#cursedlinework

i spent so much time on this i couldn’t help but come up with some headcanons so i thought id share them too

Giyu makes Sanemi tea when he’s worked up. Sanemi pretends he doesn’t care but drinks it every time.

Giyu is the only person Sanemi lets see him be gentle — and Sanemi is the only person who makes Giyu laugh out loud.

Sanemi calls Giyu stupid. Giyu calls Sanemi by his full name when he’s being reckless. Both are devastating.

Giyu is the quiet type, but when Sanemi gets too close, his ears turn bright red every single time.

Sanemi pretends he hates PDA but will absolutely drag Giyu into hugs when no one’s looking. If someone sees them, he just says “mind your damn business” and hugs him harder.

Giyu is gentle with everyone… except Sanemi, who he pulls in by the collar when he wants a kiss.

Everyone in the Corps knows they’re together, but neither of them ever officially said it. They just… started sharing beds and no one was brave enough to question it.

Sanemi flirts aggressively and badly. Giyu just blinks at him, and somehow that’s more effective.

Giyu is weirdly touch-starved, so when Sanemi casually drapes an arm over him, he just quietly melts and leans in more.

They sleep tangled together like a pile of feral cats, but if anyone asks, Sanemi says it’s just for “tactical warmth.”

Sanemi usually wakes up first and just lies there watching Giyu sleep like he’s guarding a sacred artifact.

Sometimes he wakes up too tired to think and just grabs the first shirt he sees — which is almost always Giyu’s.

Giyu once took his old stuffed teddy and carefully cut it open, then stitched it back together so the seams and scars lined up with Sanemi’s (a little creepy if you ask me). Every careful thread is placed where Sanemi was hurt — like he’s quietly, gently mapping all the places the world broke him. He never tells Sanemi. He keeps the bear tucked away like a secret and cuddles it at night when Sanemi is on mission.

Sanemi finds it anyway. He doesn’t say anything either. He just holds it sometimes when Giyu isn’t looking, thumbs brushing over the stitches, smiling in that soft, private way he only ever allows himself when it’s about Giyu. Because even if Giyu won’t say it out loud, Sanemi knows exactly what it means: You are worth mending.

Sanemi Shinazugawa has never believed he was built for love.

He’s too loud, too angry, too sharp around the edges — someone who bites before barking. Even his feelings seem dangerous to him, since every time he let himself love, they would either leave or get taken away.

So when Giyu Tomioka stays —actually stays—, when he looks at Sanemi with those steady, gentle eyes, Sanemi can’t help but dread the moment he’ll inevitably push him too far.

He’s terrified of it.

Giyu sees it in the way Sanemi flinches after he snaps. In the way he pulls back after touching him, like he’s afraid affection is something he doesn’t even deserve.

And every time, Giyu reaches out again — not because he’s patient, but because he loves him.

Loves him in the quiet mornings.

Loves him when he’s furious.

Loves him especially when Sanemi can’t bring himself to.

And even if Sanemi won’t love himself yet… Giyu is more than willing to do it for him.

FIRST KISS//

Sanemi’s voice comes out rough.

“Why do you keep coming back’?” he asks, not looking at Giyu. “You know what I’m like.”

Giyu steps closer.

“I know,” he says softly. “That’s why.”

Sanemi laughs under his breath — broken, almost disbelieving.

“You’re gonna get tired of me.”

“I won’t,” Giyu says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And even if you don’t believe that… I do.”

Sanemi finally looks at him.

“You’re not scared of me?”

Giyu lifts a hand, hesitating only for a second before gently cupping Sanemi’s cheek.

“I’m scared for you,” he admits. “Because you don’t think you deserve this.”

Sanemi’s breath stutters.

“Giyu…”

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in Sanemi breaks open. He leans in before he can stop himself — slow, unsure, giving Giyu every chance to pull away.

Giyu doesn’t.

And for the first time, Sanemi doesn’t feel like something unlovable.

there i basically did all the work, im not a writer… someone else write the fanfic now

Finally he locks his phone, leans forward, and gives you a sharp look. There’s something dangerous flickering behind it—irritation, sure, but also that familiar spark you always seem to poke at on purpose. “Bonito flakes,” he says, voice low.

You still don’t stop your rambling.

Toge’s lips press into a thin line. Cursed energy hums quietly in his throat and before he can even think:

“…Be quiet.”

The words hang heavy in the air—sudden and absolute.

A second passes. Then he freezes, eyes widening just a fraction, like ‘oh. I actually did that’. He looks away immediately, ears faintly pink, pretending he’s way more focused on the wall than on you. “…Salmon,” he adds, smugness creeping back in despite himself.

You open your mouth and try to continue but nothing comes out. All you can do is open and close it frantically. At first you glare at him a little panicked, then annoyed. You point at him accusatory over the coffee table between you.

Toge watches you with lazy amusement, one eyebrow lifting as he leans back into the couch. His fingers are still drumming against his knee—slow, deliberate taps that now only serve to frustrate you further. "Tuna mayo," he says casually, like it’s a fact and not a taunt.

He pulls out his phone again—not to type anything helpful (obviously)—but to scroll through his insta feed with exaggerated interest. Every so often though… He sneaks glances at you from the corner of his eye. He looks somewhat pleased with himself.

His nonchalant act is starting to get on your nerves. Frustration wins over and you get up to slam your hands down on the coffee table with a loud ‘thump’.

That gets his attention. Toge's head jerks up at the slam, his eyes widening for a split second—before narrowing into something between annoyance and dark amusement. The coffee table rattles from the force of your hands. You point at your mouth intently than at him again, throwing a silent fit of rage on mute.

"Mustard leaf," he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it this time. He watches you seethe with an almost fascinated tilt of his head.

Then he does something even more infuriating: he pulls out a piece of paper and writes in big, obnoxious letters—["CANT TALK? WEIRD."] —and holds it up like it’s some grand revelation.

Your hands clench into fists, trembling with barely contained anger at your sides. If you would have been able to talk you would have hurled all kinds of colorful insults at him.

A beat passes. His smirk grows when you don’t back down, so he scribbles again: ["WANNA FIGHT ABOUT IT?"] with an arrow pointing toward himself like saying ‘go ahead.’

You snatch the paper from him fuming and wrestle the pen from his fingers. In angry big letters you scribble on the other side: [“ILL KICK YOUR ASS IF YOU DONT CUT IT OUT!”] You throw the pen back at him, missing by a lot which makes you even more angry.

Toge doesn’t even bother dodging the pen and just watches it fly past him. He laughs once, loud and surprised, as the pen clatters to the floor somewhere by the armchair. He watches you, expression bright with something between playful challenge and smug disbelief at your childish outburst.

You just threatened him. In writing. You. Tiny, adorable you. It's absolutely hilarious.

"Salmon," he mutters, shaking his head. His laugh turns more quiet—more mocking, but no less amused. He reaches for his phone. [“Like you could even touch me."] he types on his phone after you had so rudely discarded his pen.

Your eyes narrow slightly at the challenge and you give him a sinister smile that says ‘Try me, bitch’. Then you lunge forward grabbing his arm to shake him. Not being able to talk kinda limited you to getting physical with him.

Toge's smirk drops the second you grab his arm—because, okay, he didn't expect that. His eyes widen for a split second before narrowing. "...mustard leaf," he mutters low in his throat, like a warning while you're still shaking him.

His free hand snaps up to grip your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but firm. "Bonito flakes." The words come out sharp between clenched teeth as he leans forward slightly—('you really wanna do this?').

You pout when he grabs your wrist but don’t pull back. If anything you close in even more aggressively and try to grab his phone with your other hand to maybe have some kind of leverage. But he snatches it away too fast and your fingers curl around nothing. You let out an annoyed huff since you still had no other way of communicating.

He laughs again when you lunge for his phone with no success. Like you're just some angry little animal to him. He casually tosses the phone on the couch out of reach for you where it lands with a soft 'thud.'

You huff again, annoyed you can't get to his phone, annoyed at the stupid sound of his laugh, annoyed at his smugness, just…annoyed all around. You glare daggers at him. It just makes him smile wider. "…Tuna mayo." He smirks, watching you.

His stupid smile finally makes you snap. You rip your hands away and grab onto his collar. Toge's smirk freezes for half a second—because fuck, you just yanked him by the collar. That’s… unexpected. He blinks at you, pupils slightly dilated in surprise.

You lean in trying your best to look threatening which of course doesn’t work. You shake him again, frustrated that you couldn’t insult him like you usually would and had to resort to doing this instead.

"Fish flakes," he mutters under his breath again, but this time it sounds more like a choked-off noise than anything else. His hands hover awkwardly near your wrists—not pushing you away yet (he totally could), not pulling closer either (absolutely not).

A beat passes where he just stares down at your grip on his shirt. "...Salmon." The word comes out lower than intended—less mocking and weirdly strained instead.

You see the shift in him and tilt your head slightly, then stop shaking him. But you don’t let go of his collar yet. Your eyes wander over his face scanning his expression. They narrow a little. Is he… flustered?

Toge's jaw tenses the second he realizes you're studying him. His eyes dart away, but it’s too late—you already saw the flicker of something in his expression that wasn’t just annoyance. "…Bonito flakes," he mutters, voice rougher than before. It sounds more like a curse at himself than anything directed at you.

His hands finally move—one to grip your wrist, and the other to swat weakly at your shoulder as if physically shooing away this entire situation—like ‘let go.’ But there's no real force behind it. Just… awkwardness? Maybe panic? Who can really tell with him?

You see that what you were doing was finally getting to him and a sinister smirk appears on your face. You raise an eyebrow as if to say ‘giving up already?’. Then push even closer, pointing at your throat. The message was clear: ‘Give my voice back and I might stop.’

Toge's entire body goes rigid the second you push even closer. His fingers twitch against your wrist—like he can't decide if he wants to shove you off or pull you in. "Fish flakes," he hisses. His ears are burning now, dark pink all the way up.

He glares at your pointing finger like it personally offended him before exhaling sharply through his nose. A beat passes where he’s visibly at war with himself… then finally mutters:

"Talk."

The curse lifts instantly. And then immediately after? He leans back and flicks your forehead hard enough for it to sting. Like an asshole who regrets nothing except maybe that smirk of yours making him fold so fast.

You knock, and the door opens almost immediately—like someone’s been waiting right behind it.

Choso stands there in an oversized hoodie, hair slightly damp like he just rushed out of the shower and forgot time exists. There’s a backpack half-zipped on the floor behind him, a shoelace trailing like a trap, and the faint smell of instant noodles in the air.

Before he can even say hi, something orange-and-black streaks into view.

A toddler in a tiger costume—hood up, ears wobbling, tail bouncing—charges straight at you with all the confidence of a tiny creature who believes the world was built solely to entertain him.

“RAWR!!”

Yuji grabs your leg with his little “paws” and looks up like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day. Choso’s face does that thing where he tries to look calm and in control… and fails, just a little. He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey,” he says, voice low—careful. “Sorry. He heard your footsteps and decided you’re… part of tiger patrol now.”

Yuji bounces. “Patro’! Rawr!”

Choso crouches, fixing the tiger hood like it’s important that it stays up so Yuji can pretend to be a tiger properly. His expression softens instantly.

“Okay, little tiger. Gentle paws, you hear me?” Then he looks back at you, a bit flustered but sincere. “If you’re still okay with helping… I’ve got school stuff in an hour and he’s in a mood.”

Yuji suddenly thrusts a slightly squished and very wet cracker toward you like an offering. Choso pauses, then his mouth twitches—almost a smile.

“He’s sharing,” he says quietly. “He just learned what that is.”

You pick up the toddler. Yuji squeaks in delight as you lift him, his tiny tiger paws flailing before latching onto your shoulders. His hood slips halfway over one eye, but he doesn’t seem to care—too busy beaming up at you like you just hung the moon.

“‘Ello!” he chants, kicking his little legs for emphasis. Then—without warning—he shoves his damp cracker right against your mouth. “Eat! Eat!”

Choso makes a strangled noise from behind him and lunges forward (but not fast enough).

“Yuji.” He grabs the back of the toddler’s onesie with one hand while wiping mushy cracker off your chin with a tissue from who-knows-where. His ears are pink again; this is clearly not how polite visitors are treated in their household.

“I swear,” Choso mutters under his breath as Yuji giggles wildly into it all, “one time I said ‘food is for sharing’… one time and now every snack goes straight to my friends.”

He shoots you an apologetic look that says: Please don't judge me based on this gremlin's behavior. But there's no real annoyance