#[i never want to fall in love with you because i know you could break my heart - aflockoffeathers] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atzloverr · 3 days ago

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Yandere!Wooyoung x reader

cw: yandere behavior, obsessive and possessive behavior, toxicity, unhealthy relationships, stockholm syndrome, manipulation, drugging, hurt no comfort

Read at your own risk! This is for entertainment purposes only, and I do not imply that this work depicts the person’s behavior in real life

”Please baby, you know I love you” you heard Wooyoung’s shaky voice as he dropped to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you close to him.

You avoided his strong gaze as he looked up at you with pleading eyes. You weren’t falling for this again, you thought.

You weren’t going to let him ruin your life anymore. How could you have let him do this over and over again? Maybe it was his voice as he begged you to stay, his eyes that you could still remember falling in love with, the threats, the fear that you wouldn’t have anyone left.

You grabbed his arms, pulling him away from your body. ”I can’t do this anymore Wooyoung,” you closed your eyes, inching closer to the door. You didn’t have to look at him to understand what facial expression he was making.

That expression, betrayal and anger mixed with regret and sadness. You knew it so well by now. ”Baby,” he cried, getting on all fours in front of you, slowly crawling towards you. Breaking up with him, or trying to break up with him, might’ve not been the smartest move from your part.

You had been close to doing it before, but right when you were about to tell him the news, the fear and guilt always stopped you. But today, you decided that you had had enough, after the antics from the night before.

”What?” you asked, looking Wooyoung dead in the eye after hearing the unbelievable words come out of his mouth. You watched as Wooyoung walked over to the bed, his expression unreadable, but weirdly terrifying.

”I know you, baby,” Wooyoung smiled, crawling on top of you on the bed. ”And I know what’s good for you.”

Your mouth opened in shock as you tried to sit up, avoiding Wooyoung to your best abilities. ”Why would it be good for me to quit my job?”

His smile dropped. ”I make enough money for the both of us!” Wooyoung argued. ”You can just…” he scooted closer, hands tracing up your arm. ”Stay here, with me.”

The night that resulted in a screaming match, which then resulted in Wooyoung holding you down as you tried to escape from his menacing words and tactics that you had learned to recognize as manipulative.

And right now, he tried to do the exact same thing again, that sickly sweet tone that you just hated, those words that you couldn’t identify as true or false.

”You don’t know what you want,” Wooyoung said in what sounded like a growl. You turned around, reaching for the door handle before Wooyoung yelled loudly, making you flinch violently - which seemed to give Wooyoung enough time to grab your arms and hold you against his chest.

“No!” you protested, squirming in his arms. His hold only tightened for every second, as he pulled you back into the apartment. You felt the fight in you slowly die out as he held you against the wall, your head pushing against it.

“Shh, my darling,” Wooyoung said into your ear as a tear ran down your cheek. You felt his lips on your neck as he tried to silently comfort you. “It’s all going to be okay…”

You sobbed quietly when it all came crashing down on you as his lips continued kissing your neck. You were never going to leave, because you were starting to doubt if you could even make it without him in your life.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Wooyoung smiled, and you didn’t fight him when he slowly led you to the bedroom. His hands on you were gentle, but you knew that if you even showed an ounce of reliance, that grip would become so harsh that it would bruise.

But then, you saw the door in the corner of your eye, and noticed the way his grip faltered even more, giving you just enough space to slip out of his hands, so you darted towards the door.

Maybe you weren’t thinking consequentially, and maybe your desperation made that impossible, but you kept running, and tried to escape - even when you knew that it would be impossible to get further than the door.

You screamed when Wooyoung’s hand harshly gripped your hair. “You really are stupid, aren’t you?” Wooyoung breathed heavily into your ear, pulling you towards the bedroom, one hand pulling you by your hair and the by other your arm.

The next few moments almost felt like a daze. You couldn’t react quickly enough to stop it, so it was as if it all just passed by.

One second you were thrown on the bed, the next your clothes were being ripped off of your body. Your mind was clouded with fear of what would go down, when harsh ropes tied around your ankles and wrists. You heard your own sobs, and the fact that Wooyoung stayed completely silent made it all even scarier.

You watched as he quickly walked around the room, clearly searching for something, and you didn’t even want to guess what it would be until you could figure it out. You saw as he unlocked the cabinet where he kept all of his drugs, the ones he loved to use on you when you were disobedient.

You shivered as you felt the cold air against your skin, only being in your underwear at this point. But part of you was sure that that wasn’t the reason why you were shaking so much.

“Come on, drink,” Wooyoung instructed with a breathy voice, holding a glass of water mixed with some unknown drug to your lips. He never told you what he gave you, but you just hoped that this dose wasn’t too strong.

You sniffled, trying to catch your breath as he slowly started tilting the glass. You slowly let the liquid enter your mouth as Wooyoung softly held your chin, his gentle touch contradicting his furious expression.

“There you go,” he praised as you swallowed the last of the liquid. Wooyoung sighed as he looked at your scared expression. He leaned in until his face was only an inch away from yours. “Why do you always make me do this?” he shook his head. Your eyes widened slightly, tears continuing to flow out of them.

“Wouldn’t it all be so much easier if you just gave in?” he whispered. “Think about how it could be,” Wooyoung smiled, his dreamy eyes twinkling at his own thoughts.

“Just you and me, together.” You closed your eyes at the familiar words. “I won’t have to do this to you, we won’t have to fight anymore.” Wooyoung’s lips slowly explored your face, kissing your tears away and slowly inching closer to your mouth.

“Getting tired baby?” he giggled, smiling as he kissed you. Your eyes slowly rolled back into your head, the drugs starting to make their way into your system. The moments blurred together, but out of all the words he said, you could hear a distinct sentence.

“I’ll go send your boss that resignation letter.” The last thing your mind picked up on was Wooyoung exiting the room, leaving you cold and miserable in your lonesomeness, the drugs running through your veins, giving you an odd sense of comfort. As much as you hated the thought of it, escaping reality felt like the best possible outcome in this situation.

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

Your head started throbbing the second you regained consciousness, your eyes clenching shut in pain as you noticed the uncomfortable position you were in.

”Waking up baby?” you heard a voice say, making your eyes shot open. You struggled to orient yourself in the dimly lit room you were in. ”There you are,” he purred, gently holding your face in his trembling hands.

Wooyoung must’ve noticed your confusion by the way your eyes searched the room frantically. ”We’re in the closet,” Wooyoung smiled, rather gently - almost shyly - considering what he had done.

”What’s going on?” you asked, tugging at the ropes that still wrapped around your ankles and wrists. Wooyoung let out a small giggle, admiring your troubled expression with amusement.

”I decided to take matters into my own hands,” he explained, still not making any sense to your brain which was still not completely free of the drugs. ”Now you can’t leave me baby.”

You mentally prepared yourself for the lines of nonsense about to come out of his mouth. ”If you won’t stay here willingly, then I’ll have to do this to you.” You wanted to laugh at the faux sadness in his face. ”Okay?”

You thrashed around once again, pulling at the ropes and letting out frustrated huffs and grunts. You felt your headache only getting worse, as Wooyoung laughed at the show you were putting on for him. You knew he thought you were stupid - too stupid to make your own decisions, using his words - and part of you was starting to agree.

What smart person would try to break up with someone like him, knowing the consequences it would cause? What smart person would keep fighting, even when their hope is long gone?

But those thoughts did nothing to comfort you. You might’ve been stupid, but giving up seemed like the only other option.

”I tied those really tight,” Wooyoung pouted. You shot him an angry glance. ”But keep trying for all I care! It’s always cute to see the hope leave your eyes.”

You wanted to hit him, scream at him, tell him how much you hated him, so why didn’t you? Why did you let him laugh at you as you finally stopped struggling? Why did you let him wipe your tears with his soft hands, let him kiss you, let him keep you here forever?

Why didn’t you protest when he left the room and locked the door behind him? Why did you almost feel happy when he returned with some food a few hours later? Why did you love him? How could anyone love a monster who kept you tied up in a small room, with no one but himself to keep you company?

Maybe he was right, maybe you were too stupid for your own good.

masterlist

#ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fic #wooyoung x you #jung wooyoung #yandere wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung x reader #yandere ateez x reader #yandere ateez #ateez yandere #tw yandere #yandere

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multific · 13 hours ago

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A Love Worth Defying an Empire

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: As Emperor, Geta rules with a cold heart, trusting no one in a court full of betrayal. But when you are accused of treason, something in him breaks. In between power and love, Geta has to make a decision.

The halls of the imperial palace were cold, carved from marble that shined under the dim light of torches.

The scent of burning incense lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of spilt wine and whispered betrayals.

Rome was always alive, but inside the palace walls, the heart of the empire was filled with treachery.

And you were caught in the middle of it.

You stood before the Emperor’s throne, your hands bound together.

The accusation had been whispered into Geta’s ear by men.

Men who lied.

Men who thought could do anything they pleased.

Treason.

A word that could have you executed before the sunset.

The guards gripped your arms, but your eyes remained on him.

Geta sat high above you, dressed in deep crimson, he looked like a true Emperor because he was.

His brother wasn't informed of what was happening. Caracalla was in his room, hidden from all of this.

Geta's expression was unreadable, his jaw tight.

You knew him.

You knew the way his mind worked, the weight pressing upon him.

But did he know you?

Truly know you enough to see through this lie?

“Tell me,” he finally spoke, his voice sharp. “Do you deny it?”

Your heart pounded but you only spoke the truth. “I do.”

“And yet, here you stand, accused by men with no reason to lie.”

“No reason?” You wanted to laugh, you almost did. “They have every reason. They fear how much you trust me.”

The court gasped at your words, but Geta… Geta did not move.

Only a single muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I would not be so foolish as to trust blindly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you whispered. “They know I have your ear. They know you listen when I speak.”

Perhaps you had more than just his ear. But the court didn't need to know that. You didn't want to confirm any of their suspicions.

A simple servant is all you were. You have been accused many times to be in love with the Emperor. You deny everything. Yet they all know.

But now, this wasn't the man you fell in love with. This was the Emperor.

And then Geta stood up.

Silence.

The room stood still as he walked from his throne, his steps slow and deliberate.

The guards at your side straightened, but he gave them a single look, and they released you.

You exhaled, rubbing your wrists as he came to stand close to you.

“If I have made a mistake in trusting you…” he said quietly, though his voice was sharper than a blade, “I will not hesitate to correct it.”

You held his gaze. “And if you haven’t?”

His fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to reach for you. “Then I will have to kill the men who speak against you.”

You swallowed. “Then you know what must be done.”

His breath was unsteady, just for a moment. And then, without another word, he turned back to the court.

“Leave,” Geta commanded. “All of you.”

The senators, guards, and servants scrambled to obey, whispering amongst themselves as they hurried from the hall.

You remained still, watching Geta, waiting.

When the last man was gone, the doors shut with a heavy echo.

And then, finally, Geta turned back to you, his mask of power falling, shattering.

His hands came up, gripping your face with desperation. “I cannot lose you. I have spent my life surrounded by deceit, by hunger for power, by hands that reach for our throne while I sleep,” he murmured. “You are the only thing that is mine. If they had taken you from me…” He shut his eyes, his grip tightening. “I would have burned this city to the ground. Please tell me it is not true, please tell me every word is a lie.”

Tears filled your eyes. “I never betrayed you, I love you.” you reached out to him, keeping your hands on his. Hoping to ease his pain.

His thumb traced your cheek. “I know. But they will pay.” when his eyes opened, they were filled with determination.

You knew what that meant.

Blood would stain his hands before the night ended.

You should have feared it, but you didn’t.

Because this was his way of showing you love.

Love, in a world where power meant everything and tenderness, was a rare thing.

Love, for which he was ready to murder senators.

A simple servant is all you were. Cared for him through the hardest times, but fell in love with the Emperor.

Love, for which you were ready to die. But not like this, not by his hands due to a lie.

You leaned into his touch. “And what will happen to me?”

His forehead rested against yours. “You stay.”

A promise, an order, a plea.

Your fingers tugged the fabric of his tunic. “Always.”

He let out a shaky breath of relief.

And then he kissed you.

Not in the way an Emperor should, but as a man desperate for the one thing that made him human.

And in that moment, the throne meant nothing.

There was only you.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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maplegyu · 2 days ago

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Went into this with no expectations! I just saw the tropes and summary and was like ooohhh i love all of these! I ended up rly loving the story and enjoying my read!!!

Your fingers tightened around the glass. Without thinking, you poured yourself another shot—your third, or was it the fourth? You weren’t keeping track anymore.

Mingyu let out a small chuckle, and that was it—you tipped your head back and downed the drink in one go.

Your chest tightened. Mingyu was your closest friend. Your partner for everything. The one you laughed with, teased, leaned on. Seeing her in that space, acting like she belonged, made your skin crawl. You probably were just overreacting- and yet, you just kept drinking.

Loved loved loved how this was written!!! I could really feel how reader was clinging onto the alcohol like a lifeline! The more it felt like Mingyu would be slipping through her fingers the harder she tried to be grounded by something else!

God, you were so hopelessly in love with him.

I GET U READER I WOULD BE TOO He's such a gentleman and he's sooo in tune with her feelings WHO WOULDNT FALL IN LOVE W KIM MINGYU

Of course, it wasn’t a big deal to him. But to you? It was everything. Every single thing.

GOD I CAN ONLY IMAGINE HOW MUCH THIS HURTS its like ur breaking ur own heart bc the feeling is like!! WHAT RIGHT DO I HAVE TO FEEL THIS WAY???!! i get u reader i rly get uuuu BUT UR FEELINGS ARE REAL AND VALID 😭 the hoping and yearning wow wow wow

I loved the imagery of the writing so much!!! Especially the scene outside the restaurant!!! Felt so immersed in the story and in very few scenes was already familiar with how close reader and Mingyu are and their feelings for each other.

BUT THE MORNING AFTER SCENE OH MY GOD???!?! CHEEKY MINGYU AAAAHHHHHHHHH

ON GOD!!! I AM NOT OVER THE IMAGE OF JUST WOKEN UP MINGYU, RASPY VOICE, REACHING OUT FOR READER... SMIRKING!!!!!! who wouldnt want to wake up next to this man for the rest of their lives?!

"Oh, this is fun," - im sorry. I WANT HIM SO BAD. Mingyu being a tease and being cheeky... I LOVE THIS KIND OF MINGYU GENUINELY LIKE SOME OF MY FAVORITE MINGYU TO READ!!!!!

YES HE DID BECAUSE PERHAPS!!!! HE IS IN LOVE WITH U ALSO DEAR READER?! 💘

“I know you can,” he said with that same, effortless ease, his tall, towering frame moving toward you without hesitation. “But let me.” His voice was softer this time, the teasing gone.

MY KNEES TURNED TO JELLY FR!!!! when he is chivalrous and a gentleman but also hot as fuck 🤩

Mingyu stood at the stove, moving effortlessly like he belonged there, he changed his white shirt. His black t-shirt now clinging just enough to make you notice. The sleeves stretched over his biceps, broad and defined, flexing slightly with each movement.

IMAGINING THIS MINGYU

AND I DONT BLAME READER FOR HAVING A HARD TIME W HER FEELINGS FOR HIM

THE WAY THIS WHOLE SCENE EXCITED ME BECAUSE IT CONFIRMS THAT MINGYU DOES ACTUALLY FEEL FEELINGS FOR READER TOO!!!! ITS NOT ONE-SIDED AAAAHHHHH ✨️

Yeah. He was so screwed.

#MAPLEGYU SCREAMS!!!!!!!!! this is everything. officially down bad. on his way to becoming a certified loverboy!!!!!!

The whole back and forth about stealing and wearing Mingyu's clothes...... THE OBVIOUS FLIRTING PLEASE I WAS RLY EATING IT UP!!!! dont u two realize ur so into each other aaahhhhhh! And then tbh at this point i thought the story (or part 1) would be over but there was more!!!!

Mingyu was still there and reader was wearing his clothes. Excuse me a whole day of domesticity with your favorite person????

The way user taesjpq painted the picture of how their night was going sent me to space actually because ITS THE LITTLE THINGS!!!! together ordinary things feel extraordinary 😭 and im sure thats what reader felt w gyu!!!! And please they never stopped flirting! Him telling her he looks good in his clothes!!?? MY BABY GIRL LET YOUR MIND GO THERE!!!! THINK ABT GYU BEING PART OF UR DAILY LIFE!!!! BELIEVE HE LIKES U BACK COS HE DOES!!!!!

He watches you with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. His eyes flicker to your lips, and that’s when it happens—the hesitation. Heswallows hard, fighting the urge to close the distance entirely. He’s trying—really trying—to resist, to keep this from crossing a line neither of you can come back from. But it’s impossible when you’re looking at him like that, when your body is so close, when the scent of you wrapped in his clothes makes his head spin.

THIS MADE ME INSANE I LEGIT WASNT BREATHING

SO IMAGINE MY EXCITEMENT WHEN HE TRIED TO GO IN FOR A KISS!!!!!!! The build-up??!?! The uncertaintainty but also wanting it so bad??!?! CROSS IT CROSS THE LINE!!!! God im rooting for them i am suchhhh a sucker for bff's to lovers!!!!!!!

Thank you for writing this i really reaaally enjoyed it!!! I cant wait for the next part!!!! 💖

Jealousy part. I

genre — suggestive fluff, best friends to lovers, smut (maybe in part II) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ pairing — female!reader x best friend!Mingyu summary — You, Hoshi, Wonwoo, and Mingyu—inseparable. Their apartment feels like your second home. But one of them makes your heart race in ways you wish it wouldn’t. He treats you like you’re special—attentive, caring, almost like a boyfriend. But he’s not your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. He treats you this way—this is just how Mingyu is, right? word count — 4,3k (part l)

Warnings and notes under the line.

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, jealousy/insecurity, unrequited/complicated feelings, emotional distress, avoidance/coping mechanisms, mild possessiveness (towards him), possible hangover, waking up next to someone, suggestive elements/mild sexual tension, light kiss [let me know if I forgot something]

notes: san (ateez) cameo (you will better understand in part II) Hoshi, Wonwoo cameo. This is my first published ff ever, I hope you like it. I‘m actually very nervous about it, so feel free to give your opinion. I just wrote this, when I felt down bad for Mingyu again (he‘s so boyfriend istg). The question is, when i am not exactly down bad for Mingyu? He‘s the standard.

"Any plans for the weekend?"

San held the office door open for you, his gentle smile as familiar as ever.

You sighed quietly, relieved that the exhausting workweek was finally over. It had been chaos—half the staff out sick, leaving you drowning in double the workload.

San had been your lifesaver, stepping in every time you thought you might break under the pressure.

"Actually, I'm meeting my friends at a restaurant," you replied, noticing the faint flicker of something wistful in his eyes.

"Why am I not surprised?" he teased, his grin widening as you stepped through the door.

San had a way of always asking about your plans, like he was hoping, just once, your answer might include him. But it never did. Just: „My friends, my friends, my friends.“

It wasn’t a lie, though. You practically lived at their apartment. Gaming nights with Wonwoo, gym sessions with Mingyu, and endless meals with Hoshi—that was your rhythm, your second home.

"Thanks for the coffee, San. Next time, it’s on me," you said, flashing him a grateful smile.

"Anytime," he replied, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer before you parted ways.

You arrived flustered, breathless from rushing. Of course, they were already here.

As you pushed open the door, the warm buzz of conversation and clinking plates enveloped you.

Your eyes scanned the restaurant, locking on them almost immediately: your boys—and a girl. A girl?

She was sitting beside Mingyu, close enough that their arms nearly brushed. Her laugh carried across the table, light and unrestrained, and something about it made your stomach twist. Who was she?

"Finally!" Hoshi greeted you as you approached, his voice brimming with playful exasperation. "We thought you’d ditched us."

You forced a smile, settling into the usual chaos of their teasing welcome.

"This is Hana," Wonwoo explained casually when he caught the question in your eyes.

"And? don’t you think she looks just like me?" Hoshi added, grinning as he gestured dramatically toward her.

You studied her more closely, and the resemblance hit you. It was uncanny—her smile, her energy. She could’ve been his twin.

"I’ve been crashing at their place for a few days," Hana said, extending her hand toward you. "Hoshi insisted."

Your polite smile barely reached your eyes. Why hadn’t anyone told you?

"Nice to meet you," you said, shaking her hand and glancing around. There wasn’t an empty chair for you.

Mingyu noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he stood, grabbing one from a nearby table and setting it beside him.

"Thanks, Gyu," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

He nodded and gave you a gentle smile.

Oh, how you’d missed him. His warmth, his silly jokes—the way his laughter could dissolve the stress of your week. You’d been looking forward to this, to catching up with him. But now, it seemed difficult.

As the group settled into conversation, you tried to focus, tried to join in. But your attention kept drifting—to Hana, to how close she sat to Mingyu, to the way she leaned into him when she laughed. Her fingers grazed his arm casually, like she belonged there.

"So, Hana, how do you like the city so far?" Wonwoo asked, drawing her attention.

"It’s great," she said brightly. "Hoshi’s been showing me around—it’s been so much fun."

Her hand lingered on Mingyu’s shoulder as she spoke, and your stomach knotted uncomfortably.

Just then, the waiter arrived, placing drinks on the table. Four sojus. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise—they’d ordered before you arrived. That wasn’t how things worked. You always waited. It was a small tradition, but it mattered. Or, at least, it used to.

"One soju for me too, please," you said quickly, catching the waiter before he walked away.

But the unease didn’t leave. Hana’s touchiness continued—her laugh too loud, her attention on Mingyu too focused. He didn’t seem to mind, even smiled at her a few times. Yet, every so often, his eyes flicked to you, as if checking for something.

You didn’t know why, but every time Hana’s hand brushed against his arm, you reached for your bottle. Every time she giggled a little too sweetly, your glass met your lips. The warm burn sliding down your throat was easier to deal with than the twist in your chest.

"You should see these two at the gym," Hoshi chimed in suddenly, pointing between you and Mingyu. "They’re like workout aliens or something."

The group laughed, and you managed a small smile, but your heart wasn’t in it.

Hana giggled, leaning closer to Mingyu. "Maybe you can show me some moves sometime," she said, her tone playful.

Your fingers tightened around the glass. Without thinking, you poured yourself another shot—your third, or was it the fourth? You weren’t keeping track anymore.

Mingyu let out a small chuckle, and that was it—you tipped your head back and downed the drink in one go.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you lie, the words tumbling out too quickly, barely convincing even to yourself.

You needed space—air that wasn’t thick with your confusion, your frustration. If you stayed another second, your face would betray you, exposing the childish jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

The cool evening air hit you like a lifeline as you stepped outside, goosebumps forming on your arms from the crisp breeze.

You closed your eyes briefly, letting it kiss your flushed cheeks, but it did little to soothe the ache in your chest. The dull, relentless throb of longing refused to fade.

“This isn’t the bathroom.”

The familiar voice sent a jolt through you, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

You glanced back anyway, already masking your shock with a strained smile. Of course, it’s him. It’s always him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, forcing a lightness you didn’t feel. “This looks like a bathroom to me.”

He chuckled, that low, warm laugh that always did things to your chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. And despite yourself, you smiled too, because how could you not?

God, you were so hopelessly in love with him.

Without a word, he steps closer, draping your jacket over your shoulders. “You’re probably freezing,” he says, his voice gentle, but with a tenderness that makes your stomach tighten.

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he adjusts the jacket, and it sends a shiver through you—not from the cold, but from the barely-there touch.

You look up, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes meet his. His gaze softens, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

The silence that followed stretched taut between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words. Neither of you seemed willing to break it. The faint hum of traffic and the muffled buzz of laughter from the bar filled the empty space.

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the hem of your dress. Don’t say it. Don’t bring her up. Just let it go. But the question clawed its way out of you anyway.

“I didn’t know Hana was staying at your place,” you blurted, the words sharper than you intended, laced with something raw and exposed.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “Yeah, I didn’t know either. Trust me.”

You raise an eyebrow, still unsure. “Hoshi didn’t mention it?”

“He forgot,” Mingyu mutters, shaking his head. What a Hoshi thing to happen, you thought.

“I walked into my room, and she was already asleep in my bed. I didn’t have the heart to wake her, so I took the couch for the week.”

Your stomach twisted, the weight of his explanation sitting heavy. Of course, he wouldn’t complain. He’s Mingyu—always generous, always selfless. Always giving more of himself than he should.

“Oh,” you managed, your voice too light, too fake. “It’s just funny to think… if I showed up at your place, I’d find her instead of you.” You tried to laugh, but the sound was hollow, even to your ears.

He shrugged, casual and unaffected. “It wasn’t a big deal for me. I worked overtime all week, so I wasn’t home much anyway.”

Of course, it wasn’t a big deal to him. But to you? It was everything. Every single thing.

You felt the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly. Not here. Not now.

The night had been shallow and hollow, a void you couldn’t seem to escape. All you’d wanted was a quiet evening with your friends, especially Mingyu. Just sitting beside him, leaning against his shoulder—feeling the solid warmth of him—would’ve been enough.

But instead, you’d spent the evening watching Hana, her laughter, her touches, her presence invading spaces you’d always considered yours. Even if you don't have the right to do so.

The ache in your chest sharpened, spreading through you like wildfire. You couldn’t stay here any longer.

“I’m gonna head home,” you said, your voice flat, eyes fixed on the ground. “I think I need some rest after this week.”

You felt his gaze land on you, heavy and searching, and for a moment, you wavered under its weight.

“I’ll take you home,” he said softly, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

“No, it’s okay,” you replied quickly, trying to steady your tone. “I have my car.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer, his presence almost overwhelming. His eyes scan your face, tracing every inch of you, as if reading you in ways that make your heart race. “But you shouldn’t drive. You drank too much.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not drunk.”

And then, he speaks again, voice softer, more tender.

“Your cheeks,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing against your flushed skin. “They’re red. That happens when you drink too much.”

You freeze, his touch lingering. Your heart pounds in your chest, and his proximity feels like a punch to your gut. He looks even more handsome than usual—his messy hair falling over his forehead, the soft fabric of his shirt still loose and unbuttoned just enough to make your breath catch. The way he stands there, effortlessly composed, but so close that you can almost taste the air between you—his scent wrapping around you like a warm, familiar blanket.

God, you feel weak in front of him.

“I can’t let you drive like this,” he adds softly.

You want to protest, but the words catch in your throat. He cares. He always does.

“Unless…” he tilts his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ve got other plans?”

A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed through your head as you reached for your phone, your limbs feeling heavy under the weight of sleep.

The sunlight filtering through the curtains was way too bright, making you wince as you blindly swiped to answer the call without checking the caller ID.

“Hello…?” Your voice was hoarse, thick with exhaustion.

“Mingyu, where are you?! I’ve been trying to reach both of you for hours!”

Your brows furrowed, confusion washing over you like a cold wave. Mingyu?

You pulled the phone away from your ear to check the name on the screen. Hoshi Hyung.

Your headache made it hard to process, but one thing was clear—you would never save him like that.

Why the hell was he even calling you about Mingyu?

Just as the pieces of the puzzle refused to click into place, you felt it—a presence beside you.

With a slow, sinking feeling, you turned your head to the right.

And there he was.

Mingyu.

All 187 centimeters of him, sleeping peacefully under your blanket like he belonged there. His hair was tousled, his breathing deep and even, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

Your eyes widened, your grip on the phone tightening. You hung up immedietly.

Fuck.

Before you could spiral too much, Mingyu let out a deep sigh, his arm stretching out lazily—almost like he was reaching for you. His eyes, still hazy with sleep, fluttered open but instantly softening the moment they land on you,— The way you were staring at him, as if he'd just appeared out of nowhere —his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough with sleep.

“It’s 2 p.m., Mingyu.”

He blinked slowly before lazily glancing around the room. “Shit, really?” His voice was raspy, thick. He let out a slow breath before sinking deeper into the pillows. “I slept so fucking good.” A lazy smile tugged at his lips as he let his eyes fall shut again.

You watched him. His dark hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in every direction, and yet, somehow, it only made him look softer. His skin looked warm and tan against the white sheets. His lips—full, slightly swollen from sleep—parted just the tiniest bit, and for a moment, you had to fight the urge to reach out, to trace them with your fingertips, just to see if they were as soft as they looked.

You swallowed hard. "I... uh—what happened last night?"

Mingyu let out a soft chuckle, rolling onto his side to face you properly. “You really don’t remember?”

Your silence was answer enough.

“Oh, this is fun,” he mused, resting his cheek against his palm. “You were very affectionate. Like, I knew you liked me, but I didn’t expect you to cling to me like that.”

Your face burned instantly. “Shut up.”

He grinned wider. “You wouldn’t let go. Kept saying I couldn’t leave, that I should sleep next to you.” His voice dropped into something teasing. “Should I start staying over more often?”

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. He laughed, catching it effortlessly before it could hit his face.

“Ohhh, so violent first thing in the morning,” he teased. “Where’s all that love from last night, huh?”

You wanted to escape the awkwardness, so you stepped away from the bed, but as you did, your gaze betrayed you—flicking toward Mingyu. His white shirt hung loosely on his frame, almost completely unbuttoned, exposing a hint of his chest and the silver chain resting just above it. The sight made your breath catch for a moment, your heart skipping.

Mingyu caught your glance. His eyes met yours for a heartbeat, but then they dropped—slowly, unwillingly, lingering on your legs just a moment too long.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the fabric of your dress inching up, revealing more of your legs than you'd intended. The air between you both seemed to thicken, heavy with something unspoken.

In an awkward flurry, Mingyu began buttoning his shirt, his movements too quick, too self-conscious, like he was suddenly aware of every inch of space between you.

You cleared your throat, trying to fill the silence, and nervously stammered, “I—I’m making breakfast.”

Mingyu immediately sat up, “I’ll do it.”

You turned to glare at him, a bit sharper than you intended. “I can make it on my own.”

“I know you can,” he said with that same, effortless ease, his tall, towering frame moving toward you without hesitation. “But let me.” His voice was softer this time, the teasing gone.

His eyes flickered over you briefly—the exhaustion, the headache written all over your face, the way your clothes were still crumpled from last night.

“You should take a shower,” he added, voice gentle. “It’ll help with the headache.”

You blinked at him, and looked down on you after.

“Yeah..probably.”

You hesitated for a second before heading towards the bathroom, still feeling like you were stuck in some weird dream.

The moment you stepped in front of the mirror, you almost flinch.

Your makeup was smudged, your hair an absolute mess, strands sticking to your forehead. Your dress from last night was wrinkled and slightly loose on one side.

You looked horrible. Greasy. Disgusting.

Mingyu slept next to this?

You suddenly wanted to cry.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly peeled off your clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the weird feelings in your chest.

By the time you were done, you felt human again.

There was no way you were putting that dress back on, so you grabbed your bathrobe, tying it tightly around your waist before stepping out.

Your hair was still damp, strands clinging to your skin as you walked barefoot toward the kitchen, following the smell of food.

And then he turned around.

For a moment, it was like time froze.

Mingyu’s breath hitched the second his eyes landed on you.

The damp strands of hair framing your face, the way your robe sat snugly around you, revealing the delicate curve of your collarbone—he was so unprepared for this.

His fingers twitched around the wooden spoon, and for a split second, he forgot what he was even doing. His grip almost faltered.

He was staring.

Hard.

You raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Mingyu swallowed, snapping out of it. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’m—uh, food’s almost done.”

He forced a smile, turning back to the stove way too quickly—like he needed a second to compose himself.

You didn’t question it, shrugging as you took a seat at the table.

Mingyu, on the other hand, inhaled deeply, gripping the spoon like it was the only thing keeping him from completely losing his mind.

Yeah. He was so screwed.

“So.” Mingyu cleared his throat, a little too forcefully. “How’s your headache?”

You barely looked up, scrolling through the endless messages from Hoshi and Wonwoo. “Hm? Oh-It still hurts. But I’m sure I’ll feel better after eating something."

A beat of silence.

Too long. Too heavy.

You, sitting there like that—bare-faced, hair still damp, wrapped up in your robe—he had seen you like this before. And yet, right now, it felt… different. His fingers flexed against the edge of the kitchen counter.

He didn’t want to think about why.

“How’s work been lately?” he asked, voice casual—too casual. “You looked exhausted yesterday. And, well… the number of drinks you had kind of spoke for itself.”

You let out a dry laugh, stretching your legs beneath the table. “Yeah, work… Work has been insane. Feels like half the office is out sick, and I’m the lucky one picking up the slack.”

Mingyu frowned as he turned off the stove, moving with practiced ease. “That’s bullshit.” A pause. “No wonder you were exhausted.”

That wasn’t the reason you drank last night, but he didn’t need to know that.

You shrugged, watching him. The way he knew where everything was. The way he moved through your kitchen like he belonged there. Because he did.

Mingyu set a plate in front of you before settling into the chair across from you. He picked up his fork but didn’t eat right away, just watching you for a beat.

“You really need a break,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Then, his eyes flickered to yours, and something shifted in his expression. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Or maybe just… new clothes.”

You blinked. “What?”

He gestured vaguely toward you. “I mean, I knew you had a couple of my things, but—” He gave you a pointed look. “At this point, half of your closet is mine. I could practically move in here.”

You almost choked on your food.

That little shit.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “You know, I always wondered where my stuff kept disappearing to.” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “For a while, I actually believed I had a hole in my closet.”

You swallowed your bite. “Weird. Sounds like a you problem.”

He scoffed. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, keeping your face blank. “Mhm. No clue what you’re talking about.”

His gaze flickered over you, his smirk deepening. “So, you’re telling me my hoodies just magically disappeared? Along with my t-shirts? And my beanie? And—”

“Okay, okay,” you cut in, groaning. “Maybe your clothes are just… way too comfortable. Not my fault they’re basically begging to be stolen.”

“Begging,” he repeated, like he was tasting the word.

“Yes.” You met his eyes, feigning innocence. “I don’t see the issue.”

Mingyu let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “And yet, you still let me steal your stuff.”

He exhaled through his nose, picking at his food. “I don’t let you. You just take it.”

“Semantics.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but there was something in his expression—something warm, something familiar.

For a moment, it almost felt normal again. Like the weird tension from before had settled into something softer. Something easier.

But then his eyes lingered on you a second too long.

And suddenly, it was back.

That unspoken thing between you.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

You just kept eating.

And Mingyu?

Mingyu was so, so screwed.

Your phone started ringing. Hoshi was calling.

We were screwed.

By the time evening settled in, you had changed into something comfortable—his clothes, to be exact. He was still here, lingering in your space, and for a few fleeting hours, everything felt right. As if this was how it was always meant to be. As if this was your everyday. But deep down, a small voice whispered, warning you not to get used to it.

After dinner, Mingyu is still here.

You’re in the kitchen, washing dishes side by side like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against yours when he reaches for a plate, and it’s almost too quick to register. But you don’t pull away. Neither does he.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely, watching you as you load the dishes into the dishwasher. His voice breaks the silence, low and casual, but there’s an edge to it, something like hesitation.

“Do you still have a headache?”

Before you can speak, he’s close. His presence fills the space between you. His left hand gently presses against your forehead.. His right hand moves to your neck, fingers brushing lightly over your skin.

You barely notice it at first, but when you shift slightly, you feel it—your back pressing against the counter. Mingyu is so close, standing in front of you, subtly caging you in You can barely breathe. You don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he’s so close, or the fact that you want him closer.

Your voice falters when you answer. "I’m fine now. It’s... better." You watch as Mingyu’s face softens in an instant at your words.

Neither of you moves, standing close, too close.

Mingyu’s lips quirk into a grin, but there’s a hint of something more in his voice. “My clothes look good on you. I should let you steal them more often.”

You laugh, but it’s breathless. You stretch up, reaching for his face, your fingers brushing his skin. You squint your eyes, making a playful face. “I’d do it anyway. Don’t need your permission.”

Mingyu chuckles, but his gaze shifts, sharpening just enough for you to notice. He steps closer. The warmth radiating off his body, the faint brush of his leg against yours, the way his chest is so close that if you just leaned in the smallest bit, you'd be pressed against him. It’s intoxicating. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing for a second until you force yourself to inhale, only to take in the faint scent of him—clean, familiar, utterly Mingyu.

And then, he inches closer, almost without thinking, and his lips brush against yours—just the lightest touch, so soft that it could almost be a breath. Your body tenses, and for a second, everything stills.

But fuck, it’s enough to send heat coursing through his veins.

His lips are soft, teasing, brushing lightly against yours. The kiss is slow, barely there, but enough to leave you gasping for more.

You inhale sharply, your breath mixing with his. You don’t move away. If anything, you shift closer, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

His lips linger, hovering, teasing. Testing.

His self-control is hanging by a thread.

He tells himself to stop. You were loosing yourself in it. You-

- Ding Dong

The sound of the doorbell rings, slicing through the tension. You both freeze. The world shifts back into focus. The heat, the closeness, everything evaporates in an instant.

You step back, your breath coming in uneven gasps. Mingyu looks away, running a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure.

#maplegyu reads #maplegyu faves #mingyu romcom leading man au

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wendichester · 2 days ago

Text

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier³,

summary. after sam's confession, you can't deny your feelings anymore.

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!

wordcount. 1086

notes. just shocked. heartbroken. going absolutely insane with this series!

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1, part 2 + dean's ending

The bunker feels different now.

You don’t know how, exactly. The walls are the same, the air is the same—heavy with lore books and coffee, gunpowder and old leather. But something about it feels off, like the foundation has shifted beneath you and you don’t know how to walk steady anymore.

Because Sam left.

And Dean? Dean barely looks at you.

The last thing you remember clearly is standing between them, Sam’s confession hanging in the air like an exposed nerve. The way Dean turned away, the way he asked you if you loved Sam, the way your throat closed up before you could answer—

And now here you are. Days have passed. Maybe a week. Maybe more. The time feels meaningless when all you can do is think.

Sam isn’t here. He didn’t take much—just a bag, his laptop, a few weapons—but he’s gone. He left without another word, and you don’t even know where he went. Maybe that should be your answer right there. Maybe if you truly loved him, you wouldn’t have let him walk away. Maybe if you truly loved him, you would’ve chased him.

But you didn’t.

And yet…

You don’t sleep. Not really. Not without thinking of Sam’s eyes, how they softened when he looked at you. Not without remembering the way he always listened—really listened—when you talked, the way he knew when you needed silence and when you needed a joke. Not without thinking about how easy it was to just be with him, to exist beside him without effort or expectation.

Dean loves you. You know that.

But Sam sees you.

And it’s that realization—the quiet, slow, earth-shattering realization—that makes you sick.

Because what kind of person are you, to love one brother while holding the hand of the other?

Dean is quiet when you find him in the kitchen.

He sits at the table, nursing a beer, his jaw tight as he stares at nothing. It’s been like this ever since Sam left—short conversations, no teasing, no warmth. Just silence.

You sit across from him, tucking your hands in your lap. The words sit heavy on your tongue, but you need to say them. You owe him that.

“I think I love Sam.”

Dean exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not a surprised sound. He’s known. Maybe he’s always known.

“I figured,” he says after a moment. His voice is rough, distant. “You gonna go after him?”

Your heart twists. “I don’t know where he is.”

Dean lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Bullshit. If you really wanted to find him, you would.”

And there it is. The truth, laid out bare. You’ve been waiting for someone to say it, and now that he has, it stings worse than you imagined.

“I never meant to—”

“To what?” Dean snaps, finally looking at you, green eyes burning. “Never meant to fall for him? Never meant to lead me on?” He scoffs. “That’s comforting.”

You flinch. You deserve that. “Dean, I didn’t want this to happen.”

“Then why did it?”

“I don’t know.�� Your voice breaks. “I didn’t realize it, I didn’t—” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I love you, Dean. I do.”

Dean leans forward, forearms braced against the table. “But not like you love him.”

It’s not a question.

Tears burn behind your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Dean studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he pushes back his chair, standing up without a word.

“Dean—”

He holds up a hand, shaking his head. His throat bobs, but when he speaks, his voice is even. “Go find him.”

You don’t move.

“You want him?” Dean says, jaw tight. “Then go.”

And so you do.

It takes three days to track Sam down.

You follow a trail of credit card charges—cheap motel rooms, gas stations, diners. He’s been moving every couple of days, never staying in one place too long. It makes you sick, knowing he left because of you.

When you finally find him, it’s in a small, rundown motel on the edge of nowhere. His car is parked outside, the headlights catching in the rain-soaked pavement. Your hands shake as you knock on the door.

There’s a pause. Then, finally, the door creaks open.

Sam stands there, barefoot in jeans and a worn hoodie, hair messy, eyes tired. He blinks at you like he’s not sure you’re real.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His eyes widen and you can clearly see you were the last person he thought would be on the other side of the door. “What are you doing here?”

You take a shaky breath. “I think I love you.”

Silence. Then—

“You think?”

Your chest aches. “I know.”

Sam exhales sharply, looking away, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You can’t just—” He swallows. “You can’t just say that.”

“But it’s true.”

His jaw clenches. “And Dean?”

“I told him,” you say softly. “I ended it.”

Sam stares at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, suddenly, he lets out a breathless, almost bitter laugh. “Shit.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until Sam reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek. His touch is hesitant, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You broke up with Dean.”

“I had to.”

Sam shakes his head, but his hand doesn’t leave your face. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and careful.

“You broke his heart,” he says quietly.

“I know.” A tear slips down your cheek. “I never meant to hurt him.”

Sam swallows hard. “But you chose me.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “I did.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Sam exhales, something breaking in his expression, something raw and aching and real, and suddenly his hands are on you—gripping your face, pulling you in. His lips crush against yours, desperate and searching, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting forever.

He tastes like coffee and rain and something inherently Sam, something safe and familiar and right. His hands tremble against you, like he can’t believe you’re here, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

But you’re not going anywhere.

When you finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, Sam breathes out your name like a prayer. His hands cup your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your skin.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmurs.

You smile, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Then don’t let go.”

Sam’s lips ghost over yours, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Never.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @lmg14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20

#sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester angst #dean winchester angst #sam winchester fic #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx

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causenessus · 3 days ago

Text

comforting you. | bungou stray dogs

inc. chuuya, dazai, ranpo, odasaku

written is second pov (no gendered pronouns used)

"you deserve this." by men i trust

word count: 4.6k words

notes/warnings: separate scenarios for each bsd man and how they comfort you when you’re feeling down, giving you both love and realistic advice. i feel like i bounced between writing generalized headcanons and hyperspecific scenarios, so i’m sorry but i hope you enjoy this <3 each of you is deserving of so much love and patience <3 you deserve to be here <3 each pairing is in an established relationship. also (relevant for odasku’s scenario), the orphans are still alive. my writing my universe. i'm actually beastzai in another au where everyone lives and is happy and everything is okay. use of pet names "sweetheart" (chuuya scenario) "angel" (dazai scenario) and "love" (oda). general hurt/comfort drabbles :) lmk if I should add anything! i would NOT consider this proofread because I read it half-asleep at midnight trying to edit it so forgive me for any mistakes 🙏

special shoutouts to @dorotheasdiary + @aouzi for hyping me up/listening to my rambles abt this work!! sorry for the tag </3

chuuya.

sometimes the urge to give up became too strong.

was it too much to ask time to stop for just one day? it seemed all your pleas to the sky were falling on deaf ears.

still, as all things do, you eventually lost the motivation to keep pushing forward on your own.

like a runner who trips upon a small pebble and can’t get back into their pace, slowly, slowly falling behind the others.

the one difference was that you had come to a complete stop. you'd never allowed yourself a break until you were completely burnt out; unable to move even a muscle.

you haven’t even made it out of bed the whole day.

the room was starting to feel sick and stuffy with how long you’d laid in those sheets that no longer seemed to provide any comfort. rather, you felt like you were simply dirtying the sheets by continuing to lie there, purposeless, useless.

you barely had it in you to call out of work before drifting back into a mundane sleep that you continued to wake up and fall back into for the better half of the day. you hadn’t looked at your phone after sending a quick text to your manager, unprepared for whatever kind of passive-aggressive response they'd messaged back with because of your late notice. the unknown was too much right now, you couldn't focus on anyone you couldn't read but yourself. you didn’t want to be around friends, family, or people out on the street, where your mind would run rapid laps around itself, trying to figure out what everyone thought of you.

at work, it was the same; sizing yourself up to your coworkers, figuring out how well-liked you were— how replaceable you would be if one day you suddenly up and dropped, or, more likely in your mind, you annoyed everyone enough that they let you go.

never really knowing what others thought terrified you. obviously it wasn't the norm despite living in a world filled with those gifted with abilities to be able to read another's mind but that didn’t mean your mind could simply let the anxieties go. your head always seemed to be buzzing, preoccupied with concerns about something.

which is why you had tried to block everything out, the moment you woke up this morning and every rustle of your legs tumbled in the sheets was too loud for your ears; a playlist of music on shuffle played softly from your phone nearby, giving your brain something mindless to focus on while you had your head pressed between pillows to deafen out the rest of the world.

you didn’t feel any better or any energized despite how much you had slept today, but at the very least, sleep often took you away from constantly having to listen to whatever your mind wanted to rave and overthink next.

'what time is it? have i even gotten up once today? i should at least walk around. clean up. i'll never be motivated to get out of bed like this—' there your head went, taking one simple question and turning it into spindles of chains to wrap around your throat.

but when you feel the mattress sink beside you, suddenly everything goes quiet. the sheets become just sheets again–not something you’re sinking into or dirtying. someone has opened the curtains, revealing an orange sunset outside, and something nice is playing from the speaker of your phone, you realize.

he is the only one who doesn’t make your head spin. he is your grounding anchor, the gravitational force keeping your feet planted on this earth, opening your eyes to the beauty of the world you couldn’t otherwise see due your own anxieties.

“you been here all day?” he must have snuck in without you even hearing him (which isn’t hard to believe, considering the cushions you’d just been pressing to both of your ears), even giving him enough time to change. chuuya’s hair is still in a loose ponytail and he wears that black choker around his neck as always, but he’s dressed in a white shirt and some sweatpants, his gloveless hands reaching out to rub circles in your back.

he’s bare with you, and that’s what you love most about him.

you’ve had you’re insecurities about not being good enough for him and anything else typical within a relationship, but he never leaves you wondering. he grabs your hand to keep you from floating away too far, getting lost in your own thoughts, often pulling you back into the moment, when you’re lying in bed with him on quiet nights, the sides of your faces only lit by a nearby warm bedside lamp. he’ll trace the side of your face, searching your eyes, asking, “where did you go?”

and you can’t always answer, but you know, every time he asks you this question, that at least you can tell him where you are now. you’re at home with him.

and this moment is no different, with his calloused hands gliding up and down your back, and you only let out a small whine, shuffling closer to him as best as you can with how tangled you are up in his sheets.

“what’s wrong?” he asks softly, head tilting towards you slightly as you shimmy closer. “how can i help, sweetheart?”

you like how clear he is. how he always tells you what he’s thinking. he never leaves anything up to interpretation, always silencing your thoughts before they can make an assumption and run far with it.

while in the beginning of your relationship, it was hard to always voice what you needed, you came to realize with time that when chuuya asked you what he could do to help, it wasn’t him pressuring you to tell him what was wrong. it was simply how his head worked; he wanted you to be clear about what you needed. if that meant talking out your problems, he would listen. if that meant leaving you alone, he’d give you as much time as you needed (albeit probably checking in at some points just to make sure you didn’t need anything, it was just his nature to care for you). but all in all, he just needed you to talk to him. he would talk to you, you would talk to him. that's how miscommunication was prevented. your mind always felt so clear when you were around him because of how rationally he seemed to think of everything—all you had to do was follow his lead, and everything else came easily. things were never sugar-coated between the two of you, they were said plain and simple. (and with how charming he was, chuuya’s words often ended up being just as sweet as sugar anyway, not even needing to be wrapped up in some false front. when he said “i love you,” it was something clear. a fact, not something said just to appease you or mellow things out, he said it because he meant it).

and how refreshing it was, being lost in a sea of your own murky, unclear thoughts based off of assumptions upon assumptions, to be pulled from that ocean to the shoreline and be promised that the sun would rise again.

eventually, opening up to him became easier. even thought it sometimes took a few hours, you always ended up telling him what was on your mind and he waited patiently every time. he only ever listened unless you asked for more, and he never invalidated your feelings. trusting that he was just going to listen to you, it began to take even less time to prepare yourself to open up. it became as easy as taking a sip of water; something you had to do voluntarily, but was still needed, healing, and often refreshing.

the pitch of your voice slightly heightens as you hum a “yes” in response to his question, curling up closer to him, and his fingers have found their way into your hair, combing through it. “got tired of everything,” you whisper softly, resting your forehead against the side of his thigh, thankful for his contact.

“yeah? i’m sure you did, baby. you’re doing a lot. it’s good to take a break every now and then. anything in particular spur you to take the day off? there’s no shame in just deciding to take a rest day for the hell of it either, though,” he speaks as gently as his actions, shifting slightly on the bed so that you can rest more comfortably, your head now laying in his lap, and he brushes your hair out of your face as you look up at him and his pretty bangs framing his face as he leans down towards you.

you hum in thought at the question, searching your brain for the answer. was there something that had triggered you to break today? or was it just the build-up of it all? “not really anything in particular,” you shrug slightly, still admiring his golden-brown eyes, hooded and soft, gazing into your own, “just felt like everything came toppling down today. i’ve just been thinking too much about what others think of me. i don’t feel that important to the world, or my job. i’m easily replaceable–nothing special–and yet i have to keep fighting for this job. i have to fight to occupy space for myself in the world when i never even asked to be here in the first place. —and of course you make everything better but i mean–you know me. you’re good to me. you’re too good to me. and sometimes i can’t understand why you waste all of that goodness in you on me.” by the time you’re finished, he’s gently lifted your head out of his lap to lay down on his side next to you, continuing to face you the entire time.

you finish your long-winded explanation of unreasonable worries, and he only stares into your face, and you begin to shift under his eyes uncomfortably. his head his propped up in his hands, and he wears a small smile on his face, eyes flicking every few moments to focus on a different part of your face. “...chuu?” you whisper his name quietly, and his smile only grows.

“sorry, got too caught up admiring your pretty face,” he apologizes, and there he goes again, being so honest it makes your heart squeeze sometimes. he shifts his position slightly, reaching out his free hand to intertwine his slender fingers with yours, gently pressing the pads of his fingertips against your own, playing with them. “well, first of all, don’t think of your life through the lens that you are now. you can’t control or read anyone else’s mind, and that’s okay. people make a lot of irrational decisions anyway, it’s impossible to predict what someone will do, so don’t worry about what they think. what makes how they perceive you or what they think more correct than what you feel? they could be totally wrong about something, and they are if they think you’re replaceable, or bad, or whatever. don’t make yourself smaller for anyone else. you’re so smart and thoughtful and if anyone makes you feel bad about who you are, i’ll talk shit back to them, alright?”

you nod at his words but don’t meet his attempt to lighten the mood, only shifting closer again, hiding your face in his chest, breathing in his scent. his hand is back on your head, keeping you close while combing through your hair. “i think you're perfect as you are, [y/n]. i wouldn't want you any other way. you're the only thing on my mind all the time and you’re all i think about—if you're worried about what goes through my mind. i'll always be here for you, i'll be right behind you even if the world is against you. all you need is me, i’d burn everything to the ground for you in a heartbeat."

dazai.

as a kid, you quickly learned not to fight back.

others were allowed to be angry and lash out, but when you did the same, it was wrong wrong wrong.

when you were young, you learned that love was conditional.

there was no understanding when it came to your emotions. no matter the kind of day that you had you were still expected to always be kind and patient, and never yell back.

to be loved–or rather, to simply survive in this world, you had to be the smaller person; never expect someone to love you for who you are, but because they like that you’re agreeable, quiet, and passive. never expect anyone to care about how you feel, no matter how close of a friend they are.

and surely, you couldn’t expect any kind of empathy from a coworker.

but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, and you could feel the way your chest contracted, suffocating with you, every time you were the brunt of kunikida’s critiques. there was no middle between letting the man belittle you to a husk of your former self or the scariest option of all: say something and risk your dynamic with him worsening even more.

setting boundaries and speaking your mind had never been things that came easy to you, as admitting that something was wrong in your relationship with someone always seemed to leave a gaping hole in the relationship that would always be prevalent, at least to you. telling someone who seemed to be unaware of how unkind their words were “you’re hurting me” seemed to always make things awkward between you and the other party. they realized they could no longer throw you around and every time they left, you couldn't help but think you should've dealt with it and kept your mouth shut.

so you smile and nod along to whatever kunikida’s ordering you to do next, fake laughing when he says something about how important the job is and to make sure you don’t fail, as if such an option was even possible. you had never messed up anything he asked you to do, and with how long he went on about the importance of the job, you never planned to. but his ending words always reminded you of how little your efforts seemed to matter to him. he would never trust you or see you as anything better than just a little office worker to dump work on.

your face drops as soon as the man turns his back to you, and you let out a quiet sigh before returning to the laptop in front of you before hands upon your shoulders scare you.

“caught you!” a voice pops up from behind you, making you exclaim, jumping in your seat, whipping your head around to see a familiar brown-haired man. he was always causing problems for kunikida and getting scolded, and yet he seemed to be able to take everything as a light-hearted joke. he came into work every day with a smile on his face and new ways to irritate kunikida, while you couldn’t see yourself ever returning to this office if that man yelled at you the way he yelled at the boy in front of you even once.

“dazai! you scared me,” your eyes follow him as he slides into the chair next to you, slightly rolling away from you with how he’d launched himself into the seat. “what did you…catch?” you ask, watching as he scoots closer back to you again, resting his cheek on a bandaged arm atop of the oak desk you both sit at.

“now, now. let's not try and act all innocent. why are you letting him talk to you like that if it hurts you?” he asks with a smile, while your face only pales, your heart completely freezing up the moment you hear the question you fear most. you have to tear your eyes away before he sees through you anymore, and you look down into your lap, where you’re picking at your fingers. if dazai noticed it, surely others did. had kunikida been able to read your face? had you offended him because you refused to communicate your true feelings with him? maybe you seemed like a stuck-up individual in his eyes if he could tell that you were faking with him, and you weren’t sure if him believing that lie or finding out the truth would be worse.

“well i…” you trail off when his fingers come into your line of sight, intertwining them with yours, stopping you from the bad habit.

“have i ever gotten upset with you for very understandably getting annoyed at my endless antics? have we ever disagreed on something we absolutely refused to resolve? no to both. but are humans creatures of imperfection by nature? have we all made mistakes? yes, and that’s why they’re able to forgive each other unless they’re insufferably stuck up. but don’t let your head turn kunikida into a monster he’s not. he’ll understand if you ask him to speak to you less directly, or with more belief in you. he’s giving you these jobs because he trusts you, you know. he just rambles on about the importance of them because that’s who he is. you know that, and you know him. you know he’ll work to treat others with the respect they deserve, you just have to tell him so first. but he’s not going to get mad at you,” your eyes flick up from where he’s running a thumb along your knuckles up to him, only to find him already looking at you with those warm hazel brown eyes of his. he’s right, and it feels nice to be seen and not bashed for your true feelings. instead, you're being understood. under his gaze, you no longer feel weak for how sensitive or emotional you may feel. he’s looking at you like you’re worth something, worth enough that you can fight for yourself, worth enough to deserve to be comfortable in your relationships, rather than used by those near you.

“thank you,” you mumble, and he’s pulled you close by the wheels of your own chair, your knees knocking as one of his hands reach up to caress the back of your neck, soothing you further as you continue to look at him.

his lips are still curved into a smile, not the trickster one he wears as he comes up with his next plot to harass kunikida, but a soft, genuine one, like he loves and cares about you, without you even asking anything of him. maybe this is what love is; being looked at and known, without even having to open your mouth.

“of course, angel,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against the back of your scalp, “bring it up while atsuhi or i are around if you want, we’ll help you explain how you feel. you’re not alone, you never were and you never have to be."

ranpo.

ranpo’s heightened abilities to observe, infer, and understand go far past anything related to his detective work.

the first time he found you feeling down and wanted to comfort you, he defaulted to what he knows helps him feel better (i.e. sweet treats, dim lights, warm, quiet environments). the entire time, while his hand is on your back, rubbing it soothingly as you lean against him, soft cries muffled by the blanket he’s placed over you, his brain is running the entire time with what he can do best to support you; did you like what he brung you? do you prefer to isolate yourself or do you like the company when you’re feeling down? blankets or no blankets? do you want him to talk to you and try to provide a distraction or is just being there for you what you need? touch, or no touch?

ranpo is so attentive to your needs. whatever you want and is best for you, he will get you and do for you. he gives all thanks to fukuzawa, for helping him realize not everyone sees the world the way he does, all those years ago. since then, he’s learned to be more responsive, emotionally thoughtful, and soft-hearted in his responses if that’s that what you need. but if you want to hear logic and how he’s rationalizing out your situation, he can do that, too. again, he is completely willing to bend and shape himself to your needs. the only thing he will always push for is to be in a room with you when you’re feeling down, even if you don’t want company </3

he knows when you really need to be alone, but he doesn’t like to let you be on your own for too long. he’ll always be in the next room over if you need anything, quietly pacing the room, only worried and thinking of you and if he can do anything more for you. if you’re curled up in bed all night, he’ll eventually knock on the door to ask if he can sleep with you and keep you company. he wholeheartedly believes letting other people help you and be there for you helps, especially to prevent you from spiraling down any pits of despair or insecurity. he wants you to know how much he cares about you and your wellbeing, he wants to be there to hold you close, press gentle kisses to your head, and murmur promises that he’ll never ever leave you alone.

but if you say no to company, he is happy to sleep on the couch and will be up the moment you call his name if you need something or decide you do want company. he is there completely for you always and whenever, and all of it comes from a place of love. he’ll never push you to do anything or tell him anything you don’t want to, and he’ll try not to infer anything even if he knows he could use context clues to find out exactly what’s upsetting you. he knows you’ll tell him when you’re ready if you want to, and it’s never his job to be in your business. his only responsibility is to love you and make sure you know it <3

oda.

you’ve never been great at facing your own problems, and you’re even worse at facing others in your time of struggle. it feels impossible to rely upon anyone, no matter how close they are to you.

sakunosuke oda is a selfless man, always taking care of others, putting their wellbeing above his own. he took in five orphans despite knowing the increased risk to his own safety that would come with taking care of them, and he still chose to do it despite not having a place of his own to take care of them at. he gives half of his wage as one of the lowest-ranking members of the port mafia to the kids every time he receives his salary and he’s never once deviated from the habit.

you know he’d drop everything for you if you told him what was wrong, but you couldn’t do that to him. it didn’t feel that serious. and worst of all, telling him how you were feeling would only cause him to cut his job short and then he’d be standing there with you while you continued to wallow in misery; of course his presence would help you feel better, but it wouldn’t immediately solve everything.

it wasn’t worth it. was your justification as you slipped out of your shared apartment. it wasn’t worth telling someone else how you were feeling, because they couldn’t solve it. you couldn’t solve it. you couldn’t even figure out for yourself what was wrong. you had to make your existence worth it instead, then. the best way you found, to distract yourself from your feelings and make sure they remained pushed down, was by helping others. no one whose in need of help often asks how others are truly doing, and you like that about them.

you don’t tell him where you’re going. you have nothing to hide; you just don’t want to worry him. you’ll tell him if he asks, but for now, you’re on your own.

but what kind of partner would he be if he didn’t know you? if he hadn’t memorized and kissed every mole, freckle, and blemish adorning your body? he knew you better than you realized, although you could never fully accept the fact that he paid attention to you, remembered your likes and dislikes, and knew your habits and routines like the back of his hand, all just because he loves you.

and when he comes home from work to an empty house, searching for any traces of you, he’s not worried. he has an idea of where you are and he knows that all he needs to do is text you, if he's curious. and he doesn’t immediately push his assumptions onto you about why you might be out and where; he knows you can take care of yourself and that you’ll communicate your needs to him. so when he texts you, it's not that he's demanding that you come home or ot tell him your whereabouts. rather, his texts are just to let you know he cares and is waiting for you at home.

sakunosuke ♡ : i’m home, just wanted to let you know

sakunosuke ♡ : text me if you need anything. and be safe

if he sees that you haven’t at least read his message within an hour or if he just can't wait to see you when you get home, whenever that may be, he already knows where to find you nine times out of 10. he’ll text the owner of his favorite curry shop, asking him if he’s seen you while already on his way down to the restaurant.

it's usually where he can find you there when you’re feeling down; braiding sakura’s hair, folding their laundry, coloring with one of the boys, helping out downstairs in the kitchen, or wherever else you can find a place to keep yourself busy. he knows that you’re always like this when you’re upset, and if you won’t take the day off to take care of yourself, then he will do it for you happily and well. he won’t even try to pull you away from what you’re doing–he’ll simply sit down with you, grabbing his own colored pencil while making small talk with the kids, giving you a small smile when you realize he's come into the room. or suddenly he’s next to you, helping you carry and hang up laundry, or drying off the dishes you’re washing.

and then before you know it, you’re walking home with him, hand in hand, a plastic bag rustling in his free one. you’ve both stopped to get food on the way home, and once you make it there, he’s immediately sitting you down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “let me do everything, love.” he’ll help you out of your clothes into something more comfortable, holding your hair back while you wash your face and clean up, he’ll pull your chair out for you as you sit back down, and run a hand through your hair, keeping any stray strands out of your face as you eat.

outside of the house, you can bury your feelings as much as you want to and work to please others, but at home with him, you’re the focus. you’re the one who’s honored and worshipped in the house. sakunosuke’s not letting you lift a finger if he can help it, and you can’t get away with continuing to ignore your feelings when his only desire is to help you.

and you’ll tell him what’s bothering you when you’re ready. he knows that after how long you both have been together. and so in the meantime, he’ll wait patiently, showering you with all the love in the world. ♡

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dreaminguponlilypads · 3 days ago

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PRETTY LIAR, UGLY CRIER.

female!reader x Simon “Ghost” Riley

kinda hate this one lol

You were good at pretending.

Good at lying through your teeth, at smiling when your heart ached, at making everyone believe you were fine. It was second nature by now—playing the part of someone who wasn’t breaking, who wasn’t falling apart piece by piece.

And Simon let you.

He wasn’t stupid. He could see the cracks, the fractures running deep beneath the surface. But he never pushed, never forced you to spill your demons. He just watched—quiet, observant, waiting for the day you’d finally tell the truth.

But you never did.

Because you were a pretty liar. And he let you lie.

Until tonight.

Tonight, the weight of it all finally came crashing down, and for the first time, you couldn’t hold it in. It was ugly. It was raw. It was real.

You were curled up in the corner of the room, knees pulled to your chest, fists clenched in your lap as sobs wracked your body. Your entire frame shook, each breath sharp and ragged, your face streaked with hot, messy tears.

Your lips trembled violently, and no matter how hard you tried to quiet yourself, you couldn’t stop.

You were falling apart.

And Simon was there to see it.

He didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t demand an explanation or scold you for keeping it all bottled up for so long. He just watched—watched as the girl who always smiled, who always pretended to be fine, shattered right in front of him.

And then, he moved.

Slow, careful. He sank to his knees in front of you, hands resting on his thighs as he studied your crumpled form. “C’mere, love.” His voice was low, rough with something you couldn’t quite place.

You shook your head violently, trying to wipe your face, trying to hide the mess. He wasn’t supposed to see you like this. No one was.

But Simon wasn’t having it.

He reached forward, prying your hands away gently, his fingers curling around your wrists. His grip was warm, solid, grounding. “No more lyin’.” His thumb traced slow circles against your pulse point, steady and unyielding. “Not with me.”

You choked on a sob, your resolve crumbling further.

Simon exhaled, tilting his head slightly. “You always put on a good show. Smilin’ when you don’t mean it. Laughin’ when you wanna scream.” He shifted closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you don’t have to do that with me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, more tears slipping free. “I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Simon hummed quietly, pulling you forward. He let you collapse against him, let you bury your face in his chest as your fingers twisted into his hoodie. His arms wrapped around you, firm and unshakable, one hand cradling the back of your head.

“Then let me do it for you.”

You cried until your throat was raw, until your body ached with exhaustion. And through it all, Simon held you.

Because he wasn’t going anywhere.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, folded into him, fingers clutching his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Your sobs had quieted, leaving only shaky breaths and the occasional hiccup that made your body jolt against his.

Simon didn’t speak. Didn’t rush you. He just held you—his warmth bleeding into your skin, his slow, steady breaths coaxing you toward something resembling calm. His grip was firm but not suffocating, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

You felt… exposed.

Raw.

Like the girl who always had a perfect mask had finally cracked, and now all that was left was this messy, shaking, broken thing in his arms.

You hated it.

“I look like shit.” The words rasped out before you could stop them, your voice hoarse from crying. You tried to pull back, to put some space between you, but Simon didn’t let you go far.

He exhaled sharply—something like a half-scoff, half-laugh—as he tilted his head down, his masked face inches from yours. “Yeah, you do.”

You froze. “You’re not supposed to agree, asshole.”

“What, you want me to lie to you?” His arms tightened slightly, keeping you close. “I thought we were done with that.”

Your face burned, and you dropped your forehead against his chest again, groaning. “You’re the worst.”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

There was something almost gentle in the way he said it, the words carrying none of his usual teasing edge. It made something in your chest tighten—something deep, something fragile.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Simon shifted, his gloved fingers brushing against your wrist, where the skin was still tender from how tightly you’d been clenching your fists. “You always do this?” His voice was quieter now, careful.

You hesitated, your stomach twisting. You didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to admit that this wasn’t the first time you’d broken like this. That it was a pattern—burying everything until it clawed its way back to the surface, suffocating you.

Simon must’ve seen the answer in your silence.

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Love.” The word was soft. Rough. It scraped against something raw inside you.

You swallowed hard. “I don’t—” You hesitated, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how else to deal with it.”

Simon was quiet for a long moment. His fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along the inside of your wrist, grounding you.

Then—“Alright.”

You blinked, confused. “Alright?”

He nodded. “You don’t know how to stop. Fine. But you don’t have to do it alone.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “Next time you feel like this? You come to me.”

You stared at him, trying to find some hint of doubt, some crack in the promise. There was none.

“You don’t have to fix it. You just have to let me stay.”

Your throat tightened. “That easy, huh?”

A dry chuckle. “Nah. Not easy at all.” His gloved fingers lifted, brushing against your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “But I don’t mind hard things.”

Something in you cracked wide open.

Something you thought was sealed off.

But it never felt more refreshing.

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zwombiekochan341 · 1 day ago

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♡ SUGURU GETO & SATORU GOJO AS YANDERES ♡

Suguru Geto as a Yandere

- Obssesion & Love -

Geto isn’t the type to fall in love instantly. His obsession develops gradually, rooted in admiration and a sense of possession rather than infatuation.

At first, he sees you as an exception—unlike the “monkeys” he despises, you’re different, special, worthy of his attention.

His love is deep and unwavering, but it comes with an almost god-like superiority. He genuinely believes he knows what’s best for you.

Over time, this love twists into obsession, but Geto doesn’t see it that way. To him, it’s just natural—why wouldn’t he protect and claim the only person who truly matters?

- Possessiveness & Control -

Geto is extremely possessive but hides it well. He doesn’t lash out immediately—he manipulates situations so that you become dependent on him.

If someone gets too close, he doesn’t waste energy on petty jealousy. Instead, he orchestrates subtle sabotage—ruining friendships, isolating you, and making sure he’s the only person you can truly rely on.

He wants your world to revolve around him, and he does it so gracefully that you don’t even notice until it’s too late.

“You don’t need them. You have me. Isn’t that enough?”

- Manipulation & Mind Games -

Geto is a master manipulator. He doesn’t need brute force to keep you by his side—he uses guilt, logic, and persuasion to make you stay willingly.

He subtly rewrites reality, convincing you that the outside world is cruel and only he can keep you safe.

If you ever try to leave, he doesn’t panic. He simply smiles, speaks calmly, and twists your emotions until you start doubting yourself.

“I’m disappointed. After everything I’ve done for you, you’d really leave me for them?”

If manipulation doesn’t work, he shifts tactics—subtly making you fear the world beyond his grasp. He lets you believe it’s your choice to stay, when in reality, he’s eliminated all your other options.

- Violence & Darker Tendencies -

Unlike a reckless yandere, Geto doesn’t act out of impulse. Every action is calculated. If someone threatens his hold on you, he removes them efficiently and quietly.

He never harms you—physically, at least. But his emotional grip is just as suffocating.

If you truly defy him, he doesn’t lash out. Instead, he makes you regret it—not through pain, but through psychological torment. He isolates you until you crawl back to him on your own.

“You made a mistake. But I’m forgiving. Come back to me, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

- Devotion & Worship -

Despite his possessiveness, Geto’s love is genuine. He worships you in his own twisted way, seeing you as the only person worthy of standing beside him.

He wants you to believe in his vision, to see the world the way he does, to belong to him in mind and soul.

He expects complete devotion, but in return, he gives you his undivided love and protection.

“You are mine. And I am yours. That’s how it should be, don’t you agree?”

- Kidnapping & Captivity -

If it comes to this, Geto does it with grace and patience. He doesn’t need to chain you up—he simply makes it so that leaving is no longer an option.

He ensures your comfort—your prison is elegant, a place where you have everything you could ever want… except freedom.

He speaks to you with kindness, making it seem like he’s doing this for your own good.

"This isn’t a cage, my love. This is a sanctuary—where the world can’t hurt you. Where you’re safe. With me."

- Endgame: Can You Escape? -

Escaping from Geto isn’t impossible, but it’s nearly so. He’s too smart, too calculated, always ten steps ahead.

Even if you somehow break free, he will find you again. And when he does, he won’t be angry. Just… disappointed.

And that’s the worst part—because he’ll welcome you back like you never left, making you question whether you ever should have.

“You must be tired. Running, struggling. Come home, love. This time, I won’t let you go.”

Satoru Gojo as a Yandere

- Obsession & Love -

Gojo doesn’t fall in love easily—he’s used to people admiring him, fearing him, or wanting something from him.

But when he falls, he falls hard. His obsession with you is intense, all-consuming, and nearly impossible to escape.

Unlike others who might struggle with their feelings, Gojo embraces his obsession. He finds it thrilling, like a new challenge to conquer.

“You? Leaving me? Pfft, that’s adorable. As if I’d ever let that happen.”

- Possessiveness & Control -

Gojo is extremely possessive, but he masks it behind teasing and playfulness. He acts like your overprotective boyfriend, but the reality is much darker.

He loves knowing everything about you—where you go, who you talk to, what you’re thinking. It’s not even difficult for him; his power makes stalking effortless.

He casually interrupts your plans, ensuring you spend more time with him than with anyone else.

“Oh? You were supposed to meet someone? Too bad~ I need you more.”

- Manipulation & Mind Games -

Unlike more brutal yanderes, Gojo doesn’t need force—he plays with your mind and emotions until you’re completely dependent on him.

He gaslights you playfully, making you question reality until you start seeing things his way.

He weaponizes affection, overwhelming you with love one moment, then pulling back just enough to make you crave it.

“C’mon, don’t be mad. You know I only do this because I love you, right?”

- Jealousy & Violence -

Gojo doesn’t get jealous—he gets amused. He doesn’t see anyone as a real threat because, in his mind, who could possibly take you away from him?

But that doesn’t mean he won’t eliminate the competition. If someone gets too close, they simply… disappear.

He never lets you see his darker side, but if you ever found out, he’d just grin and say,

“Oops~ guess I got a little carried away. But hey, now it’s just you and me, forever and ever.”

- Devotion & Worship -

Despite his insanity, Gojo adores you. To him, you’re the only thing that makes his world bearable.

He spoils you rotten, making sure you’re comfortable, happy, and completely reliant on him.

But make no mistake—his love is suffocating. You are his, and nothing will change that.

“You don’t need anyone else. Just me. Always me.”

- Kidnapping & Captivity -

If Gojo ever decides to take you away, it’s game over.

There’s no escape—he’s too powerful, too smart, too in love to ever let you slip through his fingers.

But he makes it fun. He keeps you entertained, showered in affection, acting like nothing is wrong.

“Awww, you look so sad. Don’t worry, you’ll love it here! After all, you’re with me~”

- Endgame: Can You Escape? -

No. You cannot escape Satoru Gojo. Not in any lifetime, not in any universe.

If you try, he finds you. If you resist, he breaks you—gently, of course.

In the end, you always end up in his arms, because there is no world where he lets you go.

“Silly thing. You’re mine. Forever. Accept it.”

Whew… and that’s a wrap! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) This was my first time writing something like this, so I hope it turned out okay~! I had a lot of fun, but I’d love to hear what you think! Did you enjoy it? Was it yandere enough? (¬‿¬)♡

Feel free to leave your thoughts, but please be kind! (⺣◡⺣) And if you liked it, maybe stick around for more? Who knows what other obsessive little tales I’ll come up with next… fufu~ (♡ >ω< ♡)

Thanks for reading, and see you next time~! (✿˶˘ ³˘)♡

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catboydreamer · 14 hours ago

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friendships to games to lovers

Scaramouche x reader, childhood friends (reluctant) to lovers :)

you two grew up in the same neighborhood as kids, and eventually ended up hanging out (if you could call it that)

you pestering him constantly until he finally gives in with a grumble.

eventually he starts seeking you out too, making up ridiculous lies that you see right through but pretend to be oblivious about. all because you know he’ll back down if you call it out, and you refuse to see that happen.

you had moved homes when you were 15 years old but what are the odds you’d attend the same college as him?!

actually, it was a local community college in his (and previously yours) hometown.

when he sees you he tries to keep up with his snarky comments but you can see a glimmer of emotion just boiling over the edge

he’s a shit talker but a really good gift giver. he can’t help shoving his homemade lunch towards you, muttering quietly, “if you’re anything like before, you forgot to pack a lunch. and im not having you eat the shitty food in here.”

he’s grown taller now, too. something you thought wasn’t possible out of him. he didn’t tower over you or anything like that but it was enough to give him an edge.

as you rekindle a relationship, whatever it is, he uses his height a lot. he’s almost cocky about it; reaching above you to grab a book you needed, often leaning too far into your space. or even on more than one occasion, reaching into the cupboard to grab a mug from the highest shelf when he knows you’re leaning against the counter, right in front of it. and if you question it, he shrugs, “hm. cant say I’ve noticed it.”

he’s messing with you intentionally. he watches your reactions like a hawk, intensity flickering over his eyes.

deep down he just wants you to like him as much as he likes you but he wants to see you squirm a little bit too.

it’s just the type of man he is, to tease you before letting you know exactly what’s going through his head.

well, he has no intentions of being truthful actually, just dancing around the past and the present.

he wants the transition to be painfully slow until you find yourself captured by his presence as if it’s always been there.

though, it’s you, so that doesn’t really happen. plus, he finds himself lost on you, frustrated when gestures don’t /seem/ to affect you that much.

in reality, you’ve gotten good at hiding emotions. your fear of being someone to play with rises up.

it all comes to a head one autumn evening.

he invited you over for dinner one evening, with all the usual antics.

he’s pulling a flirtatious gaze while mocking you in the same sentence.

maybe something set you off that day or the tension just grew to be too much. after all, you were never known for your patience.

the two of you were in the middle of eating dinner but the exact meal was lost on you. you didn’t care what it was. your skin felt red hot.

one final stupid comment with a sly smile made you break in half.

“you know what? im so over your stupid games, kunikuzushi.”

his eyes widen for a moment before a look of clarity falls into his gaze, “what are you talking about-“

you cut him off cleanly, “no. you know exactly what’s going through im talking about. I’m not gonna play your games anymore. you can properly ‘fess up to your feelings or this is it.”

his blood runs cold; he’s deathly pale more than usual. there’s an unusual fear in his eyes as his head drops so you can’t see his full reign of emotions as he speaks. all you want to do is lift his chin with the tip of your finger tips so he can’t escape you but you leave such a bold move for another occasion.

his words are quick to the point, “I only wanted to know if you… l-loved me back,” his voice is full of cracks.

a smooth blush blossoms over his cheeks and the tips of his ears. he’s more than unready to truly speak of it all.

slowly his gaze lifts up to meet yours; a soft twinkle in your eyes and a warming smile pulling at your lips.

“you’re so stupid. I’ve always loved you.”

his heart jumps to his throat and he’s frozen in position.

“c’mere,” and you motion to your lap.

he huffs, turning his head to the side. your eyes bore into him, not intending on taking no for an answer.

he gives in after a few beats of silence. he sludges over to you, clumsily climbing into your lap. he’s technically bigger than you now but still slender enough that it’s not too much.

he’s shaking like a leaf. you don’t comment on it and especially not on how his entire body slowly relaxes completely at your touch and you trace small circles over his shoulder blades. your other hand grips his hand into yours.

you’ll be damned if you don’t give him more than enough physical affection even if he acts like he doesn’t need it.

you smile up at him. he has melted completely under your touch but you don’t dare to speak it.

his eyes dart away from your gaze as the phrase comes out in a quiet yet clear mumble, “I really do love you.”

you give his hand a firm squeeze, I know you do.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #kunikuzushi #wanderer #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche comfort #it’s comfort bc it’s comforting TO ME #scara x reader #bro I actually love this one #ANDDU BETTER TOO #bc it’s beautiful #I wish I like expanded it more but I also like how it is if that makes any sense lol

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haytan · 2 days ago

Text

WILDFLOWER | G.A

inspired by billie eilish's wildflower. I think you can already predict that it's very angst. I cried writing this and I love it even more because of it.

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 3390

𓍼 SUMMARY: after listening to Two People on Good Riddance tour something invades you, like a fever.

𓍼 WARNINGS: angst, good ending...

good riddance had been out for a few months now, yet you still remembered the nights when gracie came home late from the studio. it might have seemed like a bad thing, but she always found a way to make it up to you—small surprises, late-night apologies that always ended with her between your legs—so, in the end, it was never really that bad.

one of the things you admired most about her was her honesty, especially when it came to her feelings. while working on the album, she never let you forget how much she loved you, how important your relationship was, and how those lyrics were nothing more than echoes of old wounds.

more than anyone, you understood what this album meant to her. it wasn’t just a way to express everything she had been through, but the first project that was truly hers, a piece of her heart laid bare. and you had been there for every part of it.

before love ever crossed your mind, you and gracie were just friends. and you had the luck—or maybe the curse—of knowing her ex-boyfriend, of watching them grow together and, eventually, fall apart.

it should have been easy to let time wash it all away, to accept that the past was nothing more than that. you had promised yourself it wouldn’t matter anymore. you had promised gracie, too.

but then two people started playing.

and when gracie sang that one specific line—

"and you know, you know every inch of my body"

that was when the tears started falling, before you could even think about stopping them. that was the night you started seeing him in the back of your mind again when you started feeling like you were burning alive.

but you knew she didn't mean to hurt you.

so you kept it to yourself.

…

the next morning, usually filled with kisses and silly conversations, is ruined by a tension that settles between you like something unspoken—thick and heavy. the air inside the apartment feels too still, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for one of you to break the silence.

gracie leans against the sink, absentmindedly stirring her tea, though you’re not even sure if she actually intends to drink it. her fingers tap a slow rhythm against the ceramic mug, eyes fixed on some distant point.

you sit on a stool by the counter, arms crossed, so close yet so far away. the hum of the fridge, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall—everything sounds too loud in the midst of the silence between you.

"are you really not going to talk to me?" gracie finally says, her voice quieter than usual but heavy with frustration.

you exhale through your nose, hearing your own heartbeat echo inside your head. "i don’t know what you want me to say."

"i want you to say whatever it is that’s bothering you."

you shake your head, staring at a spot on the floor. "it’s nothing, gracie."

she laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "liar. you shut down the moment we got home. you barely looked at me all night. just tell me what’s going on!"

"i already told you—i’m fine."

"no, you’re not." she leans forward slightly, exasperated. "and i’m tired of pretending i don’t notice when you’re upset just because you refuse to talk to me."

your chest tightens. part of you knows she’s right. but another part—the one that’s been burning since last night, since that damn song and the way it made something ugly take root inside you—wants to resist.

you run your hands through your hair, a habit stolen from her. "maybe i just don’t want to talk about it, okay?"

gracie shakes her head. "god, why do you always do this? why do you always push me away when something’s wrong?"

"because i don’t want to fight with you!" you snap, your voice rising as your patience wears thin. "i don’t want to ruin the morning or… or make things weird before your show!"

gracie exhales sharply, setting her mug down on the counter harder than she intended. "and you think not talking makes everything better? because right now, it just feels like you’re shutting me out."

you press your fingers against your forehead, breathing heavily. "i just need time, okay?"

"time for what?" her voice wavers now, a trace of hurt seeping in. "for me to stop asking? for me to just sit here and pretend i don’t see that you’re upset?"

"for me to figure out how to talk without sounding like an idiot!"

that makes her pause. the tension between you crackles in the air, the silence stretching too long.

gracie swallows, the sound making you shiver.

"you know what? forget it," she says, turning back to the sink and picking up her tea.

you close your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. "gracie—"

"no, i get it." she cuts you off, taking a long sip. "you don’t want to talk. fine."

gracie turns back to you, searching your face for some sign of regret, but she finds nothing but confusion.

"in the end, i’m always the only one trying to fix things," she says before walking away, the sound of her heavy footsteps echoing as she climbs the stairs.

you stay there, sitting on the stool, staring at the empty space where gracie stood just seconds ago.

your fingers grip the edge of the counter, and you let out a shaky breath, frustration still pulsing beneath your skin. this wasn’t how you wanted the morning to go. this wasn’t how you wanted things to be before her show.

but now it’s done.

you rub your face, trying to clear your thoughts. but everything feels blurred, tangled—a mess of emotions you don’t know how to unravel.

the apartment suddenly feels too small. the air inside it, too heavy.

you need to get out.

standing up quickly, you grab a sweatshirt draped over a chair and shove your keys into your pocket. the soft click of the door unlocking echoes through the apartment, but there’s no sound from upstairs. no attempt to stop you from leaving.

a part of you wishes there was.

you walk down the stairs slowly, hands buried in your pockets, with no real destination in mind. you just keep moving.

the cold morning air hits you the moment you step outside, and an immediate urge to cry swells inside you. your nose starts to sting, your eyes well up, and before you know it, those words are replaying in your head again.

"and you know, you know every inch of my body."

you know she loves you. you should let this go, shouldn’t you? but he lingers, always there, in the back of your mind.

last night, when gracie wrapped her arms around you, kissed the nape of your neck, and told you she loved you, you wanted to turn around, hold her tighter, tell her you loved her more, and start a silly argument over it.

but every time she touched you, all you could think about was how he felt.

had gracie ever looked at you and seen him? in the dark of the bedroom, between kisses and whispered promises, had a part of him ever slipped into her mind?

and if, just for a moment, she had wished it was him instead of you?

you try to push the thought away, try to hold onto the certainties gracie gives you—the way she reaches for your hand without thinking, the way her eyes light up when she talks about you, the i love yous that sound so real.

but doubt creeps in, spreading like a loose thread unraveling everything.

what if they’re not?

what if, deep down, you’re only here because he’s not?

the thought tightens in your chest. you swallow hard and keep walking, unfamiliar streets closing in around you.

but nothing feels as endless or inescapable as the maze inside your own mind.

…

the lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers. the air is electric, pulsing with anticipation, and gracie feels it thrumming through her veins. she grips the microphone tightly, fingers trembling just slightly, but she forces herself to take a deep breath. this is her moment—her show. no matter what happened this morning, she needs to push through.

but she knows better than to think she can just shut it out.

as she steps onto the stage, her eyes scan the audience, moving quickly over the sea of faces. the adrenaline in her chest spikes as she catches sight of you.

standing near the back, hands buried in your pockets, shoulders drawn tight, looking at her like you’re not sure whether you want to be here or not.

the moment stretches between you, thick with words left unsaid.

gracie knows that for months she has been exposing you to these painful memories embedded in her own songs. but she also knows that they are past pains, without weight or meaning, and she expected you to know that too. if something was wrong, you would tell her. wouldn't you? but as she stands there, watching you from the stage, doubt grips her chest.

did i cross the line?

abrams swallows hard, forcing herself to keep moving, to wave at the fans screaming her name, to smile like she’s okay. but her mind is already somewhere else, stuck in the heaviness of this morning, the way you looked at her, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you as you left.

she drags in another breath, stepping up to the mic as the opening chords of the first song hum through the speakers. the setlist is the same as always, but tonight, everything feels different. she wonders if you can feel it too, if the weight pressing down on her is pressing down on you as well.

and then the next song starts.

the one that ruined everything last night.

the crowd sings along, voices blending with hers. her gaze, however, is locked on yours. she sings the line without hesitation, without breaking, watching the way your jaw clenches, your eyes darkening just slightly. she wonders if you can tell that she’s looking at you. if you can hear what she’s trying to say through the words that once meant something else.

i didn’t mean to hurt you.

it’s just a song. it’s just a song.

but that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?

the song ends, the moment passes, and yet, the weight lingers. the rest of the show blurs together—flashes of movement, chords, applause—but that moment stays lodged in her ribs, burning like something she doesn’t know how to name.

by the time the final song fades, the crowd’s cheers ring in her ears, and gracie barely remembers getting through it. sweat clings to her skin as she steps backstage, her heart still pounding too fast, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the performance or the way you looked at her.

she doesn’t have time to figure it out before she hears movement behind her.

turning slowly, she finds you standing there, just a few feet away.

you’re still wearing that same guarded expression, the one that makes something in her ache, but there’s something else beneath it now. something hesitant. something like regret.

she wants to say something, anything—but what is there to say?

where were you?

are you okay?

i’m sorry?

but before she can choose the perfect false words, you take the first step. "we should talk… at home."

"yeah, definitely," she says almost automatically.

you hold each other’s gaze for a moment, both fidgeting with your hands—shared habits.

the ride home is silent. the radio plays some random melody, but neither of you really listens. gracie keeps her hands on her thighs, fingers restless, resisting the urge to reach out. she doesn’t know if it would be welcomed. if she still can.

on the other side, you stare out the window, your hand so close to hers. close enough that if one of you just…

but no one moves.

back home, the silence is just as heavy. gracie drops her bag on the counter but doesn’t step away, fingers gripping the marble as if she needs something solid to hold onto.

this time, there are no distractions. just the two of you and the space between you.

"can we talk now?" gracie asks, her voice low.

"yeah," you answer hesitant. but it takes a moment before you can actually speak.

gracie’s breath seems caught in her chest as she waits, and you hate it—hate how uncertainty spreads across her features, like she’s bracing for something bad. but the truth is, you don’t even know how to put what you’re feeling into words.

you run your tongue over your dry lips before finally saying:

"that song last night, two people… it really fucked me up."

gracie blinks a few times, surprised by the raw honesty in your voice. she swallows hard before responding.

"i didn’t…" she pauses, the words dying before they fully form. "i didn’t mean for it to hurt you."

"i know." you squeeze your fingers, letting out a heavy sigh. "but it did."

gracie nods slowly, eyes fixed on you, unsure of where to step. "you never said anything before. about the song, about…" she hesitates. "him."

"because i thought i was fine," you admit, your voice coming out rougher than you intended. "i thought i had let it go. but hearing it—hearing you sing it—just brought everything back, and i hated it. i hated that it still gets to me."

gracie stays silent for a moment, her gaze locked on you like she’s searching for the right thing to say. then, in a hesitant, almost resigned tone, she asks:

"do you want me to stop singing it?"

do you want that?

"because if you do, i will."

"of course not," you say, shaking your head. "that’s not the point, gracie."

"then what is the point?"

"i don’t fucking know!" tears start streaming down your face, and suddenly, you’ve never felt more exposed than now. "i’m sorry…" you bring your hands up to your face, as if trying to hide somehow.

gracie doesn’t think. she just moves.

before she can second-guess herself, she closes the space between you, wrapping her arms around your trembling frame. you tense at first, your body stiff against hers, but then, slowly, you sink into it.

your hands clutch the fabric of her jacket, desperate for something to hold onto, something solid in the middle of everything unraveling inside you.

gracie presses her face into your hair, eyes squeezing shut. "hey," she whispers, voice barely steady. "it’s okay. you don’t have to be sorry."

but you shake your head against her shoulder, fingers tightening. "i hate this," you choke out. "i hate feeling like this. like i’m stuck. like i—" your breath catches, breaking apart in your throat.

gracie pulls back just enough to look at you, cradling your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks. her gaze is searching, pained, but steady. "then don’t do it alone." she almost whispers. "let me be here. let us figure this out together."

"look at me," she continues, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers.

your breath hitches. "gracie—"

"i love you."

you swallow hard, eyes flickering between hers. "i know that you love me."

"no." her grip tightens, not to hold you in place, but to make you feel her, to feel the weight of what she’s saying. she looks at you like she’s searching for something deeper, something that words alone can’t reach. "i don’t want you to just know. i need you to feel it. i need you to feel it in every vein in your body, how much i want you, how much i love you, y/n."

your chest tightens, throat burning with unshed tears.

"you’re my baby, my girl, my fucking adorable, sweet princess," she breathes, her forehead resting against yours. "i’d give you the whole damn universe if you asked me. and i’m sorry for not noticing how hard this has been for you."

"you don’t have to do anything," you shake your head. "it’s not your responsibility. it’s not your fault."

gracie lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with her thumb. "i’m your girlfriend, of course it’s my responsibility. but it’s not just that—i want to. i want to be here. i want to hold this with you."

you let out a shaky breath, your forehead still pressed against hers. the warmth of her hands, the closeness of her body, it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

gracie watches you, waiting, giving you space even as she holds you close. there’s no rush, no expectation. just her, just this moment, just the steady rhythm of her breathing mixing with yours.

"i don’t know how to stop feeling like this," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

"you don’t have to figure it out all at once. we’ll take it one step at a time. no pressure, no rush. just us."

you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into her, feeling the warmth of her presence wrap around you like something safe, something solid.

then, after a beat, you whisper, "say it again."

gracie pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. "i love you."

you shake your head. "no. the whole thing."

her hands tighten around your face, eyes dark and unwavering as she speaks again, voice like a vow:

"i don’t want you to just know how much i love you. i need you to feel it. in every breath, every touch, every part of you. you’re my baby, my girl, my sweet, adorable princess. and i’d give you the universe if you asked me."

tears slip silently down your cheeks, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. it’s love, because of love.

gracie catches one with her thumb, her smile turning just a little teasing, a little mischievous. "and i’m never singing two people again unless you say it’s okay."

you let out a breathy, tearful laugh, shoving her shoulder lightly. "i never said that."

she grins, eyes crinkling, before she leans in and presses the softest, most deliberate kiss to your lips. like a promise. like a beginning.

gracie doesn’t pull away right away. she lingers her lips barely brushing yours, memorizing the shape of you, like she’s making sure you feel every ounce of her love in that kiss. when she finally does part from you, it’s only far enough to rest her forehead against yours again, her breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

"you okay?"

you nod, a little shy now, a little overwhelmed but in a way that doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

she smiles, thumbs still tracing light patterns on your cheeks before one hand slips down, lacing her fingers with yours. "come here," she says, giving your hand the gentlest tug.

abrams leads you to the couch, pulling you down with her, and before you can even think, she’s tucking you against her side, wrapping you up in warmth. it’s so easy, so effortless—the way your body finds its place against hers, the way her arm fits snugly around your waist, like you were always meant to be here.

"do you wanna talk more?" she asks after a moment, her voice soft. "or do you just wanna stay like this for a while?"

you don’t answer right away. instead, you shift, pressing your face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in. she smells like vanilla and something distinctly her, something comforting.

"this," you murmur against her skin. "just this."

gracie hums, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "okay, baby. just this."

and so you stay there, tangled together in the quiet, her fingers trailing lazy patterns along your back, your hands resting against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

it’s not perfect. there’s still a lot to talk about, a lot to work through. but for now, in this moment, in her arms, you feel safe.

and that’s enough.

guys…

thanks for reading <3

back to nav

#˚🐇⋆hayfics!!#gracie abrams x reader #gracie x reader #angst

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unknvhx · 1 day ago

Text

bound by you

the knocking was relentless.

you sat on the floor, back against the door, knees pulled to your chest, hands trembling in your lap. your phone buzzed beside you, but you didn’t need to check the screen.

you knew who it was.

you knew what he wanted.

“baby,” his voice came from the other side, muffled but urgent. “open the door.”

you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head as if he could see you. “go away, matt.”

“i can’t,” he said, voice low and strained. “you know I can’t.”

tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. not for him. not after what you’d seen, the image was still burned into your mind, that photo of him, tangled up in someone else, and that you weren’t even suprised that he’d done this again. the excuses, the lies, the desperate words that it wasn’t what it looked like. you had heard it all before.

“please, just listen to me,” he begged, pressing his forehead against the door. “i need to explain.”

“you don’t need to explain anything, matt, i saw it. i saw you. again.” your voice broke on the last word, and you hated yourself for it.

silence.

“you know you can’t leave me.”

your breath hitched.

“you love me, baby. you know you do.” his voice was warm, coaxing, wrapping around you like a lullaby. “and you wanna open this door.”

you shook your head, but your hand twitched against the doorknob.

no. no, you weren’t going to do this. Not again.

matt knocked once, twice, then let out a shaky breath. “I swear on everything, it’s not what you think. I would never—”

“stop,” you whispered, gripping your head. “stop lying to me.”

“i’m not lying,” he said immediately, voice breaking. “i swear, baby, i—fuck. i love you. i love you so much. you can’t leave me.”

his desperation cracked something inside you. Because despite everything, you knew he meant it. he loved you. In the most twisted, chaotic way, Matt loved you.

you sniffled, as your heart beat at your chest negging to be let go.

more knocking.

“baby, please,” he whispered. “i need you.”

you hated how much those words affected you. you hated how, even now, your body ached to be near him. how your heart craved the warmth of his arms, the safety of his presence, even though he was the one who had shattered you.

you fingers curled around the doorknob.

“i hate you,” you murmured.

“no, you don’t,” he said instantly, his voice so sure, so certain.

and you hated that he was right.

with shaking hands, you turned the lock.

the door swung open, and before you could react, matt was there. warm, strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. you collapsed into him, sobbing, your fists gripping his hoodie.

“there you go, baby,” he murmured, holding you tighter. “let it out.”

your body shook against him, heartache pouring out in messy, broken sobs. and he held you like he hadn’t just been the cause of your pain. like he wasn’t the reason you felt like you were falling apart.

“i hate you,” you choked out again, weaker this time.

matt pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “no, you don’t.”

you let out a hollow laugh, burying your face in his chest. he smelled the same, like cologne and warmth and something uniquely him. and it made you want to scream because how could something so comforting belong to someone who hurt you?

you felt his hand in your hair, his touch gentle. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “i swear, baby, it’s not what you think. i wasn’t, i couldn’t…” He exhaled shakily. “i only want you.”

you wanted to believe him. you really, really did.

“you hurt me,” you whispered.

his grip on you tightened. “i know.”

silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid.

you pulled back just enough to look up at him. his eyes were red-rimmed, filled with an emotion you couldn’t decipher. his thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you murmured.

his lips twitched into the smallest, saddest smile. “there’s nowhere else i’d rather be.”

you inhaled sharply, feeling yourself break all over again.

and then, despite everything, you let him hold you.

because no matter how much he hurt you, no matter how badly you wanted to walk away, you couldn’t.

because he was right, you couldn’t leave him and he knew it.

you didn’t know how long you stood there, wrapped in his arms, but the ache in your chest never faded. it only dulled, just enough for you to breathe again.

matt held you like you were something fragile, something that could shatter completely if he let go because you would, maybe you already had.

you felt his lips brush against your temple, the softest, most careful touch, like he knew he was walking on the thinnest ice. his hand traced slow circles on your back, grounding you, pulling you back from the storm inside your head

buy you knew it wasn’t over, it never really was with him.

your fingers curled against the fabric of his hoodie, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. “why do you do this to me?” your voice was barely above a whisper, raw and exhausted.

matt sighed, his arms tightening around you. “i don’t mean to.”

“but you do,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “over and over again, matt.”

he flinched, his jaw tightening. he knew you were right. and yet, here he was, here you were, trapped in this endless cycle that neither of you seemed willing to break.

his fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your chin up. “i don’t want to lose you.”

you let out a shaky breath, your heart hammering against your ribs. “then stop keep giving me reasons to leave”

his eyes darkened, filled with something desperate, something terrifyingly close yours,he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “i don’t know how to be without you.”

your stomach twisted, because that was the problem. matt needed you too. not in a way that was healthy, not in a way that was fair. he needed you in a way that consumed you both, in a way that left you empty and exhausted and still coming back for more.

“you say that now,” you murmured. “but what about tomorrow? What about next week, next month?”

his hands slid down to your waist, his grip firm, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “it wont happen again i promise.”

you swallowed hard, staring up at him, trying to find the truth in his words. but there was none.

and maybe that was the worst part.

because you wanted to believe him.

even after everything.

you closed your eyes, inhaling sharply. “i don’t know if i can keep doing this matt.’’

matt stood in front of you, his eyes filled with something close to fear—like if he blinked, you’d disappear. like he knew you had every reason to walk away.

maybe this was the moment where you finally chose yourself, where you didn’t fall back into his arms, where you didn’t let his apologies and broken promises tether you to him all over again.

his eyes searched yours, something dark and knowing settling in them. he saw it. the way you wanted to leave, the way your lips parted like you were about to tell him to go. but you didn’t.

a slow, almost sad smile tugged at his lips. “you won’t leave me.” his voice wasn’t a question. it wasn’t a plea. it was a quiet, devastating fact.

your chest tightened, your throat burning. “you don’t know that,” you whispered, but your voice wavered, and matt heard it.

his grip on you tightened, pulling you closer, his forehead pressed against yours. “i do,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “because if you really wanted to leave, you would have already.”

tears burned your eyes because he was right. he had been right this whole time. you could tell yourself you hated him, that you were done, that you wanted to walk away, but your hands were still clutching his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. your body was still pressed against his, seeking warmth, seeking comfort.

seeking him.

matt exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “it’s okay, baby,” he murmured, brushing his lips down to your cheek, soft and careful. “i’ve got you.”

you shuddered, fists clenching, nails digging into the fabric.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: what happens after these texts. im not sure if i like this but i love writing angst, im also probably going to introduce them soon!

if you want to be tagged in any future posts related to this pairing, matt pieces, or any work in general, comment on my taglist post or dm me <3

credits ↴

orange dividers: @rookthornesartistry

©unknvhx

tags: @useruntold @matt-sturnioloo @chrivsblond @sl4ttformattsturniolo @m1-na @deadpoolissohot @sweetxcheeryx @mattsplaything @itsokaylove @sturnsburna @mxnsonn @annsx03 @sturnboos @emely9274 @sturniologirlzz @strnlslvr @leviosatothestars @malsmind @firexovni

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