The next few weeks are hell. You’re in a coma, and Katsuki is barely holding it together. He spends every waking moment by your side, refusing to leave the hospital even when his friends and colleagues beg him to take care of himself.

His once fiery spirit is now a pale ember. He hasn’t shaved in days, his stubble growing thick along his jaw. Dark circles rim his eyes, and his usual sharp demeanor has dulled into quiet despair.

He talks to you constantly, hoping that somehow, his voice will reach you.

“Wake up, damn it,” he mutters one night, his head resting on the edge of your bed. “You can’t leave me like this. You’re too stubborn to give up, remember?” We love a man that motivates us

But the days pass, and you remain unresponsive.

_________________________________

One evening, Katsuki finally succumbs to exhaustion. He falls asleep with his head resting on your lap, his hand gripping yours loosely. For once, his face is peaceful, the lines of worry softened in sleep.

When your eyes flutter open, the first thing you see is him—your Katsuki. Memories come rushing back in fragments, like pieces of a shattered mirror slowly coming together.

“Katsuki…”

His eyes snap open, and for a moment, he looks dazed. Then he sees you—really sees you—and his heart nearly stops.

“Y/n?” His voice cracks as he sits up, his hands cupping your face gently. “You’re awake?”

You nod, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I remember… I remember everything.”

The relief that washes over his face is indescribable. He pulls you into his arms, holding you so tightly it’s as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mutters into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, clinging to him. “I’m so sorry, Katsuki.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes red and glassy. “Don’t be. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He kisses you, his lips gentle but desperate, as if trying to pour every ounce of his love and relief into that one moment.

For the first time in weeks, the house feels like home again. For the first time in weeks, he feels like life is worth living again. For the first time in weeks…

He feels alive.

[carlosainzgf]

Hiiii i love ur writing sm!!!! Can u write a kang dae ho x reader where we had Dated before the games but broke up because of our depts. And we meet again in the games and he was heart broken to see reader there and reader had been ’rude’ (not mean or anything but telling him they dont need his help etc) but after reader had seen how he acted with player 222. They got sad (jealous?) because they thought that they had something going on between those two. But after a near death experience reader Seeks for dae ho’s comfort and he makes sure reader is okay and comforts them. SORRY IT THIS IS CRINGE BUT I HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO GET THIS OFF MY MIND AND I CANT WRITE SHIT💔💔💔😔😔😔

the irony of fate

kang dae ho x reader (fluff)

(the words in a different font are throw backs)

the silence in the room was frightening. the metal beds, lined up in precise rows, offered little solace after the chaos of the first game. you fell onto one of the mattresses, exhausted, your breathing still uneven. the memory of the sharp sound of gunshots tormented you. as you massaged your temples, someone occupied the bunk in front of you. you didn't look up, too focused on calming your nerves, until you heard a familiar laugh, sarcastic and full of that carefree tone you always hated.

"well, this is quite a romantic meeting, don't you think?"

you raised your head. there he was, dae-ho, sitting on the bed with one leg crossed over the other, his long black hair as messy as ever, it was just longer than the last time you saw him. his eyes glittered with a mocking spark, and the crooked smile that you knew so well was there, intact.

“no way,” you murmured.

the last time you saw him, things ended badly, very badly. and now, after years of trying to bury it in your memory, it has appeared here, in this nightmare of a place.

“i can’t keep living like this dae ho!” you yelled. “i tried, i really did, but…i can’t anymore. we’re not good for each other. all we’ve been doing is fight for the last few months!”

“you’re giving up on us?” he sounded hurt.

“im not ‘giving up’ dae ho! i tried. it’s not working.”

and you haven’t seen him ever since.

you didn’t wanna break up but you had to. you were both so deep in depth. you both lived constant fear of being found by the people you owed money to. lots of money. the stress of you two brought both you down. you weren’t happy. all you did was fight. you didn’t spend time with each other due to working many jobs. you didn’t make love due to tiredness. you didn’t care for each other like you always did.

the break up took a toll on him. he wasn’t himself anymore. he fell apart after losing you. and he hated you for it. deep down he knew it wasn’t your fault but he couldn’t help it.

“come with me. i found a group of people to stick to. you’ll be safer.” he was still the old caring dae ho deep down. he will always care for you and you knew it.

“no thank you. i can take care of myself.”

“please stop being arrogant for once!” he said a little bit louder.

“i said no! don’t act like you care about me.” you turned your back to him, signaling for him to leave. he looked at your back for a few seconds but decided to leave. he knew how stubborn you could be.

───୨ৎ─── ───୨ৎ─── ───୨ৎ───

your eyes somehow looked for dae ho at every game, making sure he was alive. but every time you looked for him, he was with this girl.

she was short, pretty, around the same age as you. she always kept a hand on her stomach. she was pregnant, you figured.

dae ho always kept a hand on her shoulder or her back, supporting her and looking out for her. you couldn’t help but feel jealous.

did they have something between them? were they dating? was that his baby? did they join the game together? questions occupied your brain.

you soon snapped out of when your thoughts were interrupted by the mechanical voice, explaining the game.

mingle.

first round was ten people. a purple haired man pulled you into their group before you could look for another team to join.

the man was reckless. his pupils were dilated, he was weirdly jolly. he was high. but he had saved you. he kept talking about how you were beautiful as a flower and constantly flirted with you even when gunshots were blaring your ears. he didn’t let go of you when you left the room. he kept you by his side during other rounds.

until it was time to get into groups of four. you didn’t even have time to figure out what was happening when he kicked you in the gut and you fell to the ground, harshly. you couldn’t breathe. it was like all the oxygen left your lungs by how hard he kicked you. panic consumed you.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t yell. then your eyes met dae ho’s. he was about to go in to a room, and save himself when he saw you.

he didn’t think. not even for a second. he didn’t hesitate. he just ran.

10, 9, 8

he ran for you. he picked you up from the ground.

7, 6, 5

he was looking through rooms, trying to find where there were two people inside to make a group of four.

4, 3, 2

he was almost sure you both were going to die. but he didn’t mind. he would be gone with you in his arms. for him, to die by your side would’ve been a heavenly way to die.

just when he had accepted his faith someone pulled you both into a room with them. gi hun and young il.

1, 0.

gunshots once again filled your ears. dae ho sat you both to the ground and started asking if you were hurt. panic in his eyes, trying to make sure you were okay.

you didn’t answer. just grabbed his face and placed a longing kiss to his lips. it didn’t feel foreign. it felt like home.

tears ran down your face as you kissed. dae ho pulled away, wiped the tears away and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“don’t ever leave my side again. okay?”

“okay.”

gi hun and young il watched the interaction, confused, as you hugged each other, pulling the other impossibly closer, mumbling loving words, telling one another how much you missed each other and how nothings the same without them.

who knew such a place would bring you back to each other. what an irony of fate.

𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯

i loooved this req! please send moree 🫶🫶

-love, a.

[sanswstrk]

TO SANSA/JON FANDOM!

Hey everyone! I’m not sure how many of you remember this user, but lostlittlesatellites or batterydeaddotdot was a well-known Jonsa meta-writer in our fandom. Sadly, they deactivated, and as far as I know, we don’t really know why. A big chunk of their amazing work seems to have been lost, which was so sad for so many of us.

But here’s the good news: I recently discovered that some of their metas were saved on the "Way Back Machine" site! So, I put together a list of some of their pieces to share with all of you. My aim is to help preserve their contributions, spread the love within our fandom, and celebrate the incredible mind that has helped to shaped our fandom.

Quick disclaimer: I haven’t read every single meta, so I don’t necessarily agree with everything that’s written. My main goal is just to share this with you all. And I skiped GOT-related metas for this list. Enjoy diving into lostlittlesatellites/batterydeaddotdot’s work!

Some of their writings is already saved through some of those accounts: @/jonsameta & @/bookjonsa & @/esther-dot. Y’all can check! Here are the others:

BOOKS:

Sansa Stark: The Princess in the Tower

RLJ & Jonsa Payoff

Dragons, Snow and Armchairs

Can there be ONE ideal ruler?

Trojan War Literature influence on GRRM

The Red Comet: A Closer Look

Grey Dawn: Hour of the Wolf + Nightingale

To go forward you must look back: Dany’s tragic fall

Jon Snow as an Anti Hero

Val: A Subversion of BATB in Jon’s arc? + “something off about Val”

The Resurrection Problem

The Cost of Weaponizing Dragons For a Cause: Doran + Jon

There is Power in Living Wood: Bran’s role in the War

Valar Morghulis: Could Arya kill Dany?: Part 1 & Part 2

Stark Girls’ connections: To go forward you must go back

Fathers and Daughters

Sansa Stark: A Winter Rose?

Sansa Stark: A Girl in Glass

Sansa’s Fairytale and Myth allusions

The Blindspot of FPTP thread: Oversexualisation and overlooking age

Ask: Does “begging for a stranger’s kiss” foreshadow Sansa/Hound?

Deconstruction of BATB figures: He’s even uglier than the Hound

The Unkiss: The War Spilling Inside

Sansa’s repression of Jeyne

Alysanne: Paralleling Sansa + Contrasting Dany foreshadowing

A Song to Dodge A Kiss With a Blade (Part 1): Sansa/Hound and Jon/Ygritte ACOK comparisons

The Innocuous Nature of Jon/Sansa Foreshadowing

Snow: Lover’s Kisses

A Son by Marriage

1. Like a Lover; 2. Like a Kiss; 3. Kissed by Fire; 4. Burning Light and Dark Woods; 5. Intruders in Winterfell; 6. The Heart of Winterfell; 7. Fire: Hearth vs. Weapons

Dance of Dragons + Pact of Ice and Fire

Jonquils and Blue Roses

Horses and Flowers

Some Willowy Creature Who Sits Up in a Tower

A Union of the Old Gods and the New: Importance of understanding the Seven

Ask: Thoughts on Bridge4’s Video “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell”

Theories:

Bran as the Valonqar

History is a Wheel: Jon’s Rebellion

Jon’s Resurrection Repercussions

Dead Man with the Head of a Wolf: A Re-look

The Heart Tree of Winterfell: Tolkien influence

Complicating the Fantasy Battle: War Factions in the War for Dawn

Trail of Scrolls

Lady and the Ghost: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3

Shadowbinders, Death and Sacrifice

Sansa, the Vale and Mountain Clans: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4

Seasons of My Love

Jon’s Survival: Beginning of Subverting Westerosi Classism

Child of Flame and Shadow: Not a living child but a shadow child?

Shadowbinders, Death and Sacrifice: Dany with Mirri and Melisandre

A Potential Wildcard Advisor: Bronze Yohn Royce and the Importance of the Vale

Why Ghost is unlikely to like Dany: Melisandre and Val in ADWD

Others:

Jonsa: Tolkien influences

Jonsa: A Good Endgame

Jonsa is happening because it's how GRRM's mind works

Jonsa’s Hints: On how antis ignore Jonsa foreshadowing

POV’S: Heros or not

House of the Undying and Quaithe for Dany & Mythology

Dany criticism 

Other links: about asoiaf; asoiaf metas; asoiaf theories + part 2

Anyone who has some of their writing saved can feel free to share! I would be thankful.

[wraith-caller]

a frustrating thing about ER fandom, esp since D hunter of the dead is my favorite character, is that a lot of ppl seem to have the takeaway of 'being unflinchingly devoted to the GO specifically, which is easy to identify as a destructive force, is bad'. that has never been the message of the game's critiques of power and faith in that power. the message is rather, 'being unflinchingly devoted to and uncritical of any system/leader is bad bc you will blind yourself to its flaws and may do awful things in their name as a result'.

there's a reason so many characters are total fanatics and zealots beyond just the GO affiliated folks. Varre and Ansbach have undying loyalty to Mohg, who is in turn so obsessed with the validation to be had from the Formless Mother that he will do unspeakable things to have it. Malenia is willing to destroy an entire country and unleash a plague that even now threatens everything in TLB due to her faith in Miquella's plans, and Leda will murder anyone at the drop of a hat. Thiollier's obsession with Trina is so great he turns his rage to others when he is rebuffed by her, rather than examine his devotion to her.

Fia will trap the undead in stasis for an age in spite of their cursed existence being forced upon them because she can not detach herself from the beliefs of the cult she was raised in.

Sellen's self-assured belief in the primeval current as a key to the secrets of reality end in her being consumed by it. Anything can become a force that we permit to blindly govern our lives and actions if we don't take the time to examine and temper our beliefs now and then.

These flawed zealots who can't let go of those systems are contrasted against the ones who could move on from them. Nepheli believed in Gideon and sang his praises until she was confronted with the proof that he is not everything she thought he was.

Diallos goes through a whirlwind of change as he jumps from conviction to conviction, until he finally realizes none of these leaders had his best interests at heart and he learned to accept himself as something detached from their intentions for him.

Melina at the start of her journey tentatively accepts the role given to her only to search for the truth for herself. She may still take the same actions that were asked of her, but the important difference is that she first took it upon herself to examine the reason for this assignment she'd been given. She was able to make informed decisions rather than blindly accept her orders.

the point is, any system of power ought to be critiqued and examined, not just the ones we've already decided are flawed and malicious. it's easy to disregard something you already know you hate, and much harder to admit the flaws in something you don't.

[cosmicalily]

"written by the aces" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

4. "attention" | lee minho x fem!reader

I'm tired of tearing you apart, know your heart has had enough, it's obvious, you're starved for affection, and you need more, and you need more, you need more attention

author's note: okay so fun fact the left photo in this header is actually a pic of a picnic i went on with my friend that i took off my pinterest (ee if you wanna look at it here's the link! my pinterest is my pride and joy). i've had this fic in my drafts for ages, i adore this song and it feels SO undeniably hyunjin, i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: reader suffers from nightmares, overall angst, anxiety, minho is kind of a dick and can't express his feelings but dw everyone is happy in the end

“Do you want a pudding?”

You didn’t reply, staring into space from where you were sprawled across the couch. Minho shrugged, picking his own up and rifling around the drawer for a spoon.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you stated.

Minho stopped in his tracks, the spoon he’d grabbed clattering onto the tiled kitchen floor almost comically, a stark contrast to the emotionless look on your face.

“What do you mean?” Minho picked up his spoon and ran a hand through his hair, walking towards where you were lying on the sofa. He moved to sit beside you, then thought better of it. He sat on the floor, looking up at you the way Soonie did when he wanted attention.

A tear rolled down your cheek, startling the both of you. 

“You’ve been out of the house before I wake up and you’re tired and go straight to bed when you get home. Half the time you don’t even spend the night here. Felix’s joking about staying over here when you’re at theirs, so he can get a nice bed and some quiet to himself while you pay the rent.”

Minho’s breath caught in his chest. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Yeah, well, maybe it's subconscious, or some shit. It’s not fair, though. I’m your best friend, and your roommate. I’m still doing your fucking laundry for you while you’re gone, even though you’re not here to cook for me, like our deal was. It’s so cold and quiet at night, and my nightmares have been worse. You know they get worse when you’re not here, Minho.”

He did know. He knew all of it. He knew what he was doing, he knew it was hurting you.

But why did he keep letting himself drift from you?

He knew why he did that, too.

“Well, if you’re not gonna talk to me, I’m going to bed. Enjoy your fucking pudding, Lee Minho. Turn the lights off when you’re done, and hang up your own laundry. I’m done.” You stood up, storming off to your bedroom, slamming the door.

He’d fucked it all up.

Three hours later, still in the same position on the living room floor, Minho heard crying.

It was quiet, and sounded muffled, which could’ve been the door, sure, but he was certain it was because you were trying to conceal it. Maybe the work of a pillow or your fluffy blanket, the one his cats were almost always perched on. He knew why.

The reason you’d found a roommate in the first place was because of your nightmares. You couldn’t sleep most nights, interrupted every few hours by vivid thoughts, a tight chest, and tears streaming down your face. Thoughts that wouldn’t fade, no matter how many TikToks you watched, how many cups of tea you sipped. Minho was your best friend, and he knew. He offered to move in. He comforted you at night.

He sacrificed a peaceful apartment on his own with his cats, enjoying his own company. He did it all for you, although he’d protest that it wasn’t a sacrifice at all.

But recently, since he’d been away so much, your sleep had been worse. In fact, you were pretty sure you were running on negative hours of sleep at this point. The worst part was, he wasn’t even busy. He just found excuses to be out of the house, out of your sight.

Minho knocked on your door.

“Are you fully dressed? Say something if you need to like, put something on.”

You didn’t reply, trying to suppress the hiccups that were slipping out of your throat.

“Alright, I’m coming in-oh, God.”

He’d never seen you cry like this before. Your cheeks were puffy and red, eyes glistening, still trickling with tears. Your breaths were uneven and shallow. He wanted to scoop you up and kiss every single part of you, even after the tears stopped, and then hold you forever.

“It’s not…a…nightmare,” you whispered between gasps. “I know…what…you’re thinking.”

“What's the matter then, baby?” Minho sat down beside you, rubbing circles into your cheek softly. He felt the way your cheeks burned at the nickname, biting back a smile.

“Missed you. I’m not good at being angry…I’m just sad. I can’t sleep, and I don’t want to rely on you so much…it’s not fair to you, and I feel bad-”

“Who said it’s not fair?”

“Well, I just thought-”

“I offered to move in with you. I knew what I was signing up for. I’m not sick of you, Y/N.”

You swallowed. “I thought you were fed up. That’s why you…kept avoiding me.”

“God, no. I preferred it when you were angry and blaming me earlier, Y/N, it made me feel less of an asshole, weirdly. I just…my feelings towards you have been a lot lately, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“That sounds like a very polite way of saying ‘Wow Y/N, you’re driving me fucking insane and I don’t want to be near you’,” you pouted. “Just tell me what’s going on, Minho-”

“I like you.”

Your heart thumped so hard you were sure he could hear it. Your hand moved on its own, pulling him down beside you. He landed awkwardly, then shuffled his limbs so he was leaning on his elbows, face above yours, eyes locked.

“I like you too,” you whispered. “That’s why I was scared I’d lost you for good.”

“I thought I’d lost you too, when you yelled at me earlier. You don’t usually cuss so much, baby, it scared me.”

“You called me that earlier. I like it.”

“Yeah? I’ll keep calling you that, baby, as long as you slap the shit out of me if I ever so much as ignore you again. I’m here, you know that right? No matter what. I’ll always be a friend.” he paused, biting his lip, not wanting to push further.

“Definitely not as a friend. You can’t just confess like that and play it off. No, say it properly,” you scolded, scrunching your nose playfully.

Minho rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance, but you didn’t miss the way his ears turned pink. “I’ll always be a friend, roommate, the best pasta chef in the univers-”

“Lee Minho.”

“-and yours.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts - comment, dm or send an ask to be added!

[boybandbaby]

Out of My Mind (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Non-BAU!Reader)

note: connected to this fic but you don’t need to read it to understand

word count: 1719

warnings: mentions of killers and abductions, protective!hotch, mean!hotch (not even really but it happens for like a fraction of a second), mini argument, mini angst and fluff, established relationship, age gap (not mentioned or specified in this fic)

Aaron was working on a local case. While he was technically less than an hour away from you, he felt so far away.

To your surprise, he had called before your schedule lunch time phone call.

He omits a greeting, “Are you going grocery shopping today?”

“Well, hello to you Agent. Wasn’t planning to. You need me to grab those yogurts for Jack again? He runs through them far too quickly.”

“No, no nothing like that. Just try to avoid going there today. Or anywhere if you can help it.” His voice is in unit chief mode.

“Care to tell me why?”

“It’s confidential but it would make me feel better since I can’t be with you right now.”

“Whatever you say boss.” You smile.

“Good. Thank you. Also, you’ve gotten Jack addicted to those yogurts. He’s burning a hole in my wallet buying those things. Let’s not even talk about the sugar rush he gets.”

“He already has so much energy. It’s like having two of him.” You laugh.

“Wouldn’t that be something. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later, honey. I love you, stay safe for me.”

Hotch is always worried about you but knowing there’s a killer running loose near by and the only connection is that all the victims frequent the shopping plaza. It’s the one closest to your apartment, the grocery store you shop at, that’s the reason he worries. The victims all vary in age and looks, so it’s not impossible that you could be hurt or killed by this maniac.

Hotch and the team work hard to find any leads by interviewing employees and customers, checking surveillance cameras and scoping out the area.

The team are back at the office hours later, tossing ideas and theories around when Hotch gets a call that there’s been another abduction. He knows, based on the previous victims that they don’t have much time before her body shows up.

His heart quickens as he’s told that the woman hasn’t been identified yet. That’ll only make their job harder. It’s when he hears that the woman has the same hair color and skin color as you, does he feel a dull ache is his chest and a ringing in his ears.

He hangs up the phone and places a hand on his stomach. He feels sick, almost on the verge of passing out. Rossi is the first and only one to notice his distress, the others having taking a short meal break to sharpen their minds.

Rossi pulls a chair out for Hotch and guides him to sit. “What happened?”

“Dave, there’s been another abduction.” Hotch sighs.

Rossi waits for more because he knows this reaction means there’s a personal aspect to it. Hotch relays the known information and asks Dave to break the news to the team.

Hotch takes a deep breath and quickly calls you. It rings and rings until your voice says, “Sorry I can’t get to the phone right now. Leave a name and number and I will get back to you as soon as I can. Bye!”

“Y/n, it’s Aaron. Please give me a call when you get this. Bye.”

He hangs up, dialing again. Ring ring. Ring ring. “Sorry I can’t get to the phone right now. Leave a name and number-“

He groans and squeezes the phone in his right hand. He gets the same ring ring and “Sorry I can’t get to the phone right no-“

“Y/n, please pick up. I need you to call me right away.” He calls 4 more times, not only his frustration but his fear kicking in.

He hardly ever texts. Most of your message chain is pictures or little messages from you when he’s away. He rarely responds save for an occasional I love you or I’ll be home soon but you’re both aware of how much your texts mean to him while he’s away.

He sends a multitude of messages in the span of a minute.

Where are you?

Y/n, I’m worried.

Please call me.

Answer your phone, sweetheart.

I’m coming over.

He tells Dave he has a quick emergency and he’ll be back as soon as he can. Dave doesn’t question it, he’s the only one who knows about you at the moment so he figures it’s got something to do with you.

Hotch doesn’t bother with his jacket or briefcase. He grabs his keys and sets out to your apartment. He’s only been there twice, once to pick you up for a date and second, to watch a movie together.

He speeds like a mad man, not slowing for yellow lights or using his blinker as he weaves through cars.

It’s not much of a struggle getting into your building. He’s quick on his feet as he moves to the elevator. It’s unlike him but he pushes the elevator call button more than once. He knows however many times he presses it, it’s still going to come at the same speed.

The elevator dings and he rushes into the small box. That’s what it feels like as he loosens his tie. He’s suffocating, on the verge of a panic attack.

The doors open and he rushes out, an old woman scoffing at his lack of manners. He can’t seem to care or apologize as he knocks rapidly on your door.

The pounding is loud, loud enough to wake up in the other room. You hear your name being called out as you check your phone for the time. You see the various notifications and scramble to throw on something decent.

When you finally answer the door, groggy and ridden with sleep, he starts off with, “Where the hell have you been?” His voice is loud and you can see how mad he is with the way his brows furrow and his body is stiff.

“Excuse me?” Aaron has never been rude with you like this. It’s brought you out of your sleepy stupor.

“You don’t know how to answer your phone? I’ve been calling you and texting you.” He shakes the phone in his hand to emphasize his point.

“And I’ve been sleeping.” You cross your arms and shift to one hip. “Why are you being mean to me?” It’s meant to come out with some spunk and attitude but your voice wobbles.

Aaron’s struck with the realization that he’s hurt you. Aaron is not a mean man, stern and serious but never mean. At least never to you. He’s speechless for a moment, only a small moment as he tries to recollect his thoughts.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He sighs, shoving his phone in his pocket. “I’m being unjust.”

You’re taken aback by his quick apology and give a short nod. You open the door wider and allow him to step inside.

“What’s going on, Aaron?” You close the door behind him and turn to see him pacing. His hands are on his hips and he’s staring down at the floor.

“I-“ He stutters, looks up at you and opens his arms. “I’m sorry. I projected onto you. I was just worried.”

“Is this about the whole ‘don’t go to the grocery store’ thing?” You step into his arms. You’re both wrapping your arms around the others’ lower back, arms tangled, pelvis to pelvis.

“Yeah…” He never speaks about work matters to you but decides it may be the only way to get out of the dog house, though he’s not sure he deserves it. “There’s been another body. The description of her, she had similar traits to you. They haven’t been able to identify her and I immediately thought the worst.”

“Well, I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sure I didn’t help your situation by not answering. I really was just sleeping, handsome. You advised me not to go out today and I got bored so I took a nap. I hear that you’re a pretty good agent so I figured I’d listen to you and stay in.”

He laughs, it’s strange and unfamiliar the way it comes out and how it sounds. It’s a half sob and half laugh. It’s not a sound you’ve heard from him. He’s relieved that 1. you’re alive and well and 2. that you don’t seem to be as mad at him as you should be.

But you know his job and you know what he’s been through so you cut him some slack. “I know you’re worried but I promise I’m safe. I’m good, Aaron. If I felt scared or that I was in danger, I would let you know. I’m sorry my ringer was off. I promise to keep it on moving forward.”

“I would greatly appreciate it.” He leans forward to rest his forehead on yours.

“And instead of breaking down my door, I can give you my spare key. That way you can come check up on me whenever you’d like. Maybe even stop by for a visit when you’re free and missing me.” You kiss his cheekbone, just under his left eye. “How does that sound?”

“That sounds great.” He closes his eyes and leans into your lips. “God, can’t believe I was such a jerk.”

“You’re just protective. It’s sweet. Though I’ll say I’m not a huge fan of you raising your voice. It’s unlike you.” You mumble against his skin.

“I know.” He sighs, “maybe I need one of those naps you talk about.”

“A nap would be good. Maybe get rid of your grumpiness and finally get some rest.”

“I have to head back and finish the case. I’ll be late tonight but maybe we can have a late dinner. I’ll come back and use my key for the first time.” He doesn’t realize it but he’s swaying your bodies, almost like a slow dance.

“I’ll cook us up something. Just text me what you want.”

“Just make sure your ringer is on.” He kisses your jawline. “Or I might have a heart attack.”

“My apologies Mr. Hotchner. Now go, get back to work.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Oh and apologize to Mrs. Carter for me. I almost tackled her when I exited the elevator.” He sheepishly adds before running out the door.

“Aaron!” You grumble. “She already hates me!”

You hear his deep laughter down the hallway and descend into the elevator.

[dross-the-fish]

A follower tagged me on a post that was talking about how Edward isn't actually a bad guy but rather he's misunderstood and I'm not going to reply to that post because I don't want to start drama on someone else's blog but I've seen the sentiment brought up a few times so I'm going to make a blanket post about the topic rather than single anyone out. The post I was tagged in mentions the trampling of the child and seems to frame it like an accident so I'll start there and I'll let Henry himself tell you how he views that incident. "An act of cruelty to a child aroused against me the anger of a passer by," He outright says it, it's an act of cruelty. He doesn't deny that. And that's what I hate about fanon Hyde. A lot of interps seem to forget that Hyde is a middle aged man struggling with a repressed sadistic streak and not a social awkward teenager. I think the most concrete evidence we have of Jekyll/Hyde's nature is in Jekyll's letter and how he describes himself and his relationship to Hyde. “To cast in my lot with Jekyll, was to die to those appetites which I had long secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper. To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand interests and aspirations, and to become, at a blow and forever, despised and friendless. The bargain might appear unequal; but there was still another consideration in the scales; for while Jekyll would suffer smartingly in the fires of abstinence, Hyde would be not even conscious of all that he had lost.” As afraid as he is of losing the life he's built for himself there's so much LONGING to be Hyde despite the evils Hyde has done. He wants to indulge in his appetites and he knows if he embraces Edward he won't even grieve his losses. I find it interesting that he notes that becoming Edward would cost him his "aspirations and interests," because he would be losing everything to his vice, choosing pleasure and indulgence over his own goals and ambitions. "If I am the chief of sinners, I am the chief of sufferers also," Henry Jekyll is a complex and repressed but also very selfish man and here's where the interpretation of Edward as a metaphor for addiction comes most strongly into play. Jekyll shows textbook signs of a drug user: experimentation, denial or minimization of the harmful effects, attempts to quit, withdrawal when he goes too long without being Edward and eventually he develops a dependency and falls into a spiral. The fact that he's taking a potion just drives the imagery that much harder. Even the description of the effects of the potion itself mirror drug use. "something indescribably new and, from its very novelty, incredibly sweet. I felt younger, lighter, happier in body ; within I was conscious of a heady recklessness, a current of disordered sensual images running like a mill race in my fancy, a solution of the bonds of obligation, an unknown but not an innocent freedom of the soul. I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked" It's agony at first but once the "high" hits and he becomes Edward he feels good and his inhibitions are gone. He can indulge every depraved and twisted act his heart desires without having to take the hit to his reputation or the responsibility. “since then I had been obliged on more than one occasion to double, and once, with infinite risk of death, to treble the amount” - Jekyll risks an overdose because he keeps taking more of the serum. This illustrates his dependency on Hyde and his inability to quit. One thing I've noticed about Hyde interps that favor the lighter, softer, readings of the character is that they almost always neglect the characterization of Henry Jekyll. Either depicting Jekyll as the good half or all but erasing them from their fanon version of Hyde and that's something you can't really do because it misses the point of Jekyll and Hyde. Which is about Henry Jekyll and his repression and his eventual turn to a destructive outlet.

"The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn towards the monstrous. When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity. This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another, relentless like a man of stone. Henry Jekyll stood at times aghast before the acts of Edward Hyde." once the leash is off Jekyll is shocked by what he's capable of, what Hyde is capable of. The words used by Stevenson paint a lurid picture, Depravity, bestial, torture, villainous. He can't outright say what Hyde is doing but it's pretty clear he has a sadistic streak. He also lets slip at one point by using "My" instead of referring to Edward as separate. "My vicarious depravity." He's aware, he is complicit and he enjoys himself. You cannot separate Jekyll from Hyde therefore any interpretation of Hyde as being soft, innocent, unaware or merely mischievous is not only incorrect but it directly contradicts the purpose of the story and strips Jekyll of his complexity. If you can't like this character as he is written then you don't like this character. There are some things you can leave up to interpretation but Hyde's sadism and Jekyll's addiction to Hyde are both very clear cut and Jekyll's confession spells everything out in a way that you'd have to reach pretty far to claim that Edward is being misrepresented by Utterson throughout the bulk of the novel.

[jd-loves-fiction]

hello yes i’m crawling back to request the fairest queen Vil with betrayal and a twisted ending 😈 please take this as a free shot to emotionally damage me deeply

💐im merging two requests on this one since they're similar ;) I dont wanna be that person but uuuhh Vil fans dont like happiness very much, do they?😅 (these were the only Vil requests for the event)

❧ Bitterly beautiful

❧ ‘Heed not his words! He cannot be trusted! Kill him when you get the chance, or else you’ll be–’ The man’s last words haunt you in the days that come, ringing like a disembodied echo. A man wasted his last breath telling you that and that knowledge just won't leave you. That and the look on his face when the ice finally got to his lungs.

But Vil wouldn’t do that… he wouldn't. All he’s been is kind to you, maybe a little cagey at times but who could blame him?

He’d never put you in ice, you’re sure of it.

As for others…

The palace seems colder than usual, but Vil changes nothing about his routine. He must not know you’ve been down to the dungeon – he must not know that you know.

The edge of every knife looks sharper than usual, every shadow darker, every rustle and crack louder. Why are you even considering it? All he's done is help you, take you in when you needed it most and yet you're thinking about forsaking all of that over the words of a man you've never met?

A man who died in front of you wasting the last of his life to warn you. A man killed by one of Vil’s bitterly beautiful spells.

Can you truly be certain that he wouldn't do that to you? That you'd never anger him that much? That he cares for you too much to ever do that? Can you?

“You look quite distracted. You'll hurt yourself that way.” As if his word is prophecy, the knife you're using to cook vegetables for dinner slides over the very tip of your finger in surprise.

You curse softly, inspecting the wound before Vil takes your hand instead, looking at it closely, “You've been quite out of sorts lately.”

The question is implied in his tone and you struggle to keep your heart rate level, “It must be the lack of s-sunlight.”

He only hums in response, eyes still unsettlingly locked on your injury as blood begins beading from the wound. Why is he still staring? Does he know? Does he know?

Vil draws your finger even closer, touching the wound to his lips gingerly and your heart can't help but stutter despite what you now know from the unquestionable beauty of the man before you. Your finger feels slightly numb at the spot where he kissed.

“Vil…” you whisper, drawing his eye. He parts from your skin to look down at you with a serious expression – sweat beads at your hairline.

He grasps your chin while moving closer; your eyes flutter at the proximity. How could you ever doubt him? This wonderful beautiful man, who treats you like the finest jewelry, how could you?

“You look nervous, dear. Did you do something… wrong?”

No. No no nononono…

He knows.

Before you can defend yourself, he seals his lips over yours passionately, as if it’s last time he’ll get the chance.

“I’m sorry, my dear. It’s for your own protection.” Oh how the despair in despair in his beautiful voice breaks your heart. You want so desperately to protest, to tell him he has it all wrong, that everything can be as it's always been but your mouth refuses to cooperate.

Your mouth feels as numb as your finger had… his lipstick. His new lipstick which smells faintly of poppy whatever else he uses for his potions.

“I'd never do to you what I did to them. You are too valuable for ice, my dear.” Your legs give out as he speaks, senses fading gradually.

The man was right. You want to kick and scream and ask him why, but you're fading fast, vision going dark and hearing dull.

Vil's cold hand lifts your chin to look you in your heavy eyes, “This will keep you safe. I can't have you turning on me like they did.”

The world goes dark quicker than you'd hoped and sleep takes you gently, carefully, never to let you go from its grasp ever again.

[player279achlys]

The golden rabbit's legacy (Hwang In-Ho/Frontman x fem! reader!)

Il-nam's granddaughter will prove herself worthy of being the next hostess, while someone becomes her loyal shadow.

CHAPTER VI: nightmares and confessions

Previous chapter: Chapter V

Next chapter: Chapter VII

Pairing: Hwang In-Ho/Frontman x Original!female!Character

Word count: 1,5k words.

Summary: In the shadow of her grandfather’s dark empire, Melinoe, a brilliant young woman in her early twenties, steps into a world of blood, betrayal, and power she was never meant to inherit. As the granddaughter of the infamous Oh Il-Nam, creator of the deadly Squid Games, she is thrust into a brutal legacy that demands she not only survive but thrive as its new hostess. Determined to honor her family’s name and prove herself worthy of the golden rabbit mask, she designs games more cunning and lethal than any before.

But power comes at a cost. Beneath her calculated exterior lies a woman haunted by guilt, trauma, and the faces of those she has condemned to die. And at her side stands Hwang In-Ho, the enigmatic Front Man—older than her, cold, and feared by all, except for her. Since the day he learned of her existence, In-Ho has been deeply, obsessively in love with Melinoe. His devotion is as intense as it is toxic, a tangled mix of desire and protectiveness that pushes him to control every aspect of her life.

As Melinoe rises to prominence, she finds herself navigating not only the deadly games but also the dangerous allure of In-Ho. Their relationship is a powder keg of suppressed emotions, forbidden passion, and fraught power dynamics. He would destroy anyone who comes close to her—including a charming, younger VIP who flirts with her one too many times. Yet, while In-Ho dreams of keeping her safe in his arms, Melinoe dreams of reshaping the games into something darker and more just—her own twisted vision of justice against the world’s worst offenders.

When the 33rd Squid Games begin, everything changes. With her grandfather entering the arena as Player 001 and Gi-Hun as Player 456, the games take on unprecedented stakes. As alliances crumble and bodies fall, Melinoe must contend with the weight of her grandfather’s legacy, the manipulations of the VIPs, and the unrelenting obsession of the man who would burn the world for her.

Will Melinoe rise as the queen of the games, or will the bonds of obsession and love be the end of her?

Warnings: MDNI!!!, Afab!, angst. Sexual language. Fear of losing someone. Smut (light kinda), grumpy x sunshine, dark romance, age gap, possessive, obsessed, paranoid and dominant In-Ho, daddy issues, yandere behaviour, jealousy, violence, murder, typical squid game stuff.

English isn’t my first language, if there are any mistakes, please forgive me. :)

Melinoe’s recovery was not without its struggles. The games had left their mark on her, not just physically but mentally. Nightmares plagued her, vivid and unrelenting. She dreamed of Wol-Jin’s face, his eyes wide with fear as he fell. She dreamed of blood, of gunshots, of the screams of the fallen.

One night, In-Ho was woken by the sound of a muffled cry. He was out of bed and in her room within moments, his heart pounding as he found her tangled in her sheets, her body trembling. She had fallen to the floor in her sleep, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Melinoe,” he said, kneeling beside her. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

Her eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, before they landed on him. “In-Ho,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

She clung to him, her tears soaking into his shirt as he held her tightly. For a long time, neither of them spoke, the silence broken only by her quiet sobs.

“I see them,” she said finally, her voice barely audible. “Their faces. I can’t make them go away.”

“You’re stronger than this,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You’ve survived so much. You’ll get through this, too.”

She looked up at him, her hazel-amber eyes glistening with tears. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” he said simply. “And because I’ll be here. Always.”

Melinoe stood before the vast map of the island in the planning room, her hazel-amber eyes scanning the intricate layout of the upcoming games. Every detail had to be flawless—every trap, every mechanism, every contingency. Her grandfather’s wish was to participate in these games, and she would honor it with unwavering dedication.

Across the room, In-Ho leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched her. She was a vision of determination, her sharp mind working tirelessly to bring her vision to life. But behind her steely resolve, he saw the cracks—the toll the games had taken on her. The nightmares, the weight of her decisions, the scars both visible and hidden.

“You’re overthinking,” he said, his voice breaking the silence.

She turned to him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t have the luxury of underthinking.”

He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them. “You’ve accounted for everything, Melinoe. There’s nothing left to perfect.”

“There’s always something,” she replied, though her tone softened. “This isn’t just about the games. It’s about my grandfather.”

“And you’re doing this for him,” In-Ho said, his voice low and firm. “But you can’t carry this alone.”

“I’m not,” she said, her gaze meeting his. “You’re here.”

The words sent a jolt through his whole body, and for a moment, he allowed himself to believe she meant more than just his role in the games. He wanted to tell her everything—to remind her of the night they had shared, to confess the depth of his feelings. But he couldn’t. Not yet. She didn’t remember, and he couldn’t risk losing her by forcing her to confront it now.

Over the next two months, the preparations for the 33rd games consumed their every waking moment. The transition to targeting society’s worst offenders was a logistical challenge, and Melinoe was going to approach it with meticulous precision, for the next games. She reviewed every profile, every dossier, ensuring that everything was perfect for the last games with debtors only selected; to honour her grandfather.

In-Ho admired her ruthlessness. She had a vision for the games, one that aligned with his own growing disdain for the morally corrupt. Watching her work only deepened his obsession. She was brilliant, fearless, and utterly captivating.

“I’ve finalized the roster,” she said one evening, sliding a tablet across the table toward him. “Four hundred and fifty six players. The last game with debtors. For my grandpa.”

He scanned the list, his lips curling into a rare smile. “This is… perfect.”

Her gaze lingered on him, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her composed exterior. “Do you think he’ll be proud?”

In-Ho set the tablet down, stepping closer to her. “Melinoe, he’s already proud. You’ve done more than anyone could have expected.”

She hesitated, her eyes searching his. “And you? What do you think?”

His heart clenched at the question. She had no idea how much she meant to him, how deeply she had burrowed into his soul. “I think you’re extraordinary,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I think… I’d follow you anywhere.”

Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment, she looked away. “That’s dangerous talk, In-Ho.”

“Not for me,” he said, his voice dropping. “Not when it’s you.”

Despite the progress they made, Melinoe’s nights were plagued by nightmares. The faces of those she had killed haunted her, their screams echoing in her mind. She often woke in a cold sweat, her heart pounding as the images refused to fade.

One night, she fell from her bed, her body tangled in the sheets as she thrashed against the invisible enemies in her dreams. The sound startled In-Ho from his own restless sleep, and within moments, he was at her door.

He didn’t knock. He pushed the door open, his heart racing as he found her on the floor, gasping for breath, her hands clutching her head.

“Melinoe,” he said urgently, kneeling beside her. “Don’t worry. I got you. You’re safe.”

Her eyes flew open, wide with terror, before recognition dawned. “In-Ho,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shirt as though afraid he might disappear. “They won’t leave me,” she said, her voice breaking. “I see them every time I close my eyes.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering against her skin. “You’re stronger than this,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’ve survived more than anyone ever could. You’re still here, Melinoe. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Her sobs subsided gradually, her breathing evening out as his presence soothed her. For a long time, they sat there on the floor, the silence between them heavy but comforting.

“Stay,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

“I’m not leaving,” he replied, his arms tightening around her. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

The day of the 33rd games arrived with an air of solemnity. Oh Il-Nam, frailer than ever, stood at the forefront as Player 001. His presence was both a testament to his legacy and a farewell to the world he had built. Gi-hun, Player 456, entered the arena with that happiness characteristic of his, though he was unaware of the orchestrated changes.

Melinoe and In-Ho watched from the surveillance room, their roles now firmly established as the architects of the games. She wore a tailored yellow and black suit. Black to portray seriousness and professionalism and the yellow as the korean tradition dictated: for those wealthy, holy and with authority. 

She was now the hostess of the games, she was the authority and the yellow made her stand out and served as a warning, just like in nature. Yellow animals were a warning and venomous. 

She was the personification of nobility, dignity, wealth and authority in those games. 

Melinoe wore an unreadable expression as well, behind her half mask. In-Ho stood beside her, his geometric mask concealing the turmoil that raged within him.

“This is it,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the arena below.

“You’ve done everything you set out to do,” he replied. “This is your moment.”

She turned to him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Our moment.”

His chest tightened at her words, and he nodded. “Our moment.”

As the first game began, the sound of the announcer’s voice echoing through the arena, In-Ho’s gaze remained fixed on Melinoe. She was his sun, his moon, his entire universe. And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe—even if it meant sacrificing everything.

The first game of the 33rd Squid Games began with grim efficiency. The air in the observation deck was heavy with tension as Melinoe and In-Ho watched the players navigate the deadly trial below. Each movement, each decision, was scrutinized, their fates decided by split-second choices.

Melinoe leaned forward slightly, her hazel-amber eyes sharp as she tracked her grandfather, Oh Il-Nam, who moved with calculated precision despite his frailty. Beside him, Gi-hun stood out, his determination and fire evident even from a distance.

“You’re worried about him,” In-Ho said, his voice low as he glanced at her.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” she admitted, her fingers curling around the edge of the console. “But he insisted on this. It’s his way of saying goodbye.”

In-Ho nodded, though his focus was more on her than the game unfolding below. The way she carried the weight of her grandfather’s legacy, the way she bore every decision with quiet strength—it only deepened his obsession. He couldn’t look at her without remembering the way she had clung to him, whispered his name, surrendered herself to him.

He thought she had forgotten. He had resigned himself to her amnesia, choosing to bury the memory deep within himself. But Melinoe’s mind wasn’t as blank as he thought.

So, another short chapter, hence why I am posting many chapters today.

These 2 are shorter than usual mostly because it's a change in the story. The games, the recovery and Melinoe doing her duties.

As always.

Loves you, Achlys.

Taglist: @futuristicdefendorfart

[kalinara]

So I was reading some posts talking about superhero comics and status quos, and the static element of characterization that results.

And I've realized that I don't entirely agree with that idea. I don't entirely disagree with it either, but I think a lot of times it depends on the character and the execution.

Unsurprisingly, I'm going to bring up my favorite character. Scott Summers/Cyclops has been a mainstay in X-Men (or satellite) comics for sixty years. (Even when he's dead, some version of him tends to be pretty prominent.)

He's got some very recognizable traits, and in my experience, even writers who I'm not really a fan of, or who aren't really a fan of him, seem to be able to give us a version of the character that's mostly recognizable.

Let's take Chuck Austen for example. His run on the series is generally pretty maligned for a lot of reasons. A LOT.

But when I think of Cyclops during this time, I think of this bit from Uncanny X-Men #412:

Scott looks at this woman who is awkwardly asking after his brother, and clearly clocks the reason why. And then, with all the bluntness of a sledgehammer tells her: Alex is already in a relationship.

It's hilariously awkward and a bit harsh. But it's also a bit like ripping the band-aid off. By bluntly telling her, before she says anything too overt or embarrassing, he's saving her dignity. If only the storyline ended here.

(And we can relate it back to early X-Factor and his own difficulty with telling Jean about Madelyne. Is he doing for Alex, what he'd really hoped someone would have done for him?)

I think about this scene a lot when I think about Austen's run. I also think about Scott hiring a shapeshifting stripper for Alex's bachelor party and having her take Annie's form...you know, rather than point out to his brother that Alex probably should figure his shit out before breaking Lorna's heart and leaving her at the altar.

That honestly also feels in character. Fuckhead.

But anyway, I am not a fan of Chuck Austen's run for a whole lot of reasons. But I do think he wrote a good Cyclops. And I feel like a lot of other writers, whose take I don't particular care for, also tend to write a fairly decent Cyclops.

I remember being a little anxious about Raid on Graymalkin because Gail Simone rather infamously jokes about her dislike of Scott. But honestly, I thought her Scott was fine. And during the points of conflict, I thought he remained generally very reasonable and recognizable.

There's just something about the concept of the character that I think most writers seem to get intrinsically. At worst, he might be a bit bland or wooden, or there might be a scene or two that I don't like, but the general take is usually pretty decent.

That said, I don't think Scott's a static character at all. I actually think that he's one of the most dynamic and reactive characters in the franchise.

If we look at Scott in the sixties vs. the Scott of early Claremont, the Scott of X-Factor vs. the Scott of late Claremont/Lee era, the Scott that we had after Apocalypse, to the Scott of Utopia, the Scott after AvX to the Scott after his resurrection. Krakoa Scott and the guy we have now...

They're all very distinct takes on the character with a very clear progression. You can eyeball a distinct arc, like Whedon's Astonishing and realize pretty quickly that we're dealing with the post Morrison/pre-Utopia era version of the character.

All of the versions are consistent and recognizable, but they're all distinctly rooted in the events of their particular era. It's really fun and fascinating to me.

To be fair, though, I don't think every character is as lucky.

Poor Kitty/Kate Pryde, for example, ends up having god knows how many coming of age type stories, because they keep retconning her age back and forth. (I keep joking that writers need to remember the lesson of Pete Wisdom: be careful hooking your self-insert up with Kitty Pryde, because he may end up accidently retconned into an ephebophile.) I credit Jubilee and Shogo for why they finally stopped doing that. As long as Jubilee has a baby, she can't be reverted TOO young, and Kitty's always supposed to be older than Jubilee. But it was touch and go for a long time.

And then there's Logan. He's tricky. I think there IS some clear progression: the guy we saw in early Claremont who was incredibly stab-happy is not exactly the errant knight we see in the more modern takes. But he does tend to a lot of inconsistency.

I blame the sheer amount of content for him. Don't get me wrong, as a fan of a character who isn't Logan, I do envy Logan fans all that content. But I think it does impact the general cohesion of the character.

Does Logan approve of kids in battle or not? It generally depends on whether or not the story involves kids in battle. Is Logan someone who at least tries to be an attentive parent and atone for his failures? Sure, when the writers want to go that way. Until another writer introduces yet another long lost biological or adoptive child Logan lost track of. Is he a team player or a loner? Who's the love of his life?

Hell, does he love or hate Krakoa? You can find panels for both positions.

Now of course, you can make this work. But it's harder sometimes, and pretty much requires a Watsonian "sometimes Logan's a fucking hypocrite" interpretation to make it all function. I think it might be his most consistent trait, actually, besides liking to stab.

And it does mean that Logan, I think, doesn't get to be as dynamic as others. He's got to be recognizable across so many comics, and not every comic is going to want to reference the same events. Some writers get really attached to certain versions of the character, so we end up with lone wolf cowboy Logan during a time when all of his known kids are alive, well, on the side of good, and perfect for bonding! There's a lot of regression and it can be frustrating to read.

(Disclaimer: while I like Logan, I wouldn't consider myself a big fan and a true fan of the character may have a very different take on him.)

So yeah, I think the idea of superhero comics having static characters is an oversimplification that really depends on who exactly we're talking about.

[austinstyles]

Could Harry be the new music professor at the local university? Y/N is a bartender at the Vandals' bar, but longs for more.

I hope you enjoy how I tried and write this. Thanks for the request.

Journey

Harry Styles x reader.

Warning: kissing and brife mention of drinking. Also some mention of smoking.little fluff. And spelling mistakes let me know if I missed anything.

Y/n pov

It a Friday night in London, I am behind the bar working. Mostly the nights shift is when I work, this job helps me pay the bills that is about it. As I was wiping the bar down, soon a 60’s man comes in and I can spell cigarettes smoke of him. He sits at the bar as I go to serve him. So I pure his whisky and hand it to him. My eyes soon land on the door again, this time I can’t get my eyes of this gorgeous man coming in. My stomach feels like it’s filled with butterflies. Let just say that the older man that is also her is far from my mind. His eyes are so magnificent I can’t stop falling for them more and more. Falling for the man that looks close to my age is a under statement, because I am soning over him at the moment. And he is walking to the where I am cleaning a glass.

Some time after this young man sit down I take is drink order and make it for him. We start talking and I fell myself falling more by the minute. We just meet and can’t get my mind off his handsome face and gorgeous eyes.

Harry pov

This bartender girl I am talking to is so sweet and kind also she looks really cute. She tells me that she really is passionate about doing something different that being a bartender. So I encourage her to follow the dreams that she has for life. We talk more and then it was getting late so I gave her my number to call and continue this conversation and getting to know each other. After paying for the drink I got I left on my way back to the apartment I live in.

It was time to go and get my well rested for tomorrow as a professor at a local university.

Time skip 5 months after meeting.

Y/n pov

It is like Heaven when I am kissing Harry. We’re in his car after a date and we have been dating for 2 months. Yes after 3 months of knowing each other we started dating it is magical. Love the passion he has for me and his work. He supported me following my dream to be a newscaster so I am working towards my dream but still working at a bar because I still need money to my my rent for a very small one bedroom apartment to that was all I could afford.

The kiss is now making out and our thoughts are playing and dancing intertwined in the mouths of each other. I meet my dream man in a bar were I work what were the odds. And he is so passionate and generous, most magnificent green eyes I have ever seen. Our date was wonderful , then now we’re making out in front of the apartment building in Harry’s parked car. His lips are amazing to kiss, the passion is burning and we are so intertwined with each other’s hearts and lips. The love I have for Harry is just getting stronger and stronger every passing moment together. 

2 years in the future.

Y/n pov still

Me and Harry have been married for one year yes we got engaged after 6 months of dating then got married on our one year anniversary and today is your anniversary of marriage and dating. I am now in my life leaving my best life with an magnificent husband for me also having my dream occupation. It actually happened last year. Hard work and dedication for me a job as a news anchor.

My life is all want I want at moment. Me and Harry are also expecting a new member to our family it will soon be three of us. Actually in 5 months time because I have just gotten to my 4 months mark on the pregnancy.

So exciting that this is my life and can’t wait to live it with Harry and our baby.

Thanks for reading and hope your happy with this Harry Styles fanfic and it tok some time because I was dealing with writing block. And also tok a break over new year and Christmas. Enjoy this fanfic and hope everyone is staying safe.

🌸🩷🖤😊👍🏻

Grace

[lunarharp]

played dragon age 2...just simple scribbles

[vaguely-concerned]

I've been picking mostly only the essential flirt options with lucanis in the romance so far (I've personally found the dynamic much more natural and mutual when you do that, more like forming a solid friendship slowly and inevitably becoming something else and less like you keep pushing on him and getting little back b/c he seemingly just gets overwhelmed and goes into freeze instead), and I think rye is a pretty hard person to read at the best of times even though he's been Down Real Bad from pretty early on and their chemistry as people is naturally really good. so the way the almost-kiss plays out in this playthrough feels a lot like it has the added layer of lucanis realizing that no but for sure rook is flirting and not just being kind or a good friend* it IS actually happening it's not just wishful/fearful thinking!!! and then uh. maybe going a bit too hard a bit too fast in all the excitement at that revelation haha

*in lucanis' defense he has seemingly literally never had a friend who wasn't his cousin-brother before, under those circumstances I suppose some confusion is extremely natural if not outright expected lmao

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

oh my god oh my god oh my GODDDDDD i can’t BELIEVE i found these on my little rainy october thrift shop wander this morning. like, one would have been more MORE enough. but both?? at once??? i am quite simply floating and may never touch back down to earth

[shannonsketches]

something something foils moving in opposite directions Goku's always happy to seek and fight stronger opponents because he spent most of his life being the strongest guy in the room and Vegeta wants to be the strongest/is always exhausted to find stronger opponents because he spent most of his life having to navigate his survival around the whims of the strongest guy in the universe room and so Goku has a foundation of safety and stability and so spends his time craving challenge and adventure and Vegeta has a foundation of challenge and adventure and spends his time craving safety and stability and the overlaid section of their venn diagram is that the only way they know how acquire and maintain those things is through battle