kixred

certified self-hater

[kixred]

𓈒ㅤㅤ ۪ ୭ৎ sullivan ꒰ サリヴァン ꒱ ۪ ݁

𝟷⸝⸝ she/they/he. | 𖥻pansexual

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 1:15

ᓚᘏᗢ : 𝅄 ava𓈒 by famy

❝ this world is rabid, this world is through

follow me through an empty dream

i’m sleeping next to someone new. ❞

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 works below!

WARNING. my works contain suggestive, s#icidal, violent and heavy topics ୭

✄ = s€lf harm/s#icide

ᵎᵎ = blood/gore

ᯓ = suggestive

ꗃ۪ 🪡 works ۪ ݁ (all 2nd POV) ۪ ݁ 𓈒

BLUE LOCK

rin has a run in with you, a murderer ᵎᵎ

rin comforts you when you you intentionally overdose ✄

you pass out, rin worries ᯓ

rin finds your s€lf-harm diary ᵎᵎ ✄

unhinged texts with rin (smau) ᯓ

unhinged texts with rin pt.2 (smau) ᯓ

“rin, what would you do if i killed myself right now?” ₘᵢₙₒᵣ ✄

you’re a klutz and bruise badly, rin worries

overprotective and possessive rin

rin makes you promise to stop s/h. you don’t listen.. ✄

nagireo catch you hurting yourself ✄

kaiser tries to help after you go through a depressive episode

you've dissociated. sae is there through it all ₘᵢₙₒᵣ ✄

after an argument, sae finds you bleeding in the bathtub ᵎᵎ ✄

tired! sae x crazy!reader

aftercare with ryusae ᯓ

ׂ╰┈➤ i’m a bit crazy,

but i hope others find comfort in my works. as morbid as they are. unfortunately i’m not a regular writer. i may leave this blog for months, or maybe i’ve died, who knows.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. he pisses you off so what do you do? jump out a moving car of course!

PAIRINGS. tired! itoshi sae x crazy! reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. we a bit unhinged, but sae loves us, jealousy, crack, dark humor

the car is silent— thick, suffocating, full of things unsaid. streetlights smear gold across the dashboard while itoshi sae drives with one hand on the wheel, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

you’re glaring out the window. “she was basically in your lap,” you mutter.

“she asked for directions.”

“she asked for your number with her eyes.”

sae exhales through his nose, exhausted. “you’re unbelievable.”

“and yet you keep dating me.”

“that’s the problem.”

the words sting more than they should. you look at him sharply, expecting irritation, but his expression is just tired. not cruel. worse. fond and exhausted at the same time.

“you know,” he says, voice flat, “normal people don’t start glaring at strangers because they stood too close to their boyfriend.”

“she touched your arm.”

“she breathed oxygen near me. should i file a report?”

you scoff and fold your arms tighter, pouting in the other direction. he glances over for half a second, enough to soften.

“you’re insane,” he says quietly.

“but you love me.”

a pause.

“…unfortunately.”

you grin despite yourself. he notices and rolls his eyes, fighting his own smile.

traffic slows near your apartment. the car is barely moving now, crawling forward. petty irritation sparks in your chest again when you remember that girl leaning toward him, laughing too loud.

fine. if he wants “normal” then you’ll give him a problem.

before sae can react, you unlock the door and shove it open. “what are you—”

you jump.

it’s far from dramatic. the car’s moving slow enough that you mostly just hit the pavement ugly, skinning your palms and knees as you tumble sideways with a yelp.

“¡oh dios mío—”

brakes screech.

sae is out of the car instantly, face drained of color as he storms toward you.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” he snaps, grabbing your shoulders hard enough to check you’re real. “are you hurt? can you stand? did you hit your head?”

you’re sitting in the street trying not to laugh. his eyes are wide. so unlike him.

and that’s what makes you crack.

a wheeze escapes you first, then full laughter. sae stares at you like he might actually kill you. “you jumped out of a moving car.”

“you should see your face—”

“i’m serious.”

“so am i,” you gasp between laughs. “you love me soooo bad.”

sae swears under his breath, pressing his forehead briefly against yours in shaky relief.

“…i need a break.”

A/N. these were so fun to write i’ve already written all 3… but you give will have to be patient for the others (mainly because i don’t know what to post afterwards LOL) oh to have someone care for me as much as my fantasy 2d men

[kixred]

what first..

tired! sae x crazy!reader

unimpressed! rin x crazy!reader

crazy! shidou x even crazier!reader

Voting ended onMay 27

rubbing my hands and waiting for who to write first.. (will be drabbles and not full fics)

[kixred]

UNHINGED TEXTS WITH RIN PT.2!

PAIRINGS. adult! itoshi rin x reader (established relationship)

WARNING. crack, suggestive, dark & weird humor, injury mention, minor food play, author gradually loses their mind, pet names, rin is rich

pt.1

A/N. i worked really hard on the previous fic and was super proud of it, but it flopped so hard..

more requests please! just comment it and i will do my best

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. to you, it’s simply a way of grounding yourself. a means to distraction. to him, you’re destroying yourself. he makes you promise, but you never took it seriously. maybe you should’ve.

PAIRINGS. itoshi rin x reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. blood, suicidal tendencies, s€lf-harm, arguments, familial issues, swearing, angst, lots of it. hurt/minor comfort, everyone is traumatised in their own way.. swearing, slightly ooc

the first time you stay over, it really isn’t supposed to mean anything— just sweet cuddles and giggles. really, that was it.

just proximity. just convenience. just the quiet understanding that neither of you wanted the night to end yet.

itoshi rin’s room is dim, the light low and cool, shadows settling into corners in routine. you sit on the edge of his bed, fingers hooked into your socks, tugging them off without thinking.

it’s such a small, thoughtless act. a normal, average act for most. fabric peeling away. skin exposed.

normal.

you don’t notice anything wrong, not even registering when he freezes.

but he does.

rin’s gaze catches. not exactly at you, not on your face, but lower. your ankle. the thin lines. the uneven texture. the small bandages, placed too deliberately to be accidental.

something in him goes still.

he wishes it was confusion. he wishes it took him more than a second.

instead all he knew was recognition. personal recognition.

his own hand, pressing hard into a bruise until the dull ache sharpened into something clearer. something easier to focus on than the noise in his head.

another—

fingernails dragging lightly across healing skin, reopening what should’ve been left alone.

it’s not enough to leave anything obvious. that’s what makes it perfect. just enough.

“…what is that?”

your head lifts. you follow his gaze. your eyes widen. oh. and then you don’t care.

you shrug, causal. like it’s nothing. like it doesn’t matter. “it’s stupid. don’t worry about it.”

that’s the wrong answer.

rin stands abruptly, the mattress shifting under his weight as he moves closer. His hand hovers near your ankle. he doesn’t touch. not yet.

“don’t lie.” the words are sharp.

but you just laugh, light and dismissive. “i’m not—”

his fingers twitch.

pressing down harder. testing how much pressure it would take before the feeling drowned everything else out.

the brief, fleeting quiet that followed was the only solace left for him.

he pulls his hand back as quick as it came.

his jaw tightens. “…why would you do that?” he knows why.

your eyes don’t leave his. there’s not answer that leaves your mouth. because you know there isn’t one. anything you say will sound either too small or too big. it’s always that. you know.

rin’s breathing shifts. too shallow, then too deep, like he can’t find a rhythm.

his eyes flick back to your ankle.

a mirror. not literal. just the same shape of damage, worn differently.

“…it doesn’t fix anything,” he says, suddenly, like he’s cutting off a thought before it fully forms. his voice lifts, cracks slightly at the edges. “it doesn’t make anything better.” he knows this too.

you flinch.

it’s not at the volume.

at the certainty.

he runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching slightly like he’s gripping too hard.

“why would you—” he stops, exhales sharply, tries again. “just… stop.”

there it is.

not a command. a plea, dressed badly.

his eyes meet yours, and for a second, everything else falls away— his usual composure, the distance he keeps from everyone.

“…please.”

you nod. because it’s easier than explaining. “…okay.”

the word is soft. small. meaningless to you. it lands anyway.

rin exhales, something in his shoulders loosening just a fraction, like he’s holding onto that single answer as if it’s enough to steady him.

carefully, too carefully, he shifts beside you, pulling the blanket over your legs. his hand brushes your ankle, but avoids everything that matters. that night, when you sleep, he doesn’t let you drift too far.

——

you meant it.

in the way people mean things when they’re not actively hurting.

in the quiet after.

in the absence of the storm.

but storms don’t ask for permission.

voice raised in a space that echoes too loud, words that hit harder than they should because they’re coming from people who know exactly where to aim.

it builds. it always builds.

and your chest tightens, your thoughts tangling into something too loud, too fast, too much.

you wish rin was here. i hate families. why is it so romanticised? why does it have to make you feel like you’re the one whose weird.

you shake your head. don’t think about rin.

you think about stopping it. just stopping it.

too far.

——

the hospital is too bright.

too clean.

too real.

rin stands in the doorway.

he doesn’t move.

he just looks.

at you. at the bandages. at everything that doesn’t need to be explained.

and something in his expression empties out.

nothing explosive.

not loud.

just… hollow.

hands, not yours, pressing into skin that should’ve been left alone.

the same dull-white bandages, different place, same purpose.

“…you said you’d stop.” his voice is quiet enough that it almost disappears under the light hum of the room.

you swallow. “i—”

he doesn’t come closer. “why didn’t you come to me?” there’s no accusation in it. just raw emotion. like he genuinely can’t fit the pieces together.

you try to sit up, wincing. “i didn’t want to—”

silence instead of asking. always silence.

“…bother you,” you finish weakly.

rin lets out a short breath. not quite a laugh. “you think this is better?”

you don’t answer. because you know it isn’t.

he finally steps forward, slow, like he’s approaching something fragile. his eyes don’t leave yours. “i asked you to stop.”

“i know.”

“you said you would.”

“i know.”

“then why—” his voice hitches. just for a second.

he looks away, jaw tightening, trying to swallow something that won’t go down.

the same helpless frustration, turned inward instead of outward.

“…i thought you trusted me.”

you do. and that's the problem.

“i didn’t want you to see me like that,” you say. it feels like the closest thing to truth you can reach.

he goes still. “…like what?”

“…like this.” you gesture vaguely, the bandages, the hospital, the mess of it all. “because i know you won’t like it.” you say that glossing over him, as if him standing there was proof in itself.

the sentence sits between you. heavy. but silent.

rin’s gaze sharpens, something flickering there— hurt, immediate and unguarded.

the same word, once, aimed inward.

never spoken out loud.

“…don’t decide that for me.” his voice is low now. steady, but tight at the edges.

you don’t respond. because you don’t know how.

——

when you go home, everything is quieter.

far from peaceful. just… muted.

rin sits across from you again, same as that first night, but the space feels different now. wider, colder, harder to cross.

“…why didn’t you come to me first?” he asks it again. this time softer.

you stare at your hands. “i don’t know how.”

it’s honest. but it doesn’t fix anything.

he nods, but it’s small. incomplete. his eyes are dull.

not knowing how, either.

never asking.

silence stretches.

he shifts slightly, like he might reach for you.

stops.

you feel it. you almost close the distance. almost.

you don’t.

and it stays there. unresolved. maybe temporarily. perhaps forever.

two people, sitting too close and too far at the same time. too in love and too cowardly to do anything.

it’s not broken. but nothing's healed.

just holding the same kind of hurt in different ways— and not yet knowing how to carry it together.

A/N. reminds of the song baby don’t cut lowkey… was in the mood to hurt people with this, so, here you guys go. i try to keep things realistic in their own way. emotions, reactions, and thoughts. normally basing them off of me.

everyone give me more requests in the comments plz

[kixred]

prepare for angst in the next fic 😋

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. rin can get rather overprotective and possessive when it comes to you…

PAIRINGS. itoshi rin x reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. overprotective/possessive tendencies, fluff, minor angst, sweet domestic moments, insecurities, slightly ooc, cuddling & kissing

when you love someone, you slowly learn what their love is like. for itoshi rin, it’s not a sudden warmth, but a slow thaw into affection.

he doesn’t fall into love the way others do. he studies it, dissects it, tests its edges like it might betray him if he leans too far. and yet, despite all that caution, he fell in love with you.

it’s almost shy at first. like a cat.

you’re standing by the field after practice, talking to one of his teammates— you usually call them his friends, but rin would always tell you a stern no everytime. you end up laughing at something small, forgettable. you don’t notice rin at first, but you feel him. a shift in the air. a quiet gravity pulling.

when you turn, he’s already looking at you.

not angry. not exactly. just… watching. menacingly so.

his expression tightens when you laugh again, softer this time, directed at someone else. his jaw flexes. his fingers curl slightly at his sides.

when you walk over to him, he doesn’t greet you right away. just stares for a second longer than usual. “…you seemed busy.”

there’s something restrained in the way he says it. you smile, brush it off, nudge his arm. “jealous?” you tease.

he looks away almost immediately. “…no.” but his hand finds yours and doesn’t let go for the rest of the walk home. at the time, it felt endearing.

———

rin doesn’t ask for attention like a normal person.

you’ll be sitting beside him, scrolling through your phone, replying to messages. maybe you laugh quietly at something, maybe your focus drifts just a little too far from him.

and then— a hand on your wrist. firm.

“look at me.” his voice is low, steady, but there’s something beneath it. not anger. something more fragile. something he doesn’t quite know how to name.

when you do look up, his gaze softens almost instantly. “…there you are.” he leans closer, resting his forehead briefly against yours, like grounding himself.

to you it feels like being chosen over the entire world. and perhaps that’s what he’s trying to convey.

in another day, you’re in his room, sunlight spilling across the floor, quiet stretching between you in a comfortable way. you’re reading something, half-curled beside him, while he scrolls through game footage.

then, without warning, he shifts.

your book is gently, but firmly, pulled from your hands. “rin—”

“you’ve been ignoring me.”

“i’ve been sitting right here.”

“…not enough.” there’s a faint pout hidden in his tone, something almost boyish despite the seriousness of his expression.

he pulls you down beside him, arm sliding around your waist, holding you there like he’s decided this is where you belong. you smile.

he doesn’t like distance. not physical. not emotional.

you notice it in small ways. the way he always stands just a little too close when you’re talking to someone else. the way his presence presses in—silent, watchful.

if someone lingers too long in conversation with you, rin doesn’t interrupt.

he doesn’t need to. his gaze alone is enough. sharp. unblinking. a quiet warning.

you’ll feel it before you see it, the tension threading through the space behind you. and when you glance over, he’s already there, eyes fixed on whoever is standing too close to you.

when you finally excuse yourself and walk back to him, he doesn’t say anything at first. just hooks his fingers into the fabric of your sleeve and pulls you closer. “…stay here.”

it’s quiet. almost gentle. but at the same time, it isn’t a suggestion.

——

one evening, it lingers longer than usual. you’re laughing again, this time with someone who isn’t a stranger, someone harmless, someone you’ve known longer than rin.

but when you turn, he’s already there. closer than expected.

his expression isn’t sharp this time. it’s… tight. “…let’s go.”

the question is simple, but something about it presses into your chest. not are you almost done? not can we go? Just that.

you hesitate. and in that hesitation, something flickers across his face. not anger. something quieter. something that almost looks like fear.

and later, when it’s just the two of you, the silence stretches again, but this time it doesn’t feel soft.

you take a breath and he stiffens. “rin,” you say gently, “you don’t have to… guard me like that.”

he twitches. “i’m not.”

“you are.”

a pause. then, quieter. “…i don’t like it.”

“what?”

“when other people…” he trails off, jaw tightening. “when you’re not looking at me.”

oh. it’s never was possession in his mind. it was something closer to unfamiliar vulnerability. something he doesn’t know how to hold without gripping too tightly.

you reach for him first this time. not because he pulled you in and not because he demanded it. just because you chose to.

his shoulders relax almost instantly under your touch, like he’s been bracing for something. “you don’t have to compete for me,” you murmur.

“i’m not competing.”

“you are,” you say softly. “with everyone.”

he doesn’t respond. but he doesn’t pull away either. “…i don’t know how to do this,” he admits after a long silence. and for rin, that’s the most honest thing he’s ever said about love.

——

rin’s room is dim, lit only by the faint glow slipping through the curtains. you’re curled together on his bed, limbs tangled in that absentminded way that happens when neither of you wants to be the first to pull away.

his arm is around your waist, looser than usual. not gripping. not holding you in place. just… there.

you notice it immediately. “… you’re not dragging me closer tonight,” you murmur, voice soft against the quiet.

there’s a pause. then, almost reluctant— “…do you want me to?”

you tilt your head slightly to look at him. “i’ll come to you.” and you do. closing the small space between you, pressing into him until your foreheads touch. for a moment, he just watches. something in his expression softens. “…idiot,” he mutters quietly, but there’s no bite to it.

his hand comes up, slower this time, brushing along your cheek before settling at the back of your neck. rin pulls you in, and your lips meet his.

he exhales softly against you, and you feel the tension leave him in pieces, like something finally loosening its grip inside his chest.

your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him closer, and that’s when something flickers back, just a trace of that familiar intensity. his hand tightens slightly at your waist, drawing you flush against him. “…stay,” he murmurs against your lips.

you huff a quiet laugh. “i am.”

“…closer.”

“there’s no space left, rin.”

he doesn’t answer. instead choosing to simply bury his face into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there instead. then another. slower, deeper.

your breath catches slightly, and he pauses. noticing. always noticing.

“…is that okay?” he asks, voice lower now, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze again, your hand sliding up to rest against his cheek. “yeah,” you whisper. “it is.”

that’s all he needs.

he settles back against the pillow, pulling you with him. your head rests against his chest, his hand tracing slow, absent patterns along your arm.

no tension. no watching. no silent competition with the rest of the world.

just this.

rin may still be learning. still unlearning the instinct to hold too tightly, to watch too closely, to mistake fear of losing you for the need to control your world.

you’re learning too. how to love someone who doesn’t yet understand that love isn’t about keeping. it’s about trusting that you’ll stay. even if you’re not beside him the entire day.

but when he pulls you closer— arms tightening just slightly and breath steady against your shoulder, you realize something.

for all his intensity, for all his flaws… rin doesn’t hold onto you because he thinks you’ll leave. he holds onto you because, somewhere, deep down, he’s still surprised that you haven’t.

A/N. the flopping of fics is making me not wanna write anymore.. i thought y’all like kaiser hello

i hope this one does well. should i write an extra morbid one next.. you guys seem to love that angst and trauma

[kixred]

emotionally constipated king?

rin

sae

kaiser

Voting ended onApr 21

i did this out of boredom and curiosity

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. you ignore him while going through an episode. even if he won’t admit it, he’s worried and tries to help

PAIRINGS. michael kaiser x reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. depressive episode, implied mental health issues, hurt/comfort, kisses & cuddles, kaiser doesn’t really know what he’s doing, slightly ooc

the first message comes sharp and bright, like everything he does.

schatz, where are you?

you see it. you don’t answer. the second ping follows not long after.

you’ve been online.

a pause. Then—

don’t ignore me.

you turn your phone face down on the mattress, as if that might quiet the weight in your chest. it doesn’t. nothing does. the room feels too still, too heavy, like the air has forgotten how to move.

hours pass like that, indistinct, blurring into each other.

you don’t get up. you don’t eat. you don’t drink. you lie— still, unresponsive, and supple. time itself becomes something you observe from the outside.

——

on his end, silence is not something he understands.

michael kaiser is used to response— immediate, sharp, reactive. the world bends around him, answers him, mirrors him. even when it resists, it does so loudly.

but you? you disappear quietly. silently. as if drowning so deep you don’t splash.

and the thought alone terrifies him.

by hour twelve, his messages lose their edge.

are you sick?

did something happen?

answer me.

by hour eighteen, there are calls. missed. again. again. and within hour twenty-three, the arrogance cracks.

please.

——

when you finally pick up your phone, it feels heavier than it should. your fingers hover for a long time before you type.

i’m okay.

the reply is instant.

that’s a lie.

another:

come over.

you hesitate. your body feels like it belongs to gravity more than to you.

i don’t feel like going out.

there’s a pause— longer this time.

then:

i’ll send a car.

no, you type, slower now. i’ll come.

——

his apartment is exactly how you remember it, clean— a controlled space, everything in its place.

except him.

michael kaiser stands in the middle of the room like something restless, something caged. the moment the door opens, his eyes snap to you, searching, and you shrink back, his stare too intense.

“you look—” he starts, and stops. you know what he sees.

the hollow edges. the softness he fell in love with now slack. the way you hold yourself like staying upright is an effort.

his jaw tightens. “why didn’t you answer me?” it comes out harsher than he means it to. you can hear the strain under it.

“i didn’t… have the energy.”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice. “that’s not an excuse.”

you nod faintly. “i know.”

that disarms him more than anything else. there’s a silence that stretches. he looks at you again— really looks this time, and something shifts. “have you eaten?”

you don’t answer.

his expression changes. not softer, not exactly. but something more focused, like he’s found a problem he can actually solve. “sit.”

you blink. “mihya—”

“sit,” he repeats, more firmly, pointing to the couch.

it’s automatic, the way you obey. you sink into the cushions, small, quiet.

he disappears into the kitchen. you hear cabinets open. close. something clatters. a muttered curse under his breath. it’s almost surreal.

the michael kaiser, precise and brilliant— infuriatingly so, fighting with a pot as if it’s his life-long soccer nemesis.

——

when he comes back, it’s with something simple. warm. probably overcooked. but you recognise the effort.

he holds it out to you like it’s an offering he doesn’t quite understand. “eat.” you stare at it. “i’m not really—”

“don’t say you’re not hungry,” he cuts in, sharper now. “that’s not the point.”

your hands tremble slightly when you take it. he notices. of course he does.

he doesn’t sit right away. he stands there, watching, arms crossed.

you take a small bite. it’s not perfect. it’s too salty. but it’s… good. something in your chest loosens, just a little.

“…you should’ve told me.” his voice is quieter now.

you look up. he’s still standing, but the tension in him has shifted. less sharp, more uncertain. “i didn’t want to bother you.”

that earns a frown.

“bother me?” he repeats, like the concept is poison. “you disappearing for an entire day is what bothers me.”

you manage a faint, tired smile. “you seemed pretty bothered.”

“i was,” he snaps, then pauses. “…i am.” the admission sits between you, unfamiliar but real.

he finally sits beside you, not too close at first. “i don’t…” he exhales, frustrated. not at you, but at something internal. “i don’t know what i’m supposed to do here.”

you glance at him.

his expression is tight. the face of someone trying to solve a problem with no clear rules.

“you don’t have to fix it,” you say softly.

“that’s not acceptable.”

you almost laugh, but it comes out as something gentler. “mihya…”

“i don’t like seeing you like this,” he interrupts, quieter now. “it’s… inefficient.”

you raise an eyebrow.

he huffs. “…and i don’t like it.” that’s closer to the truth.

you finish a few more bites. he watches every single one.

when you slow down, he reaches out, hesitating for just a fraction of a second, then takes the bowl from your hands and sets it aside.

“…come here.” there’s something softer in the way he says it.

you lean, just slightly, and he pulls you the rest of the way.

at first, it’s awkward. he’s not used to this— holding without urgency, without intent beyond closeness. his arms settle around you like he’s figuring out the shape of it in real time.

but he doesn’t let go.

his hand comes up to your hair, then gently begins to smooth it down. “…you should stay here tonight.”

you nod against him. “alright.”

a pause. “and tomorrow,” he adds, quieter, “you’ll eat again.”

another nod.

“i’ll make something better.” you huff a soft laugh. “please do.” he scoffs lightly. “that was a first attempt.”

the room feels warmer now. or maybe it’s just him. your head rests against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm there.

he leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. it lingers. then another, your forehead, softer this time. “…don’t disappear like that again.”

“i’ll try.”

“that’s not an actual answer.”

you tilt your head up slightly. “i’m here now.”

he studies you for a moment, like he’s committing that to memory. he huffs. “…yeah,” murmuring. his hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing lightly against your skin, hands gentler than you’ve ever seen him be.

later, you’re tangled together on the couch, limbs heavy, breathing slow.

he refuses to let you drift too far, even in sleep. his arm stays firm around you, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of your shirt like he’s anchoring you to stay there.

he huffs and presses one last kiss to your hair. “just… tell me if something happens, if you feel off,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

you lean into his touch, eyes sleepy and mouth turned slightly up.

A/N. finally had a sorta-mental breakdown and ended up writing this.. i was unsure when writing but i like how it turned out. kaiser is hard to write.. but fun at the same time. i don’t know how many people think his name is pronounced like a white micheal, but it’s german so it’s actually pronounced “mish-ow-way” and it’s funny hearing everyone muck it up lol

also WOW, you guys really do not enjoy poly fics huh.. hurts me on the inside but what can you do ~^~ never flopped so hard before *sigh*

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. they catch you hurting yourself

PAIRINGS. nagireo x reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. polyamory relationship, arguments, s€lf-harm, swearing, implied mental health issues, hurt/comfort, slightly ooc, possessiveness

the house is quiet in the way only late evenings can be— soft lamplight, distant city noise, the low hum of the air conditioning. you’re sitting on the cool tile floor of the bathroom, back pressed against the cabinet, sleeves pushed up just enough.

you feel blank, same as a canvas whose artist had left them in the corner of a room, dusted and forgotten— never meant to be thought of again.

you don’t hear the front door open.

you don’t hear the keys drop into the ceramic bowl.

you don’t hear them call your name.

it’s all blank.

the door swings open. and everything breaks.

“…hey.” you hear him first— nagi seishiro’s voice, low and confused, like he’s still half inside a dream. then there’s silence. then—

“what are you doing?” mikage reo’s voice doesn’t sound like it usually does. it isn’t smooth or teasing or confident. it’s thin. sharp. fractured at the edges, quiet in ways it shouldn’t be.

you look up. and the look on their faces, it’s worse than anything.

the towel slips from your hand. you feel like a deer that’s been caught in headlights. frozen and terrified.

nagi moves first. for someone who always claims he hates effort, he crosses the room in two big strides. he drops to his knees in front of you so fast the impact makes a dull thud against the tile.

his hands hover over your wrists. he doesn’t touch at first, as if in fear. “why..?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

reo is right behind him. he crouches down, carefully. slowly. and with shaky hands he takes your arms into his. his fingers are warm, yet they tremble.

his thumb brushes over old scars that had somewhat faded. “…this isn’t new,” he whispers. it isn’t a question.

and you don’t answer.

nagi’s head dips forward until his forehead presses against your shoulder. his breath is shaky. “you’ve been hurting,” he murmurs, voice small in a way you’ve never heard before. “f’r how long?”

your throat burns.

reo’s composure cracks first. his jaw tightens, eyes glossy. he looks almost upset, but it’s not at you. it’s at the world. at himself.

“was it us?” he asks quietly. “did we miss it? did we not see?”

you shake your head quickly. “no— no, it’s not—”

“don’t,” reo says softly, voice hitching. not sharp. just aching. “don’t protect us right now.”

nagi finally touches you.

his fingers curl gently around your wrists, thumbs brushing over your skin like he’s trying to memorize every mark. his touch is so careful it makes your chest ache. “this is you, your body,” he whispers, eyes unbelievably sad for someone so uncaring. “the one that we hold. the one we kiss. the one we love.”

reo leans in and presses a trembling kiss to your knuckles, eyes downcast and teary. “why would you do this something like this?”

the question isn’t accusatory. it’s vulnerable. desperate for some sort of reasoning.

and that’s what breaks you.

you don’t know what to say. so much so you say everything, everything that’s been weighing on you. not all at once. it spills out in uneven pieces— what you tell, when it started, and how sometimes it feels like the only way to quiet everything inside your head.

reo pulls you into him mid-sentence. he doesn’t care that you’re still sitting on the bathroom floor. he wraps both arms around you and drags you into his chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

nagi folds around you from the other side. you’re trapped between warmth. between the heartbeats of your lovers.

“you should’ve told us,” reo whispers into your hair, sniffling slightly.

“i didn’t want to be a burden.”

nagi lifts his head so fast it almost knocks into yours. “a burden?” his brows knit together. “you think loving you is heavy?”

reo cups your face in both hands. his thumbs wipe at tears you didn’t realize were falling. “we chose this,” he says softly. “we chose you. every day. you don’t get to decide we wouldn’t want all of you.”

nagi presses a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. then another to your cheek. then the corner of your mouth. “even the parts where you hurt,” he murmurs.

——

that night, they don’t let you out of their sight.

you end up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket you don’t remember them grabbing. reo sits upright against the armrest, and you’re tucked against his chest. nagi sprawls across both of you like an oversized cat, his head in your lap, fingers hooked loosely into your shirt to make sure you’re still there.

reo strokes your hair over and over. slow. repetitive. loving.

nagi draws absentminded circles against your waist. “you’re staying home tomorrow,” reo says quietly.

you start to protest.

he kisses your forehead before you can. “that wasn’t a suggestion.”

nagi tilts his head to look up at you. his expression is softer than you’ve ever seen. “we’ll figure it out,” he says. “therapy. better coping stuff. i’ll even try… productive hobbies.”

reo huffs a quiet laugh through his nose. “that’s serious.”

nagi reaches up and gently presses his lips to the inside of your wrist. not over the marks. just above them. “i don’t want you to disappear,” he whispers against your skin.

you don’t realize how tightly you’ve been wound until you start to unwind.

—

nothing is perfect. not healing, not emotion. there are nights when your hands shake. when old urges start itching under your skin.

but now— now nagi notices.

he’ll quietly slide his fingers between yours and squeeze. or he’ll press his weight against you, grounding (and lovingly suffocating) you with warmth.

reo keeps bandages in the bathroom, not hidden, not shameful. just there. he replaces sharp objects with softer alternatives, markers, ice, fidget toys. something to help distract your body from your mind. he leaves little notes on the mirror in elegant handwriting.

stay. remember to breathe. we love you.

sometimes you wake up from bad dreams and both of them are already there.

reo will cradle your face, kissing along your brow, your eyelids, your cheeks, soft whispers of reassurance between each one.

nagi will pull you against his chest and tangle your legs together so thoroughly you couldn’t leave even if you tried.

“you’re ours,” reo whispers one morning, sunlight catching in his lashes. “to protect, and to love.”

nagi hums sleepily and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “y’re too important,” he mumbles.

and for the first time in a long time, you start to believe those words.

it’s slow. messy. and certainly imperfect. yet it’s filled with hands holding yours when they shake. with lips brushing over old scars as if they’re rewriting the story your skin tells. with quiet afternoons where nagi naps with his head in your lap and reo reads aloud just to fill the silence with something gentle.

and every night, no matter what, they pull you between them. reo’s heartbeat steady against your back. nagi’s breath warm against your collarbone.

“you don’t have to hurt alone,” reo murmurs into the dark.

“you don’t have to hurt at all,” nagi adds sleepily.

“reo, sei..” their fingers intertwine with yours. and you grip them, wanting to hold one forever.

A/N. hello idk what to write help.. i write so much better when i’m in the middle of a mental breakdown— and life has been boring lately, a good thing mentally, creativity not really. there’s a post below this where you guys can write prompts or ideas.. also i don’t like how it turned out.. i know i can write better than this

[kixred]

ya’ll, give me some prompts or ideas on why to write… i have some drafts for the next few posts but idk what to do after that help… (me and my 20 unfinished drafts)

no guarantee i’ll write them but the ideas will be helpful!

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. you’re unbelievably clumsy, and you bruise easy. when you’re with someone like rin, it’s not a good combo

PAIRINGS. itoshi rin x klutz!reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. unrealistic bruising, minor blood & bruises, lack of self-care, hurt/comfort, cuddles & kisses, slightly ooc, rin is a worry wart

you’ve stopped reacting to the sound of your own body colliding with furniture.

the corner of the kitchen counter kissing your hip as you rush past it. the edge of the coffee table catching your shin. the doorframe bumping into your shoulder. it’s so common that it barely registers anymore— nothing but a soft thud, a sharp bloom of pain before you keep moving.

you shrug it off. same way you always do, always have.

but he doesn’t.

living with itoshi rin means living with someone who notices everything, even when he pretends not to. especially when he pretends not to.

it starts small.

one evening, you’re standing on your tiptoes in the kitchen, stretching to reach a mug from the highest shelf. your shirt rides up just enough, to reveal the skin of your waist, and a deep violet stain blooming along your side.

rin freezes mid-step.

you don’t see him. you’re too busy wobbling.

“got it—” you say triumphantly, only to lose your balance and bump your elbow against the cabinet on the way down. “ow. oops— it’s fine.”

you laugh.

behind you, rin’s eyes darken.

he doesn’t say anything. just watching the way you rub your elbow absentmindedly as you walk away like it’s nothing.

—

another day, you’re curled up on the couch beside him. he’s scrolling through something on his phone, expression unreadable as always, while you shift to get comfortable. you stretch your legs across his lap.

your shorts slide up slightly.

there’s a constellation of bruises along your thigh. some are fading yellow. others are fresh, a deep indigo, as if something split ink beneath your skin.

his thumb pauses over his screen. he stares.

you don’t notice. too busy talking about something mundane— groceries, a show you want to watch, the way you almost tripped over your own shoelaces earlier.

almost.

he thinks about the word. it sticks to him, staying as a whisper in his head.

almost.

he remembers the way you flinched last week when you hit the edge of the table. the way you waved him off when he reached for you. the way you shrug when he asks if you’re okay. “i’m fine,” you always say.

he doesn’t respond right away. his fingers hover just above your thigh, not touching, just close enough to feel the warmth of you.

he swallows whatever question is forming.

—

you trip over nothing in the hallway.

literally nothing.

rin hears the crash from the bedroom and is there in seconds. you’re sitting on the floor, blinking in mild confusion.

“i don’t know what happened,” you admit, looking up at him sheepishly. “gravity hates me.”

he kneels in front of you, jaw tight. “did you hit your head?”

“no.”

“your wrist?”

“nope.”

“you’re bleeding.”

you glance down at your knee where a thin red line is forming. “oh. that.” He exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm. “i’m okay,” you insist again. you always are.

but the bruises keep appearing.

on your arms. along your ribs. your hips. your legs. they’re darker than they should be, and looks like the result of something violent.

and he starts thinking. too much.

—

the moment that breaks him is stupidly ordinary.

you’re lying across his lap, half-asleep, mumbling about something incoherent. his hand rests absentmindedly on your thigh, fingers curling gently.

then you flinch. it’s small. subtle. but he feels it.

his hand stills. “…what?”

you blink up at him, confused. “hm?”

“did that hurt?”

“no?” you say automatically— and then hesitate. “oh. maybe. there’s a bruise there.”

he doesn’t ask permission. he just shifts you slightly and pushes the fabric of your shorts up your thigh. and he sees them.

not one. not two.

dozens. layered over each other like shadows. some old. some new. some so dark they almost look black against your skin.

his breath catches. “what the hell is this?!” his voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp. tight.

you sit up immediately, startled by the tone more than the words. “what?”

“these,” he hisses, hand hovering over your thigh like he’s afraid to touch you again. “how long?”

you look down, then shrug. “oh. those? i don’t know. a while?”

“a while?” his jaw clenches. “you think this is normal?”

“i bruise easily,” you say softly. “i always have.”

he looks at you like you just told him the sky is green. “and the cuts?”

“…i bump into things.”

“i know that,” he snaps, then immediately closes his eyes, frustrated at himself. he runs a hand through his hair. “i know you’re clumsy. but this—”

he looks at your skin again, and something in his expression shifts. it’s not anger.

it’s fear.

the kind he doesn’t show on the field. the kind he buries deep.

“i thought…” his voice lowers. “i thought someone hurt you.”

the words hang between you two.

your chest tightens. “no,” you breathe immediately, reaching for him. “rin. no. it’s just me. i promise.” you guide his hand back to your thigh gently, carefully avoiding the worst spots.

“i don’t even notice most of the time,” you admit with a small laugh. “it doesn’t bother me.”

“it bothers me,” he says quietly. there’s something raw in the way he says it.

you’ve seen him furious. competitive. cold.

you’ve seen him scared.

he presses his forehead against yours. “you don’t get to not care about getting hurt,” he murmurs. “not when i’m here.”

your heart melts in your chest. “i‘m not made of glass,” you whisper.

“i know,” he replies. “but you’re mine.” not possessive. protective.

he exhales shakily, then pulls you into his chest. his arms wrap around you tightly— careful of your sides, your legs, adjusting unconsciously so he doesn’t press against the darker bruises.

you bury your face in his shirt. “i’m really okay,” you murmur.

he kisses the top of your head. then your temple. then your cheek. soft. repeated. like he’s reassuring himself. “from now on,” he says quietly, “i’m taking care of it.”

—

the next day, you come home to find the apartment… padded.

not entirely. but the sharp corners of the coffee table are covered. the edge of the kitchen counter has protective guards. even the doorframe near the hallway has a discreet cushion lining.

you blink. “…rin.”

he shrugs from where he’s standing with a small tube in his hand. “you walk into everything.”

you stare at him, then at the tube. “is that—”

“scar cream,” he says, slightly defensive. “and i got bandages. the good ones. not the cheap ones.”

you can’t help it. you laugh. and he frowns. “what’s funny?”

“you,” you say, walking toward him. “you’re ridiculous.”

he narrows his eyes, but his ears are slightly pink. you step close enough to wrap your arms around his waist. “thank you.”

his hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing gently over the fabric of your shirt. “i should’ve noticed sooner,” he mutters.

“you did notice,” you say. “you just overthink.”

“i don’t overthink.”

“you absolutely do.”

he huffs quietly, but there’s no heat behind it.

that night, rin makes you sit still while he carefully applies bruising cream to the worst of the marks on your skin. fingers are surprisingly gentle, movements precise and focused as if memorizing every mark.

he leans down and presses a soft kiss to one of the darker ones. you blink. “what was that for?”

“so it heals faster,” he says.

“that’s not how it works.”

“it might.”

you smile so wide your cheeks hurt.

later, when you’re tangled together in bed, his arm draped securely around your waist, he traces idle circles against your skin, avoiding the tender spots instinctively.

“be careful,” he murmurs sleepily against your hair.

“i’ll try,” you promise.

he tightens his hold just slightly. “try harder.” he says, voice low.

and in the quiet dark, surrounded by softened edges and padded corners, you realize something warm and steady:

you might bruise easily. you might walk into walls as if it were air. but with him, you are and will always be handled like something precious.

for every time you bump into the world too hard, he’ll be there, hands steady, heart soft, ready to kiss it better.

A/N. i love worried, protective men.. also that ending was so cringe but idk how to end it so that’s what i’m doing

while i don’t bruise easy, but i care so little about being careful that there’s always a dozen or so bruises on my legs at one time.. as they heal i get more and more because i just can’t be bothered walking around corners and doors.. my laziness perseveres over my safety

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. “what would you do if i jumped and killed myself right now?” OR he starts to notice your lack of care for your own life.

PAIRINGS. itoshi rin x reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. dark humor, blood, passive suicidal tendencies, lack of self-care, implied mental health issues & trauma, kisses, hurt/comfort, slightly ooc, rin cares

the train station always feels like a place that exists between choices. at least that’s what you think.

the air tastes faintly of iron and rain, even when the sky is clear. the tracks gleam underneath the dull hum of afternoon light. platform humming quietly beneath your feet, its vibration traveling up your shoes, settling unnoticed somewhere in your chest.

you stand closer to the yellow line than you need to.

the paint is chipped. the warning symbols are faded. the edge feels almost intimate, like it’s inviting you to peer over, to imagine the rush of wind, the scream of metal, the finality of something unstoppable.

beside you, itoshi rin stands with his usual stillness.

he’s older now— taller than he used to be, shoulders broadened by years of training, movements precise and deliberate. the sharpness that once lived in him has softened at the edges, but it’s still there. his dark hair falls into his eyes when the wind slips through the open station, and he pushes it back absently. his coat brushing against yours.

you lean forward slightly, toes now past the line, staring down at the tracks like they’re whispering something only you can hear.

the thought leaves your mouth before you weigh the words. “what if i jumped and killed myself right now?”

you say it lightly. carelessly. as if you’re asking what he wants for dinner.

you don’t even have time to process the silence that follows.

rin’s hand snaps around your wrist so fast you don’t even realise what’s happening. he pulls you backward with more than enough force, back colliding with his broader chest. his other arm wraps around your shoulders, resting on your chest. anchoring you behind him as if shielding you from something you’re not quite sure of.

“what the hell are you saying?” his voice is low, but it cuts.

not anger. fear.

raw, immediate fear.

and despite it, his grip on you is gentle but firm.

the train hasn’t arrived yet, but he’s already positioned himself between you and the tracks, body tense, jaw clenched hard enough that you can see the muscle twitch beneath his skin. his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. you realize they’re shaking.

you blink up at him, surprised by the intensity of the reaction. “i was joking,” you mumble softly, now feeling guilty.

“you didn’t sound like you were.”

the rails begin to shake, the distant thunder of an approaching train growing louder. he doesn’t release you. if anything, his grip tightens as the wind builds, as if he thinks the sheer force of it might sweep you away.

when the bullet train finally roars by, loud and blinding and violent in its speed, he keeps you pressed against him without another thought. you feel small in his hold.

because he’s doing this to make sure you’re protected.

when it’s gone, when the platform returns to its hollow quiet, he doesn’t step away immediately. eyes glancing at your face for just a second before he turns. he doesn’t say anything. but the thought stays.

——

you don’t realize until later that something inside him shifted in that moment.

since the day you that joke left your mouth, rin has started to watch the way you react to your surroundings. seeing things he hadn’t fully noticed before.

he’s seen the way you step off curbs without looking. how you drift across crosswalks with your eyes somewhere else entirely.

the first time he yanks you back from a turning car, your body barely reacts, loose, pliant, uncaring. you just look at him with mild confusion, like he’s overreacting to something insignificant. “it’s fine,” you say.

his fingers are still tight around yours, glaring at how dismissive you are. “no, it’s not.” he begins to walk on the outer side of the sidewalk, closest to the road. his hand finds yours automatically now. not loosely. not lazily.

firm. because to him, you might actually slip away if he doesn’t hold on.

then at home, it’s smaller things.

you cook dinner together one evening, the kitchen filled with the soft hiss of oil and the scent of garlic. you reach towards the pan too quickly, distracted, and hot oil splatters against your skin.

the burn is sharp. bright.

you don’t blink. let alone flinch. you wipe your fingers on a towel and continue stirring.

rin’s reaction is immediate.

he’s up and by you in the next second, turning off the stove without a word and taking your hand towards the sink. cold water runs over your reddening skin. his thumb supports your wrist, and he doesn’t let go.

“does it hurt?” his voice stays low.

you frown, eyes drooped over in what he prays isn’t the boredom he thinks it is. “it’s nothing.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

you look at the water going down the drain instead of at him. “it doesn’t matter.”

rin goes still. and that’s when he understands.

it’s not that you don’t feel pain. not that you’re putting up a strong facade. it’s that you don’t think it’s important. to you, it genuinely doesn’t matter. to you, you don’t matter.

he tightens his hold on you.

——

rin is watching you with his full attention.

he pays attention to the way you go about existing in the world.

you walk through rain without adjusting your pace on slick pavement, and it ends with you scraping your knee against concrete one afternoon. you take a breath before simply brushing off the blood with detached curiosity.

he kneels in front of you on the sidewalk before you can protest.

cars pass. people glance. he doesn’t care.

there’s a crease between his brows, the same one he used to wear when calculating plays on the field. his fingers are impossibly careful as he cleans the gravel from your skin with tissues he keeps tucked in his pocket.

“you should at least react,” he mutters.

you shrug faintly. “it’s shallow.”

“you’re bleeding.”

“it’ll stop.”

he looks up at you then, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your chest tighten. “why don’t you care?”

the question isn’t accusatory. it’s wounded.

he’s wounded. eyes scrunched up, shoulders shaky, he hates how he can’t make you care. hated how all he does is deal with the aftermath.

you don’t know how to answer him. caring about yourself has always felt abstract, like a concept other people are better at holding.

you just shrug.

when night falls, the apartment is dim and silence is imminent. quiet that was both comforting and suffocating. rain taps against the windows in soft, uneven rhythms. you’re curled into the couch on top of him, and rin is laying down, back against the armrest, your body tucked against his chest.

his arm wraps around your waist. palm resting flat over your stomach, warm.

for a long time, neither of you speaks.

then, softly, and vulnerably, he mumbles. “you scare me.” the words are almost swallowed by the rain.

you tilt your head slightly. “how so?”

“when you say things like that at the station. when you walk into the street without looking. when you get hurt and act like it doesn’t matter.”

his hand tightens faintly over your sweater. “it feels like you’re not trying to stay.” with me, he wants to say. but the words feel bitter against his tongue. glassy that he believes will shatter if he allows it to leave.

the vulnerability in his voice is so unfamiliar it makes your throat ache.

rin shifts, guiding you to turn so you’re facing him. his hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye.

“do you want to?” he asks quietly. “stay?”

the question settles deep in your chest.

you’ve never thought about it in those terms. living has always felt passive. like floating. like being drifted away by something indifferent.

you hesitate. “i don’t… think about it,” you admit. “i don’t think about me.”

why? he wants to ask. but he knows it’s a topic he shouldn’t delve too deep into. it’s left stains, bitter and nasty smeared all throughout you. he just hopes it doesn’t scar.

he takes a breath in. “then i will,” he mumbles into your hair. “until you can.”

he leans his forehead against yours. the contact is warm, steady, real. “if something feels heavy, tell me,” he whispers. “or we find someone who can help. but don’t pretend you don’t matter. you do, to me.”

your eyes sting unexpectedly. lips trembling for the first time in what seems like forever.

——

rin becomes quietly vigilant.

he holds your hand at every crosswalk, thumb pressing into your knuckles, counting your pulse.

he walks slightly ahead of you near train platforms, his body a gentle barrier between you and the edge.

when you cook, he stands behind you, arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. if you reach too close to heat, he guides your wrist back with a soft kiss to your temple. “careful,” he murmurs.

when you scrape yourself, he cleans the wound meticulously, dabbing antiseptic with almost reverent focus. “does it hurt?” he asks every time.

and slowly, you begin answering honestly. “yes.”

he kisses the bandage. “yea?” he says softly. “that means you’re here.”

one evening, you find yourselves at another station. the sky is streaked with orange and violet. the platform glows under the fading sun.

you stand a safe distance from the edge.

without being told.

rin notices. he doesn’t comment. he simply take another step closer and slips his hand into yours, and you lace your fingers through his.

the train approaches, wind gathering, rails singing. it rushes past in a violent blur of sound and force.

you don’t feel pulled. you feel his warmth.

his solid presence beside you. “i’m not going anywhere,” you say quietly. firmly. he turns to you sharply, searching your face for something uncertain. “not like that,” you add, a small but genuine smile curving your lips.

the relief that washes over him is almost painful to witness. he pulls you to his chest without hesitation, one arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head. he presses a long, steady kiss to your forehead. then your lips. it’s tender. deeper. a promise exchanged without words.

when he pulls back, his nose brushes yours. “stay,” he whispers again.

this time, you don’t drift when the doors open. you step forward with him, lips stretched into a small smile.

“i will.”

A/N. this definitely isn’t as deep as my other works but sometimes you don’t need a stab, a pinch will suffice in certain moments (wow look at me being a poet)

my ryusae fic flopped pretty bad i’m a bit sad. guess a lot of readers don’t like poly dynamics, but i do sorta get it. although to me, more lovers mean more affection, hehe.

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. affection and aftercare after an intense night

PAIRINGS. aged-up! ryusae x reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. polyamory relationship, suggestive, implied sub/dom dynamics, hickeys, possessive behaviour, cuddles & kisses, pet names, slightly ooc

the room is quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside, body pleasantly heavy as you sink into the mattress between them. your skin is still warm, nerves buzzing in that gentle, floaty way that comes after— when everything slows down and every touch feels ten times deeper.

the pain flares slowly yet without doubt, sharp enough for your breath to hitch. your gasp softly, fingers curling into the sheets. you don’t even have time to panic.

itoshi sae is already moving.

“don’t move,” he murmurs, calm and firm, hand settling warm on your waist as a restraint you need. “i’ve got you.”

at the same time, shidou ryuusei shifts closer from the other side, heat radiating from him as he leans in, eyes sharp with concern. “damn,” shidou murmurs. “that bad, huh?”

you nod, tired but absolutely satisfied.

sae pulls you carefully against his chest, movements slow and precise, making sure not to jostle you. his arm wraps fully around you. protective, claiming, possessive. shidou’s hand comes next, warm and steady, resting over your thigh. he doesn’t grab. he grounds. “easy,” shidou smirks softly, voice low. “you’re okay. you’re right here with us.”

sae notices it then— the marks along your skin where they held you earlier, the deepened colour of their love from your neck to your thighs. his thumb brushes one, reverent and deliberate. “…you’re sore because of us,” sae murmurs.

shidou huffs a quiet, smug laugh. “yeah. kinda hot. but we’re not idiots, means we get’a take care of you now.”

he flops half his body on top of you without warning, all heat and restless energy. an arm slings across your waist, similar to a wolf claiming their territory. “damn,” he laughs softly, voice still rough but happy, “you’re cute when you’re all worn out like this.” he presses quick, sloppy kisses along your cheek and jaw, unapologetic and excessive, not like he can help himself when it comes to you two, now can he? each kiss lands with a grin, his fingers tracing lazy shapes on your side.

“ryuusei,” sae murmurs, calm but firm. he gives him pointed look.

shidou snorts but shifts, still close, still touching— his leg hooks over yours, his forehead bumping lightly against yours. “relax, relax. i’m taking care of our dove too.”

sae moves in next, slow and deliberate. he settles behind you, pulling you back against his chest with an arm wrapped securely around your middle. the difference is immediate, where shidou is fire that can’t be contained, sae is warmth, steady and strong. his hand slides up to cradle your ribs, thumb brushing in soothing strokes, memorizing the rhythm of each breathe you take.

“you okay?” he asks quietly, lips near your temple.

you nod, unable to hold back a smile.

sae exhales, tension melting as he presses a soft kiss into your hair. another follows, slower this time, lingering just a second longer than necessary. his hold tightens— almost as if he’s trapping you— just enough to make it clear you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

shidou notices, of course.

“oh?” he grins, leaning in close again. “you getting all possessive now, sae-chan~?”

sae doesn’t even look at him. “they need rest.”

“and affection,” shidou adds cheerfully, canines out as he kisses the corner of your mouth before sae can stop him. “lots of it.”

you feel sae’s hand slide up to gently tilt your chin, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a quiet, claiming gesture. he kisses you next, slow, careful, unhurried. “mmh..” it’s the kind of kiss meant to reassure, to say i’ve got you, leaving your chest warm and full of belonging.

shidou watches, eyes bright, then immediately dives back in— peppering your face with kisses until you laugh, your tiredness easing into something soft and safe. he presses his forehead to yours, voice dropping just a little. “you did so good, didn’t ‘cha?” he murmurs, sincerity slipping through the wild edge.

sae hums in agreement behind you, his lips brushing your shoulder. “relax. we’ve got you.” he and shidou start massaging circles into your skin, one in your back, the other on your thigh.

between shidou’s energetic closeness and sae’s steady, possessive warmth, you’re completely cocooned. your back is against sae’s chest, and shidou close enough that his warmth anchors you. you’re held from both sides, boxed in, safe. being held, kissed, cared for until your breathing evens out and your body finally relaxes.

shidou’s thumb traces slow circles through the fabric at your thigh.

sae’s hand stays firm at your waist, anchoring you. “you’re staying exactly where you are,” he says quietly. “between us.”

shidou hums approvingly. “best place anyway.”

A/N. lowkey i don’t like how this turned out at all. it’s like boring..? maybe i’m just too used to the more morbid topics. i feel like i could’ve written this as something more deep but i only wanted fluff (then again i am an angst addict ;p )

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. after an argument, he leaves and goes radio silent for days. suddenly he gets your location. no text, no message. he finds you in the bathtub, bleeding.

PAIRINGS. itoshi sae x reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. arguments, graphic depictions of blood + gore, s#icidal tendencies, s€lf-harm (stabbing), swearing, implied mental health issues, hurt/comfort, physical affection, google translated spanish, sae is bad at relationships— but hopeful ending, slightly ooc

the argument ended the way it always did. not with screaming, not with slammed doors or cruel words like most, but with restraint so tight it feels as if it might snap bone.

voices stayed low. careful. polite, even. the kind of quiet that pretended to be maturity while rotting everything underneath it.

itoshi sae remembers everything. you standing in the doorway of the bedroom, arms wrapped around yourself as if you were trying to hold your ribs together. fingers digging into your sleeves hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. you trying your hardest to ensure your voice didn’t shake when you spoke, even though he could see your chest caving in. why do you keep pulling away when things get hard? why do you shut me out instead of letting me in?

sae doesn’t answer right away.

he looked at you for a long moment— too long. his expression stayed distant, eyes dark and unreadable, like he’d already retreated somewhere you couldn’t follow. then he glanced away, jaw tightening, gaze fixing on the wall as if it were safer than looking at you. i don’t have the capacity for this right now, was what he finally ended up saying.

not you.

this.

that distinction sliced through you deeper than any shouted insult ever could have. he didn’t see you as something worth fighting for in that moment. but just another weight on his chest, another obligation draining him dry.

you opened your mouth to say something. anything. to tell him you weren’t asking for perfection, just presence. that you were tired of being alone both mentally and physically.

yet the words stayed lodged in your throat, heavy and utterly useless.

that’s when he grabbed his jacket and keys without another glance. the door clicked shut behind him with a quiet, a devastating finality that echoed through the apartment like a gunshot.

he didn’t know that you stood there long and alone after his footsteps faded, staring hopelessly at the empty space where he’d been. the air felt colder without him. hollow. your heart ached with everything you hadn’t said, and everything he hadn’t stayed to hear.

three days pass since then.

three days of silence that felt fundamentally wrong, like the world had tilted off its axis and no one bothered to correct it. not even him.

his side of the bed stayed untouched, sheets smooth and cold.

the apartment simply felt like it was holding its breath. barren, empty. quiet in ways it never should.

and sae tells himself you are fine.

he tells himself you need space. that you always bounce back. that you’re stronger than you let on, stronger than him, maybe. he repeats those lies like a mantra, clinging to them during drills, during meetings, during the quiet moments when his thoughts slip their leash.

but you linger anyway.

you creep into his head between reps, your voice echoing faintly in his ears. you haunt the pauses before sleep, the moments when the world goes quiet enough for guilt to surface. his chest feels too tight whenever he imagines coming home to an empty apartment— but then he hates himself even more for not even trying to go home.

he checks his phone more than he means to.

when it buzzes that afternoon, his heart jumps violently before his mind can catch up.

your name lights up the screen.

but there is no message.

just your location.

sae’s brow furrows instantly. that isn’t like you. you don’t send vague texts. you don’t fish for attention or play games. if you want to talk, you will say so. if something is wrong, you spell it out.

a slow, creeping unease settles into his chest.

he checks the time.

five minutes ago. he’s been staring at his phone, as if his god himself will open up the gates to your home.

something cold slides down his spine, sharp and unwelcome. his fingers hover over the screen as he types ‘what’s wrong?’ then deletes it. types again. deletes again.

a pressure builds behind his ribs, urgent, painful, telling him to stop thinking and to start moving.

sae grabs his keys.

——

the drive is a blur of red lights and clenched teeth.

sae barely registers the traffic around him, foot heavy on the gas, hands lock white-knuckle around the steering wheel. his thoughts spiral despite every attempt to stay grounded.

you’re probably just upset.

maybe your phone died.

maybe you fell asleep.

maybe—

every excuse feels thin. flimsy. like paper he can’t hold without cutting himself. almost shielding him against something far worse.

when the gps announces he had arrived, relief should have hit him. it didn’t.

the apartment building looms ahead, familiar and suddenly ominous. pulse thumping in his ears as he parks crookedly and takes the stairs two at a time, breathing shallow, dread growing heavier with every step.

the door is locked.

sae knocks once. hard. “hey,” he calls, already shoving his key into the lock. “i’m home.” he says, as if it fixes everything. the silence inside presses against him, thick and unnatural. the door swings open. the apartment is dim, curtains half-drawn. your shoes are by the door. your bag sitting where you dropped it. everything is normal. normal.

that’s the worst part.

“mi amor?” he calls out again, voice tight now. “you here?”

no answer.

his chest clenches painfully.

he moves through the living room, then the bedroom. the drawer on the bedside table is open, oddly enough. your side of the bed, rumpled. sheets twisted as if you’d tossed and turned before getting up without looking back.

a sick feeling churns his stomach, inside out and starting to crawl out a bile.

then he notices the light under the bathroom door.

his steps slow as he approaches, every instinct screaming at him to hurry and to stop all at once. he knocks, knuckles cracking against the door harder than necessary.

“hey,” he says, quieter now. “open the door.”

nothing.

sae’s heart begins to pound so violently it hurts. he whispers your name, the sound breaking halfway through like a plea he didn’t want to admit to making. sae braces himself, not even sure for what.

he pushes the door open.

the smell hits him first. metallic. sharp. thick enough to taste.

his vision snaps onto red. RED.

the world narrows violently, collapsing in on itself as his brain struggles to process what his eyes are seeing.

you’re in the bathtub. body slumped at an unnatural angle, limbs heavy and wrong, just, limp. clothes soaked through and darkened with something he doesn’t want to name. water overflowed onto the tiles, carrying blood now gruellingly diluted with it— pink and swirling, grotesquely beautiful and just as horrifying. streaks of red, thick and half dried, smeared across porcelain, the floor, the shower curtain, a perfect frame picturing the aftermath of something violent and unspeakable.

he feels his voice get stuck in his throat.

there was so much of it.

too much. too fucking much for your body.

for a suspended, horrifying moment, his mind refuses to accept it. this isn’t real. this can’t be real. this is a nightmare, and he’s about to wake up.

then he sees your face.

too pale. lips tinged faintly blue. eyes closed, lashes resting against skin that looks waxy and unreal.

a sound tears out of him. raw, animal, unrecognizable.

“mierda!” he chokes, stumbling forward, knees slamming into the tile with a crack he didn’t feel. “por favor no… no, no, no— please.”

his hands hovers over you, shaking violently. touching you feels wrong. not touching you feels worse. when he finally does, your skin is cold beneath his fingers, slick with water and blood.

you don’t respond. not even a twitch.

sae’s chest seizes so hard he thinks he might vomit. his vision blurs with tears, hot, burning and uncontrollable as panic rips through his skull.

“hey,” he begged, voice cracking apart. “hey— look at me. por favor. please wake up. please, lo siento..”

he presses his ear to your chest, breath hitching violently as he searches for something— anything.

there.

faint. uneven. proof that your life is hanging on by a thread. a thread he almost severed himself.

a broken sob rips from his throat.

“ay dios mío.” he whispers, forehead collapsing against your shoulder. “you’re still here. you’re still here.”

his hands shake so badly, so uncontrollably, he almost drops his phone as he calls for help, words spilling out incoherent and desperate. he follows instructions blindly, pressing against the wound in your stomach, doing everything he’s told, even as terror claws through his ribs.

as he waits, he talks to you.

“i’m sorry,” he says over and over, voice shredded like a mantra. “i shouldn’t have left. i shouldn’t have let you think you were alone.”

tears drip onto your skin as he clutches your hand, fingers slick and trembling.

“please,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “please don’t leave me. i need you. i love you.”

the sirens take too long.

when help finally arrives, sae barely registers them pulling him back, lifting you from the tub. blood stains his clothes, his hands, his knees. he tries to follow, tries to hold onto you, until they force him to let go.

——

the hospital is bright in a way that feels cruel.

fluorescent lights buzz overhead, washing everything in a sterile white, reflecting off polished floors that smell of disinfectant and metal. voices echo down long corridors, nurses calling codes, carts rattling past, the distant wail of someone else’s grief. every sound makes sae flinch.

time stops behaving normally.

minutes stretch into something unbearable, elastic and sharp. he paces the waiting room until his legs ache, then sits, then stands again, hands trembling as he drags them through his hair. his nails have been bitten raw without him realizing it. his heart feels permanently lodged in his throat, every beat a painful reminder that yours almost stopped.

sae replays everything over and over again. just on loop. nonstop.

the argument.

the way you’d looked at him.

the door clicking shut. him clicking the door shut on you.

when he closes his eyes, he can still see you in the tub. still smell the blood. still feel the cold of your skin beneath his hands.

he bows forward, elbows on his knees, pressing his palms hard against his face as if he can physically hold himself together. he whispers your name under his breath, similar to one making a prayer, but it’s one he isn’t sure he deserves to make.

when the doctor finally approaches, sae can hardly register them at first. it isn’t until they say his name that he snaps his head up, heart slamming violently against his ribs.

“you’re lucky,” the doctor says gently. “they’re stable.”

stable.

the word doesn’t feel real at first. it floats in the air between them, fragile and holy. then it hits him all at once.

sae’s knees nearly give out. he sinks back into the chair, hands flying to his face as a broken sound tore out of him. he cries— chokes, openly, shoulders shaking hard enough to hurt. relief, doubt, and guilt crashing together so violently it steals each and every breath from his lungs.

you’re alive.

you’re still here.

when they finally let him see you, sae moves swift, as if he were afraid any sudden motion might undo it all.

the room is dimmer than the hallway. lights softened, machines humming quietly, breathing for you. you lie in the bed wrapped in white. bandages, blankets, wires tracing over your skin. tubes ran from your arms, monitors blinking steadily beside you— quite literally your lifeline

you look impossibly small. fragile in a way that shatters him.

he pulls a chair close and sits, hesitant at first, before reaching for your hand. his fingers wrap around yours carefully, fear of you breathing. your hand is warmer now. blood pulsing through.

he presses his thumb against your knuckles, grounding himself in the sensation.

“i’m here, mi amor.” he whispers, leaning close. his voice shaking despite his effort to keep it steady. “i’m not going anywhere. i promise.”

hours blur into days. 3 days to be exact. like those days where he avoided going home to you.

he barely leaves that chair. nurses scold him gently for not eating; he nods and ignores them. he sleeps in fragments, head tipped back, neck aching, jolting awake every time a monitor beeps a little too fast or a little too slow.

every sound terrifies him. because the sounds are your body actively trying to survive.

sometimes he talks to you even when you don’t move. he tells you about nothing. about the view from the window, about how ugly the chair is, about how you always complain that hospitals smell weird. he apologizes in soft murmurs, forehead resting against your hand, voice barely louder than the machines.

“i should’ve stayed,” he whispers one time, eyes burning. “i should’ve been better.”

then, finally— it happens.

your lashes flutter.

it’s subtle enough that he almost misses it. just a small movement. a shift in your breathing.

sae is on his feet instantly, heart slamming so hard he thinks it might burst.

“hi, love.” he whispers urgently, leaning over you. his voice trembles despite himself. “easy. take it slow. you’re okay. i promise.”

your eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, glassy and confused. you blink, brows knitting together as if the world didn’t make sense yet.

then your gaze finds him.

“sae?” the sound of his name. hoarse, real, but undeniably from you— splits him open.

he laughs and sobs at the same time, hands shaking as he presses his forehead gently to yours, tears dripping down onto the blanket. “you’re awake,” he breathes. “you’re really awake. dios— gracias.”

you swallow, eyes glossy with exhaustion and guilt. “i’m sorry..”

sae’s head snaps up immediately.

“no,” he murmurs, voice fierce despite the tears streaking his face. he cups your cheeks carefully, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes. “no. don’t ever apologize for staying. for fighting. for breathing.”

his eyes are red and raw, filled with love and fear and a softness he’s never allowed anyone to see but you.

“i thought i lost you,” he admits. voice still hoarse but every bit true “i thought i’d never hear your voice again. i thought..”

tears slip down your temples as your chest tightens painfully.

he leans in, resting his forehead against yours, breath shaking. “we fight. we mess up. i shut down when i shouldn’t. but you don’t get to disappear on me.”

his voice cracked completely. “te amo,” he whispers. “i’ll protect you, even yourself, if i have to. especially then. i’m sorry. for not being there. so please, don’t do that again.”

you nod weakly, tears spilling freely as he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. soft, reverent kisses full of promise instead of desperation.

he gathers you into his arms as much as the wires allow, holding you carefully, protectively. you’re something priceless he’d almost lost forever. “i’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “i’m not leaving. we’ll fix this. together.”

A/N. i’ve read so many scenarios where people attempt by slitting their wrists in the bathtub. i’ve always found that unrealistic with how deep the cuts they must be to be able to pass away from blood loss. stabbing is a realistic approach logic wise, especially near vitals.

so graphic tmi, butttttt has anyone watched those slasher movies and laughed at how unrealistic the blood is when someone gets stabbed? like a fountain just gushing out? so i did, but turns out it’s actually accurate. blood shot out like a fountain about 5 inches into the air when i stabbed myself and continued for about 15 or so seconds, slowly down with less intensity as seconds passed like one too. watching the blood felt hypnotic. it was actually horrifying i did a double-take because it just looked so unrealistic even as if was happening right in my face.

[kixred]

UNHINGED TEXTS WITH RIN!

PAIRINGS. adult! itoshi rin x reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. crack, dark humor (mentions/jokes of s#icide & self-hatred) , suggestive, swearing, we’re a spoiled brat and rin enables it, rin is protective and very in-love, pet names

pt.2

A/N. wanted something lighter for my blog. i’ve been spending literal hours just reading and giggling to myself at the bllk smau’s on this app.

[kixred]

SYNOPSIS. you’ve gone nonverbal after a s/h session. he helps you heal at your own pace, slow and steady.

PAIRINGS. itoshi sae x nonverbal! reader (established relationship)

WARNINGS. implied s€lf-harm, implied s#icidal tendencies, dissociation, depression, mental health issues, hurt/comfort, minor eating disorder

itoshi sae knows something is wrong the moment he sees you.

you’re sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back against the cabinet, staring at nothing in particular. too still. too quiet. your hands are tucked close to your body, like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

“hey,” he says softly.

no response.

sae steps closer, careful not to startle you, and crouches in front of you. his eyes move quickly, to your empty eyes, to your tear-stained cheeks, finally, to the wounds you’re not hiding very well. he feels his chest tightens.

“…did this happen tonight?” he asks, voice low.

you don’t answer. you don’t even look at him. gaze staying unfocused, hollow in a way that scares him more than tears and sobs ever could.

sae swallows. he reaches out slowly, stopping just short of touching you. “i’m going to touch your hands, okay?”

no reaction. but you don’t pull away when his hands gently envelop yours.

your hands are cold.

“it’s not like you,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. his thumbs brush lightly over your skin, grounding, steady. “you only disappear like this when it’s bad.”

you blink once, eyelids heavy. that’s all. but he takes it.

sae exhales quietly and shifts closer, until you’re almost knee to knee. “you don’t have to talk,” he says. “i just need you here with me.”

he slips off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, wrapping it around you like an instinct. then, slowly, he draws you into his chest, one arm firm around your back, the other resting protectively at your side. his smell infiltrating your dulled senses.

you don’t cling to him, but there’s no resistance either.

“it’s okay,” he whispers. “i’ve got you.”

he rests his cheek against the top of your head, staying perfectly still, as if any sudden movement might make you vanish again. his hand presses warm and solid between your shoulder blades, reminding you that you’re real. that he’s real.

sae’s voice is low, careful. “i don’t like when you go like this,” he admits. “because i know you’re hurting and i can’t do anything.”

minutes pass. maybe more. he doesn’t rush you back into the world.

eventually, you lean into him just a fraction— barely noticeable, but sae feels it immediately. his grip tightens, just a little. “there you are,” he murmurs, voice shaky with love he doesn’t give anyone else, and relief beyond any he’s ever felt before.

later, you’re curled up on the couch together. you sit between his legs, back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like a promise. he doesn’t say much. he doesn’t need to.

he presses a soft kiss into your hair. “you don’t have to explain anything tonight,” he says quietly. “just… stay. let me worry enough for both of us.”

you don’t speak, but you close your eyes and rest your weight fully against him.

sae grips you just a bit lighter, holding you there like it’s exactly where you belong.

——

recovery isn’t dramatic.

it’s mornings where sae notices before you do. days where you go unresponsive, physically and verbally.

he learns the signs quickly. the way you linger in bed too long, the way your eyes lose focus when the room gets loud, the way words slip further and further out of reach. he never points it out bluntly. he watches, and he adjusts.

on those days, he makes breakfast without asking what you want. something warm. something easy. he places it in front of you and sits nearby, pretending to read on his phone while actually watching the rise and fall of your shoulders.

when you don’t eat, he doesn’t scold. he slides the plate away. “later,” he says softly, a promise instead of pressure.

you still go quiet sometimes.

when you do, sae switches to other languages— touch, presence, routine. he presses his knee against yours under the table. he gestures to you, a yes, a no, a maybe. he waits, brows furrowed in attentiveness.

he always waits.

patience isn’t his strong suit. but for you he’d wait an eternity.

at night, he holds you even when you lie stiff and distant, even when you feel empty instead of sad. his hand rests at your back, warm and anchoring. thumb tracing the same small circle until your breathing evens out.

“you’re not gone,” he murmurs one night, half-asleep. “even when you think you are.”

some days are harder.

there are moments when he catches that faraway look again, and worry flickers sharp in his eyes. sae kneels in front of you like he did that first night, voice low and careful.

“can you look at me?” he asks.

sometimes you can’t.

he stays anyway.

time passes. progress comes in pieces so small they almost don’t feel real. the first time you squeeze his hand back, the first quiet hum of acknowledgement, the first time you lean into him without thinking.

the first word comes out unexpectedly one evening, soft and rough from disuse and fear. “sae.”

he freezes like the world might shatter if he moves too fast. slowly, he looks at you, eyes soft with devotion. “yeah?” he answers, voice steady even though his chest is tight.

you don’t say anything else. you don’t need to.

he pulls you into his arms, holding you closer than usual, forehead pressed to yours. there’s a faint smile on his lips. not completely triumph, nor pure relief. just gentle.

“there you are,” he whispers again, like he always does.

later that night, you lie together in the dark, your head on his chest. his heartbeat is slow and sure beneath your ear. “you don’t have to be okay all at once,” sae says quietly. “we’ll do this at your pace.”

you nod, small but real.

his hand laces with yours, fingers fitting like they’ve always known where to go. he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. tender, unhurried, and deeply affectionate.

and for the first time, recovery doesn’t feel like something you have to do alone. it feels like something you’re being walked through, step by step. with him.

A/N. it’s not as graphic as some of the other stuff i’ve written. i wanted the focus to be on the support and slow recovery.