Killmila @angrypastawombatnerd - Tumblr Blog

You overhearing them talk about you after a fight? They're pissed, ranting shit but don't mean most of it? Like he told his friend that he wishes you two weren't a thing cause ur clingy or annoying, and you just pull back, avoid talking to him and just not being the usual you? And they fucking notice and now they're thinking u wanna breakup?? HURT COMFORT SHIT

— I SWEAR, I DIDN’T MEAN IT <3

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ROSTER . . . takashi mitsuya

SYNOPSIS . . . one of the only times mitsuya says something he doesn’t mean, you’re around to hear it.

CONTAINS . . . swearing, possible ooc writing, angst, hurt // comfort

NOTE . . . i wasn’t sure if this was a request or not, so i wrote something for it anyway :) if it was a request, please make it more clear next time so that i won’t default to merely discussing it instead.

P.S. . . . ugh i’m such a sucker for hurt/comfort. i just—i need something to mend my heart after all the angst, y’know? i also wrote this on four hours of sleep without stopping, so there are going some mistakes and fluctuations in the quality of my writing. for that, i apologize. please keep in mind that this is absolutely unedited and un-proofread. i’m just tired, man😭 i need some mf SLEEP.

ADDRESSED TO . . . @kuroiza @rengokuswife8989 @florssils @dazaisusedbandages @sanelly

you feel like shit, and it’s mainly your fault.

when you first agreed to enter a relationship with mitsuya—and even before when the prospect of romance was nothing more than a fleeting sprout in your minds and you two were still exchanging shy, awkward glances—you were fully aware of how demanding his schedule was. you knew that it must be extremely taxing to juggle his duties as an older brother raising two younger sisters, serve as a high-ranked member of toman tasked with disciplining a division of chaotic imbeciles, possess a mind sound enough to correctly guide his subordinates as the president of the sewing club, and maintain grades high enough to please his mother and ease the burden of concern on her shoulders. you knew this, and yet, you were so blinded by the rose-tinted lenses of infatuation that you hadn’t noticed the emerging red flag that hinted at a relationship wrought with neglect and strained tempers. make no mistake, mitsuya dotes on you whenever he can. but sometimes, he simply doesn’t have time to grant you the affection you crave.

it had only ended after you, in the middle of mitsuya recalling how empathetic you had been at the start of your relationship, snatched up your belongings and left without another word. he hadn’t pursued you as you staggered down the steps of his apartment complex with misty eyes and poorly-veiled sobs stifled by trembling lips. the only acknowledgement of your presence you received was a curt “good night” text, which you promptly dismissed without a reply. the next day proceeded without a shred of communication. you didn’t stop by his house to accompany him and his little sisters to school, you two spent the duration of lunch in separate locations, and neither of you waited for the other once school ended. any accidental eye contact or physical touches were blatantly ignored by the both of you, your eyes simply returning to stare straight ahead and reflexive apologies wilting on your tongues once you realized who you brushed against.

by the second day, you had decided that avoiding each other was pointless. in fact, not only was it pointless, but it drove an even more cumbersome wedge between you two—the exact opposite of what should be happening. what should be happening is communication, empathy—literally anything else but this. you thought that mitsuya, considering how he towers heads and shoulders above his comrades in terms of maturity, would have reached the same conclusion. that’s why you so self-assuredly, confidently marched your way up to the school’s rooftop where mitsuya and his friends often congregate for lunch.

but, that’s also why you felt your heart plummet to the pit of your stomach when you heard his voice slip through the ajar doors.

“i know she loves me, but hell… she’s just so… so clingy all the time, you know? it’s suffocating. she doesn’t seem to understand that i have other obligations, and she wants to be with me all the damn time. i don’t even know why i put up with her.”

what?

shock spiderwebs through your nervous system at the unforeseen testament of his feelings, causing your fingertips to twitch sporadically from their place resting tentatively upon the door handle. what? you wish that you were a little slower-witted, just a tad bit more dense… that way, you would’ve been afforded a couple moments to steel your nerves and harden your heart in preparation for the cold truth of his words to sink in. unfortunately, you weren’t even graced with that. immediately, his words slipped through your ears and snaked their way down your throat, spinning into creation devilish spirits of affliction and dismay that cackled with impish glee at your misfortune when they wound around your esophagus, cinching it shut until you were actively fighting to draw oxygen into your lungs. they curled around your heart, constricting tighter and tighter with an unforgiving, merciless pressure until they milked every honeyed drop—every ounce—of the warmth and affection your heart had been desperately patching up wounds throughout the duration of your relationship in hopes of preserving, leaving it wilted and shriveled in their wake.

oh, i see. your ears burned with shame and your blood froze in your veins, the drastic temperatures conflicting to send your head spinning and leave you fumbling blindly for the door handle to steady yourself. i see. he’s right. this is my fault. i already knew that… i knew it… so, why does it hurt so badly to hear someone say it out loud?

your fingertips fell away from the handle. whatever. it doesn’t matter.

you wanted to cry, you did. but, for some reason, the tears just wouldn’t fall. they merely coalesced on your lashes, hovering over your irises in pellucid lenses that warped your vision so severely that your stomach churned with nausea. still, you didn’t miss a step as you descended from the rooftop, nor did you jostle anyone when you numbly immersed yourself in the exuberant chatter of your classmates…

nor did you hear what left mitsuya’s mouth next.

you weren’t there to see his friend skeptically narrow his eyes at him, nor did you hear him scoff at mitsuya, “come on, man, you don’t mean that.”

you weren’t there to watch mitsuya toss his arms in the air in a spasm of frustration, nor did you see how he wove his fingers into his short, lilac hair to tug irritably on the strands, admitting with a sigh of defeat, “i know, i know. i don’t need you to lecture me. i just… i love her, but it’s just so hard to find time to spend with each other. i need to find a way to figure this out. i really want this to work.”

you just… left.

you didn’t bother to check your phone when it buzzed against your thigh to alert you of an incoming text, nor did your brain process the carefully folded note sitting in your locker when you swapped shoes to begin your trek home. in fact, you were so distracted that you didn’t notice the rumbling growl of an approaching motorcycle or the choking smog of exhaust that enveloped you as the owner screeched to a halt beside you and clumsily slid off to lunge for your arm.

you jolted at the feeling of a rough hand clamp down on your wrist, panic sparking in your chest. you instinctively lurched back to wrest your arm away from the stranger, only to freeze when you recognized a familiar set of lavender eyes glowing with such intense concern that it made your weathered heart clench with sorrow all over again. “takashi,” you breathed. the soft whisper of his name was all but swept away by the thunderous hum of his motorcycle, but not before it could soothe the worry lines creasing his forehead and coax him into loosening his grip. “what do you want?” still, as inviting as it was, you didn’t allow yourself the luxury of basking in the attention you’ve been yearning for for weeks. you calmly withdrew your arm, curbing the compromising tremor in your hand by feigning a sudden need to clutch at the strap of your school bag. the wounds in your heart were still far too fresh for you to merely gloss over for the sake of indulging in a civil conversation with him.

“she’s just so… clingy all the time, you know? it’s suffocating.”

your free hand curled into a fist, knuckles white.

“i’m here to apologize.”

“huh?” your eyes cut toward him. “apologize?”

mitsuya inhaled deeply. despite his hands being folded behind his back, you could still tell that he was wringing them anxiously. he’s nervous, you note. if that hadn’t provided suitable evidence for you to draw up your own assumption, then there was always the bruised state of his bottom lip to consider. the top layer of skin had been torn off, the plush flesh pulsating beneath appearing to be irritated and bitten raw—an unhealthy method for coping with stress that mitsuya had exhibited since the day you first met him. he chewed the fuck out of his lip. you mused to yourself. he really must be nervous. his eyes were solemn as he inclined his head in a bow. “i wanted to apologize for the argument we had two days ago. i shouldn’t have yelled at you, and i should have been more understanding of your feelings. but, i want you to know that when i asked you to go out with me, i never wanted to make you feel like you were being strung along, and i never wanted to make you feel mistreated. for that, i’m sorry. but, i really do want this relationship to work out. i… i want us to stay together. i want to fix things, but i need your help to do it.”

“that’s a relief, because so do i,” you smiled, yet it failed to reach your eyes. your gaze remained dim and reserved, trained on the space between his boots. truthfully, you did want this to work out, but… if he’s saying all of this now, then what the hell was that on the rooftop? even so… “i’m sorry, too. i should have been more empathetic about how hectic your schedule is. you’re a big brother, one of toman’s captains, the head of the sewing club, and a student. you already have so much on your plate, but i just kept wanting more, more, and more. i didn’t properly consider how little time you had to yourself.” your voice rang with earnesty, a speck of light returning to your eyes. “i really don’t want to break up over something like this. let’s try again. this time, we’ll try something different.”

i’ll try something different.

you saw mitsuya’s spine straighten, noticed the sparkle of joy reflected in his gaze right before his eyelids fluttered shut, watched his chin lower to allow a chuckle of relief to slip through lips curved by a warm smile, and witnessed his lips form a string of words. yet, for some reason… you couldn’t hear a single thing he said. maybe it was due to the lingering heat of rejection scorching your ears, or maybe it was because of the dull ring reverberating throughout your cranium that quelled every possible external sound. either way, you just stood there, body unresponsive and limbs unwieldy, as he embraced you.

i’ll try something different.

so, you did. for the next couple days, you distanced yourself from your boyfriend in an attempt to provide him with the space that he so yearned for. it was a difficult task, but you managed. every time you felt the compelling, magnetic draw of his aura and were engulfed by the desire to soak up all the love he had to offer, your body would freeze, the words “clingy” and “suffocating” skipping through your brain like a mantra. not wanting to disturb him, you only spoke when he approached you first; and, even then, your smile was hollow and fragile. you accompanied him to and from school as usual, but the moment he mentioned needing to go someplace or run an errand, you were slipping your shoes on to leave or breezily telling him that you could call a friend to pick you up instead of forcing him to make two trips. you no longer showered him with adoring kisses or draped yourself over him for an impromptu cuddling session; rather, you resigned yourself to fleeting touches, chaste pecks of your lips, and quietly enduring the hours he spent scribbling out notes or solving algebra problems sprawled on his couch or indulging his little sisters’ schemes to keep them occupied. most of the time, you declined his offers to attend places with him, spinning little, white lies about how your parent needed you to return home early or how you simply “had something to do.”

over time, you noted that mitsuya’s skepticism regarding your shift in behavior was increasing exponentially. he would frequently ask you if anything was bothering you, to which you would always respond with a shake of your head and a denial of his suspicions, knowing damn well that holding him at such an icy distance was taking a serious toll on your heart. his requests gradually morphed into implorals, and there were times where he would bar your path with an arm or a leg before you could scamper off and tell you to stay with him.

things didn’t hit a dead end until now, nearly a full week later. mitsuya had just delivered you at your house, per usual; and, you’re now kneeling on your sofa, peering through a sliver of space in the curtains with a forlorn, wistful sigh as you watch him depart in a wisp of grey smoke, per usual. you want to kick yourself—to rip open your front door and shout at him to wait. but, you don’t. you’ve grown weary of holding your own emotions hostage for the sake of making his life a bit easier, but you remain strong. you uphold the tacit vow to refrain from deviating from the cycle of strained normalcy that you both seem to be trapped in.

but, he doesn’t.

your eyes widen when he abruptly slams on the brakes, scarlet taillights weaving to and fro like the frenzied wings of a butterfly as he wrestles his bike to a halt. the charcoal wheels squeal in protest as he whips his motorcycle around and makes a beeline back toward your house, engine revving with a newfound vigor and gaze trained on your front door. “what’s he doing?” you perk up at the sight of his return. “did he leave something with me?” but once you watch him shove the kickstand down and yank off his helmet to let it fall carelessly to the concrete, your stomach twists. oh. his eyebrows are furrowed in clear displeasure, features hardened into a mask of irritation and slit eyes gleaming with an odd combination of concern and exasperation. the silver necklace clasped around his neck bounces against his chest with each step he takes as he marches up to your front door, the rhythmic swing of the ornate pendant capturing your attention long enough for him to glimpse you peeking at him from your window.

oh, my god. what is he doing? you hastily draw the curtains when you hear his knuckles rap against the front door. barely a second later, his voice follows. “(reader)? open up, we need to talk.” for a split second, you consider fleeing to your room and feigning that his eyes had deceived him, only to wince when he speaks a second time. “i already saw you in the window, angel. i know you’re right there.”

well, fuck.

neither of you speak when you gingerly creak open the door to grant him access. you just stand there quietly, eyes transfixed intently on each action he performs as he politely slips off his shoes and strips off his jacket to habitually drape it over the arm of the couch. a heavy silence stretches between you two, only shattered when mitsuya finally turns to face you.

“okay, what’s going on here?”

“what do you mean?” at first, you entertain the possibility of him referring to the space you’ve been placing between you, but you swiftly discard the thought. no, this is what he wanted.

“come on, now,” mitsuya props a hand on his hip, raising a brow at you. “love, you know what i’m talking about. you’re not acting like yourself, and i refuse to keep pretending like you are.” when you continue to blink blankly at him, he sighs and combs his fingers through his hair. “for the past week, you’ve been really distant. you never seem to want to be around me, you get all stiff and awkward when i try to hug or kiss you, and you never initiate anything like you used to. so, i know that something’s bothering you—hey, is it the fight we had last week? are you still upset? because, i can—” you frantically shake your head. “no? then, tell me what’s going on. as much as i wish i were, i’m not a mindreader. i need you to talk to me.”

“but—wait, i’m confused,” you lift your hands to silence him, eyebrows knitting together in perplexity. “i thought that this is what you wanted. i thought you wanted space.”

“what?” now, it’s mitsuya’s turn to look absolutely befuddled. “no, i—no. what made you think that?”

“isn’t that what you said on the rooftop?” you narrow your eyes at him in an accusatory manner, defensively folding your arms across your chest. “last week, i heard you tell your friends that i was too clingy—that i was suffocating, to be exact. you said…” your voice trails off as you recall his next words, your own throat knotting up. “you—” tears brew along your lashes, and for once, you’re grateful for the muted obscurity they plunge your vision into. now, in a way, you don’t have to face your boyfriend. you don’t feel compelled to search his eyes for any signs of ingenuity or rejection, nor do you have to continue wrestling with the angel perched on your shoulder that only gains strength with each passing moment you’re forced to perceive the gradual softening of mitsuya’s steely expression. you’re pathetic. the mere sight of him is nearly enough to strip your resolve apart at the seams, for god’s sake. call it pathetic, call it infatuated, call it whatever you want. it’s all the fucking same right now, anyway. you love him, but… “you said that you didn’t know why you put up with me.”

there's a single beat of silence—a single beat where mitsuya's own heart drops as he finally identifies the root of the issue.

“no—no, (reader), i didn’t mean it. i was just so angry at the whole situation that i wasn’t thinking clearly. not a single word i said then was true.” you tense when you feel warm fingertips glide over your bare arm, calloused from having been pricked countless times during their days of threading needles and toughened by more brawls than you can tally on both hands. still, they’re familiar—familiar enough to sap the strength directly from your knees and cause the remainder of your tenacity to crumble. “still, that doesn’t make it right. it doesn’t excuse my actions.”

shit, you’re pathetic.

the moment you feel a single tear slip down your cheek is the moment you suddenly detect mitsuya’s presence is everywhere at once, engulfing and swallowing you whole until all you can sense is him and that stupid cologne you gifted to him for his birthday. one arm loops around your waist to draw you flush against him, its counterpart rising to press a hand to the back of your head and ease your face into the crook of his neck. your tears soak into the fabric of his shirt, and you swear you can feel him shiver against you when your breath abruptly fans across the hollow of his throat in a vain attempt at regulating your sporadic breathing pattern. slim fingers work their way through your hair, and you don’t realize exactly how unnaturally warm your skin is until you register how cold the silver rings adorning his fingers are as they brush against your scalp. it isn’t long before you’re melting into his touch and allowing yourself to really feel his presence—feel the familiar outline of his necklace pressed to your chest, feel the steady rise and fall of his chest in tandem with yours, feel the grounding strength in his touch as he slides his hand up from your waist to rub soothing circles into your back, feel everything about him that you’ve been depriving yourself of.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs, words ghosting over the shell of your ear in a warm caress. “i’m so sorry. i swear, i didn’t mean it. i’ve never once thought that you were suffocating. never. not once. i was just frustrated. tell me, is that why you’ve been keeping your distance?”

when you nod in confirmation against his shoulder, you can practically feel him deflate. “you really didn’t mean it?” you inquire meekly, voice still wavering beneath the weight of tears that have yet to fall.

“of course not.” he releases you, the hand that had been comfortingly stroking your hair now slipping along your jaw to cradle the side of your face and lift it gently from his shoulder. his gaze scours yours, lavender irises soft with such reverence and adoration that one would assume you’d poised the stars in the sky and meticulously carved out a slice of the moon just for him, distilling and compressing its essence into what’s now the glassy, besotted twinkle in his eyes that yields nothing but evidence of how tightly he’s wound around your finger—evidence of how deeply rooted in his heart you are. your shoulders relax. yet, in the depths of his eyes, you can discern his soul, entangled with darkness and worn with far too much emotional turmoil for your liking.

“it’s okay,” you breathe. “it’s alright, really.”

“no, ‘s not.” mitsuya grumbles. he angles your face down, planting an unhurried kiss beneath each of your eyes. “if it were, you wouldn’t be crying, now, would you?” his lips are gentle as they track kisses along the pearlescent streaks staining your complexion. they rest against the apple of your cheek for a moment longer before he pulls away slightly to whisper to you. “i should tell you, this week’s been hell for me.”

“me, too,” you tilt your head, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. your head bumps against his temple in resignation. “i don’t want to do that again.” you sigh. “it was too emotionally draining.”

“so, promise me that you won’t do that again, okay, angel?” mitsuya’s gaze is solemn as it searches your face. “promise me that you’ll come and talk to me so we can avoid misunderstandings like this in the future. i love you, (reader). i don’t want to risk losing you over something so small again, so please, help me out here.”

“well, i love you, too.” you hum. “so, for both of our sakes, i promise.”

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