Ėāąæą» ė§ķ“ģ¤ say it back, oh, say it ditto . . .
rye į¢š© seventeen į¢š© intj
001. masterlists 002. guidelines 003. carrd
.į daily click for palestine
. . . i want you so, want you, so say it ditto ź°į¢. .į¢ź±āĖā¹ į°
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ē„ę„ / Permanent Vacation

oozey mess
wallacepolsom
Sade Olutola
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One Nice Bug Per Day
Today's Document

JVL
Sweet Seals For You, Always
trying on a metaphor
NASA
we're not kids anymore.
d e v o n
Three Goblin Art

titsay
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

Jules of Nature
seen from Japan

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@cr4yolaas
Ėāąæą» ė§ķ“ģ¤ say it back, oh, say it ditto . . .
rye į¢š© seventeen į¢š© intj
001. masterlists 002. guidelines 003. carrd
.į daily click for palestine
. . . i want you so, want you, so say it ditto ź°į¢. .į¢ź±āĖā¹ į°

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your daughter seems to be completely smitten with kento. apparently, there's nothing more wonderful than sitting and watching dad.
⦠āÆāÆć ¤Ö“ć ¤ą ąØā”ą§ ą§ć ¤Ö“ āÆāÆ ā¦
the first time you realized that rei was completely in love with her father was on an ordinary morning. nothing special had happened, no moment worthy of a photograph or of a particularly memorable recollection.
nanami was sitting on the couch reviewing some documents while drinking coffee, and you were tidying up a few things in the kitchen. rei, barely eight months old, was sitting on a blanket surrounded by toys that could normally keep her entertained for at least ten minutes.
however, that day she completely ignored all the colorful blocks, fabric balls, and stuffed animals. she remained still, sitting with her chubby little hands resting on her legs, staring intently at kento as if she were looking at the eighth wonder of the world. he wasn't even doing anything interesting. he wasn't talking, playing, or making funny faces. he was simply existing. and yet, rei's eyes shone as if she were watching the most fascinating show of her entire life.
you were the first to notice it, though it wasn't that difficult, since every time nanami turned a page, rei's head turned, every time he crossed one leg over the other, she followed him with her gaze. even when he stood up to leave his empty cup in the kitchen, the baby completely turned her body so she wouldn't lose sight of him for even a second.
the intensity with which she watched him was almost absurd. she looked like a little moon forever trapped in the orbit of her favorite planet. when kento returned to the couch and looked up at her, she smiled so hard that her eyes practically disappeared between her round little cheeks. that smile caused an immediate reaction in him.
the most serious, reserved, and composed man you had ever known smiled back with such obvious tenderness that you felt your heart tighten inside your chest.
as the months passed, it became impossible to ignore. rei simply adored her father. if she was in your arms and he walked through the door, she immediately leaned forward trying to reach him; if she heard his footsteps in the hallway, she would start kicking her legs excitedly even before seeing him appear; if she was playing and he said a single word, she would abandon whatever she was doing to look for him.
there was something deeply endearing about the way she loved him. because it wasn't a love based on toys, gifts, or entertainment. it was a pure, simple, instinctive love. rei seemed to feel safe simply because he existed, because he was there, because he was her dad.
nanami pretended to handle it better than he actually did, or at least that's what he tried to make it look like, but you knew him far too well. you saw how his eyes softened every time she laughed at the sight of him, how he found excuses to hold her a little longer, how he deliberately delayed putting her in her crib when she fell asleep on his chest, how he came home exhausted after endless workdays and still seemed to regain energy the moment she crawled toward him.
because yes, rei had recently learned to crawl, and that had considerably worsened the emotional situation of kento nanami.
the first time she crawled directly toward him, you honestly thought he was going to cry. the three of you were on the living room floor, rei had discovered that she could move around on her own and was exploring every corner of the house with the determination of a little adventurer.
nanami was reading while sitting on the carpet when the baby saw him from the other side of the room. she stayed still for a few seconds watching him, then smiled, and then started crawling. not toward a toy, not toward you, not toward something bright or eye-catching. toward him.
her little hands moved forward clumsily as she let out tiny sounds of excitement. when she finally reached his legs, she lifted both arms for him to pick her up. nanami put the book down immediately. he didn't even pretend to resist; he lifted her as if he were holding the most valuable treasure in the world.
āhello, princess.ā, the voice he used when speaking to her was so soft that even you felt like crying.
rei responded by placing both hands on his cheeks and letting out a laugh so deep and sincere that it ended up making her father laugh too. for several seconds they simply looked at each other, as if they were the only two people on the planet, as if they shared some secret that no one else could understand.
the nights were even worse. because rei had developed the habit of watching him until she fell asleep.
nanami could hold her in his arms for hours while she bravely fought against sleep. her eyelids would slowly droop, her head would begin to tilt, and even then she would make the effort to open her eyes one more time just to make sure he was still there. sometimes she seemed to have fallen asleep, but the moment kento moved slightly, she would open her eyes again to find him. she always found a way to look for him one last time before completely surrendering to sleep.
on one particularly quiet night, you found him sitting in the armchair by the window, with a sleeping rei on his chest and one tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt. the dim light from the lamp barely illuminated their faces. kento was looking at her with an expression that very few people had the privilege of seeing.
it wasn't the look of a proud man, nor that of a satisfied father. it was something much deeper, more vulnerable, more human. it was the expression of someone who still couldn't believe the immense luck he had been given.
when you approached, he looked up at you, smiled, and then his eyes returned to rei.
āshe's beautiful.ā, his voice was barely a whisper.
āi know.ā
āshe looks a lot like you.ā
that made you laugh because both of you knew that rei had inherited more of his features than yours, but you understood perfectly what he meant. because when nanami talked about beauty, he rarely referred only to appearance.
rei let out a small sleepy sigh and nestled closer against his chest. and then it happened, that gesture so small, so insignificant, so devastating. even asleep, the baby searched for her father. her hand clutched his shirt a little tighter, her little head settling more comfortably against him. as if even in her dreams she knew exactly where she wanted to be.
nanami looked down at her and smiled. that soft, calm smile full of love. the same smile he reserved for you.
because the truth was that rei was completely in love with her dad. and the even greater truth was that her dad was exactly as in love with her.
although if you ever asked him who held first place in his heart, nanami would still give the same answer as always. he would point to you without hesitation, with complete sincerity. but afterward, when he thought no one was watching, he would go back to looking at that little girl who crawled after him, who laughed every time she saw him walk through the door, who searched for his chest when she wanted to sleep, and who seemed convinced that he was the most wonderful person in the world.
and then his eyes would fill with that impossible-to-hide tenderness.
because maybe you were still the love of his life.
but rei, without a doubt, was the sweetest little piece of that love walking freely around the house.
⦠āÆāÆć ¤Ö“ć ¤ą ąØā”ą§ ą§ć ¤Ö“ āÆāÆ ā¦
long time no see...
oomf imy...
hello oomf ⦠imy more ā¦
kento absolutely adores the way you take care of yourself.
the way you have a skincare routine so meticulous,itās practically sacred; double cleanse, toner, serum, moisturizer, sometimes even a face mask if you're feeling indulgent. he watches you sometimes from the doorway, leaning against the frame with soft eyes, mesmerized by the way you take your time with it. by the quiet discipline. the calm focus. how gentle you are with your own face. the same gentleness you extend to others, including him.
he loves how you wake up early on saturday mornings, the sun barely rising, and lay your mat down for yoga before he's even opened his eyes. the quiet sound of your breathing is his favorite way to wake up. peaceful. steady. something about that rhythm inhale, exhale makes him fall in love with you a little more every time.
he even notices the way you almost never reach for greasy foods, no matter how good they smell. how youāll nibble from his plate but never overdo it, how youāre always trying to stay healthy, in tune with your body. not out of vanity but care.
and god, he loves that. because he knows that for you, wellness isnāt about perfection. itās about intention.
but lately, youāve been tired.
LIKE FLOWERS IN SAND š¼ Ėļ½”ā I SAW YOU IN A DREAM
008 | masterlist | 010
it takes a disturbing amount of self-restraint to not look his way.
truly, it should be an easy task, given the sea of likeminded passersby who want nothing more than to get their drink and leave. but it's almost as if he's parting that very sea with the speed at which he approaches her, absurdly long legs taking a handful of strides to find their place beside her.
"i'll cover her drink," he affirms, as if it's not already blatant by the way his card is hovering above the machine, ready to tap as soon as the screen flickers. she hadn't even realized he had taken it out, too enamored by how beautifully inconvenient the scene was.
the cashier smiles, sweet and warm, entirely oblivious to the gravity of the transaction.
kento looks at her expectantly. his eyes motion towards the small space by the pick up counter. she follows suit all too naturally.
he clears his throat, firm and brief, and the noise makes him feel a little bit more grown. "compensation for yesterday," he says. she looks up at him for a moment, confused and dazed and just so, so put off by the whole situation, before her memory catches up to her.
the camera. the bruise on the back of her leg. the slew of angry texts left in utahime's private messages.
it irks her how natural he is about it. how, despite the walls she keeps reinforcing, he continues to push, and push, and push, with no cost to his own sanity and energy (seemingly). there's an argument on her tongue, a complaint bubbling up in the back of her throat, but ultimately, nothing.
she decides, for today, she'll entertain him.
"thanks," she mutters, her pride taking hit after hit with every letter of the word.
there's a pause. she watches him soak in the atmosphere ā the cacophony of surrounding conversation, the hustle of corporate workers desperate to get their cold brews and iced americanos and other sorrowful drinks as soon as possible, the creak of the glass door as it swings open again and again, never truly given a moment to sit still. he's always been attentive, really, too caught up in the details before he can admire the larger picture.
she reminds herself that the one who stands beside her is not the same as the one who creeps into her memory periodically. the years have shaped him. not that she would know.
he clears his throat again, seemingly burdened by a dryness in his throat caused by the flaring heat outside.
a pack of honey-flavored candies sit in the bottom of her purse. she doesn't quite reach for them.
"i didn't know you were off today."
her finger taps against the fabric of her shorts. "just a rest day."
"then why aren't you resting?"
caught. that's what it feels like when the question rolls off of his tongue, his tone at the halfway point between concern and pointed sarcasm. "i don't want to be in bed all day. that'd be a waste of my time."
it's a partial lie ā really, she wouldn't mind being holed up in her room for the rest of the morning. but there's an itch to do something, at the very least, to make her feel as if the day wasn't left to waste. she lets him in on it not because she really trusts him, or because she finds comfort in his loose conversation, but because she's tired of holding fort against his relentless attempts at neutrality. at least, that's what she tells herself. she reinforces it every couple of minutes, insisting that it's more for her mental well-being than his, ignoring the fact that she allows each response to flow so easily, no longer calculated to hit with resentment and irritation.
when her drink arrives at the counter alongside his, he cuts off his own sentence, making another set of strides across the room with her following in tow. her own laughter (which is part genuine and part an attempt at making the conversation feel more normal) falls short. there's a part of her that yearns to hear what else he had to say, to find more bits and pieces of familiarity in his words. but when he turns to face her again, his faced weighed down by the passage of time and whatever burdens she's been oblivious to for years to come, she's reminded that it isn't really him, as much as she wants it to be.
bitterness finds its way back to her throat as they head out the door. an ache pangs through her chest as he walks the opposite way down the street, not before granting her a small wave and an even smaller twitch of the lips. this, now is more familiar ā his back towards her as he leaves without much of an explanation, not a single look back.
she bites the inside of her cheek. the skin tears.
nanami kento was comfortable with leaving. she had decided that if she doesn't let him back in, he can't leave again. but, truthfully, she knows the door has always been unlocked.
ଳ yuki did end up going to hot pilates at 10 am with toji and utahime
ଳ utahime was not mentally equipped for the task. she could not handle the "one more time!" lies from the instructor
ଳ toji did great (and he made sure she knew about it)
ଳ i love them sorry
ଳ anyways i really did like this little coffee shop scene
ଳ yn always feels guilty for spending her rest days resting even though that's literally what they're meant for. she hates being stagnant #gogetter
ଳ kento was there on coincidence much to her dismay (or pleasure?) ... he was running errands for his boss LOL
ଳ yn does want to let him in but there's that lingering fear and resentment from the past
ଳ trust kento was thinking about the interaction the wholeeeee day. definitely not giddy and jumping but he was daydreaming about it
ଳ they both have issues with trying to find the past versions of each other in the present to find some bit of familiarity to cling onto, as if to forget everything that happened
ଳ they need couples therapy sorry
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SUGAWARA KOUSHI has an unnatural attachment to hot chocolate.
you notice it from the very beginning. to be fair, itād be hard to miss. every day after school he needed a mug of hot chocolate, whipped till itās frothy and topped with sprinkles, otherwise ā as he announced with a fat pout ā heād absolutely super-duper explode.
of course, his mother only let him indulge in it twice a week at best. heād save one of these occasions for the weekend so he could add in marshmallows as a special treat. the rest of the week? agony. until sugawara had moved in next door, youād never seen someone drink a glass of water so mournfully, cradling it in his pudgy, eight-year-old hands like a pint of beer.
itās not something he grows out of, either. sitting at the edge of the court during volleyball practice, alternating between finishing your homework balanced on your knees and calling out encouraging insults, sugaād collapsed next to you to gulp down a bottle during break, all sweaty from exertion.
āall that hot chocolate's probably why you're not performing,ā youād mused under your breath, eyes narrowed in fake concentration at the worksheet in front of you.
soo hype to finally have time to work on lfis we are getting on the grindset tmrw
perhaps working out isn't so bad after all, especially if you have iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer to come home to.
"everything hurts, how do you do this multiple times a week?" you whine, flopping down on the couch and even then, getting into a comfortable position tugs at your aching muscles, eyes squinting in a wince.
"i've been doing it for ages, more or less used to the burn. kind of grows on you." iwaizumi huffs in amusement, lips slightly upturned in a barely-there smile as he situates himself next to you, lifting your calves to rest on his lap as his hands begin gently kneading at your tense spots. "besides, i don't think you're stretching enough."
his touch is precise, fingers pressing into the knots and releasing tension without causing too much pain, though the soreness still pulls a hiss or two from you.
"sorry." he mumbles, apologetic but also not really. it's always worse before it gets better, you're just now getting to know and sit with this feeling, and you hum in a halfhearted attempt of a response.
as a few quiet minutes pass, the hurting slowly eases into an oddly... nice sensation, a mix of pain and satisfaction that you're not sure counts as a masochistic tendency or not. iwaizumi catches the way your huffs have since changed in nature, no longer strained and instead a little more like relieved sighs, and can't help but chuckle.
"you're starting to get it now, aren't you?" he teases as his movements slow, words laced with mirth and knowing.
you mumble into a throw pillow, muffled and soft, almost sunken into the cushions beneath you and sounding almost defeated in admittance. "i guess you were onto something."
he smiles then, half with pride and the other half endearment at your reluctant submission. "when have i ever been wrong hmm?"
"yeah, yeah, yeah."
"keep up with that attitude and i'll put more strength into it."
"haji, don't you dare."
"don't test me, dove."
my take, on the apple art trend....heehee
oomf dearest .. howve u been ...
i still need to get arnd to ur fic btw nanami wait for me uni is chewing me up and spitting me out š¤”š¤”
hello may dearest ⦠i am in the trenches ā¦
my school year hasnāt started yet but iāve been on campus for half of summer bc of marching band āŗļøāŗļø i am already dying i need nanami kento to free me

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And death shall have no mercy, and I'll only have your name in my mouth
A/N: since everyone has been thoroughly enjoying my crack fics, heres some angst as a reward, yippie
warnings: angst, major character death, live laugh love cry, nothing happens to chairman meow, my terrible attempt at writing grief.
Nanami Kento was not supposed to laugh like that.
Not in public, not in his pressed white shirt, not with his tie hanging loose like youād just dragged him away from a shareholder meeting. Not with that neat, tidy image that screamed: I am very responsible and far too good for this world and also, by the way, you are beneath me. And yet, here he was. Bent over the tiny kitchen counter in your shitty apartment, shaking with laughter because youād just saidā
āChairman Meow ate the spider, Kento. HE ATE IT. Do you know what this means? HEāS A WIZARD. HEāS POWERFUL. HEāS GONNA START DEMANDING SACRIFICES. OH- wait he might become spidercat!ā
You held up the cat like Simba, his face a blank, furry void of judgment.
Nanami pressed his mouth in a fine line, failing miserably at keeping his composure. āYou areāGod. Youāre ridiculous. Youāre utterlyāā
āGorgeous? Delightful? The single shining light in your dull, tragic little capitalist existence?ā
He raised an eyebrow. ā...Obnoxious.ā
nanami wakes up before his alarm now.
not because heās stressed or thereās an early meeting or some pressing deadline.
just because you told himāhalf-asleep and pouty with your arms around his middle one nightāthat you missed him when heās gone all day.
āi know youāre working. but⦠i still miss you.ā
thatās all it took.
now he stirs at 6:03 instead of 6:30. quietly, carefully, just to watch you sleep for a minuteāpeaceful and warm in the tangle of the sheets, your cheek squished against his pillow. your lips parted slightly. your lashes casting shadows on your face.
sometimes, youāre already curled into his chest, breathing slow and even. sometimes youāre a little further, flipped onto your stomach, drooling into the edge of the mattress.
he adores you in both states.
he doesnāt say much in the mornings. he doesnāt really want to, because the world is still soft then, not fully awake, and he wants to preserve the quiet. he doesnāt want to break it with anything unnecessary.
instead, he gently kisses you. everywhere.
your forehead first, then your nose. your cheek. your lips, soft and unhurried. then your shoulder. the bend of your elbow if itās peeking out from the covers. he kisses wherever he can reach.
your brows knit slightly, even in sleep. but your body reacts the way it always doesāmelting into him like sugar in tea.
ākenny?ā you mumble, voice hoarse and heavy with sleep. your hand reaches blindly for him under the blanket. he finds it, laces your fingers together.
āitās still early,ā he says softly, brushing your hair from your eyes. āgo back to sleep.ā
āyouāre warm,ā you murmur, eyes still closed, tucking yourself closer to him. ādonāt go yet.ā
he doesnāt, not immediately. not until the last possible minute.
he lets you lie on top of him, heavy and limp like a sleepy cat, while he strokes your back and memorizes how you feel in his arms. he presses another kiss into your temple.
āi know you miss me,ā he whispers against your skin. ābut if i kiss you enough⦠maybe youāll miss me a little less.ā
ānot possible, baby,ā you grumble, even as your cheek nudges into his collarbone. ābut⦠this helps.ā
he chuckles, low, affectionate.
when the alarm finally rings, he kisses you one last time. and then again, when you pout and try to drag him back under the covers. he kisses you until youāre too relaxed and boneless to whine, murmuring that youāll be right here when he comes home.
āiāll miss you too,ā he says, smoothing your hair.
youāre half-asleep again when he leaves, a soft smile still on your face.
and thatās why nanami kento wakes up twenty-five minutes earlier than he needs to. every day.
because he knows youāll miss him and heāll miss you just as much and if a few kisses and a quiet hug can make your day a little easier⦠then heāll do it for the rest of his life.
ā^. .^āā synopsis: after surviving the shibuya incident, nanami shuts off the world and becomes a recluse. the only thing keeping him going? a new coffee shop around his apartment. and maybe, its owner with her soft words, warm hands, and cinnamon-dusted kisses. (cw: hints of depression, description of gory injuries for nanami, slight offcanon) word count: 4.9k
nanami wakes in pitch darkness.
that's been routine for him, for the past month.
the odd shapes in his apartment are recognizable as turned over sofas, half-drunken mugs, untouched books in the dark, and other objects of that sort. his eyes have adjusted to the lack of light in the building, his feet able to carefully traverse between the gaps of furniture and hastily discarded clothes on the floor to reach his ultimate destination: the kitchen.
it's probably noon outside. not that he knows for sure, given that he's gotten rid of all the clocks in his apartment two weeks ago. the anxiety of seeing those clock hands move incrementally, counting down the minutes of his stillness, the quiet rhythm of ticking driving him insane within the confines of his home-
he had to get rid of it.
and the alarm clock next to his bed, and set his phone to do not disturb mode before chucking it under several piles of books he would not touch.
the sunlight filtering in through the tiniest gap in his window, combined with the sounds of birds chirping outside and children laughing from a nearby playground makes his jaw clench. his heart feels like it's being painfully squeezed, the barrier between him and the real world so faint and yet ever so present. it feels as if the world is mocking him, mocking him of what he can't have, mocking him of what he's become: sheltered from the entire world, hiding in the dark as if he's some kind of monster.
opening the refrigerator lets out the only source of light in the entire room, the harsh fluorescent lighting causes nanami to blink furiously and curse under the sudden pain. when his irises adjust, he sees that there's a half eaten apple. a cereal box misplaced inside the fridge. milk that's due to expire in a day and a pack of sealed natto sitting untouched on the top shelf.
'cereal it is.' he thinks. it's the fourth day in a row he's had cereal for the day, which is certainly not good for his health.
not that he cares much.
when his hunger is satiated, he travels back to the couch and stares up at the ceiling. sometimes, he falls asleep - his mind preferring to stay dreaming, floating, blanketed in the unconscious world so he doesn't have to face reality. but on days like today, sleep evades him.
his bones ache, his mind races, and his fingers itch at his sides.
in every lifetime, always you į¢š© toji fushiguro
synopsis Ėāąæą» comfort and reassurance are foreign languages for toji fushiguro. but for you, heād learn.
content surgeon! reader. hurt/comfort. implied depression. mentions of blood. ooc toji, but thatās the entire point of the fic
notes this was originally supposed to be an iwaizumi fic butttt my toji obsession has been at an all time high recently. enjoy ā”
find my other jjk works here!
for toji fushiguro, comfort is a foreign language. it burns bitter on his tongue with unfamiliarity, and he can't quite find the energy in him to understand it.
but patterns ā those are engraved into his very being, even despite his demeanor that very much opposes the idea of consistency. it comes naturally with his job. routines, behaviors, and every day decisions all fall under his careful watch, a consequence of the stakes and responsibilities placed upon him.
and so, it's no surprise that he starts picking up on your patterns.
the way you add less and less sugar to your coffee in the morning, insisting it'd help you get through the day for even just a few minutes longer. the hourly texts that dissolve into once-in-a-while updates, and eventually, silence (he had feigned annoyance at your persistence before, but a part of him finds himself missing it, now). the slow, slow drag of your feet through the door past midnight. the extra minutes you spend in the shower, steam building up so heavily that he gets scared to even open the door. the slow, almost terrified way you slip into bed once he's already half-asleep.
baked into each of your actions lies a whisper of fear and exhaustion that he tries to trace. it shows when you come home during your lunch break following his hasty phone call, your hands hovering over each wound and gash for a moment before stitching him up in silence; even more so when you drive back to the hospital with only a quick kiss to the cheek and a glance in your wake.
in truth, toji knows what it all is.
but he waits. he waits and waits and waits for you to admit it yourself.
because, for toji fushiguro, comfort is foreign ā and he wasn't ready to learn of it any time soon.
ĖĖā¹ ź£ą§ā
the heater hums low against your bodies. buried in the bed is a mass of entangled limbs and skin, almost akin to a survival mechanism designed specifically to combat the cold of winter. toji's head lies against your chest while you comb your fingers through his hair with no purpose or intent behind each run through, and somewhere beneath the mass of blankets, you'd find your legs wrapped in his, seeking natural warmth even despite everything else.
"it's too cold," you whisper against the crown of his head. he only grunts, briefly.
"heater's broken. i'll get it fixed by this weekend, don't worry."
"mm."
toji feels it in your heartbeat and the slow rise and fall of your chest beneath him. he feels the disconnect from your own self between every crevice and square inch of flesh.
it's a rest day, he tells himself. the guilt of his next question weighs heavy, but part of him knows that whatever burden rests on your shoulders is heavier.
he shifts once, twice, before settling back to the same spot. "how's work?"
the discomfort settles in slowly, gradually. it crawls in from your throat and seeps to every other bone and muscle, and for a moment, you forget toji ever even asked anything.
"it's okay," you murmur. he follows your gaze to the chipped paint next to the doorway, a spot you like to focus on as a momentary distraction (another pattern he picked up easily). "just a lot of responsibility. a lot of work. too many people every day."
you feel toji's throat grumble as he hums in response. under any other circumstances, this would be a normal, if not insignificant conversation. one you would've shared so regularly it became a habit. but you can both feel it, the slow cracking of the reservoir that hides beneath the surface of whatever facade you've worn for the past couple of weeks.
he doesn't say a word. but silently, he urges for more.
"lots of accidents recently. the other day, a patient almost flatlined on the table because of a poorly placed incision i made. then the patient files thing i told you about last week ā 'ts okay if you don't remember. and just- i don't know. there's so much to do. so much to think about."
your hand pauses its ministrations on his scalp. "i try to keep up. i really, really do, but-" you exhale, and he feels the weight of it all ghost against his skin. "i can't remember the last time i felt accomplished doing this. or proud, or relieved, or anything like that. there's always something."
"quit your job," toji mumbles into your sleep shirt (which, really, is his) with a half-laugh. you can't quite find it in yourself to even shake your head at his quip.
he wants to tell you that he understands, that part of him relates to the burden of responsibility, what with the numerous challenges his own career throws at him. but he can see it in the haze in your eyes and the shallowness of your breath that there's something larger.
there's a pause before you start shimmying out from his hold to sit up against the headboard. toji's head falls onto the mattress, and now, he's looking up at you.
"not funny," you mutter, but it's more of a scoff, than anything. "'ji, i can't just quit. i can't just stop. they need me."
he matches your posture, his weight now carried by his arms as he sits up to face you. "they don't need you to slowly kill yourself from working. don't be stupid." it comes out harsher than he means it to, and he hopes, god he hopes you know that.
"what's stupid is the fact that you're telling me to leave rather than fix it."
"fix what?"
you motion all around yourself, too lost for words to quantify the blur settling in your head. "this."
there's a ghost of a laugh that falls from toji's lips. "you think you're gonna fix it by just doing the same shit every day? as if, magically, one of these days it's all gonna go away?"
you gulp at that, too scared to admit that he's right, to some extent. slowly, he lowers himself back against the mattress, his head now resting on the palm of his hand. the other pats the spot next to him, and hesitantly, you follow him back into the blankets with your back turned to him.
silence follows after. toji doesn't say anything else ā just wraps an arm around your torso and tucks you into his chest like you belong there, sleep chasing after him with ease. he doesn't see the way your eyes stare down the same spot on the wall for the next couple of hours, or the way your hands tremble against each other quietly, and in the moment, you think it's better this way.
ĖĖā¹ ź£ą§ā
toji hates arguing with you, too.
not because he doesn't want to ā in fact, there were countless times he wanted nothing more than to huff and puff or yell in retaliation at your relentless nagging. but rather, because he thinks it's a hassle. the emotional baggage and the messy aftermath and the confrontation leaves a sour taste in his mouth, and truthfully, he tries ā really, really tries ā to avoid it.
so, when you leave for work the next morning, even despite his half-joke half-critique to leave your job the night before, he doesn't fight you on it.
instead, he leaves a warm lunch by your keys. it's one of your favorites, one that you didn't realize he'd recalled, and you can tell he used the recipe you keep in your notes app. your water bottle is already filled, and beside it, there's a can of coffee (that you presume he bought from the convenience store two blocks down) collecting condensation. it's unlike him, really. too far out of his way, too much of an inconvenience in the routine (or rather, the lack thereof) that he had grown so accustomed to.
you think little of it. part of you believes it's a tactic ā something to get you to warm up to his proposal, to sway you into his territory ā and yet, the other part knows there's little intention behind it.
but the patterns start piling up, slowly. just as toji had, you start noticing his shifts in demeanor, the new actions that take place of his previous structure.
when you get home the same night, plopping beside him on the couch, he starts to massage your shoulders almost absentmindedly, as if it's second nature. something hard-wired into his list of habits. he rolls out the knots and pulls apart the threads holding onto you oh so tightly, and soon, you find yourself melting into his arms, too tired to ponder the intention behind it.
you find the changes in the little things that carry on for the next couple of weeks. randomly, he'll pop into the shower with you, turning the temperature down while scolding you for using up all the gas and lathering shampoo through your scalp. some nights are spent drying your hair in quietude. others pass by with careful massages to your back while he lies beneath you, the motions sending you both to slumber. occasionally, he'll drive you to work, insisting that it's on the way to his job for the day, only for you to find him turning back the same way he came a few minutes later.
he does it all like it's already a part of him, despite the fact that it goes against the image of toji fushiguro that you're accustomed to.
you can't tell if it's done out of support or if it's a silent plea for you to listen. what you do know is that it all piles up, crafting a new version of him that he would deem unrecognizable just a few months prior.
but you also know that, despite the underlying desperation in every newfound action and habit that he picks up, nothing seems to change. the exhaustion continues to build, and the burden of responsibility only festers like rot in your lungs, working against whatever little pushes toji sends your way.
it's tiring. the back and forth between his growing support, so far out of his norm that it's disorienting, and the gnawing guilt drains every bit of energy out of you, and truthfully, neither of you know how to stop it.
ĖĖā¹ ź£ą§ā
toji gets the call at 4 am, right as he's making some semblance of a breakfast for you to come home to.
just a few hours ago, you'd been called in the midst of some emergency ā something about an accident and a handful of people to handle. he'd already dropped everything to pack your bags and drive you there. it was just a matter of waiting.
now, he's driving the exact same route back to the hospital, his sweater in the passenger seat and the meal he was making left to go cold in the kitchen. the call was quick, the voice on the other side of the line evidently panicked even despite their attempts to maintain composure.
"she needs to go home," they'd uttered. "it's- it's not looking good. we can't keep her here, there are too many people to care for, and, i'm sorry, but- she has to go."
toji's already outside the operation room by the time you're pulled out, shaky hands and blurry eyes and all. for a man who was surrounded by blood every second of his day, the sight of it all over your scrubs frightens him.
someone else pulls you aside to change, and like a lost dog, he follows suit, even when another holds him outside of the locker room. it's beyond frantic, especially with the plethora of nurses and doctors that look almost as shaken as you running all over the halls, passing by him like he's nothing more than an obstacle.
when you come back out in the same clothes you were wearing when you left, toji's arms are already around you. he doesn't know how to comfort you now. the words that he thinks work in this scenario fall flat on his tongue, and frankly, he's at a loss.
so, he does what he knows best.
silently, he takes you into the car, placing the sweater in your lap as a quiet offering. the drive back home is less haphazard than the one he took to get there. his palm, calloused and warm, rests on your thigh ā not sensually, but rather, to let you know that he's there. you give him nothing in response, save for an empty look into the road in front of you and a tremble in your leg.
ĖĖā¹ ź£ą§ā
you don't leave the bed in the afternoon.
initially, toji tries to keep the same habits in place ā a warm, hearty meal, gentle massages, an absentminded hand rubbing against your arm. it's only when you turn away ā the only response you'd given him within the past handful of hours ā that he gives up. the unrecognizable version of himself that he'd built up in an attempt to keep you standing falls apart, and left behind is the toji fushiguro that knows nothing of comfort and stability.
i didn't think it would get this bad, is what he wants to say to himself so, so badly. but more than anyone, he knows that it had already gotten "bad." he was just too late to realize it. too late to react.
later in the evening, after a very heated debate within his internal monologue, toji forces you out of bed and into the kitchen. he makes you sit at the dinner table, his own force making him grimace, and pulls the remnants of the breakfast from earlier from the fridge. "eat," he huffs. it's a far cry from the gentleness he tried so hard to maintain for the past couple of months.
you shake your head at first, and at that, toji groans. not out of frustration towards you, but out of frustration from himself. from his lack of knowledge on how to handle any of the emotional business. from his inability to return the comfort you so easily handed to him every so often. when you eventually come around, he doesn't feel achieved ā just relieved.
the rest falls into place, slowly. you follow him into the shower, and like before, he turns the heat down when you try to turn it up, all while massaging shampoo into your hair and lathering your body wash onto your skin. he dries your hair shortly after, and once you've changed into your sleepwear (his old t-shirt, and your own pajama pants), he wraps a warm blanket around you both.
it's less clumsy than it would usually be, a consequence of the patterns he'd picked up. the little pushes of support that he'd deemed as nothing more than a necessity weaved themselves into a second layer of habitual routine, and although they hadn't helped much then, he knows they're helping now, at the very least.
the quiet continues for a few moments longer, until you break.
there are no tears, no wails, nothing loud. just a whispered, "i can't do it anymore, toji."
helpless.
that what toji thinks you look like, even in his arms as you utter those six words. small, fragile, and helpless.
he hears the strain in your voice and does his best to push aside the "i told you so" that tries to rise up to his throat. instead, he holds you tighter and rubs small circles against your back, tucking you into that familiar cranny within his chest that he knows you belong in.
even still, he doesn't really know what to say in response. any words of comfort run bitterly on his tongue, the aftermath of years of neglect and disdain.
but, regardless, he tries.
"no matter how much it feels like it," he begins, the words scratchy and foreign. "the weight of the world doesn't lie on your shoulders. i'm here. your coworkers are there. 'ts not your burden to bear alone."
there's a promise to be better ā for both of you to be better ā etched into the silence that follows afterward. toji doesn't need you to respond, doesn't need any confirmation that you heard him. he feels it in the way you curl up against him and allow sleep to follow after you that things are changing. and for him, that's more than enough.
ĖĖā¹ ź£ą§ā
bonus:
the front door slams shut, followed by heavy footsteps that are undeniably his that trail into the kitchen, and then a rough, reverberating call of your name.
toji looks a bit more beat up than usual ā there's a gash on his forearm, and a few blooming bruises here and there that you know he'll complain about later on. "'ji, you're getting blood all over the floor," you nag, even while grabbing the medkit you'd placed above the fridge for emergencies.
"i'll clean it later," he groans. an evident lie.
the evening sun spills onto every crevice and surface of his build, highlighting every remnant of today's job. it's almost cozy, if you ignore the red splattered on nearly every square inch of skin and the scowl on his face while you dab antiseptic onto the wound.
in the midst of a grimace, toji jokes, āitāll only heal if you kiss it better.ā itās cheesy and corny and every other word to describe the cringe that it sends your way. he laughs at the frown that falls onto your lips at his quip ā not genuine disdain ā and traces the creases that form between your brows.
ādāyou want it to get infected?ā
you feign annoyance at the louder laugh that follows after, but he sees it in the twitch of your lips and the warmth of your cheeks as you press a small peck to the skin just to the side of the actual wound that you donāt mind the banter.
itās quiet. toji watches intently as you stitch up the gash, the hesitation from months prior long forgotten. he tries to recall the last time youād stitched him up like this ā before everything, at least ā and the memory slips from him before he can catch it. because, truthfully, he canāt remember the last time you hadnāt done anything with that tinge of fear riddled into every movement. he realizes, now, that itād all come full circle. the habits, the patterns, the behaviors that he tried so hard to memorize and recognize.
but, in truth, toji knows that no matter how many of your routines he locks down in his memory, there will always be change. maybe, if it means getting to watch you more, to be a little closer, and to work on himself in the process, heāll let it happen. he decides, then and there, thatās his life plan ā to etch every change and shift and altercation to your life and its routines into his memory.
no matter the change or continuity, he knows heād always choose you.
hello, members of kpop/enhypen community! my name is tori and I am the owner of the jjk-centered blog @kenntoria. please read this if you care about content theft and plagiarism!!
after thinking long and hard about this(not that long, okay) i have decided that bringing attention to this situation was the right thing to do. now, let me start by saying that i mention in my pinned post that my works are not to be plagiarized, but I guess it wasnāt clear enough which brings us all here:

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i do a little wii bowling jump when ppl comment / send asks abt my works
In ur Olympic Toji x Shiu smau, who's topping who because I need to know š
im crying this is such a funny ask. i wonāt lie i didnāt think that far into the toji shiu sideplot but if i had to give an answer on the spot itād be shiu