#situation

I think it’d be really interesting to explore the dynamic between katsuki (25), an a-list hero who freshly established his agency last year and now employs many b-list sidekicks that are older than him, and you, a subordinate who’s 30 something years old, and stuck in a physically and mentally abusive relationship

Most of the time he doesn’t know how to react to your bruises, the new ones that show up—he doesn’t know how to bring it up, whether to ask if you’re stuck in something you need help getting out of, or just some kink-related stuff that he shouldn’t intrude on. The way you carry yourself, with grace, with ease, it makes him doubt his instinct, he finds it hard to believe that you can go to work, smile at everyone, water the plants in spite of the abuse. He never learnt to be a therapist, let alone for a subordinate who’s older than him. He wants to believe in you: that you’d ask for his help if you needed it—but most importantly, he fears that it isn’t his place to say something. So he doesn’t say anything for a few months, his concern manifests in his attitude at work: he gives you less paperwork, he accompanies you on patrol, he thinks you notice.

Kogs in the system or something like that

ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsɪᴛʏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ɪᴅᴏʟ!sᴏᴘʜɪᴀ ʟᴀғᴏʀᴛᴇᴢᴀ

ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡɪᴇᴡ: She was once just your classmate at one of the most renowned universities in the Philippines. What started as simple seatmates slowly turned into friendship, and somewhere along the way, those feelings grew—quiet, uncertain, but real. Was she ever truly yours? No. But were you hers? Completely. And maybe that’s the cruelest part—loving someone who was never yours to begin with, yet knowing you’d give yourself to her over and over again, if only she asked.

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏғ: emotional intimacy, jealousy, mixed signals, mixed feelings, confusion, false hope, arguments, heartbreak, comfort

What do you even call someone who isn’t your lover, but already feels like home? The laughs, the small moments, the way time slows down when it’s just the two of you—it felt like everything. You’ve been friends for so long, yet your heart keeps asking: why can’t it be more? She never had to ask for your heart anyways, because it was hers from the very start.

Sophia Laforteza once walked the same halls you do now. A year ago, you sat side by side—seatmates, partners, and maybe something more, though neither of you dared to say it. She carried a warmth that made even the hardest days easier, and a fire that made you believe in dreams again. With her, it was never rivalry—it was rhythm. And maybe that’s why it still hurts, because no one has ever seen you the way she did.

But things changed. Sophia is no longer just the girl who shared notes and late-night talks with you. She’s Sophia Laforteza—the leader of a world-famous girl group, the face on billboards, the dream everyone else is chasing. She left the university to follow that fire inside her, and you were there when it all began, back when it was only an audition and a whispered hope. Now she’s standing on global stages, brighter than ever. And yet, beneath all the lights and applause, you can’t help but wonder—does she still feel the connection you once had, or was it left behind with everything else?

You saw Sophia’s message. You weren’t mad at her for taking so long to reply—you knew her world wasn’t hers anymore. Every second of her life was scheduled, rehearsals that stretched from day into night, cameras always on her, eyes always watching. You understood. You always did.

But understanding didn’t make it any easier. Because you two were never just friends, were you? There was something more—something neither of you dared to name. That kiss, the one that still lingers in your memory, wasn’t a mistake. It was real. It was the kind of moment that made your heart believe there was more waiting for you both, even if the world wasn’t ready for it yet.

At that moment, the connection was still there—fragile, but enough to make your chest ache. The conversation between the two of you was short, barely a few lines, yet it was sweet and disarming in the way only Sophia could be. For a heartbeat, it felt like you were back at the university again, sitting side by side, rolling your eyes whenever her loud mouth got you both in trouble, or when her stubbornness made you laugh despite yourself.

She was still that Sophia. The same warmth, the same fire—untouched by fame, hidden beneath all the lights and noise. And yet, the distance was undeniable. The world had claimed her, and you knew you would never have her in the same way again. Still, that small glimpse, that fleeting exchange, was enough to remind you why you held on in the first place. Because even now, part of you still believes she might find her way back to you… and part of you already knows she never will.

ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ᴘᴀssᴇᴅ:

It’s been over a week since the two of you last really talked. You still sent her messages—little things, pieces of your day, questions you wished she’d answer. But most of the time, they were left on “delivered,” or worse, “seen.” When she did reply, it was always the same: she’s busy, her schedule is full, maybe next time. And you believed her. You understood. After all, the world demanded her time now, not you. Still, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself it was fine, a quiet ache lingered. Because once upon a time, she always found time for you.

You were packing your things, folding clothes into a suitcase that suddenly felt heavier than it should. In a few hours, you’d be on a flight back to the Philippines, ready to focus on what really mattered—your upcoming graduation. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But the truth was different. You hadn’t come to L.A. just for yourself. You came because of her. You wanted to watch Sophia perform, to see with your own eyes how far she’d gone, to remind yourself that the girl you once knew had turned into someone the world now adored. More than that, you came to catch up with her—to close the distance, to ask the question that had been haunting you for so long.

The connection. The kiss. The unspoken promise between you two. Was it still there, or had it disappeared somewhere along the way? You weren’t sure what answer would hurt more—her honesty, or her silence. Suddenly, while lying in bed—your clothes scattered, your bags half-filled, your luggage already locked—you stumbled upon a Twitter post. Sophia. With him.

Of course, it had to be him. The same guy who had always lingered around her back at the university, the one who wore his feelings on his sleeve, shameless and persistent. Your rival—not just in grades, not just in pride, but in the unspoken battle for her heart.

She used to laugh whenever you asked about him, swearing she wasn’t interested, telling you he wasn’t her type. You wanted to believe her. You did believe her. But now, the proof was right there in front of you—she wasn’t busy with rehearsals, or locked up in her schedule. She was with him. Those nights you stayed up waiting for her reply, convincing yourself she was just tired? She was with him instead.

You lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of it all pressed down on you. Sophia had seen the post—and worse, she knew you had seen it too. How? Because in a moment of carelessness, you’d accidentally retweeted it on your main account. Now your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing, her name lighting up your screen over and over again.

But you didn’t open a single message. What was the point? In a few hours, you’d be gone anyway. Back to the Philippines. Back to reality. Talking to her through a screen wouldn’t change anything—not when the video had already answered the question you’d been too afraid to ask.

There was nothing between the two of you. Not love. Not a future. Just a fragile, undefined connection—a situationship at best. Something born out of loneliness, or maybe boredom. Something that was never meant to last. And in the end, all it really did was ruin a friendship you once thought would stand the test of time.

You lay there, still not wanting to move, your body heavy with something worse than heartbreak. Heartbreak at least had closure, an ending you could understand. But this—this felt like betrayal wrapped in silence. Sophia knew. She knew how much you hated him. She knew the kind of guy he was—a playboy, a liar, a cheater at best. You had told her, warned her, trusted her to see him the way you did. And yet, there she was, choosing him anyway.

For what reason? Fame? Comfort? Loneliness? Or maybe because he got to her first, said the words you never dared to? The questions spun in your head like knives, cutting deeper each time, and the worst part was you’d never get an honest answer. Not from her. Not anymore.

A few minutes passed before you finally pushed yourself out of bed, half-heartedly fixing the chaos scattered across the room. Clothes piled on the chair, your open suitcase waiting for the last of your things. Then came a knock at the door.

You didn’t think much of it—it was normal. Hotel staff, maybe the cleaners making their rounds. Without hesitation, you pulled the door open, still busy shoving a mess of shirts aside with your foot. “Sorry, but I don’t need anything—” you muttered, not even bothering to look up.

But then, silence. No reply. Just the faint sound of someone breathing in front of you.

And when you finally lifted your eyes, it wasn’t a cleaner standing there.

It was Sophia.

You froze at the door, your chest tightening the moment you saw her. No stage lights, no makeup—just Sophia, standing there like nothing had changed. “Can we talk?” she asked softly.

You shook your head, trying to steady your voice. “What’s there to talk about? I already saw enough.”

Her eyes searched yours, desperate. “It’s not what you think. He doesn’t matter—he never did.”

You laughed bitterly, though it came out more like a crack. “Then why, Sophia? Why was he with you every time you told me you were too busy?”

Her face fell. For a second, you thought she might cry, but instead she whispered, “Why are you acting like we’re more than just friends?”

The words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. But what shattered you completely was when she added, barely above a whisper, “I’m not yours to begin with.”

And just like that, it felt like everything between you was gone—like it had never been real at all.

Her words echoed in your head, sharp and merciless: I’m not yours to begin with. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look at her. “Then what was it, Sophia? That kiss—was it nothing? All those nights we talked, all those times you swore I was the first one you’d tell everything to… was that all just some game to you?”

She looked away, her silence louder than any excuse.

“Because it felt real to me,” you continued, your voice breaking. “Every laugh, every late-night call, every look—we weren’t just friends, and you know it. So don’t stand there and tell me I made this all up in my head.”

Her hands trembled at her sides. For a moment, you saw the Sophia you used to know—the stubborn girl who could never hide what she truly felt. But now, under the weight of her silence, all you could see was distance.

“Tell me, Sophia,” you whispered, tears burning in your eyes. “Was I really just… nothing to you?”

Before you could take back your words, Sophia suddenly pushed past you, closing the door behind her. You stumbled back, caught off guard, when she grabbed your face with trembling hands and kissed you.

Your eyes widened, tears already slipping free. You could feel hers too, warm against your skin, mixing with your own. The kiss was desperate, shaky, nothing like the one you remembered. This one wasn’t filled with promises—it was filled with fear, regret, and the weight of everything left unsaid.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless. Neither of you spoke at first. What could you even say? The tears on her cheeks told you everything—she wanted you, but not enough. Not in the way you needed.

Sophia didn’t let go. Instead, she kissed you again—harder, rougher, like she was trying to erase every doubt you had. Her hands gripped your shirt tightly, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You kissed her back, but tears blurred your vision. You weren’t sure if you were holding on because you loved her or because you were afraid to let her go. Maybe both. Her lips trembled against yours, and when you felt the wetness of her own tears, your chest ached even more.

It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was desperate, messy, and full of all the words you both never said. Anger, love, hurt, longing—it all crashed together in that moment. You could feel the way she clung to you, like she needed you, like she was terrified this would be the last time.

For a second, the world outside didn’t exist. Not the guy in the video, not the broken promises, not the distance. Just Sophia. Just the way her kiss made you believe, even for a fleeting moment, that maybe she could be yours.

But deep down, you knew the truth. This wasn’t the beginning. It was a desperate attempt to hold on to something that was already slipping away.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless. Sophia’s forehead rested against yours, her hands still clutching your shirt like she was scared you’d disappear if she let go. Neither of you spoke at first. The silence was heavy, but not empty—it was filled with everything you both felt but couldn’t say. She pulled you onto the bed, the mess of clothes and half-packed bags forgotten. You lay side by side, still clinging to each other, your tears mixing with quiet laughter that slipped out between shaky breaths. For once, she wasn’t the global idol everyone wanted her to be. She was just Sophia—the stubborn, loud, reckless girl you first met in the university halls.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against your chest, her voice breaking. “I messed up… but I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart tightened, but you wrapped your arms around her anyway, pulling her closer. “Then don’t,” you murmured. “Stay—at least with me, like this.”

And with that, Sophia kissed you again—but this time, it was different. Her lips were softer now, tender, like she was afraid of breaking you any further. She lingered, letting the kiss slow, letting it mean something more than just desperation. Her lips trailed down to your neck, warm and careful, before she bit gently—playful, yet full of something deeper. It felt like she was marking you, claiming you in the only way she could, as if to say, 'you’re mine, even if the world doesn’t know it.'

And you let her. You closed your eyes, heart racing, surrendering to her touch, surrendering to her. For once, there was no questioning, no doubt. Just the quiet truth that in that moment, you belonged to each other.

Sophia’s lips moved from your neck back to your mouth, softer now but lingering with heat. Each kiss was slower, deeper, like she was pouring every apology, every fear, every hidden feeling into you. Her hands slid to your waist, gripping you as if she was afraid you’d slip away.

You breathed her in, every touch making your chest tighten, every kiss grounding you in a way words never could. When she pressed closer, the world outside the hotel room vanished—it was only her, only this, only the warmth of her body against yours.

"Don’t let go,” she whispered against your lips, voice shaking. “Not tonight… please.”

And you didn’t. You held her, kissed her back, let her claim you as much as you claimed her. It wasn’t just desire—it was need, it was longing, it was love tangled with pain. Every touch felt like both a promise and a goodbye, but you gave yourself to her anyway. Because in that moment, she wasn’t Sophia the idol, or Sophia the girl in someone else’s arms. She was yours.

ᴀ/ɴ: sᴏ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀʟʏ ɪ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴏɴ ᴀ sᴜᴅᴅᴇɴ sᴘɪʀᴀʟ— ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ 🙏 (ɪ ғᴏʀɢᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ sᴛᴏʀʏ ʟɪɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ sᴏ ɪ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ɪᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀs ɪᴛ... ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴏɴ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ғʟᴏᴡ, ɪ sᴡᴇᴀʀ ɪ'ʟʟ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ😞)