hii! idk if you take requests anymore but i js wanted to tell you i loved your if when then fic and wanted to request hcs for kyoya with a reader of average size that struggles with undereating and bad body image and dysmorphia? hope you’re doing well x
Sooooooo I missed the headcanon request and wrote a whole thing... apologies. Glad you liked if/when/then, it's probably one of my favorites :)
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Nothing fits. Not a single fucking scrap of clothing on earth will fit properly, which statistically seems impossible, but here you are standing in the mirror with fifteen plus discarded outfits flung across the room and the mirror that’s as tall as the ceiling mocking you because nothing. Fucking. Fits.
This is exhausting. And the night hasn’t even started.
You glance at the clock, and then your phone, ignoring all the group chats pinging off about the school dance you’re supposed to be attending tonight- everyone is sharing advice on makeup and hair, lamenting their new shoes are giving them blisters, arguing about who is going to dance with who first. The Host chat also has the same pre-event whirlwind that happens before just about any time the group gets together: the twins sending stupid memes, Tamaki screeching about last minute details, Honey wondering what flavor of cake to eat first, and Haruhi admonishing everyone for running late (also per usual). Every so often Mori’s icon will float in and out as he lurks among the chaos.
You go back to staring in the mirror, trying very hard not to throw yourself off the nearest available balcony. The Ootori estate has plenty of them, that’s for sure. You can take your pick of which ornamental piece of architecture would be best for dramatic effect.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, three taps made by the back of two long, slender fingers that you’d recognize anywhere. “Y/N? May I come in?”
“One second!” There’s a robe around here somewhere. Silk and chiffon and ruffled lace get shoved aside as you drape it over you, tying the waist ribbon just a smidge too tight for comfort. It digs into the skin of your stomach, rubs up against your bottom ribs just enough to hurt, but you can’t bring yourself to redo the knot. Once you’re covered, you unlock the door. “I’m good.”
Kyoya strides into the room already dressed, looking resplendent in a well-tailored suit and shoes that click ever-so-subtly against the floors. His tie is loose though, and his cuffs not yet buttoned, which makes you smile. No one ever gets to see him less than perfectly put together. That’s reserved just for you. “Tell me why I go to the trouble of planning these events to start at the same time every time, and yet everyone decides they must scramble at the last minute anyways.”
“Hmmm.” You pretend to look puzzled. “Two options. One, because no one appreciates your genius and brilliant event planning skills; two, because half your friend group are scatterbrained hyperactive teenage boys that are barely on time even with Haruhi kicking them in the ass?”
He smirks. “Clearly the answer is both.” He holds an arm out as an invitation and you take it, staunchly ignoring the flutters of unsettledness in your stomach as he wraps you into a hug from behind. He’s taller than you and can comfortably rest his chin on the top of your head. Him in his finery and you in your hair, makeup, and frumpy robe make a strange picture. “Are you almost ready? The car will be here shortly.” One of his arms stays around you while another reaches to gently trace a jeweled earring that’s shimmering in the low light. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs into your hair, and the compliment that normally gives you warm fuzzies does nothing but make things worse.
You give him a very fake smile, but it’s currently the best you can do. “Almost. Just- can’t decide what to wear. Too many options!” The laugh that comes out of you is absolutely pitiful and an octave higher than your normal voice. You pray he doesn’t notice.
“I thought you’d decided on this one?” A scarlet gown with a simple empire waist silhouette, some pleating along the bust, and two delicate straps that tie into bows and leave a gauzy, ethereal train of tulle draped down your back. It’s very Brigerton, Haruhi had mentioned in passing, and you were so excited she’d finally started watching the show (you’d been begging her for months!) you almost tackled her in the hallway wanting to discuss every detail. It's a good memory. You’d been so excited to wear it tonight. He pulls it from the haphazard pile of fabric and lays it out so the skirt drapes over the edge of the bed.
“I did. Thought I’d changed my mind…” you gesture to the dozen or so other gowns you’d pulled from various places. “I don’t know. Just…” you shrug, trying not to let your anxiety radiate into the room.
“Perhaps we just change the night’s theme?” His smile is light, teasing. “I’m sure showing up in our robes and slippers we’d certainly be the talk of the night.” It’s a joke. He’s joking. He’s kidding. And how could he know that the thought of any of these dresses even touching you makes you want to crawl out of your skin, or that your two layers of shapewear feel impossibly tight, or that the thought of anyone even looking at you in anything but a sweatshirt the size of Mori makes you want to scream? To your horror, tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, and you turn away, hands flying to your face. “I- Y/N? Are you alright? Are you hurt? What-”
“Stop, stop, please, I can’t-” you look up towards the ceiling, blinking rapidly, fingers under your lower lashes to catch the makeup threatening to run down your face. “Just stop. I’m fine. I just- need a second.”
He’d gone to reach for you but stops short. Hesitating. It takes an embarrassingly long time to get yourself under control, and quite a few more deep breaths that you’re hyper aware he’s probably counting. You’re fine. You’re fine. Pull it together for god’s sake, this is pathetic. Just put on a fucking dress and deal. You’re so lost in your own head that his hand brushing against your elbow makes you jump as though he’s frightened you. “Y/N. What’s wrong?”
“It’s stupid. It’s really stupid, okay? And it’s usually fine and I can just ignore it but tonight it’s just really bad and I know we have to go to this freaking dance and I really don’t want to but just give me a second and I’ll put something on and we can go-” You have to practically gasp for air, swaying as the headache behind your temples pounds harder, and his hands go from your elbow to gripping both of your forearms to steady you. Ever so gently, he moves you to sit on the bed, ignoring your near panic attack with grace. He’s looking at you with such solemn eyes it makes you want to cry more. “Kyoya I swear I’m good, okay? I’m fine. We’re going to be late.”
“We will arrive exactly when we need to.” He sits next to you, making sure he’s close enough to reach if you want him, but not touching you in case you don’t. “What have you eaten today? The schedule has been hectic, I know.”
“No,” you mumble, knowing it’s not the right answer. “Because if I ate anything I was going to get bloated and then they’d fit even worse.”
“Do the gowns not fit? That’s easily fixed.” He goes into planning mode, pushing his glasses up further onto the bridge of his nose. “We’ll have something delivered. We have several designers on call- would you prefer something similar to these? Or a different style entirely?”
“They fit. I mean, they zip and everything. They just don’t- look good.” The tears want to make a comeback. “They don’t look good on me. I don’t look good. Okay?”
“Darling. I am certain that’s not true.”
“Well, thanks, but you’re not exactly an unbiased opinion now are you?”
“Y/N-”
You rip the red dress off the bed and hold it up over yourself like you’re playing dress up with someone else’s clothes. “I look bad, Kyoya! My chest is weird and my arms look fat and the color practically screams ‘look at me, here I am, everyone please judge every single little bit of me!’” You close your eyes so you don’t have to look at him and grip the dress so hard you’re definitely leaving wrinkles, but it keeps your fingers from clawing their way against your stomach in frustration. “When you dance, everyone watches, because of course they do, but that means when I dance with you they’re going to see everything that’s wrong and I just can’t- I can’t do it, okay? I can’t.”
Kyoya takes the dress from you, loosening your fingers until they can grip him instead of satin. His hands are cool, fingers woven tight between yours, and you can’t bear to look at him after what you’ve just admitted. “How long have you felt like this?” His voice is so, so soft.
“I mean- usually? Always?” You shake your head. “Usually it’s manageable and I can just not think about it, but sometimes it gets- bad.” You laugh a little, and it’s thick, like it doesn’t want to leave your chest. “Of course it’s always when it’s least convenient.”
“I love you.” You focus on his fingers, his grip, not loosening for a second, matching your energy.
“I know. I wish that helped.”
“Come here.” He pulls you forward, him perched on the foot of the bed and you standing in front of him. Those same cool fingers wipe your face, the pad of his thumb brushing your cheekbones. “You do not need to go tonight, if it’s causing you this much distress. The club can survive without you for one night, I assure you.”
There’s a little bit of warmth in his voice, and that manages to soothe just a hint of the storm raging in your chest. “And be jealous of all the pretty girls who get to have a song with you? I don’t like that option either.” You smile at him, just a little though it’s tinged with sadness and lingering frustration. “No matter what, I’m miserable.”
You both pause there for a moment, quiet, and in the stillness the situation and your emotions settle into something slightly more manageable. Still simmering, still present, but less threatening. How he does it, you don’t know, but something about him just… helps. It always does. You count his breaths with the slight rustle of his collared shirt, focus on the way he soothes you with a hand on your arm. You breathe with him. You let your shoulders relax, just a bit, then force them to relax a little more.
“Dances mean nothing when they aren’t with you. But you know that.”
You huff, but have to smile at him. A real one this time. “The entirety of Ouran Academy is devastated.”
He picks up the dress from where it was discarded to the side. Smooths the skirt, untangles the straps. Slides the zipper down. “May I?” You hesitate for a second. Then two. He doesn’t push you, and you know he wouldn’t blame you at all if you said no. But instead you untie the robe, shrugging it off. The shapewear covers you fully, but he still averts his gaze as he helps you step into the garment and pull it up onto your body. The zipper doesn’t hesitate and glides up your back, then hooks securely at the top. Kyoya ties the straps into bows, adjusting them to your liking, before leading you to the mirror once again.
The dress really is a pretty color. You’d chosen it partially because it would look good with his suit, and it does. The skirt falls the way it needs to despite the abuse you’ve put it through in the last hour. You straighten out a seam here and there. Kyoya watches you fiddle with the details, unjudgmental. “Tell me what you see. Honestly.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Biased opinion and all?”
You roll your eyes. “Kyoya. Please.”
“Hmmm.” He appraises you as though you’re fine art, something valuable, and you can feel your cheeks flush under his gaze- though it’s a little more welcome this time. “The first thing I always notice is your eyes.” He puts a finger underneath your chin and raises it, making you appear more confident than you feel. “Whether they’re laughing, or stormy, or lost in thought. I always want to decipher them. Know what’s behind them. Then, there’s the hair that’s always out of place.” You unconsciously reach up to tuck it behind you ear, but he stops your hand and does it for you, tucking it back with practiced ease. “I love it, because it’s an excuse to touch you.”
“I usually notice your outfit, yes, but whether it’s an evening gown or your uniform or one of your old sleep shirts, the consensus is always the same. How you take over my thoughts no matter what. How I look for any reason to be closer to you. How I hope you know how beautiful you are. Perhaps I don’t tell you enough.” He won’t let you look away. “You are stunning. That never changes. To me, you are perfect. I cannot take your thoughts away, but I hope I can try to ease them whenever you need me to.” Another smile, so warm you almost don’t want the moment to end. “I have no issue lavishing you with how exquisite you are to me.”
“You are such a flatterer.” And he is, this is true. But the dress suddenly lays just a bit nicer around your torso and isn’t quite so tight in the areas you were fixated on before. The color seems brighter. It’s a little easier to breathe.
“Correct. But that doesn’t mean I lie.” A light kiss to your temple, and you lean into him, settling back into your own skin with far less anxiety than you started with. It still isn’t perfect. It might never be. But perfect to him, well. You’re not one to live your life for a man. But maybe that can be a start.
He helps you clasp your necklace and put on your shoes, doing the buckles for you so you don’t have to bend down. A pair of elbow length gloves gets added at the last second, thanks to that conversation with Haruhi. They both hide the residual trembling in your hands and look absolutely fantastic as Kyoya kisses the back of your palm. “As I said. Stunning.”
Another smile, which he returns. “Let’s go, before I change my mind.”
“Only if you promise to eat once we arrive.” He winks at you on the way out, so subtle you almost miss it. “I plan to keep my favorite dance partner busy tonight.”
