tw. dark content, brief gory descriptions, smut, size difference.
pairing. mr. crawling x fem! reader. 1k words.
- i wish there was more on blissful love life end route, wish i couldve fuck this cute little shyt until he blabberin' :p i love this gameeeeeee! sorry for suddenly writing about homicipher after months of ghosting u guys.. hehe...
The smell of death lingers in the air ever since you brought along the certain entity to the overworld. It's faint enough to let you know that he was watching.
Not that you mind, he practically latched onto you like a barnacle the first time he met you at that strange hallway. Mr. Crawling, despite the oddities that comes along his unique charms, was a pleasant companion. Maybe it's the fact that you'd noticed the dark figure, slouching at the corner of your room, or the fact that you'd woke up with him next to you, the high-pitched giggling causing you to stir awake at the darkest hour.
You wonder if Mr. Crawling gets bored at times. You can't blame him, the underworld where he is from an endless maze with sharp corners here and there, not to mention the occasional earthquakes that change the layout of the map. Comparing his world to your little apartment was laughable. Maybe that's why you started feeling his cold fingertips running underneath the thin fabric of your clothes. Not that you'd stop him, Not that you want him to anyway. You taught him a few things, mainly how humans express their love. It's nice to have someone dote on you for bringing them a bowl of fresh human flesh.
'It's better to be with Mr. Crawling,' you thought.
Being with a human means it'll increase the chance of you getting caught and you wouldn't be able to go on another killing spree. At least Mr. Crawling accepts you for who you are.
"You... like?" his croaky voice puts your running thoughts to the side as you tilt your head, your eyes looking at him before they avert down to his wandering hand. His fingers are abnormally slender with a grayish tint as he slowly brushed them on your stomach before they went lower and lower until his fingers practically hovered over your lower body. He gives you a look, "need you." he points down at your clothed pussy, your cheeks quickly warms up at his words.
"Can touch?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. His fingers trembled the more he waited for your response like he itched to touch you. "Can." you give him a brief nod as his fingers slowly slipped under your shorts, spreading your folds before he pressed down on your clit causing your breath to hitches. You watched with staggered breathing as his hand moved in a circular motion, rubbing your clit slowly as your sopping hole clenched around nothing. "Good? Enjoyable?" he asked, giggling when you gasped and nodded at his words while he traced your slit, getting your juices all over his nimble digits.
His kisses are sloppy, and the metallic taste of blood from the flesh he consumed for dinner comes in as the aftertaste when you pull back for some air. Mr Crawling quickly chases after your lips, pressing his cracked and cold ones on yours as his tongue shamelessly swirls around yours. With enough juices coating his fingers, he easily slipped it into your entrance as it squelches, his other hand holding your thigh to keep your legs spreading. “Look down,” he pulled his fingers out with a small pop, proudly showing his wet and pruney fingers to you before he slipped them into his mouth. “heh, good. Me happy!” he giggled, moving on top of you as you rested your legs on each side of his body.
“Mr. Crawling...” you whined, watching him with blurry vision as he pulled the black clothing up, just enough for his cock to peek through. It's almost as if the entity wants you to see it, wants you to see how desperate he is. His pre-cum glistens and gather at the tip of his cock, bulging vein runs on the side of his shaft as your eyes shifts to the patch of dark hair on his pelvis. His knees dig into the mattress, his hand aligning the tip of his cock into your entrance. “Me... go into you slow.” he gently prods your hole with the tip of his cock, shifting his eyes on your face and down to your pussy as he pushes his thick cock past the ring of muscles.
You wince, the girth of his cock is stretching you to the maximum. "Hurt? Pain? Desire me go out?" he asked, looking down at you before you shook your head at his question, "I'm glad." he smiled at your reaction. Your fingers holding onto his biceps as your nails left crescent marks on his skin. "Pat, pat." he rubs your head, cupping your cheek as his cock throbs inside of you when your velvety walls flutters to adjust to his size. "Pretty." he whispers, leaning down to peck your lips. He lets you roll your hips, slowly fucking yourself into his fat cock while he holds your hip. "Like this? Happy?" he asked, his hips stuttering as he thrust back into you, matching your slow rhythm.
"Like it..." you replied, breathless as he began to pick up his pace. He was consistent, the tip of his cock brushing against the spot that sends you seeing stars on your ceilings with every single thrust, your nails raking down on his back, leaving claw marks which heals up as quickly as it came. The sound of skin slapping reverberates around the walls as Mr. Crawling gasps and pants in your ear each time he desperately slammed his cock into you. His long, black locks falling over your face, tangling with your hair and sticking to your forehead and chest. “Like you... Like this..." he chants, sharp teeth nibbling on your neck and down to your collarbones, leaving a trail of dark bruises in his wake.
“Close... me close,” his thick cock throbs inside of you, rubbing furiously against your walls as he holds your hips. His breath brushing against your lips as he gasped, “Come? Need you come," he begged, slobbery tongue poking out to flicks your swollen lips as he coaxed you into cumming on his cock by sharply rutting his cock inside of you as the lewd squelches from taking his cock deeper and deeper increases.
He pushes his hips into you when you came all over his cock, he quickly pushes his cock as deep as he can before his hot seeds spill into your womb, spilling out of your whole when he pulled out to rest his cock on your pelvis. He's still cumming, spurting the strings of loads on your stomach as you panted, your chest heaving up and down as he lazily kisses your neck and up to your flushed face,
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isagi and rin are doing some sponsored stream together. they've already been arguing for 40 minutes. the sponsor is probably crying.
rin is being particularly annoying that day. every answer is somehow an insult. every sentence is somehow directed at isagi.
finally rin goes: "you only look smart because everyone around you is stupid."
chat collectively goes: ooooooooh.
isagi doesn't even blink. or hesitate. or think.
he immediately replies: "and somehow you still can't keep up. am i stuck in your head 25/8? is that what’s making you stupid?"
silence. complete silence.
rin is acting like someone unplugged him.
the chat notices before isagi does. because rin… has no comeback. none. nein. zero. he just stares.
the clip zooms in on his face. people genuinely think the stream lagged.
isagi finally notices. "... did i kill him?"
the chat explodes.
RIN SPEECHLESS COMPILATION WHEN???
HE FINALLY MET HIS MATCH.
ISAGI WON THE ARGUMENT. THE PROPHECY IS TRUE.
to this day, people still use the clip as a reaction meme.
itoshi rin – i know dada
rin is streaming alone. mistake #1.
someone donates and asks: "how does it feel knowing all the comments on your 18th birthday post say 'dada'?"
rin looks disgusted. "what the hell are you talking about?"
chat starts spamming.
CHECK THE POST.
GO LOOK.
PLEASE.
rin, unfortunately, checks. he opens his recent birthday post. and then… you can literally watch the life leave his eyes.
because the comments are exactly what chat said. no congratulations. no happy birthday. not even anything related to soccer. just thousands upon thousands of:
dada happy birthday dada good morning dada i love you dada father are you single?
rin scrolls. it gets worse. he scrolls again. it somehow gets EVEN WORSE.
the entire stream watches him process this information in real time.
"what is wrong with you people?"
more comments appear like: HE SAID SOMETHING. DADA SPOKE.
rin almost drops his phone. "stop saying that."
YES DADA.
"i'm blocking all of you."
OUR DADA WOULD NEVER.
he ends the stream early.
the clip reaches every social media platform imaginable.
for months afterward, every post he makes gets flooded with "dada."
he never truly recovers.
itoshi sae – the triplets curse
sae is streaming. rin appears because i enjoy their suffering. the brothers are already arguing.
then chat starts asking weird questions.
one comment says: "sae would be a terrible dad."
sae shrugs. "probably."
rin immediately says, "don't worry. you'll find out."
sae narrows his eyes. "what?"
rin deadpans. "i curse you with triplets."
the reaction is instant and violent. sae's entire nonchalant persona evaporates.
"TAKE THAT BACK."
chat loses it. this is the first genuine panic they've ever heard from him.
"take what back?"
"WHAT ELSE? THE TRIPLETS."
rin starts laughing. actually laughing. which is somehow rarer.
sae is horrified. "why would you say that?"
"because it's funny."
"IT'S NOT FUNNY."
"it is."
"RIN."
chat is crying.
sae spends the next ten minutes trying to negotiate with him. "you don't even know how curses work."
"doesn't matter."
"undo it."
"no."
"UNDO. IT."
people clip the entire conversation.
everyone becomes obsessed with the fact that triplets specifically was what broke him. now they know his biggest fear.
nagi seishiro – sleep talking
nagi is streaming. but this time, he's exhausted.
he's laying on his bed playing a game. half answering chat. half asleep. eventually he says: "i'm not tired."
five minutes later, he's knocked out. completely unconscious. controller still in his hand.
chat thinks it's hilarious. they start taking screenshots. making memes. the usual.
until nagi starts talking in his sleep.
and chat immediately shuts up.
because the first thing he says is: "... don't take my fries…”
a pause.
then: "... that's my pillow..."
another pause.
then: "... pretty..."
chat loses it.
WHO IS PRETTY.
NAGI WAKE UP.
WHO ARE WE TALKING ABOUT.
nagi continues eeping, completely unaware.
then comes the line that gets clipped everywhere. a small sleepy smile appears on his face. and he mumbles: "... wanna marry ‘em..."
the chat explodes so violently that it probably registered as a natural disaster.
EXCUSE ME????
WHO IS THEM????
WHO IS GETTING PROPOSED TO????
NAGI SEISHIRO ANSWER THE QUESTION.
he sleeps through the entire thing for another 20 minutes.
the stream ends automatically. but the clip gets millions of views.
nagi wakes up the next day to discover the internet believes he's secretly in love.
his response? "... that's troublesome."
which doesn’t make it any better at all.
mikage reo – “my boyfriend–”
reo and nagi are doing a chill gaming stream together. nothing unusual. reo is carrying the entire stream organization on his back as always while nagi is physically present, but spiritually loading at maybe 3%.
everything is normal until reo says: "guys, give nagi a second. my boyfrie–"
he freezes.
the chat freezes.
nagi looks up from his phone for the first time in 15 minutes.
"your what…?"
reo's soul leaves his body.
"BEST FRIEND. I SAID BEST FRIEND."
the chat instantly clocks out of reality.
MY BOYFRIEND?????
REO EXPOSED???
CLIP IT. CLIP IT. CLIP IT.
HE DID NOT STUTTER.
reo is sweating. nagi is staring at him.
"you looked pretty confident the first time."
"nagi, please."
"you've called me worse."
"WE’RE STILL LIVE."
the clip gets 30 million views.
the comments become a war zone. half the internet is convinced they secretly got married. the other half is convinced reo accidentally leaked a 10-year situationship.
nagi likes exactly one edit of the clip.
reo nearly passes away. his PR team is working overtime.
bachira meguru – he’s actually REALLY good at karaoke???
bachira starts the stream because chat convinced him to do karaoke.
everyone expects disaster. because… bachira is bachira.
people are expecting him to scream lyrics, forget words halfway through, start beatboxing for no reason, maybe get distracted by a fly. normal bachira behavior.
instead… he starts singing. “dangerous woman” by ariana grande.
and the entire chat blows up. because he's actually insane. like genuinely good. UNFAIRLY good. where did this come from???
the comments go from joking around to:
WAIT.
HOLD ON.
WHY IS HE GOOD???
DAMN I NEED A MONSTER TOO.
bachira's completely oblivious. he's just having a good time.
and the chat is just having a collective identity crisis.
then the real viral moment happens. someone donates: "bet you can't sing a heartbreak song seriously."
bachira shrugs. "bet."
big mistake. he picks “my all” by mariah carey.
suddenly, this man starts singing like he just got divorced, lost custody of the kids, got fired, and watched his dog leave him all in the same week.
chat is STUNNED.
where did these vocals come from???
why is there emotion???
do i need to text my ex– (a/n: pls don’t.)
people start clipping it.
football fans who have never voluntarily listened to music before are posting: "oh so he’d DESTROY me in soccer AND karaoke."
the clip reaches non-blue lock fans. then non-football fans. then random music communities.
eventually, the comments become:
wrong career. put him in a studio immediately!!! he should be an IDOL.
bachira spends the next week confused because everyone keeps asking him for an album.
shidou ryusei – his search history
shidou is streaming. which is already a public safety concern.
he's answering questions, being loud, being annoying, being shidou.
then someone asks him to pull up a video... and he ends up clicking the search bar by accident.
now the entire stream can see his recent searches.
the first one is: "how to take a shit at someone else's house.”
chat immediately folds.
WHAT?
shidou squints at the screen. "what's so funny?"
THAT'S YOUR FIRST SEARCH.
"okay? sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do."
the chat somehow laughs harder.
then more searches appear.
"metallica concerts near me" "deftones concerts near me" "can you survive on energy drinks alone" "how loud is too loud for headphones"
all of these are pretty normal for shidou.
then he scrolls. and that's when things go downhill. fast.
"is sae itoshi gay?”
chat explodes so hard it practically crashes.
SHIDOU????????
WHY WERE YOU GOOGLING THAT????
DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL US.
shidou stares. realizes what everyone is looking at. and instead of being embarrassed? he doubles down.
"what? i was curious."
"CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT?" chat screams.
"the answer."
the donations start flooding in.
ASKING FOR A FRIEND???
SHIDOU WE NEED CONTEXT.
WHY DID YOU NEED THIS INFORMATION.
he refuses to elaborate.
then another search gets spotted: "how to tell if someone is ignoring your texts on purpose.”
the entire stream loses consciousness. now the timeline is becoming clear.
the comments are moving so fast they're unreadable and shidou most definitely can’t keep up.
"stop reading into things,” he says. (which is exactly what someone says when people should absolutely be reading into things.)
the clip goes viral within hours. the internet spends weeks creating theories.
and somewhere out there, sae discovers the clip.
the livestream mysteriously disappears less than two hours later.
karasu tabito – spilling all the tea
karasu starts the stream with one objective: talk football. that's it. football. simple. easy.
except chat starts asking questions.
and unfortunately, karasu knows everything.
who's dating who. who hates who. who got into arguments. who got kicked out of restaurants. who almost got arrested. he knows ALL of it.
so someone asks: "who's the biggest diva in blue lock?"
karasu immediately answers. "reo." without hesitation.
reo starts texting him before the sentence is even finished.
then another question. "who causes the most problems?"
"shidou." easy.
another. "who takes the longest getting ready?"
"aryu. next."
another. "who's most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse?"
"not nagi."
chat is loving this. karasu is having the time of his life.
then he gets too comfortable. way too comfortable. cuz now he's telling stories. real stories.
"one time rin and isagi argued for 30 minutes over the different types of milk. gosh, i wanted to kill them both."
chat explodes.
"one time, sae hung up on rin six times in a row."
more screaming.
"one time, kaiser spent 15 minutes searchin’ for a mirror."
absolute chaos. his viewer count doubles. triples. quadruples. people are treating the stream like classified government documents.
eventually, his phone starts vibrating nonstop. messages. calls. threats (probably).
karasu glances down. "... oh."
chat knows. they immediately know. people are spamming: "who texted you?"
karasu smiles. "the people i just talked about."
the clip ends there because the stream mysteriously cuts off 10 seconds later.
nobody knows whether it was internet issues or whether multiple blue lock players collectively decided to hunt him for sport.
kaiser michael – ragebaiting men for sport
kaiser starts the stream feeling fantastic. confident. beautiful. untouchable.
the chat immediately senses weakness.
it starts with one comment: "do you ever wish you were athletic?"
kaiser laughs. "that's funny." he moves on.
another comment appears: "what's the first thing you'd do if you were tall?"
a pause. a small pause. the smile twitches. "i am tall."
chat smells blood. the questions start multiplying.
"when did you stop working out?"
"what's it like being an upcoming player?"
"have you ever considered soccer?"
"do you think you could beat isagi in a match?"
that last one almost kills him.
ness, sitting next to him, immediately realizes what's happening. "kaiser."
"what."
"they're baiting you."
"they're not baiting me. they're stupid."
the chat absolutely erupts because now they know it works.
"what inspired you to pursue a career outside of sports?"
"OUTSIDE OF–"
kaiser sits upright so fast he nearly launches himself out of frame. "WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN."
ness is trying not to laugh, which is difficult since kaiser is getting genuinely upset.
another comment appears: "you have really good genetics. have you ever thought about becoming an athlete?"
"NESS."
"yes?"
"BAN THEM."
"there's 40,000 people saying it–”
"BAN ALL OF THEM."
chat is crying. then the final blow arrives. the strongest ragebait ever created.
"what was it like watching isagi yoichi become the face of soccer?"
kaiser’s smile disappears. the room temperature drops. ness immediately starts sweating.
"okay." kaiser cracks his knuckles. "okay."
"kaiser."
"okay."
"kaiser, don't."
for the next five minutes, he delivers the most passionate, unprompted, statistically sourced presentation mankind has ever witnessed. pulling up rankings. goals. awards. match footage. charts. receipts. evidence.
he is fighting for his life.
meanwhile, chat is spamming:
HE FELL FOR IT. HE'S STILL GOING. NOBODY ASKED FOR A POWERPOINT. THIS IS THE BEST STREAM EVER.
the clip ends with ness quietly reading one final donation: "thank you for answering my question, aspiring athlete."
kaiser disconnects the stream instantly. the screen goes black.
every single clip posted from this livestream gets millions of views within a day.
ness alexis – only cuz you’re here 🥺
ness starts a perfectly normal stream where he's talking about football, answering questions, and acting relatively sane.
then suddenly someone in chat starts spamming: MAMA A KAISER BEHIND YOU.
ness turns around. and there he is. kaiser. literally just walking through the room. nothing special. not even looking at the camera.
ness immediately transforms into a middle school fangirl meeting her celebrity crush.
"KAISER!!” his voice goes up like three octaves.
kaiser doesn't even stop walking. "hey, ness."
ness starts smiling so hard his face looks painful. "guys, did you hear that? he said hey. HE SAID HEY. TO ME."
chat is losing consciousness.
every single time kaiser appears, the exact same thing happens.
one stream has kaiser walk into frame three separate times. all three times ness reacts like it's the second coming.
eventually the comments start rating his reactions.
kaiser appearance #1: 8/10 blush.
kaiser appearance #2: screaming.
kaiser appearance #3: heartbeat visibly increased to cardiac arrest levels.
the final viral clip is kaiser asking: "why are you smiling like that?"
helloo! I rlly like your blogs, and I was wondering if I could request smau of bluelock boys reacting to finding out that kaiser is reader's older brother ? :D (reader here is a famous figure skater)
starring — michael kaiser, isagi yoichi, hiori yo, kurona ranze, yukimiya kenyu, alexis ness
an — hi!! im glad u like my works it really means a lot!! here's ur req, sorry it took a while lol. hope u like it <33
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notes: if any of u like any of these specific drabbles and want me to build on one of them – comment which and i'd love to build on it more!!!!!!!!
#01 – powerless
saiki is powerless against two people in the world: his mom, and now you.
whenever you or kurumi ask something of saiki, he can't refuse like how he does everyone else.
he's a mama's boy at heart, and now a sucker for his best friend, too. you don't ask many things of him, but when you do, he always (begrudgingly and with much protest) obliges.
when saiki's "friends" wanted something of saiki, they always went to his mother to get him to do it.
i.e: having went to saiki's mom with an invite to some stupid beach trip or something rather than asking saiki himself. he always ended up in begrudging attendance.
however, when you two went off to college, his mother was no longer an option.
so anyone that wanted to bug saiki referred to you instead.
they want saiki to go to a party? ask you.
you force him to go (under the condition of you coming with him.) he is utterly fed up with said party a minute in. he just hovers around you the entire time.
they want saiki to hang out at the library for a group project? ask you.
you force him to go. saiki protested with the excuse that he could just do the group work remotely (but he ended up knuckling under, because he always does when it comes to you.)
you just want your best friend to socialize! you want what's best for him and he seems so lonely and sad all the time.
knowing those are your intentions is what makes saiki go along with your insistences.
he doesn't express his emotions very well, especially around you. saiki genuinely is happy when with you (but you don't know that whatsoever.)
you're oblivious to the fact that he just wants to be a recluse with you by his side.
#02 – helping hand
saiki sometimes uses his powers to help you.
pre-knowing his powers, you just thought they were random coincidences.
post-knowing his powers, you force him into doing it more often.
when doing marathons, saiki gives you a boost of energy when you seem to being struggling.
when cold, saiki gives you a wave of warmth. (once, he had held your hand and used pyrokenesis to transfer heat. you both were red, and not just over the fact you two were warmed up.)
when hot, saiki gives you a random gust of cold air.
. . .
after he told you about his powers, you now force him to do it constantly.
he's fed up and regrets ever telling you. however, he always goes along with your requests (even if it's just your being lazy.)
i.e., forcing him to get a book from a shelf you can totally reach.
you and his father get very different treatment. saiki just flat-out refuses every time his father asks for something (despite his father's requests often being much more reasonable than yours.)
kuniharu doesn't appreciate such unfairness!
#03 – practice makes perfect!
after you two got really close in grade school, saiki commonly went and practiced weening away his powers more than necessary.
especially after you got into physical touch, saiki spends hours on the weekends training to be able to control his powers better.
saiki wants to ensure your safety, and thus practices even more than needed to do so.
however, it does pay off in other ways. like when taking physical tests, he can mask his strength much better.
that's the excuse saiki uses when his parents question his extensive training.
they don't believe him.
#04 – lightning round!
saiki, on occasion, openly smiles when alone with you. you're the only person who is granted this honor, and it happens very rarely.
saiki really fell in love with you after his high school friends randomly showed up to your two's college dorm and you dragged them all away by giving them a tour and saying saiki had homework. he was left alone in peace as you willingly dealt with the morons on his behalf.
the day after you did that, saiki treated you to a beach trip to okinawa via teleportation as thanks.
saiki hides your things on the moon sometimes just so you go up to him and ask him for help finding it (like a freak)
saiki and you sometimes play his crappy video games together and he cracks a smile when you start screaming in frustration over the glitching and shitty quality.
saiki has, a couple of times, endured his brother's antics for a few hours so that you don't have to see kuuske.
"nico why'd you post this awful writing" sorry i'm sooo sleepy but i can't go to sleep cuz it's gonna ruin my sleep schedule so i needed something to do to pass time so i just typed this up i'm SOOOOOROOORYYYYYY i just can't think of any long form thing so i just typed up these tiny drabbles
( not fully proofread out of fatigue – lmk of major spelling errors or confusing sentences so i can fix them if they're bugging u ! )
saiki k taglist (comment to be added!): @skeletaldino @puppysandrainbows
can i request tokyo revengers mikey or mitsuya (whoever you prefer!) being protective of reader… literally any scenario like that is always so good
MINE TO PROTECT : s. manjiro
— when someone crosses a line with you, mikey reminds them why no one in toman dares to.
the parking lot behind musashi shrine was dimly lit by flickering streetlights. mikey had ordered a toman meeting late as always, and practically whined for you to go with him since he always likes to be close to you.
however, you eventually got bored and only stepped away from the toman meeting for a minute—just to get some air—when one of the newer members, some cocky third-year who didn’t know better, cornered you.
he smirked, leaning in way too close. “what’s a cute thing like you doing hanging around mikey all the time? you his pet or something?”
“no. because he’s my boyfriend, dumbass.”
as soon as those words left your lips, you slapped him across the face harsher than you meant. or no, you fully meant to do that.
but it’s obvious he did not like that very much.
“what the hell—?” clutching his cheek, the male looked back to face you again, a sadistic gleam lighting up his eyes. “oh, you’re going to regret ever doin’ th—”
just as he was about to grab your arm, a chilling voice cut through the night.
“say that again.”
manjiro stepped out of the shadows like he belonged to them. his usual lazy, sleepy expression was gone. in its place was something ice-cold, almost dead—the mikey that even provoked fear in the strongest delinquents.
the guy’s entire demeanor changed instantly, displaying an apologetic look as he laughed nervously. “c’mon, mikey, i was just joking—”
mikey didn’t raise his voice. he didn’t need to. in a second, he grabbed the bastard by the collar and slammed him against the concrete with terrifying strength. his dark eyes were empty, devoid of any warmth.
“you touched what’s mine,” mikey said lowly. “you disrespected them. in front of me.” his grip tightened, dragging the guy’s weight around.
“i don’t care if you’re new. i don’t care if you’re strong. no one touches them. no one looks at them the wrong way, not even think about it.” mikey’s voice dropped even lower.
“or i’ll make sure you never think again.”
you stepped forward, gently placing a hand on your boyfriend’s arm. “mikey…it’s okay. he got what he deserves already.”
“don’t be killing the guy now, mikey.” draken walked up behind him with a sigh, but didn’t pull the shorter male away. a few others were gathered nearby too. all of them knew that tone. and knew what happened when mikey got protective.
he didn’t let go of the guy immediately. but after a long, suffocating silence, he finally released his grip, leaving the other one crumpled to the ground, gasping.
the blonde turned to you, and just like that—the intimidating aura vanished. his expression softened completely as he reached out to cup your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks with a tenderness that left the others shocked at how different their leader looked right now.
“no one touches you,” he murmured into your hair, quiet enough that only you could hear. “not while i’m here. you’re mine to protect.”
“you alright?” he asked softly. “did he hurt you?” “no,” you shook your head. “more like i hurt him instead.” mikey studied your face for another second, then tugged you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you protectively.
he pressed a light kiss to the top of your head, then glanced back at the trembling guy with dead eyes.
“consider this your only warning.”
mikey took your hand and walked away without another word, the leader of tokyo manji’s gang making it very clear to everyone watching; you were untouchable.
꒰ঌ ໒꒱ Synopsis: Reader as Saiki's family friend who has had a very (not) secret crush on him since childhood!
You, who, as you grew up, became more shy about visiting the Saiki residence and gradually started spending less time with his family.
You, who, when asked to call him for dinner, hesitate to call his name out loud.
You, who finally gather enough courage to make a plan to woo him, but lose confidence when consulting a well-known psychic.
"My crystal ball's a little blurry since you won't tell me who your crush is, but from what I'm seeing here.." she pauses, rotating the ball in whichever direction and murmuring to herself.
You felt your shoulder grow heavier and heavier as she spent more time muttering.
Finally—after what seemed like a century—she pushes away the crystal ball with a shrug and a sigh, "He's a simple guy, doesn't like being bothered at all. It'd be very hard to win him over."
You already knew that, you just wished someone would tell you otherwise..
You, who mulls over whether she should try or to just leave him alone.
You, whose visits were already few and far between, stopped completely when you decided to keep a distance between the two of you to keep yourself from doing something stupid—like confessing.
You, who, one day, were surprised when asked by Saiki to walk back home together.
"How come you've stopped coming home? Mom misses you, she keeps asking about you to your parents," he speaks up, breaking the awkward silence—though you're pretty sure the silence was only awkward to you, this guy thrives in silence.
Forced to answer, you fake an air of apologetic nonchalance as you shrug. "Coincidence. I was sick the last time we were all supposed to have dinner at your house."
If your life were a game show, there'd be a big, glowing, red cross right above your head right now.
He takes a few seconds before answering, as if weighing the truth to your word—you were always a nervous liar—"And the other times?"
"Busy," you supply fast. Too fast, in fact.
Busted.
"Make sure not to be busy tomorrow, we're going to your house." Growing up with Saiki made you very well-acquainted with the little changes in his tone. To others, what he said might've just come across as a nice little reminder; to you, it sounded like a sulking huff.
If you didn't know any better, you'd think he misses you, too.
You, who, the next day for dinner, go downstairs with the biggest smile on your face to greet Saiki and his family.
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When Hikaru notices someone showing romantic interest in you, the air around him doesn't just get tense—it turns heavy, cold, and utterly stagnant. At first, he’ll stand perfectly still, his body becoming a rigid, hyper-realistic statue as he analyzes the "threat" with eyes that have suddenly lost their human spark, turning into flat, dark voids that track the rival’s every heartbeat. He doesn't feel a sting of pride or a flash of anger like a normal boy; instead, he feels a terrifying, existential glitch, a sense that his very tether to this world is being frayed. He will glide into your personal space with a movement that’s a little too smooth to be natural, placing a hand on your shoulder with a grip that is unyieldingly heavy, effectively anchoring you to him. To the person flirting with you, he doesn't offer a glare or a challenge, but rather a wide, fixed grin that shows just a few too many teeth, tilting his head at an angle that feels physically impossible. He might lean toward them and breathe out a "hello" that sounds like wind through a hollow cave, his presence radiating a primal, predatory wrongness that makes the other person’s survival instincts scream. If they don't leave immediately, his shadow might seem to stretch and twitch independently of his body, creeping toward the rival’s feet like a dark ink stain. Once he successfully scares them off, the terrifying aura vanishes instantly, replaced by a desperate, suffocating need for reassurance. He’ll become intensely clingy, touching your hair or holding your hand with a trembling strength, his voice dropping to a vulnerable, distorted whisper as he asks if he’s still "filling the space" correctly. He isn't worried about your heart—he’s worried about his own existence, terrified that if you look at someone else for too long, he will simply cease to be "Hikaru" and dissolve back into the hungry, nameless thing from the mountains.
The air in the hallway usually smells like floor wax and old books, but the moment the boy from your math class corners you, the atmosphere shifts. It’s subtle at first—the flickering of a fluorescent light overhead, a sudden, heavy stillness in the corridor.
"So, I was thinking," the boy says, leaning against the lockers, trying to look casual. "Maybe we could grab a drink after school? There’s that new place near the station—"
He stops. His smile falters, then drains away completely. He isn't looking at you anymore; he’s looking at something directly behind your shoulder.
A heavy, solid weight settles onto your back. Cold, pale arms wind around your neck, and a chin rests firmly on your shoulder. Hikaru. He doesn't say a word. He just stares. Eyes are wide, glassy, and fixed on the boy with a terrifying, unblinking intensity. He looks like a doll that has been possessed by something far too large for its porcelain shell.
"Hikaru! Hey," you start, trying to lighten the mood. "We were just—"
"I know," Hikaru interrupts. His voice is flat, lacking its usual performative "cheerful" lilt. It sounds like a recording being played back at the wrong speed. "I heard. He wants to take you somewhere."
Hikaru’s grip tightens. His fingers dig into your jacket, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear you aren't going anywhere. He tilts his head—crack—a sickeningly wet sound echoes from his neck.
"Why?" Hikaru asks the boy. "She is already mine to walk home. I am her friend. You are... an extra."
The boy pales. "Uh, sorry, I didn't mean—I just thought—"
Hikaru leans forward, his face inching past yours toward the boy. His shadow on the floor begins to bleed outward, stretching long and jagged, looking less like a teenage boy and more like a mass of tangled, dark limbs.
"If you take her to the station," Hikaru whispers, his breath strangely cold against your ear, "Will you bring her back? Or will I have to come find you? I don't think you would like it if I came to find you."
The boy doesn't wait for a punchline. He mumbles an apology, grabs his bag, and practically sprints down the hall.
As soon as the boy is gone, the heavy, suffocating pressure vanishes. The hallway feels normal again. Hikaru unwinds his arms from your neck, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he spins you around to face him, his hands gripping your waist. He looks... small. His eyes are darting over your face, checking your expression with a frantic, desperate hunger.
"Did I do it right?" he asks. His voice is back to its "human" pitch, but it’s trembling. "Was I scary enough? Or was he better?"
He starts tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers cold and slightly trembling.
"He looked at you like you were something to eat," Hikaru mutters, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "But only I'm allowed to look at you like that. Because if you go with him, I... I'll start to come apart. I won't have a 'shape' anymore."
He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. For a second, you can feel the faint, rhythmic thrumming of something deep inside him—a heartbeat that’s just a little too slow to be real.
"Don't look at extras," he pleads, his voice a soft, distorted rasp. "Just look at me. I'll be whoever you want. I'll be the best 'Hikaru' there is for you."
HIKARU INDOU
The "real" Hikaru is a stark contrast to his supernatural counterpart, characterized by a sharp, high-strung intensity and a deeply buried but fierce protective streak. When he sees someone flirting with you, his jealousy isn't a quiet, creeping chill; it is a sudden, volatile flare of heat that radiates from his very posture. He doesn’t stand still or tilt his head unnaturally; instead, his shoulders square, his jaw sets into a hard, stubborn line, and his eyes—normally so expressive and bright—narrow into a sharp, piercing glare that seems to physically shove the other person back. He’ll cut through the conversation with a blunt, sarcastic remark, his voice dripping with a dry, defensive wit that makes it clear exactly how little patience he has for a rival. There is no "uncanny valley" here, just pure, hot-blooded teenage irritation fueled by a desperate fear of being replaced or seen as "not enough." He’ll move in close, not to "merge shadows," but to assert his place at your side, perhaps shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning his shoulder against yours in a way that says *this is my person* without him having to utter a single embarrassing word. He won't threaten the rival with cryptic metaphors about being eaten; he’ll simply make the atmosphere so incredibly awkward and sharp with his blatant disapproval that the other person feels like they’re intruding on a private, untouchable bond. Once they finally leave, Hikaru won't be clingy or fragile; he’ll be grumpy and restless, huffing a breath of air and looking everywhere but at you, his ears burning a bright, betraying red. He’ll mutter something dismissive about how "that guy was a total idiot," all while his heart hammers against his ribs, terrified that you might have actually liked the attention, before he finally settles down enough to awkwardly grab your sleeve and pull you toward your next destination just a little faster than necessary.
"Who was that?" Hikaru asks, his voice already sharp and vibrating with an annoyance he’s doing a terrible job of hiding as soon as the guy walks away.
He’s standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his posture so stiff he looks like he’s ready to bolt or start a fight, and his eyes are narrowed into suspicious slits as he watches the back of the retreating stranger.
When you tell him it was just someone asking for your number, he lets out a harsh, disbelieving "Ha!" that’s way too loud, his face instantly flushing a deep, frantic red that climbs all the way to the tips of his ears.
"And? Did you give it to him? Because he looked like a total moron, honestly, wearing those shoes with those pants," he blusters, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he kicks at a stray pebble with unnecessary violence.
He tries to maintain a cool, detached expression, but his jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle ticking, and he keeps stealing quick, panicked glances at your face to see if you’re smiling about the interaction.
"I’m just saying, you have terrible taste if you thought that was charming," he mutters, huffing a breath that blows his bangs out of his eyes, his bravado crumbling into a restless, twitchy energy.
He won't look you in the eye, instead focused intently on a crack in the sidewalk as he grumbles about how "people are so annoying lately," but he doesn't move an inch away from you; in fact, he subtly shifts his weight until his shoulder is pressed firmly against yours.
When you finally laugh and tell him you didn't give the guy anything, the tension leaves him so fast he almost sags, though he immediately tries to cover it up by scoffing and rolling his eyes.
"Whatever, I didn't care anyway," he lies poorly, his voice cracking just a tiny bit before he reaches out and catches the edge of your sleeve, tugging you forward with a sudden, clumsy urgency. "Come on, we're gonna be late. And stop looking back there, it's embarrassing."
YOSHIKI TSUJINAKA
When Yoshiki gets jealous, it isn’t a supernatural chill or a sharp, aggressive flare; it’s a heavy, suffocating blanket of quiet intensity that wraps around the entire room. The moment he sees someone showing you romantic interest, his natural stoicism hardens into something much more formidable and unreadable. He won't make a scene or shout, but his presence becomes an immovable wall between you and the other person, his tall frame casting a shadow that feels intentional and protective. His gaze, usually tired or contemplative, becomes fixated on the "intruder" with a steady, unblinking focus that makes the other person feel like they are being dissected under a microscope. He doesn’t use uncanny smiles or supernatural threats; instead, he uses a crushing, awkward silence that lingers just a second too long after the other person speaks, making every word they say feel foolish and out of place. Yoshiki will subtly but firmly reclaim your attention by stepping into your line of sight or perhaps reaching out to adjust your scarf or coat with a lingering, possessive familiarity that screams "you belong here with me." He doesn't need to say a word to make the rival feel like a trespasser on private property. Internally, his jealousy is a turbulent mix of deep-seated insecurity and a fiercely loyal protectiveness; he’s terrified that someone more "normal" or less "haunted" than him could offer you a better life, and that fear manifests as a desperate need to keep you within arm's reach. Once the person finally retreats, exhausted by the sheer weight of Yoshiki’s silent disapproval, he won't brag or act tough. Instead, he’ll let out a long, shaky exhale, his hand perhaps lingering on your wrist or the small of your back a moment longer than necessary as he looks at you with a gaze that is suddenly soft, searching, and deeply vulnerable, silently pleading with you to stay by his side without him ever having to admit how much the thought of losing you actually hurts him.
Yoshiki doesn’t realize he’s glaring until the air between you and the other student practically crystallizes. As he watches you laugh at some guy’s mediocre joke, his fingers tighten around the strap of his bag until his knuckles go white, his usual exhaustion replaced by a heavy, grounding thrum of possessiveness. He doesn't storm over; he drifts, a silent and looming shadow that effectively blocks the sun.
Stepping into the conversation without an invitation, Yoshiki doesn't look at the guy at all; he keeps his eyes locked on you, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly resonance that cuts right through the other person's chatter.
"We’re going to be late," he says, the lie hanging in the air because there’s nowhere you actually need to be. The other student stammers, trying to regain his footing, and asks if you’re busy later, but Yoshiki answers for you, his gaze finally shifting to the rival with a cold, unblinking intensity that makes the guy’s smile falter.
"She's with me," he states simply, the words carrying a weight that feels far heavier than a casual friendship. The silence that follows is agonizing—Yoshiki just stands there, an immovable wall of quiet disapproval, until the guy mumbles an excuse and scurries off.
Once he’s gone, the tension in Yoshiki’s shoulders doesn't break; it just shifts. He stares at the spot where the guy was standing for a long beat before turning to you, his expression softening into something pained and frustratingly vulnerable.
"Was he that funny?" he asks, his voice sounding smaller, stripped of its protective edge.
When you try to tease him about being jealous, he huffs and looks away, his hand reaching out to firmly catch your wrist, his thumb tracing the skin there as if checking your pulse.
"I don't care if he's funny," he mutters, pulling you toward the exit with a sudden, restless energy. "Just... don't look at people like that. It makes me feel like I'm losing my grip on things."
MAKI YUUTA
When Maki gets jealous, it’s like a live wire sparking—sharp, frantic, and impossible to ignore. The moment he catches someone else showing you romantic interest, his entire "cool delinquent" persona hits a snag, replaced by a restless, high-voltage energy that makes him physically unable to stay still. He won’t stand back and brood; instead, he’ll invade the conversation with a loud, boisterous laugh or a sudden, sharp-edged comment, his voice dropping into a defensive growl that he tries (and fails) to pass off as casual. He’ll post up right next to you, perhaps slinging an arm over your shoulders or leaning his weight against you with a deliberate, heavy possessiveness that screams to the outsider that the spot beside you is already taken. His eyes, usually bright and full of life, narrow into a fierce, territorial glare directed solely at the rival, his jaw tightening every time they dare to make you smile. Internally, Maki is a storm of frantic insecurity; he’s terrified that someone smoother, smarter, or "more normal" will catch your eye and realize how much of a mess he actually is, so he overcompensates by being twice as loud and twice as present. He’ll steer the conversation toward inside jokes or shared memories that the other person couldn’t possibly understand, effectively building a wall of "us" that shuts the stranger out completely. If the person doesn’t take the hint, Maki’s temper starts to fray at the edges, his hands clenching into fists inside his pockets as he makes the atmosphere so prickly and uncomfortable that the rival eventually retreats just to escape the sheer pressure of his gaze. Once they’re finally gone, the bravado collapses instantly; his face will erupt into a deep, betraying crimson, and he’ll pull his hood up or ruffle his hair in a fit of bashful frustration, muttering under his breath about how "that guy was a total loser" while refusing to meet your eyes, all the while staying glued to your side for the rest of the day as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear the moment he lets go.
"So, uh... what was that guy’s deal? Seriously? He looked like he’d never even seen a girl before or something," Maki mutters, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement with way more force than necessary.
He’s walking so close to you that your shoulders keep bumping, his hands shoved so deep into his pockets you’d think he was trying to rip the fabric. When you let out a little laugh and tell him he sounded like a total jealous delinquent back there, he freezes mid-stride, his entire face turning a shade of red that rivals a stoplight.
"Jealous?! Me? Psh, give me a break! I was just—the guy was being a creep, alright? Someone had to step in before he bored you to death!" He scoffs, whipping his head away and pulling his hood up to hide the fact that even his ears are burning.
You give him a playful nudge, teasingly asking if he was worried you’d actually give the guy your number, and Maki’s bravado finally snaps. He stops, spinning around to face you with a look that’s half-indignant and half-pained, his eyes wide and frantic behind his bangs.
"No! I mean—maybe! Look, you’re way too nice, okay? You just smile at everyone and they think they have a shot, but they don't know you like I do!" He huffs, his voice cracking just a tiny bit before he lowers it to a mumble, his gaze dropping to his shoes. "Anyway, I’m the one who’s supposed to be hanging out with you today. Not some random loser who doesn't even know your favorite snacks."
He bites his lip, finally stealing a quick, shy glance at you, his hand twitching like he wants to grab yours but isn't sure he’s allowed to after acting like such a brat.
ASAKO YAMAGISHI
When Asako feels a flicker of jealousy, it doesn’t manifest as a loud explosion or a supernatural chill, but as a sharp, clinical shift in the atmosphere that feels like a sudden drop in barometric pressure. The moment she notices someone showing romantic interest in you, her usually calm and observant demeanor undergoes a subtle, terrifying sharpening; she doesn't make a scene, but her gaze becomes intensely focused, tracking the rival’s every micro-expression with the detached precision of a scientist studying a specimen. She will smoothly glide into the conversation, not with aggression, but with a polite, razor-sharp intelligence that subtly deconstructs everything the other person says, making their flirting feel shallow or logically flawed without her ever raising her voice. Asako will reclaim your space by stepping close enough that your shoulders brush, her presence becoming an immovable, grounded weight at your side that silently signals a deep, established intimacy. Her jealousy is rooted in her fiercely protective nature and her fear of losing the one person who truly understands her world; to her, a romantic rival isn't just a nuisance, but a chaotic variable trying to disrupt the stability she’s found with you. She’ll use her wit to create a private "bubble" between the two of you, dropping references to shared secrets or complex topics that leave the outsider feeling intellectually and emotionally excluded. If the person doesn’t take the hint, her polite mask might slip just enough to reveal a cold, intimidating stare that suggests she knows exactly how to make them leave without saying a single "mean" word. Once the rival finally retreats, sensing they’re outmatched, Asako won't act flustered or embarrassed; instead, she’ll let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief and link her arm with yours or adjust your collar with lingering, meticulous care, her eyes softening as they return to you, silently ensuring that the "threat" hasn't shifted your focus away from the bond you share.
Asako stands by your side, her posture as straight and composed as a surgical blade, while she watches the person who just tried to flirt with you retreat with a confused, slightly stung expression. She doesn't scoff or roll her eyes; instead, she waits until they are exactly six feet away before she turns her head to look at you, her gaze clinical yet burning with a quiet, suppressed intensity.
"That individual’s social calibration was remarkably off-center," she begins, her voice smooth and devoid of its usual warmth as she reaches out to meticulously straighten the lapel of your jacket, her fingers lingering on the fabric just a second too long to be purely functional.
When you mention that they seemed nice enough, Asako’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, and she steps into your personal space, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet her stare.
"Nice is a subjective descriptor used to mask a lack of depth; logically speaking, their approach was statistically likely to be superficial, and their body language suggested a fifty-two percent probability of being purely performative," she states, her tone sharpening as if she’s defending a thesis rather than admitting to a flare of jealousy. She doesn't let go of your sleeve, her grip firm and grounding, as if she’s physically tethering you to the reality the two of you share.
"Furthermore," she adds, her voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register that vibrates in the small space between you, "their presence was creating a significant amount of 'noise' in our shared environment, and I find that my patience for such interruptions has reached its physiological limit today."
She finally lets out a sharp, exhaled breath, her composure cracking just enough to reveal a faint, stubborn flush across her cheekbones. "I don't particularly care for the way they looked at you, as if you were something easily understood or easily approached; you aren't a variable they are equipped to calculate, and I’d prefer it if they didn't try again."
YUUKI TADOKORO
When Yuuki Tadokoro feels a spike of jealousy, it doesn’t manifest as a dark shadow or a cool intellectual shut-down; instead, it is a restless, jittery, and intensely focused energy that makes her skin crawl.The moment she sees someone showing you romantic interest, her usually quiet and somewhat withdrawn demeanor vanishes, replaced by a sharp, hawk-like alertness as she stands a little taller, her eyes narrowing, unblinking intensity. She won’t make a scene or start a fight, but she will physically insert herself into the conversation with a sudden, nervous boldness, stepping between you and the rival as if she’s a human shield protecting something precious. Her voice, usually steady or soft, might take on a clipped, defensive edge as she starts rattling off facts, asking the person overly specific or slightly condescending questions to make them feel out of place and "unworthy" of your time. Internally, Yuuki is a chaotic mess of insecurity and fierce devotion; she’s someone who has seen the "wrong" things in the dark, so the idea of losing her light—you—to some random, superficial stranger feels like a literal threat to her safety.She’ll reclaim your attention by reaching out to adjust your sleeve or pointing out something only the two of you would know, creating an invisible barrier of shared history that the outsider can’t possibly penetrate. If the person doesn't take the hint, the atmosphere around Yuuki becomes incredibly prickly and uncomfortable, her gaze becoming so heavy and judgmental that the rival usually feels an instinctive urge to apologize and run. Once they finally retreat, Yuuki’s bravado melts away instantly, leaving her breathless and flustered; she’ll avoid your direct gaze, her face turning a hot, blotchy red as she fidgets with her bag, eventually muttering a shaky, honest admission that she "just didn't like the way they looked at you," before staying stubbornly, quietly glued to your side for the rest of the day.
After the guy who was asking for your number finally scrambles away—muttering something about Yuuki’s "intense stare"—the silence that follows is thick with residual tension.
Yuuki is still standing there like a lightning rod, her* shoulders hunched up to her ears and her knuckles white from gripping the straps of her backpack. She’s staring at the pavement as if she’s trying to set it on fire with her mind, her chest heaving with shallow, agitated breaths.
When you reach out to touch her arm, she flinches slightly, not out of fear, but because she’s still buzzing with that protective, frantic energy.
You have to step directly into her line of sight, gently catching her wrist to get her to stop fidgeting with her bag.
"Yuuki," you say softly, and finally, her head snaps up; her face is a chaotic map of blotchy red, and her eyes are wide, shimmering with a mix of leftover adrenaline and a sudden, crashing wave of embarrassment.
She tries to pull away, huffing out a shaky, frustrated breath, and mutters:
"I wasn't—I didn't mean to be... that guy was just talking nonsense, okay? You don't have to look at me like that." She’s clearly spiraling, her mind likely replaying the last two minutes and tallying up how "weird" she just acted, so you don't let go of her hand. Instead, you thumb over her knuckles until her grip finally loosens, and you tell her firmly that you’re glad she was there.
The effect is instantaneous: the rigid tension in her spine snaps, and she lets out a long, shuddering exhale that sounds like a deflating balloon. She sags toward you, her forehead almost resting on your shoulder as the "cool protector" facade completely dissolves into the girl who is just terrified of being forgotten.
She stays like that for a long moment, hiding her burning face from the world, before she finally whispers, "I just... I really hated how he looked at you. Like you were something he could just... have. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, but I'm not going anywhere."
She finally looks up, her gaze soft and searching, waiting for you to confirm that she’s still the only one you want standing there.
TANAKA
When Tanaka feels a pang of jealousy, it doesn’t manifest as a supernatural chill or a calculated intellectual shutdown, but as a loud, clumsy, and intensely human burst of frantic energy. The moment he spots someone showing romantic interest in you, his usually easygoing and goofy demeanor vanishes, replaced by a sudden, boisterous need to be the center of your universe. He won’t stand on the sidelines or brood; instead, he’ll practically stumble into the conversation with a laugh that’s just a bit too loud and a "Hey! What’s going on here?!" that cuts through the atmosphere like a blunt instrument. He’ll physically wedge himself into the space between you and the rival, perhaps slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders or leaning in with an exaggerated, "friendly" grin that’s clearly meant to mark his territory. His eyes, usually bright with simple mischief, will dart between you and the other person with a frantic, scanning (as far as the points given by the company allow) intensity, his jaw tightening every time the rival tries to finish a sentence. Internally, Tanaka is a swirling mess of adolescent insecurity; he’s terrified that someone more polished or "cool" than him will swoop in and make him look like a total kid, so he overcompensates by being twice as annoying and three times as present. He’ll start bringing up embarrassing stories or inside jokes from school that the outsider couldn't possibly know, effectively building a noisy, chaotic wall of shared history to drown out the stranger’s flirting. If the person doesn’t take the hint, Tanaka will get even more restless, fidgeting with his hair or talking over them until the atmosphere becomes so awkward and high-energy that the rival eventually retreats just to get some peace. Once they’re finally gone, the "tough guy" facade crumbles instantly; his face will flush a deep, painful shade of red, and he’ll start rambling about something completely unrelated—like a sale at the convenience store or a bug he saw—while refusing to look you in the eye, though he won't let go of your sleeve for the rest of the afternoon, his heart still hammering with the sheer, sweaty relief that he didn't actually lose his place by your side.
The walk home is heavy with a silence that feels completely wrong for someone as noisy as Tanaka. He’s kicking a stray pebble along the pavement, his hands shoved so deep into his pockets that his shoulders are hunched up to his ears, making him look smaller than usual.
Finally, he lets out a long, pathetic-sounding groan, his face still stained a dusty pink from the earlier adrenaline.
"Look, I... I know I was being a total loudmouth back there," he starts, his voice cracking just a tiny bit as he finally risks a side-glance at you. "I probably made things super weird, right? Like, I just kept talking over that person and acting like a complete idiot."
He stops walking for a second, scratching the back of his neck so hard it leaves red marks, his eyes fixed firmly on his own shoes.
"I just... I don't know. My brain kind of short-circuited when I saw them hovering around you like that. I guess I got worried that someone actually 'cool' would come along and you'd realize how much of a dork I am compared to them." He laughs, but it’s a small, shaky sound that lacks any real humor. "I'm sorry for being so much. I'll try to dial it back next time, I swear. Just... don't go trading me in for some smooth-talker yet, okay?"
He looks at you then, his expression a messy mix of hope and sheer embarrassment, waiting to see if you’re actually mad or if he’s still allowed to be the one walking you the rest of the way home.
❝ satoru gojo broke your heart three years ago by ending your relationship. and then he broke it again and again and again by not being able to let you go – maybe this time you're the one that has had enough❞
wc 3.9k
content angst, satoru pov, hurt no comfort, sad ending, anxiety, sukuna is here, break up talk, fear of death, suguru being a good friend, post-break up, arguments, reader moves on but satoru can’t, for everyone that wanted to see satoru suffer i hope you’re happy, i cried writing this, honestly this is bleak again
a/n this is part 2 to if i didn't love you but can also be read as a oneshot
Was it raining?
Water streaked down Satoru's face, drip dripping down his chin all the way down to the collar of his nice white shirt – making all that effort to have it perfectly pressed futile now that it was soaked with this unrelenting waterfall.
His father's words were already ringing in his ears. A Gojo is always supposed to present as strong, powerful, in control.
Satoru didn't quite feel like any of that right now, though.
When the hell did it start raining?
It was constant, overwhelming, like the sky had suddenly opened up and decided to soak him specifically.
But there were no clouds above, he noticed. Nothing but clear blue skies to completely contrast the storm he felt inside.
So he brought a hand to his face, touching the fresh water that seemed to be coming from his eyes instead.
Huh, he muttered in surprise.
Satoru didn't remember when he started crying.
But now that he had started, he couldn't stop.
So stupid that this would be the thing that did it, he cursed at himself, staring at his phone screen at the undelivered text he had sent you earlier today.
Had you blocked him?
You had never blocked him before.
His foot tapped anxiously against the floor just outside his fancy apartment building – he was just coming back from another business meeting. Same as usual. Sweet talk some CEO, pretend it didn't make him want to die inside, be called incompetent by his dad, repeat.
He fucking hated it.
Truth was, Satoru didn't give a shit about his family business. Could not have cared less about the Gojo clan. But every attempt at evading his fated future had been useless. And he tried his best, his really did.
He had fled from all responsibility as soon as he could, for as long as he could.
Until he couldn't anymore.
Satoru never wanted to leave you. He still held on to that year the two of you spent together like the best year of his life. Probably the only good one he'd ever have.
But it all started that day when his father looked him in the eye with his matching blue ones, and asked if you were the reason Satoru was forsaking his own family – that's when he knew all attempts at escaping were in vain.
Threats didn't need to be direct to carry weight.
He knew well enough what his family was capable of.
And even if it had all been in his head, or even if that conversation had never happened in the first place… would you really have been fine with marrying someone whose family you would never be accepted into? Could never even meet?
Satoru knew he wanted to marry you from the moment his first saw you.
But would you really have been fine with that?
With your children being called bastards?
At best, he'd be completely cut off – not an ideal situation, and if Satoru was honest, he didn't know what he'd do without the money. Still… worst case scenario: his father's threats weren't so veiled anymore.
He didn't want to think about that.
So he chose to leave.
Saying goodbye to you that day was a type of hurt he could have never predicted. Try as he may, he was never able to erase the way you looked at him then. Shocked. In pain. Betrayed.
It was still there in his dreams, when he woke up in the middle of the night searching for you. Missing your weight in his arms, your heat on the side of the bed he didn't sleep on anymore.
He hated those nights.
But any glimpse of you – albeit painful and brief and unconscious – was better than to not see your face at all.
He wanted to see your face so bad.
So Satoru's trembling fingers clicked on your contact picture, hiccuping harder when he realised it was just a grey square now. Not the smile he desperately needed right now.
He thankfully knew he still had pictures of the two of you saved on his computer upstairs, all those little memories he was never able to let go of, but Suguru had convinced him to erase them from his phone a long time ago.
Said it was no use torturing himself like this.
But Satoru just couldn't give it up.
He never wanted to break it off, so he clung on to you like a ghost.
He knew it wasn't healthy.
He knew it wasn't fair.
But he couldn't not.
Not when every drab grey day was spent the same way, doing the same thing, getting yelled at by the same people. Pushing through because it's what he had to do; because, if he was truly honest with himself, he couldn't let go of the privileges that came with his rich family anymore than he couldn't let go of you.
Satoru really hoped you could see it that way. How hard it was for him to make a decision that, in the long run, would be good for you.
After all, how was this a life he could ever want for you?
So he allowed himself to want less. He'd play along with his families games, push you away as far as he could and live up to everyone's goddamn expectations.
But there was a black hole the size of you right in his chest.
Satoru remembered what it was like to have the life he wanted, even if it didn't last.
And year after year he kept you locked in this unstable dance. Messaging you he'd be back in town, fucking you all night and pretending the morning after didn't hurt more than the one before had.
This wasn't a life he wanted for you either.
But why did you say yes every time?
Surely he wasn't the only one at fault here.
He wasn't the only one unwilling to let go.
After all, you could have blocked him.
Well…
You did.
His jaw locked tight as he gritted his teeth, trying to breathe calmly to stop himself from hopping on a plane to you right this second.
So his fingers dialed the only other person he ever wanted to speak to.
"Satoru" his friend answered.
"Do you know where she is?" Satoru said too fast, cutting through all the small talk and going straight to the point.
Suguru sighed on the other end. "I don't"
That gave him pause.
"Well is she alright?" Satoru asked then, anger replaced by worry. What if something had happened? What if you didn't block him at all – but had your number terminated instead?
Satoru leaned against the wall, holding his head with one hand while the other pressed the phone to his ear tight. He hated how his brain was going straight to the worst case scenario.
It used to be a big fear of his – that something would happen while he wasn't there. That fate would deal its most cruel blow, and take you away from him for good. That he wouldn't be there to hold you one last time.
Satoru shook away the images that would sometimes show up in his nightmares, willing himself to stay in the present.
"What makes you think she isn't?" his friend asked, voice kind and patient.
The voice of someone who had supported him through a crisis about you too many times already.
"She–I don't–" Satoru kept cutting himself off, annoyed at how unstable he sounded, and the fact his friend remained on the line only added to the shame. "Her number is weird, I don't know" he huffed out finally.
This time, Suguru was the one that paused.
"Weird how?" he asked.
"Weird, Suguru" Gojo spat, gesturing so wildly people started to notice. All the rich, stable, composed neighbours he never cared to get to know. "Can you check if it's the same for you?"
It took a couple seconds before his friends voice came back again. "It looks fine to me" he said.
Gojo put one hand deep in his pocket, his foot tapping the floor with more and more force by the minute. "Try sending her a text" he told him.
"I'm not sure that's–"
"Suguru" he hissed. "Just send her a fucking text"
The fact his friend was taking so long to respond was just frustrating him even more. He gave him a few seconds to think of whatever excuse and finally send you something, but the anxiety was hard to contain.
"And?" Satoru hissed.
"What exactly are you expecting?" Suguru sighed.
"Did she receive it?"
And then Suguru let out a long exhale, like he finally realised what was making his best friend spiral like this. "Yes" he muttered, almost guilty.
"Fuck" Satoru rasped, dragging a palm over his face. "Does my number look ok to you? Maybe there's a problem with m–"
"Satoru" his friend called softly. "Did she block you?"
Satoru closed his eyes, hanging his head low. All his fears coming true.
"She did" he admitted, voice far too small for the confident man he was.
And the silence stretched, no one quite knowing what to say.
"I'm sorry" his friend murmured.
"Don't be" Satoru tried to wave it off. "Is she seeing someone?"
"I don't know" he answered honestly. "You know I haven't seen her since you left"
Satoru nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
"Maybe it's better this way" his friend said.
And Satoru pressed the big red button immediately, ending the call without a proper goodbye.
No it fucking wasn't.
Satoru Gojo wanted to scream.
It had been years, he knew, but he never really thought you'd block him.
You couldn't disappear like this. Satoru had no one else but you.
Even with his family desperate for him to get married and further the Gojo clan – he couldn't. He never brought himself to even look at anyone but you. The thought of ever touching someone like he touched you made him sick – and even more so, the thought of you with someone else.
He never really expected you would move on. Maybe that was mean, sure, but a sadistic part of him believed that by staying in your life it would make the possibility of you ever finding someone else grow thinner.
Yeah, it was selfish. But you knew that about him already.
And you loved him in spite of it, right?
Or maybe you loved him because of it. Maybeyou loved that he also couldn't let you go. Thought the knowledge that he'd pathetically crawl back to you eventually absolved you from your own part to play in this – always accepting him back with open arms and open legs.
Every time he messaged you again he braced for another rejection that never came, worried this would be the time you told him to fuck off, told him you had found someone else.
You never did. What the fuck was different now?
Satoru had never been angry with you before, but it now came out in ways he couldn't help. Ugly, vicious ways, as he stopped himself just short of punching a hole through he wall.
He could point fingers all he wanted, swear to himself and everyone else that you were just as much to blame as he was. It didn't really matter.
Because truth is, as much as Satoru had prepared for the day you'd leave for good – he never really expected it.
Should he have told you? Actually let you know how deep his love for you ran, how impossible it felt to let go, and how he had never even touched anyone else?
…And hope you would do what exactly?
Because he wasn't moving back.
And you had no place here.
Expectation and hope were very different things.
Yes, Satoru hoped he'd see you as soon as his plane landed. But never really expected to.
Especially didn't expect to see you walking out of the café the two of you had been to many times, the same one where your reunion occurred three years ago, before you ended up tangled in bed together.
Would everything had been different had he not answered your text that day?
Really, Satoru didn't care. Didn't care about anything right now.
Because there you were again.
Suguru had already talked his ear off about not looking for you, saying something about giving both of you a real chance to move on. When the fuck did his best friend get this reasonable? He hated it.
So obviously, the first thing Satoru did when he saw you was run in your direction, already calling your name.
He hoped you'd welcome him back.
Didn't expect you to look at him like that, though.
He had seen you hurt, had seen you angry.
But Satoru had never seen you disgusted.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" were the words that left your lips when he approached you with that wishful smile, one that was already dropping given your reaction.
Oh. This was not how this was supposed to go.
"I'm in town" he said awkwardly, like it wasn't obvious."I tried to tell you, but guess you didn't get the text"
Satoru didn't mean it to sound this passive aggressive, if anything, there was a little too much earnestness in his tone. And you noticed, of course, because you were the person that knew him best in the whole world. So you closed your eyes, bowing your head as all fight drained from you.
"Satoru…" you sighed out his name.
He loved when you said his name.
Satoru swallowed the urge to rush towards you, hands deep in his pockets as he tried to control his breathing. "Why did you block me?" he finally asked.
You shook your head, still not looking at him. "I can't keep doing this" was all you said.
Why were you acting like you couldn't talk to him?
You always could. You just didn't.
"And you couldn't tell me that?" he scoffed, as if you still owed him that much after everything.
"Tell you?" you repeated, almost growling at him. "After you fucking left me?"
"You know I wanted to stay" he immediately started defending himself. "I can't ignore my family and–"
"I don't mean the first time" you let out an incredulous laugh. "I mean the last"
Satoru squinted, shifting his weight as he tried to understand what you meant. He remembered the last time you spent the night together – remembered struggling to pull away from you in the morning as his father called about some emergency in a different time zone; remembered leaving the room quickly before the yelling coming from the phone woke you up.
He remembered getting dressed with haste but still giving you a kiss on your relaxed forehead, and tucking a thick blanked under your chin before having to rush out the door and get on another plane. To another business meeting. Another decision made for him.
Satoru didn't think much of it then, and had even messaged an apology. This wasn't the first time his work interrupted him from being there in the morning.
Why did you care so much all of a sudden?
"I didn't want to leave then either" he started explaining. "And I apologised–"
"You texted me an apology" you snarled, hurt all over your face. "Did you think that was kind?"
"I don't get it" he crossed his arms. "It's not like it was the first time I had to go"
You looked to the side, biting the inside of your cheek. "That time was different"
Satoru noticed the immediate shift in your voice, taking the opportunity to step forwards. "Why?" he asked, trying his best to not scare you away again.
He saw how your breathing was ragged and the way you had your arms tucked around you, like physically trying to protect your heart. Satoru wanted to understand, all you had to do was tell him and he'd do anything, anything, to push away the hurt and be the one holding you up, he'd–
"Because you said you'd move back" you finally said , voice breaking at the end.
Satoru felt his stomach sink at the reminder – the way you had cried and clung to him that night, begging him to not leave again. He said he'd see what he could do.
You both knew it was a lie.
"Baby–" his words were cut off by your glare.
"All you said was you were sorry. And nothing after that. For months"
The words cut into him like a knife, his palms sweating and pulse racing. Satoru couldn't even find the words, but he didn't have to – because you were happy enough to keep going.
"And I waited, you know" you scoffed at yourself. "And then I started rereading my texts. Not the ones with you – with my friends"
Satoru took a small step back, settling him in place for whatever you were about to say. He hated every second of it, but couldn't deny he deserved to hear it.
You let out a wet laugh, unable to look him in the eye. "Dozens of texts telling everyone you were the one" you continued. "That finally, after years of bullshit from all these other guys I dated, it had all been worth it because it led me to you"
Every second hearing you speak broke his heart a little more.
"I said I understood that now. Now that I was finally happy" your tears started falling, but you didn't brush them away. And then you finally looked at him – with wet red rimmed eyes, ready to land the finishing blow.
"You were gone not even a week later"
Satoru audibly let go of all the breath in his lungs, throat constricting at your words like his own guilt was trying to choke him.
He felt like he was about to be sick.
"I never wanted to–" he tried to speak, but his voice gave up before you even cut in again.
"But you did" you cried. "You keep saying you wanted to stay, but you didn't. Wasn't it your choice?"
"I didn't have a choice" he muttered, small.
"Keep telling yourself that" you taunted him, averting your gaze. "You had a choice. You just didn't choose me"
Satoru was frozen in place. What was he supposed to do? Apologise again? Beg on his knees?
When you turned to leave, his heard beat louder than it ever had.
How could he just watch the love of his life turn away and say nothing?
"Wait" he called, reaching for your hand. "At least let me– let me say goodbye" he cried.
You laughed again, looking up at him with everything from pain to pity to anger.
"We've said goodbye so many times"
His grip tightened on your hand, desperate and terrified.
For months he had thought nothing of that night – thought you accepted it was just something you did, like he accepted it. It was just how it was.
If Satoru knew how badly he was hurting you, he'd get on a plane and apologise a million times.
He didn't know. You had to believe him.
I love you, he wanted to say. There was only ever you.
But something else caught his attention suddenly. A gruff voice that had you snapping your eyes towards it, your heart broken face softening finally.
"Hey" the voice said. "The fuck is going on here?"
It came from some tall, tattooed guy who was crossing the street, walking towards the two of you with murder in his eyes.
Satoru was confused by this menacing stranger – and his first instinct was to take a step in front of you, protecting you from whoever this was.
But to his surprise, you walked around him, rushing to the man and pressing two palms to his chest. "Kuna, it's ok" you said reassuringly, but this Kuna still looked at Satoru with burning hot anger.
"Who the fuck do you think you are" he snarled, putting both hands on your back and pulling you into his chest. "Putting your hands on my girl?"
Satoru felt like he was about to be sick again.
Who the fuck was this?
My girl?
You weren't his. You belonged with him. With Satoru, always, even if it was hard, even if it hurt. Your heart was his, and that was the whole problem.
But right now you had your face buried into someone else's chest, letting him pet your hair and comfort you as you cried desperate tears.
Satoru didn't even know how to process the information. For years he hadn't touched anyone but you, didn't even want to – and only a few months after seeing him last, you were already someone else's?
Is this what he deserved?
"Please don't yell" you sobbed on your new boyfriends chest, making him snap his attention back to you.
"He made you cry?" the man asked, taking your face in his hands far more gently than anyone would expect from someone who looked like that.
Satoru watched someone else wipe your tears away. Watched someone new hold you close and, worst of all, you letting it. You leaning into his warmth like Satoru was the one you needed protecting from.
This wasn't right.
He loved you. This whole time. He loved you so fucking much – didn't you get it? He couldn't let you go. Wouldn't.
"I'm sorry I was late" Satoru heard you murmur as this other man kissed the top of your head, all focus back on you.
"Don't" he responded kindly. "Got me worried sick, and then I find you upset and this asshole with his hands on you–"
"We just ran into each other" you shook your head, clinging on to him. "It's ok"
The man exhaled sharply, cradling your head into his chest again with a hand tangled in your hair, slowly caressing the strands.
His crimson eyes looked up at Satoru. Assessing. Something beginning to turn in his brain, as he looked him up and down like a predator looking for a challenge.
"He the one you told me about?" he asked you, still staring at Satoru, and you nodded your head yes.
Satoru hated this.
What the fuck had you said about him?
Had he become someone you told horror stories about?
He loved you. How did you not get it–
"Let me get you out of here" the man whispered to you, turning your body away in the other direction. Not even letting you take another peek at Satoru, not even letting you say goodbye.
He was completely frozen in place, every hope and expectation replaced by this bitter reality right in front of him.
No one said anything else, but the way the man stared at Satoru said enough. He turned his head around to cast that crimson gaze on him again, not needing words to convey what it meant.
A threat.
Contact her again, and see what happens.
Satoru gulped, watching you be lead away by another man.
Away from him.
Oh, he thought, bringing his fingertips to his wet face.
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