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killerpancakeburger · 7 months ago

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Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2) Soap's part 2. Soap's part 3.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

“Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him.

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified.

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily.

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it.

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst.

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks.

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.”

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…”

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that…

“Pretty please?”

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context.

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart.

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you can’t have.

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed.

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality.

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor.

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter.

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it.

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

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demiesworld · 2 years ago

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hantengu quad squad (brothers!headcanon)

characters: sekido, karaku, aizetsu, and urogi

synopsis: my headcanons on the clones if they were born in modern times and were quadruplets. a little bit of a character analysis as well if you squint.

note: purely fictional. i do not own the rights to these characters etc.

credits to the original artist of the photo.

in my pov, i see sekido as the oldest ofc. karaku is the second born, then aizetsu as the third, and lastly urogi.

i know what most of you are thinking, aizetsu should be the youngest he screams that sort of energy. you are right, but technically you're wrong. in s3 ep4, i noticed how sekido was telling aizetsu to cut genya in half and to hurry it up. when he said that it reminded me of how middle children commonly get chastised by their parents or overshadowed by their other siblings bc they are the "middle child" so aizetsu is the middle child imo.

urogi is the youngest simply bc he does not give a shit about anything. this dude is literally living life just to have fun, just like karaku and can be reckless with their actions. to him rules are meant to be broken and he does not listen well to authoritative figures (looking at you sekido)

living together as siblings for the four of them is a fucking mess. sekido who's always irritated by his brothers probably has a chore list that nobody, except for aizetsu, follows. but even if aizetsu follows it he still gets chewed out for not meeting sekido's expectations of cleaning, and sekido just ends up doing the chore himself. karaku and urogi both have weekly chores to do, but they put it off on aizetsu because he's easier to manipulate into doing their bidding.

aizetsu often gets mistaken for being the youngest sibling out in public bc he's so timid and has dejected pout on his face in comparison to his other siblings.

their heights from tallest to shortest: karaku (187cm;6ft 2in), sekido (186cm;6ft 1in), aizetsu (184cm;6ft 1in), and urogi (182cm;6ft 0in)

in my headcanon, karaku and urogi are both identical twins, and the rest of them are fraternal.

sekido and karaku always gets into arguments over karaku's lack of respect for bringing random women into their home. like sekido woke up one morning to find some stranger in his fridge eating HIS leftover takeout that clearly said "DO NOT TOUCH -SEKIDO"

karaku and him both have gotten into very violent and physical fights. one time it gotten so bad karaku was bleeding out and he had to leave the house. didn't return back for a week.

none of the other brothers know if one or the other apologized, but they ended up being brotherly again so-

aizetsu is shy around attractive women so he relies on urogi to be his wingman no pun intended.

this backfires bc urogi ends up shit talking about aizetsu, flirting with the girl and absolutely forgetting why he was talking to the girl in the first place.

aizetsu witnessed urogi leaving with one of his crushes at a party and he went back home crying into his pillow over it.

urogi made it up to him by giving aizetsu the girls ripped panties (urogi you little shit)

urogi has a pet female cockatiel that he named "bandit" bc he taught her how to steal food from people's plates and drop them into trash cans.

when he's butting heads with sekido as a way to piss him off he lets bandit fly around the house and knock things over. particularly vases, glass jars, etc. before putting her back in the cage when sekido is about to murder him.

sekido breathes through his mouth when he sleeps, karaku sleeps with two fans on bc he's always hot and ends up with a congested nose in the morning, aizetsu is a light sleeper and listens to white noise (you'll find out why soon), urogi snores very loud and talks in his sleep at night.

since the home they live in is a three bedroom (aha) sekido has his own room which is the masters, karaku has his own room too, leaving the youngest of the quad squad aizetsu and urogi to share a room.

i headcanon that karaku likes to walk around the house wearing grey sweatpants (no underwear) and is shirtless. sekido sleeps in one of those satin or silk pajamas and wears a robe when he's in the house on a weekend. aizetsu sleeps in a sweatshirt and shorts, sometimes wears his snorlax slippers but urogi teases him about it whenever he sees aizetsu wearing them. urogi sleeps butt ass naked. yes. i shit you not. like he'll wear boxers or briefs to bed, but somehow he takes them off while he's sleeping and he wakes up naked.

on a scale of most to least who takes care of their appearance & hygiene? karaku, aizetsu, sekido, and urogi.

karaku showers at least three times a day, follows a religiously dedicated skin care routine, and wears his retainers for his teeth at night. i headcanon he sleeps with a bonnet on his head to protect his luscious locks. he regularly goes to the hair salon to get his hair fixed. visits the nail salon too for a mani, pedi, and a facial if he has enough money for all three. face card never declines. hes immune to breakouts and flare ups on his skin. lowkey wears makeup to hide the dark circles underneath his eyes. brushes his teeth in the morning and the night. girls say he smells like a roasted peach kinda citrusy. very sensual smelling.

aizetsu showers once or twice a day usually before he sleeps. he washes his face with some affordable brand like clean&clear or neutrogena and puts lotion on his face. always shaves his facial hair and body hair. brushes his teeth in the morning but he always forgets so he does it before bed. i headcanon he used to wear braces up until the age of 15 and they got removed. he goes to a salon to do his hair and only trusts that one stylist to do it. ppl says he smells like fresh laundry and lavender.

sekido only showers once and that is before bed. he doesn't wash his face that often bc his skin is sensitive and even branded sensitive skin products don't work for him. so he ends up just using expensive dermatologist recommended products. besides from that his skin is soft and he does have a flare up when it gets to be the summer time. he shaves his face, doesnt shave his armpits, or down there. his chest has some hairs, but he gets them waxed. has hairy ass legs. brushes his teeth after a meal and before bed. sleeps with a mouthguard bc he grinds his teeth at night. he doesn't take care of his hair very well. doesn't know what products will work for his hair texture so its usually unkempt. he smells like cinnamon.

urogi was the child that did not want to shower. his mother had to fight with him to get him to take one. so i believe that he showers twice a week. he doesn't smell bad unless he's been sweating really hard. he knows he is very prone to breakouts but he doesn't wash his face. instead he just splashes water on his skin and scrubs the dirt off with a towel. surprisingly enough it works for him. he will shave his face but not anywhere else on his body. he has hairy legs. he washes his hair with 2 in 1, combs through the knots while its wet and lets it air dry. remarkably his hair remains thick, voluminous, and doesn't shed. i headcanon he smells like sandalwood, kinda earthy smell.

who is most likely to move out first? aizetsu. he's been saving up money for a long time to move out of the hantengu household. he's unable to deal with his brothers attitudes. tired of sleeping in the same room as urogi especially since bro has a pet fucking bird.

who will get married first? karaku. he would date the person for maybe 2 years, then propose that they get married. he wants to be sure that he person he marries is the right one for him.

who's the better cook? despite being so damn perfect karaku can't cook for shit. sekido can cook a decent meal FOR HIMSELF but not for his brothers. aizetsu is not allowed in the kitchen bc he left a pizza in the oven on BROIL NOT BAKE and it almost burned down their kitchen. he is only allowed to use the microwave. urogi is a good cook so they assign him to cook them breakfast on the weekends mornings and nights.

who has better grades in school? sekido. he turns in his assignments before the due date, he's always on the principal's list, and is a member of the student council as president. the rest of them aren't as academically well as he is. aizetsu may come in second place, but he struggles with math (i headcanon aizetsu is dyslexic) & anything related to public speech. urogi does struggle with math and for some reason he's an ace at world history. karaku tends to skip some classes on fridays by hanging out at the gym with the gym coach. he's smart in literature, science, and world history. like aizetsu he struggles with math.

from most to least who works out more? karaku, urogi, sekido, aizetsu. we all seen karaku's body like tell me this man does not lift weights. karaku is always at the gym in the early morning hours bc according to him "the early bird gets the worm" urogi works out at the gym too, he's one of those dudes you see doing pull ups and does leg presses. never misses out on leg day. sekido does workout but only focuses on his arms, chest, and shoulders. doesn't care too much about have a muscular build. aizetsu doesn't step one foot into the gym. he was blessed with a high metabolism so it's easy for him to stay with a slim figure. he does have some muscle on him because he does bojutsu and jujutsu.

what are their vices? karaku has a bad habit of smoking weed. not that it's dangerous for him, but none of the others like the smell of some of the flowers he uses (homie got that gas). so he smokes outside on the patio. meanwhile sekido smokes cigarettes (specifically malboro special select 100 gold) and he always drinks a can of white claw on a saturday evening while he's watching fucking debates on tv. aizetsu vapes and he smokes weed by himself. doesn't like to smoke with urogi bc he laughs at the stupidest of shit and it blows aizetsu's high. he does drink but not a lot. poor boy is a lightweight. urogi vapes and drinks twisted teas. he drinks that bc, and i quote, "beer tastes like bitter like sekido's soul, seltzers are just spiked waters for depressive queers like aizetsu, and liquor is as problematic as karaku's dating history. :P" (everybody let's side eye him)

notes: i would add more but i don't want to get too ahead of myself here. this may develop into a series. idk yet. depends on how much ppl like my headcanon of them lol

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