#yoshio x yuzuru

[ootori-sibs]

Random funky drabble

takes place after the festival.

tw: past tense misgendering (discussing a trans person before they were out), mild slutshaming.

"You know, Tamaki,” his father tried, sighing, “I understand that it’s tough when the girl you like doesn’t want to date you, but you can’t really change her mind. She’s her own person and can make her own decisions, I had to learn that myself once.”

Tamaki rolled his eyes, “oh yeah? Was that when your wife divorced you or when my mother didn’t want to give me up?”

There was a pause, it was clear he’d hurt his father but Tamaki didn’t feel like feeling bad about it. He didn’t think there was any way such a manwhore could ever relate to him. After a moment, his father nodded, “I understand you meant to hurt me, but I’m trying to empathise with you here. I had relationships before my marriage. There was one girl I’d dreamed of marrying in fact.” 

This got Tamaki's attention, “really? What was she like?” 

Yuzuru chuckled, “I knew that’d interest you. Well, she was in my class in school, and she was solidly in the top five girls in the class. I can’t say I was into her just for looks, though.”

“You liked her as a person??” Tamaki was genuinely surprised to hear that his father had actually fallen for someone. 

He nodded in response, “she was blindingly intelligent, she was just as cruel as she was beautiful and she always knew what to say to get someone to do what she wanted. She’d always been emotionally constipated though, so I think she agreed to date me mostly because of my status- but I did my damndest to make her happy. I treated that girl like a goddess and even impressed her father.” 

Tamaki stared at her, unsure when the penny was going to drop. “Why didn’t you marry her then? Did something happen? Was it grandmother’s fault?”

His father laughed at that, “oh no, it wasn’t mothers fault, although she does hate that whole family now… no, it wasn’t really anyone’s fault, my sweetheart just couldn’t keep the charade up.”

“What charade?”

“My princess turned out to be a transman, and he didn’t feel comfortable dating a man once he’d come out. He came out in our third year, immediately after his father had died. He got himself a wife in university, and I was very happy for them both. I didn’t have any anger or regret, because I understood no one had done anything wrong.” He paused, “so in the end, you shouldn’t be too upset at Fujioka for not wanting a relationship to get in the way of her studies. Do you understand, Tamaki?”

After a while of silence, Tamaki nodded, “yeah, I think I do… but now I wanna hear more about this guy you dated! What was he like? Have I met him?” 

Yuzuru laughed again, standing up and ruffling Tamaki’s hair. “Maybe another time, I have a meeting in an hour so I have to get ready.” 

Tamaki nodded, then hesitated, “oh! And, by the way, I have something to tell you and I’m not sure when we’ll talk next, I’m-”

“I know you’re bisexual, Tamaki. You don’t have to come out to me. Genetically speaking, I'd be surprised if you weren’t.”

“I…don’t think that’s how it works?”

“You’re the son of a manwhore and a french woman- what part of that doesn’t scream bisexual?”

“I…good point.”

“Anyway,” Yuzuru chuckled, adjusting his suit jacket and replacing his cufflinks, “the business meeting is with Mr Ootori, and afterwards we’re going for some drinks. I also happen to know that his three eldest are drinking at young Mrs Shido’s house so Kyoya will be home alone tonight.”

“Oh nice!” Tamaki beamed, “I’ll go see him then, he always cheers me up when I’m upset.”

His father froze at that, frowning deeply. “Don’t be forcing that boy to suffer through your complaining about Fujioka. She’s rejected you, you shouldn’t still be making him jealous.” 

“Jealous? You think he’s jealous of me?”

“No jealous of you, Tamaki, jealous of Haruhi.”

“Huh? oh…OH!” Tamaki went bright red at the idea, “you think Kyoya likes me like that??”

Applying some cologne and combing his hair, Yuzuru chuckled and nodded. “You and your old man aren’t so different, huh?”

“What do you mean?” 

He winked and grinned at Tamaki, “we’re both irresistible to the Ootoris.” and with that, he left the room, leaving Tamaki to flounder. 

“Wha… que diable…?” 

Well now he had a list of questions for Kyoya.

[hostclubtotallysaidthis]

my fave thing about yoshio and yuzzru would probably be imagining how their kids would react, if the two got married then Tamaki would be very exicted because it means that kyoya would be his brother and akito and yuuichi would probably be midly annoyed by both souhs while kyoyas just like 'do i care? am I supposed to care? ok I care a little bit but im busy go away'

Kyo does care, he’s just being… Well, himself. Kinda awkward when your crush becomes your step brother tbh (I know it’s not strictly canon, BUT LET ME DREAM). But yeah, every time a decision needs to be made he becomes the Pushy Maid of Honour and starts bossing them all around.

He has a binder. And a million wedding magazines haphazardly shoved in his desk draws so no ones sees them. He may be planning his own wedding a little in his head, but who knows.

He wants his dad to have a special day, after all.

[ko-fanatic]

A Young Ootori’s Notebook (part three)

Rating: Explicit / Mature (for series as a whole)

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club

Relationships: Kyoya & hosts, mentioned unrequited KyoTama, Yoshio Ootori x Yuzuru Suoh

Trigger Warnings: Drug abuse/addiction, depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, self harm

Summary: It's so warm, so happy, but he just feels hollow. He's looking in on someone else's Christmas, or it feels like it. Nothing's real, anyway...

No knowledge of A Young Doctor’s Notebook needed.

BEFORE WE BEGIN, BECAUSE I KNOW I'LL GET A MILLION COMMENTS IF I DON'T CLARIFY: My headcanon for Kyoya's grandmother is that she's both English and Christian. Their grandfather was pretty much an atheist, so they tend to go with more Christian traditions and holidays. Kyoya was even a choir boy for a little while.

Other parts of this series: Part one | Part two

It wasn’t before long that the clink of glass on table grated against Kyoya’s pounding head, Haruhi never did learn Tamaki’s “pinkie trick” properly, but he was thankful that she was more punctual than her husband. His throat was dry, he was nauseous, and he had to steady himself as he sat up, the world tilting dangerously sideways. Instead, he felt Kaoru’s gentle hands on his shoulders, guiding him into a more stable position, before leaving his bony frame to brush his too shaggy, unprofessional hair away from his sweaty forehead.

The passage of time was not always something he was acutely aware of, but that was the norm for someone who indulged in his… vices. Everything was questioned; was it even real? Time was real, despite some saying that it truly wasn’t, because it all just seemed to press down on him in that one moment. Clear and hazy seconds, minutes, years just seemed to hit him all at once and, for the first time in a while, Kyoya felt old.

He was only in his, admittedly late, forties, and he felt like some sort of frail octogenarian; it was a little humiliating, and his cultivated vanity was appalled. His hair was starting to grey also, from the stress and strain he put himself and his body through. His knees were aching, despite him sitting, and he could see how prominent the bones in his hands were. He was a wreck, really. A pretty boy turned into a mess of an addict.

Still, it was actually rather amusing, in some sickeningly morbid way. He was obviously unwell, displaying all the red flags that the media liked to pounce on, draining it of any potential scandal that it could hold. Before the truth came out, before he got too desperate to hide his issue from the public, the worst insinuation was that he was ill.

No drug rumours, nothing about anorexia, or anything of that like, because that wasn’t what an Ootori was. An Ootori was strong and composed, they certainly didn’t dabble in things like prescription pills, morphine, and even heroin. Diamorphine, that’s what heroin is in medical terms, used for moderate to severe pain. After all, diamorphine has the same effect as morphine at half the dose, and he can only justify and fudge so many numbers.

Kaoru’s hands helped steady his shaking ones as he brought the glass to his lips. He gave the other man something of a half-hearted glare, despite the fact that he almost spilt it over himself. He just took deep breaths between sips, trying to get his stomach to settle, pretending that this wasn’t as pathetic as it was.

“While we get that you felt miserable, why all this?” Hikaru huffed, though there was genuine concern and query in his eyes, from what Kyoya could see, “Why forge prescriptions? Why morphine? Why fucking heroin?”

“It’s not like I set out to become a drug addict,” He drawled, but it only seemed to make him sound even more tired, “It didn’t start like that. At first, I needed what I was prescribing myself…”

He was miserable.

That wasn’t particularly a new state of being – he’d been on the receiving end of far too many well-meaning hair ruffles and pitying coos to be blind to the so-called “tragedies” in his life. Still, this particular brand of miserable was nearly unbearable. It reminded him far too much of middle school, his chest tightening at the realisation that it might be happening again, when that wasn’t an option.

He wasn’t sleeping without over the counter pills, he wasn’t hungry and couldn’t make himself eat, he didn’t want to see anyone. He’d just holed himself up in the nice apartment his father had arranged for him, close to his university; like he somehow managed to combine coddling and independence. Thinking on it now, it was probably his stepfather’s involvement also, but still. He was rather grateful for not having as many responsibilities as “commoner” students, having spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep.

He knew it was lazy, not to mention unbefitting and more than a little antisocial, but he didn’t really have the energy to care anymore. That was the real issue. Not caring, then caring too much about said apathy, and it was something so confusing that he often just stared at the wall, head feeling as if it were floating several feet above his shoulders.

Still, his family didn't even notice when he returned for the holidays. Wasn't that a slap in the face? Yuuichi and Akito were grinning while running around the mansion with Fuyumi's little boy and girl, trying to discover the hidden presents. His father and step-father were in the kitchen, attempting to bake gingerbread without assistance, clad in hideous Christmas jumpers. He'd already heard the fire alarm go off several times, so he supposed that it wasn't particularly successful.

It was... odd. Like he was watching everything unfold behind the glass of a television screen. No one could see him, he was just on the outside looking in. The mansion was warm, there were so many people, but he still felt so... cold. Lonely. Isolated. He sighed, finally unlocking the door of his old bedroom and immediately catching a whiff of burnt sugar. Well, that was going to hang around for days.

It was all too little and too much at the same time. The terrible twosome - and the children - seemed to have moved on to somewhere else, leaving the hallway feeling almost abandoned in the cool December light that peeked in through the windows. He could hear muffled commotion, but nothing clear or vivid.

“Yuzuru, get off!”

“Come on, Yoshi; it's mistletoe!”

“Oh... You incorrigible old sod.”

It was so... happy. Surely his grandmother and grandfather were around somewhere, probably in the courtyard if those screeching noises really were tires on asphalt. His aunt would probably stay in her cave on Mount Crumpit until it was time for mass, whereas his uncle promised that he'd say hello before hitting the bars this year.

“WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT CORRUPTING MY KIDS?!”

“It’s the witch, run! Protect the presents!”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME, YUUICHI?!”

Kyoya swallowed around the heart in his throat, blinked back the sting in his eyes. It was all fine, there was nothing to be upset about. It was just one of those times where apathy rubbed away, revealing something rawer. He was tired, a little frustrated with himself, and he knew that if he were to go downstairs, this feeling off hollowness would at least be warmer for a little while.

Rather than go downstairs, Kyoya had a different idea in mind. After all, he'd managed to diagnose himself, and he didn't want to admit that what he had wasn't even physical. There was no medical reason for his low energy and even lower mood, merely something psychological. Basically psychosomatic, really.

No, rather than go down and sit by the fire, letting Yuzuru ruffle his hair and his father watch him playing puzzle games on his phone, he snuck across to Yuuichi's office. His brother had taken it over since their father retired, very much intent on sticking around, much to their fathers' hidden dismay, and there was one key difference to how Yuuichi and their father arranged the space; Yuuichi was predictable.

He closed the door softly behind him, though took normal steps - not tiptoeing like he once had. It was less conspicuous to act as if you were doing nothing wrong, after all. He merely went over to the desk, opening the top draw, and there - under a file - was his brother's prescription pad. There were even pens in a nice little stationary cup on top of the desk, waiting to be used.

He put the pad on the table, putting the pen in his left hand rather than his right to imitate that God-awful scrawl his brother wrote in, and filled in those important little details. Sertraline, 50mg, to be taken once daily. Easy enough.

He tore it off neatly, like his brother tended to do, and pocketed the slip. He'd take it to the pharmacy soon. Not the one in the hospital, of course; that would just be stupid. It would be too easy to get caught out, after all.

For now, he just went back to his room to put the slip in his bag, feeling at least slightly more productive than he had in weeks, finally with a plan.

When he finally settled down in front of the fire, the little ones swarming him with their cute cries of uncle Kyo, it still felt a little empty. He just played around a little, got them to settle down, and laid down next to the little rascals, cuddling up to them as they snuggled into the ugly – but fluffy – rug that Yuzuru had insisted on.

It would do for now.

The Christmas season has come once more, it seems, and Kiyomi and Daisuke are growing like weeds. It seems like only yesterday that I was their age, and my brothers were running around with me to find the hidden presents. Time flies, I suppose; whether you’re enjoying it or not.

It’s the fragility of the line between past, present and future, I suppose. After all, when is it drawn? The past ceases to exist and then you find yourself looking back over it, going by in a rose-tinted blur. It always seems sunny in hindsight, I find. It’s just a shame that I’m a miserable sod in the present, but I look back over memories I once found boring and feel warm nostalgia.

Perhaps, if I allow myself to dig into my own psychology for a moment – which is the purpose of these entries, I suppose – it’s probably due to my own set of complexes. I won’t allow myself to find joy in frivolous things in the present, so it’s a delayed reaction. Suppressed. It’s just another way I differ, it seems; usually, people repress the bad to protect their psyche from trauma, whereas I do the opposite.

Of course, I also suspect that the past looks so sunny because it holds some of my most innocent mentalities and cherished memories. I remember sparkling princess dresses and my rosy cheeked, albeit temporary, crush on Kuze – not that it didn’t end in heartbreak and the loss of some innocence, on both sides. I remember church choirs and being picked for my first solo performance, and how much praise I was given by my grandmother and even my aunt. I remember stargazing and lips pressing against my own, both of us laughing as if we were normal teenagers who had no worries, yet acting like we didn’t know each other that following Monday.

Of course, I also remember the host club. It’s still so strange to thing that it slipped into the past, almost like sand between my fingers. I feel so isolated. Tamaki and I still see each other, now stepbrothers, but he’s not here yet. He wants to spend time with Haruhi and Ranka, but he did promise that he’d be over soon.

I don’t want to be so dependant on the relationship we have, but Honey was never my favourite person, and my friendship with Mori was more silent companionship. We’ve drifted apart, somewhere along the way. Hikaru isn’t interested in talking, any texts we try to send back and forth tend to be succinct, and not in the pleasant way.

I haven’t spoken to Kaoru in months, I’m not sure why. Perhaps I should reflect on that more, rather than the past. After all, I still haven’t answered a single text or email he’s sent, feeling far too… afraid of rejection, I suppose. Perhaps that’s why Hikaru has nothing to do with me anymore…

“Oh, boo hoo.”

Kyoya huffed, turning to see the damned old man again, still looking less than put together. To add insult to injury, it also seemed he was going mad. Some ghostly spectre that looked to be a cheap knock-off of the ghost of Christmas future had obviously taken a liking to him, and the bastard’s hobby was nit-picking.

“You know why you don’t want to talk to Kaoru, you just wrote it,” The old man drawled, hauling himself up pathetically into a half-sitting position, “You’re a coward, and an idiotic one. The solutions to your problems are just so simple but fear always gets in the way. That’s what Kyoya Ootori does the best; run away.”

“Shut up!” He snapped, feeling far too drained to deal with the assault on his character at the moment, “I didn’t ask your opinion.”

“Self-reflection,” The man smirked, voice lilting almost serenely until he doubled over, dry-retching over the arm of the chair he’d sprawled over.

“Oh… Whatever,” He muttered, closing his notebook with an air of finality before climbing into bed, eyes straying to his bag. He’d take it to the pharmacy soon, and he’d be fine. He would.

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

How did the ouran otp4’s families reacted to the relationship?

Fujioka:

Ryoji wasn't all too thrilled but that's normal dad protectiveness but he has learned to trust the boys through the years and knows if they hurt Haruhi it'll be more hell from Haruhi than him

Suoh:

Mr Yuzuru has grown to be more of a dad towards Tamaki and that includes helping his first date with Haruhi work out well even if he's out of touch. But him also in love and dating two men who Haruhi also loves? That took a lot longer than just the two. But, like Ryoji, he does trust them with Tamaki and Tamaki is truly happy. Tamaki's mom was thrilled, almost as if she knew

Ootori:

Now this one... couldn't have been worst. It was during a dinner party with the family where Kyoya announced his relationship. Mr Yoshio was silently fuming while Kyoya's brothers teased and joked on "how low their brother fell". It was silent until Mr Yoshio straight up said he refused to accept it. "My son in a relationship with a man? Two of them?? The Ootori name will be splattered with mud! Even if you were to chose the girl she's a peasant reject in the end, not a fit at all! Are you trying to embarrass us?! Embarrass me?!" After he yelled Kyoya slowly stood up, turned to his family with a smile and said, "Thank you so much for dinner and your concerns. However I do not planned to break up with my beloveds not even a second. I do plan to marry them, care for them, and love them as they had cared and loved me all this time. Now if you excuse us, we will leave the mansion and never see your faces again. Have a fucking happy life." They all left and after a while Kyoya slowly started crying from holding back so much emotions. They all went to a random karaoke bar and ate and drank and sang the night away

Hitachiin:

Oh we know Kaoru was ready for this whole thing to happen. He wanted Hikaru to be so happy and his best friends plus BFF-Brother is happy all together! As for their parents, they welcomed that wagon in fast! "Oh My Gosh! So you're dating such a cute person, a smart handsome man, and the man who stopped you and Kaoru being delinquents??? Welcome to the family!"

[ko-fanatic]

For @badthingshappenbingo​, anon requested Kyoya and attempted rape.

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club

Character(s): Kyoya Ootori, Original Male Character

Pairing(s): kyokao, non-consensual Kyoya x OC

TW: Kidnapping, Nudity, Non-Con, attempted rape, paedophilia, nightmares

A sequel to forced feeding and forced to beg.

Ouran's corridors were always abandoned during classes. Not even the class D students dared to skip lessons, soaking up all of the privilege and benefit their parents' success and station in life earned them. Everyone, while chatty, were motivated. They studied hard, and they got the highest scores they could reach. That was a given in a school with such a reputation as Ouran, but that didn't mean the efforts weren't commendable.

Although, the empty silence of the hallways, a dull echo of his footsteps reverberating, put him on edge. He was hyper-aware, feeling as though he was being watched, even if he knew that was normal when alone; just overactive instincts left over from early evolution. Or perhaps it was the horror movie Kaoru convinced him to watch together, even if he spent a good portion of time with his face pressed into the nape of Kaoru's neck.

The thought made him smile, however. Kaoru nuzzling into him with every jump-scare, asking if he wanted to turn it off only for Kyoya to stubbornly refuse. He just pressed closer and closer, the movie ending up forgotten as Kyoya knelt between his thighs and unzipped his jeans. It was a new experience, Kaoru joked, being sucked off to the sound of screams and blood splatter, and Kyoya pushed him playfully and told him he was gross while they laughed.

At that moment, the soft smile on his face faded as he realised he wasn't alone. His footsteps weren't the only set echoing, and his mind whirred unproductively for a moment, trying to get back on the path of logical thinking. He himself was out of class to go to the bathroom, so it wasn't out of the realms of possibility that the other person was in the same predicament. It wasn’t like he was the only one in the whole academy with a functioning digestive system.

“Hey… Kid…”

He turned, heartbeat settling down from its far too fast pace at the sight of... a man. Just a man. Not some grizzled thug Akito always said was around the corner, not some odd, supernatural being. He didn't know why he'd worked himself up so much, there was nothing that terrifying in the real world.

He was always a bit of a fraidy-cat, his grandmother would often laugh as he definitely didn't pout, his grandfather ruffling his hair. He had something of an overactive imagination, creating monsters in the shadows and dangers in the basement. It was cute until he was twelve, then he had to grow up and leave those delusional fabrications behind. It didn't stop him from thinking about them; it was more of a skill in acting and repression than it was actually not overthinking and scaring himself with his own brain.

"Do you know where the bathroom is?" The man asked, taking Kyoya's lack of answer as permission to continue, "I think I'm a bit lost."

The man wasn't out of place in this setting. He was nicely dressed, presentable, and he was polite. He seemed to even have an air of jovial good-humour about him, chuckling despite being in a potentially embarrassing situation. However, something about the situation set off alarm bells. There was something off, something he couldn't put his finger on, but it was still there.

"There's one downstairs," Kyoya supplied, polite but curt, gesturing to the staircase behind the man, the opposite way to where he'd been walking, not wanting to take any sort of risk, "Down those stairs, just after the first science lab - you can't miss it."

The man thanked him, turning and going the way Kyoya had relayed, the boy's shoulders stiff as he watched him go down the stairs - just in case. He let out a breath, turning on his heel and walking to the bathroom on that floor with a fairly quick pace, the muscles in his arms feeling a little jerky. He swallowed down the small lump in his throat, berating himself for allowing his anxieties to get the better of him for a moment, the door to the men’s room opening and closing with something of a squeak.

I hope the janitorial staff oil that soon, Kyoya thought, going into the stall and unbuckling his belt, pulling down his trousers.

BRIIIIIIING! BRIIIIIIIIIING!

The fire alarm? What a time for a drill… He supposed it wasn’t that important, it could wait, and the teacher knew where he was. It was a little embarrassing, of course, but no one would really care.

The bathroom door opened and closed once more, the sound almost hidden by the incessant alarm. That guy should be outside, but maybe one of the Class D kids thought it was a good opportunity for a smoke? Not dangerous, even if cigarette smoke did make Kyoya cough up a lung. His father had certainly managed to tamper down his little stress-related habit around him after that, but he still found the lingering smell on Yoshio's wool coat disgusting.

A few moments passed with no sound of a lighter or the smell of burning tobacco. Kyoya was feeling rather perturbed once more, adrenaline creeping higher and higher as his watch ticked the seconds away. The fire alarm cut out, but he couldn't even hear footsteps, just someone else's breathing. When he looked down, at that awful, far too big gap under the stall door, it was all he could do not to scream.

The man was on his hands and knees, staring at him under the door with an unsettling smile that chilled Kyoya's entrails and stabbed an aching hole through his chest, the sight searing itself into his mind. It was like his vocal cords had been cut in half, mouth moving futility without making a single understandable sound; just choked spluttering. It was almost like he was in a vacuum, suffocating silently as his life petered out.

It was worse, however, when the man managed to crawl through that gap, like something out of one of Junji Ito's works, and had his full height to his advantage. Kyoya was tall, but not quite that tall, and he was paralysed by the horror of this situation.

His vision almost seemed to fade in and out as his internal monologue screeched about how this couldn't be real, couldn't be happening. His face felt wet, every fibre of his being tense as he felt hands under his armpits, lifting him to his feet. Hands on his shoulders, his chest, pushing down his trousers and underwear further and a voice cutting through his own internalised screaming.

"Just relax..."

"This won't hurt..."

"Enjoy it, baby boy..."

The words were so pungent that they hit the back of his throat, making him gag. He wanted nothing else but the man to go away, those hands off of his body. He couldn't scream, couldn't yell. All he managed was the softest, quietest whisper, stuttered passed his shaking lips.

"P-Please... don't..."

That didn't sound like him. He didn't even recognise it as his own voice for a moment; weak and tearful, scared to death and back. He could feel those hands stroking up and down his spine, some sickly-sweet shushing noises coming from the man, and that just made him all the more frightened. In the face of this, there was no way he could put up a front.

"You look so pretty like this," The man cooed in between the static stuffing Kyoya's ears, "So sweet and small, so submissive and cute... Why bother to hide it?"

The door opened and closed once more, frantic footsteps and urgent knocking interrupting the isolation of the bathroom stall. The man's hand pressed over his mouth, but Kyoya managed a muffled scream, ear-piercing enough for the man's hold to waver slightly.

"Whoever's in there, come out right now!" The person on the other side of the door barked - Yuzuru. Kyoya was still crying, but it was mixed with the relief of knowing he was so close to being saved. He could hear the headmaster trying to break the door down, and the hands were off him in half a second, the man unlocking the door and nearly slamming it straight into Yuzuru's face as he ran off.

"Kyoya?" Yuzuru inquired as he pulled up his underwear and trousers, his vision still blurry and his glasses spotted with teardrops, his cheeks red and blotchy. He was still having trouble breathing between small keens and half-sobs, letting himself fall sideways; his shoulder hitting the stall wall as he slid down to the floor, shaking.

"Kyoya, can I touch you?"

He didn't know.

"Kyoya, are you hurt?"

He didn't know.

"Kyoya, can you try and breathe for me?"

He didn't know.

Of course, his father was called, and he was properly informed. Meanwhile, Kyoya just sat on the overstuffed sofa that Yuzuru had led them to, knees pulled up to his chest and expression blank; except for his tear-stained cheeks and the occasional drop that fell from his eyelashes when he blinked.

You look so pretty like this...

Kyoya woke with a start, gasping for breath as if he'd just been half drowned, soaked in his own cold sweat. Opening his eyes didn't do any good, all he could see was the darkness of the room.

He let out a sob, shaking from both the memory and the cold he felt seeping under his skin, frost forming in his bone marrow. Why didn't these things stay repressed? Why did someone decide to go after him? Why did he have to be so weak as to break down sobbing over something that didn't actually happen? It was a close call, that was it. He wasn't raped, he hadn't been touched that way, he was fine.

Still, an awful voice whispered in the back of his head, he hadn't been raped yet.

[ko-fanatic]

A Young Ootori’s Notebook (part four)

Rating: Explicit / Mature (for series as a whole)

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club

Relationships: Kyoya & hosts, mentioned Yoshio Ootori x Yuzuru Suoh

Trigger Warnings: Drug abuse/addiction, depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, self harm

Summary: He feels like he's both laughing and crying at himself, truth written in odd contradictions and stranger than fiction. It oddly fits him.

No knowledge of A Young Doctor’s Notebook needed.

Other parts of this series: Part one | Part two | Part three

"You were depressed?"

Haruhi's voice cut through the silence of the club room, even Kyoya turning his tired, bloodshot gaze to her. Her brow was furrowed, head tilted to the side in confusion, something a little too close to hurt marring her features. It wasn't the done thing to upset Haruhi; the club was made up of six boys who would do anything to see her happy, even if their willingness to admit that varied. He saw Haruhi as a little sister, especially with all the comments Ranka had made about adopting him - God rest that beautiful soul. Therefore, the sight of her upset was one that made him feel... guilty.

Contrary to popular belief, Kyoya Ootori did in fact have both feelings and a conscience. He was one of those boys who used to bawl their eyes out if they disappointed any adult in the vicinity, even if he had grown out of that by the second year of elementary school. He didn't like hurting people. He always hated it when his mother asked him about friends and, when he replied that he only had associates, she would give him that sad, knowing smile; she knew it meant "I don't have any friends".

Despite his age, despite all their ages, it was like the crease between Haruhi's eyebrows were a punch to the gut.

"You had us. You didn't say anything," Tamaki continued when Haruhi seemed to be at a loss for what to say. His hand clasped her shoulder, a tangible reminder that he was there to support her, and Kyoya felt some distant sadness at the gesture. Almost fifty, and no one to give him the same gesture; the closest thing to a chest to lay his head on and two strong arms to hold him was a bottle of pills, a vial of morphine, and syringes. Pathetic.

"There was no point mentioning it," He began, feeling the tension of the room increase tenfold with that comment, "I just... I wasn't going to jump off the nearest building. I was just numb. Tired. Unmotivated. There was no use talking about it, because there wasn't anything you could do. I just needed the anti-depressants."

Looks were shared, and Kyoya couldn't help but feel as if he must have missed something. It was like they were seeing something so clearly, even though he couldn't perceive it at all. He didn't know what the looks meant, but he knew they'd tell him soon enough - even if he didn't want to know.

"You know that meds... Only go so far, right?" Kaoru began tentatively, eyes wide and sad, a slight glaze over them. If Haruhi's hurt look made him feel like he'd been punched, Kaoru's was like getting shot. Still, he couldn't make himself speak up, couldn't say the words he always thought and never said, because they weren't what Kyoya Ootori was supposed to be; he didn't want to be a burden.

"I was there, Kyoya," Kaoru began once again, his voice thick with tears that made Kyoya dig his too-long nails into his wrist - hard. He hurt him. He hurt them all, "You could've picked up the phone, texted, emailed. Fuck, I was always there, and you didn't even send me a single word. Not even a hello."

He was a horrible person, really. They were right when they called him a demon, evil, anything like that. His wrists stung, something warm trailing sluggishly down his arm, but he only tightened his grip. He deserved it. He deserved the pain like he deserved his life crashing down around him. Karma. He brought it on him-fucking-self because... Happiness was too hard for him.

Large, strong hands pulled his bony one away from his wrist, calloused thumb brushing away the thin track of blood that ran down from violently crimson marks. Kyoya just bit his lip, feeling undeniably small in Mori’s soft grip, forcing himself to look at that concerned expression. This is what he does. He worries people over nothing.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Mori murmurs, voice low and rumbling, and Kyoya vaguely remembers putting his hand down his boxers and moaning as he thought of that voice telling him how good he was, how beautiful. He was a horny little shit as a teenager, not that anyone knew, but it was still something he felt guilty about. Friends shouldn’t think about friends that way, and Mori would be disgusted if he knew.

He just nodded vaguely in response, turning back down to the non-judgmental, impartial floor once again. He could stand looking at the polished floor much easier than his worried, disappointed friends, after all. Not that he could blame them; this was never meant to happen. After all, the pills were working alright when he first had them.

However, these things never seem to last…

The room was trashed. That was the first thing he noticed when his consciousness slowly reappeared, the last who-knew-how-long a blur and too intangible to take a hold of. It was all far too strange, and the mess in his once pristine apartment was almost overwhelming. There was so much to pick up, so much to clean, so much to fix. It was like the strewn and discarded belongs were slowly piling on his back, weighing him down and crushing his rib cage.

The mirror was smashed. The cracks running across the glass seemed almost like a spider's web, drawing him in and making his gaze stick to the centre, the only thing he could do was to wait for something wholly unpleasant to come along. It was a shame too, a nice thing that was good craftsmanship, but it could be replaced. It could all be replaced, because it wasn't special. Nothing in this room was; it was expensive, but uniform. Black and whites that looked like a carbon copy of some magazine. A home that was too cold and sterile, too replicable, to ever feel cosy.

Even his blood could be easily replaced, he reminded himself as he finally felt it trail down his fist, warm and wet. He could be replaced in his entirety, actually; he was just as uniform as the apartment's furniture. He wasn't sure why anyone would want a carbon copy of pathetic, cruel, evil Kyoya, though. An improved version, perhaps; prettier, kinder, softer, better. He was a spare of a spare, an accident, so he could understand the want to have him be something else; he just felt as if he couldn't change himself.

He tried, after all. The pills were meant to make him happy, but all they did was provide some temporary relief - and some side effects. He couldn't eat properly, his usual jeans and hoodie he wore for lectures hanging off him more than usual. He woke up with numbness that prevented him from simply standing. He was nauseous, constantly. To crown it all, this was another bad day of a bad week of a bad month.

“We get it already,” The old man groaned, and Kyoya gritted his teeth, feeling as if he might punch the man in the face, “Angst, angst, angst. I’m Kyoya Ootori and my life fucking sucks, despite having more than anyone can ever want. This isn’t enough, you feel empty and unfulfilled, so you’re going to take it out on the furniture. Very mature.”

“Will you just… leave me alone,” He grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face and trying to think about how he should even start to tidy up the chaos. He should probably shave before his next lecture, there was the pickle of stubble against his palms. Honestly, it all seemed like such a big chore. All he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep, but he hadn’t even been awake for an hour, and he slept entirely too much the night before. Not to mention the few days before that. He either slept for around fifteen hours or didn’t at all, and the yoyoing between the two was exhausting all by itself. Still, he couldn’t bend to that exhaustion, he couldn’t leave his apartment in this state.

“No, you can’t,” The old man sighed, “If you’re so intent on living in a pigsty and becoming a worthless procrastinator, then go ahead. However, if you want to do the sensible thing and fix this, then you should go to the doctor. You have the privilege of being able to go for the smallest of quibbles, so take advantage. What good is being rich and having an excess of time if you don’t use it to better yourself?”

“What about yourself?” He scoffed, shooting a glare at the man, lip pulled into an almost feral snarl, “You don’t do anything! You only sit there and critique how I live my damn life, looking as if you’re about to drop dead! I’ve had enough of the constant assaults against my character, my choices… Why don’t you bugger off and leave me be!”

The man leaned forwards, elbows against his knees, studying him as if he were only a sample under a microscope. Something to be examined and dissected. His expression was odd, somehow managing to be both humoured and humourless; contradictory and unsure. Something in his chest shrank, reminded of his father before Yuzuru managed to thaw him a little, and the man cracked a misplaced grin.

“You do know that I can’t do that, don’t you?” He began, grey eyes tearing apart every twitching muscle and crease in his expression, “I can’t leave you, much like you can’t leave me. I’m in your head, and you’re in mine. This is some odd plane between reality and actuality. Between past and future, but not present.”

The explanation unsettled him, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t do anything more than shutting the door behind him before falling into bed. The mess would be there tomorrow.

Maybe he could find his sanity there too.

[hostclubtotallysaidthis]

yoshio and yuzuru bc i know you ship them but i ship them too and wanna see you talk about them bc the dads dont get enough love

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

Okay, I ship the hell out of these two. I can talk about them forever.

Yoshio has disaster bi energy, and Yuzuru would totally paint the pan flag on his face just to go to work if he could. Two older gents who are comfortable with their sexualities, thank you. Honestly, if Yoshio hadn’t met his ex-wife when he did or got her pregnant and married her asap, then they would’ve been in a relationship sooner. Stupid university students drinking too much and making out without much care for status and titles, stupid in love.

It’s fair to say that Yuzuru hasn’t been that lucky in love, his heart broken by both Yoshio and Anne-Sophie, bruised by the woman he’d married. Still, despite everything, it was like everything they did seemed to push Yoshio and Yuzuru together once more. Their sons becoming best friends, for one thing. 

Yoshio felt… sort of anxious watching Tamaki and Kyoya together. Kyoya looked too much like him when he was young and stupid, he and Yuzuru exchanging vodka soaked kisses and passive-aggressively flirting. Because… Kyoya looked so, so happy. Happier than he had in years, and their friendship was so real and he was okay and Yuzuru and he now had an excuse to talk beyond the typical parent-teacher interactions. 

But of course Kyoya got his heart broken. It’d always been somewhat fragile, and he put it on his sleeve for the first time since he was six and kissed Kuze, only to get shoved in the mud. Yoshio couldn’t comfort him, wasn’t welcome to, so Tachibana dried his youngest’s tears and told him that boys were stupid and would hurt his heart, but one day he’d find the right one and it’d all fit wonderfully. Yoshio agreed with the advice, and decided to take it to heart. 

He calls up Yuzuru, and they reminisce about the good old days before wives and stress and broken hearts. He asks if he ever wants to run away, get drunk and stupid and kiss during sunsets and sports teams winning and holding hands under the tables at restaurants. The line’s silent for a little while, Yoshio almost thinks that it’s dead, before Yuzuru offers an alternative - like the astute business man he is. They can’t go to clubs or parties and binge-drink until vodka and coke tastes like love and sex. Not anymore. 

But why not coffee? Hand holding if it all goes well. 

And as Yoshio is also quite the business man, he raises him to dinner and sneaked kisses in the back of the car, to which Yuzuru says yes.