#depression is a difficult thing. it's just there. you can't really talk about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noira-l · 6 months ago

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𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: You were a prodigy, destined for greatness, until one mistake cost you everything- your powers, your legacy, and your father’s pride. Now, powerless and adrift, you wait for your father's decision on your fate, unsure if you’ll face exile, servitude, or something worse. A shadow of who you once were, you push everyone away, drowning in the weight of your own failure. Then there’s Gojo Satoru. Your rival, your tormentor, and the last person you expect to care about your fall. But instead of mockery, his gaze carries something else - something you can’t bring yourself to believe.

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 — teen!gojo satoru x f!reader

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜 — mdni, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, prodigy!reader, reader is from clan, rivals with benefits, mention of sexual intercourse, hate sex, depiction of complicated relationship, loss of technique, hurt, mourning (pain, grief, regret), depression, self-doubt, changing body, depiction of loneliness, reader pushes everyone away, jjk clans are shit, family abuse, long term manipulation, smoking, drowning, failed attempt of self-destruction (gojo saves reader), reader goes no contact, reader becomes maiko/geiko later on.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 — 11 k

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 — this is the longest list of warnings I have ever written, congrats to me (kidding). I don't know if anyone will like it. I know it's dark, very unhealthy and absolutely depressing. It's not good, and I don't recommend anyone to act in the way depicted in this fic. It is possible that I will remove it in the future. If you are struggling with such issues, I would highly encourage you to talk to someone you trust about it. However, I want to thank everyone who chooses to read this.

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

It really wasn't difficult to avoid.

You could've waited literally two seconds.

You could've let the assistant check the area as he should after the mission.

You could've not searched the area yourself.

You could've notified the assistant that you had found a cursed object, in the shrine debris.

You could've waited for the assistant to come up to check with you.

You could've not approached the cursed object.

You could've not picked it up. You could've been smarter.

Maybe if you were - you would still have your powers.

Your technique had been everything they claimed it to be. Rare, devastating, invaluable. It wasn’t just a skill - it was a mark of distinction, the proof of your place in a centuries-old legacy. The elders whispered of its rarity, marveling at the precision and control with which you teach yourself to wielded it.

They called you a prodigy, the one destined to elevate the clan to greater heights.

The weight of those expectations had always been crushing, but you bore it with a silent, unyielding resolve. You had to. You had no choice.

But there was another side to this. You wanted to bore it. You wanted to shush all the gossip, all the rumours that might suggest that you can't do something. Besides you found yourself enjoying this kind of powers

The whispers about your gender - about how being a woman might complicate your ability to lead, to fulfill the role they expected of you - only hardened your resolve.

You would prove them wrong, all of them, you told yourself.

But you also wanted your father's approval.

Your father was the only thing close to you. Your mother died in childbirth or left with a lover, you never knew which version was the truth. As a child, you never thought about it, the truth is, everyone around you only mentioned your father, how you should be his pride, his tribute and how you should do everything to make him feel content about you.

This propaganda worked.

And this mindset became an integral part of you.

His approval wasn’t just your goal - it was your oxygen, your sustenance. His rare moments of pride were your reward, and his disappointment - your greatest fear.

You could hear his voice in your mind, the way it would brighten ever so slightly when you succeeded "Good. This is good. Keep this up." those words had kept you going through grueling hours of training, through sleepless nights spent honing your skills to perfection. The bruises, the pain, the exhaustion - they were nothing compared to the glow of his approval, the fleeting light that told you you were enough, if only for a moment.

But his eyes also dulled with such terrifying speed when you stumbled, even slightly. A poorly executed maneuver, a delay in judgment during a sparring session, a lapse in control, all of it was met with silence, with the cold weight of his disappointment pressing down on you like a vice. It was in those moments that you became acutely aware of your imperfection, of how fragile his pride in you truly was.

This however had shaped you into a perfectionist, a creature of cold calculation.

Training became part of your life, your identity. You lived for the applause of the elders, for the murmured praise of the clan, but above all, for the fleeting flicker of pride in your father’s eyes.

He had once told you, long ago, when you were too young to fully understand his words, that you were his gift "Special, rare." he had said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it since "A gift I received at your birth."

You had clung to those words, replaying them in your mind whenever the pressure became unbearable. They were your anchor, your proof that you mattered, that you were loved - not as a daughter, perhaps, but as something far more valuable, something exceptional.

But in a perspective - you weren't the only exceptional thing in this world.

Even before you understood what rivalry meant, you had been told, over and over, how your birth ranked second in significance.

The second most talked thing.

The first? Him.

You had grown up under the long shadow of a name: Gojo Satoru.

A boy born with unparalleled power, eyes as vivid as the summer sky, whos very existence shaked the foundations of the jujutsu world. While your family whispered of your technique with cautious pride, his family declared him the strongest before he could even speak.

Comparison was inevitable. You were prodigies, both of you, but where your brilliance was honed through discipline, his was uncontainable, raw, and overwhelming. You were rare - he was the one.

You still remembered the first time you saw him. You couldn’t have been more than six, dressed in formal robes too heavy for your small frame, the silk scratchy against soft skin. The clan meeting was dull, filled with stiff adults exchanging words that meant nothing to you. But then, in the corner of the room, you felt a presence - bright, piercing, impossible to ignore.

When you turned, his eyes met yours.

Wide, unblinking, and startlingly blue, they stared at you like they could see through your skin, through your bones, through everything that made you, you. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smile or nod - just stared, like he was trying to decide if you were worth noticing at all.

Even then, something about him annoyed you.

As you grew older, the comparisons became sharper, louder. Clan sparring matches became a regular event, a spectacle for the elders to evaluate their bloodlines. You, Gojo, Kamo, that Zen’in heir, and a handful of others were pitted against one another under the guise of "training." But you all knew the truth. It was a game of dominance, of proving which clan held the strongest future.

Gojo made it a point to be insufferable.

"Chicken fights." he had once sneered, grinning as he sat perched on a rock like a king addressing his subjects. You had just beaten one of the Zen’in cousins, a victory that had left your father smiling faintly in the audience. But Gojo’s voice cut through the cheers "That’s all this is. You flap your wings, you strut around, but it doesn’t matter. None of you will ever beat me."

The others ignored him, too smart - or too scared - to engage. But not you.

"I’d rather be a chicken than a brat with a big mouth." you’d shot back, your voice steady despite the fire burning in your chest.

His grin widened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually take you seriously. But then he laughed - a loud, obnoxious sound that echoed through the sparring grounds "Cute." he said, hopping off his perch and walking past you like you weren’t even worth his time "Let me know when you’re ready to play with the big kids."

Now, years later, the rivalry had followed you into Jujutsu High, where it seemed impossible to escape him. The same classes, the same missions, the same suffocating aura of superiority that surrounded him wherever he went.

He was a little different. Not in the way you’d imagined someone "different" might be - quiet, mysterious, unassuming. No, he was loud, arrogant, and so assured in his strength that it bordered on unbearable.

The fire you’d felt as a child, that relentless desire to outdo him, to prove yourself, had cooled over the years. But it hadn’t gone out. Instead, it had transformed into something sharper, something a little colder - a blade honed not just to cut him down but to carve out your own space in a world that refused to see you as anything more than a shadow cast by his brilliance. It wasn’t just about beating him anymore. It was about standing on equal ground, forcing him - and everyone else - to recognize you as something other than second best.

You tried to take it slow, to ingore him.

Gojo didn’t make it easy.

He had a way of getting under your skin that no one else could. Just a glance from him could set your teeth on edge, that wide, knowing smirk playing on his lips like he was already ten steps ahead of you. He mocked you constantly, his words sharp and teasing, always laced with that infuriating arrogance that only he could pull off.

Every encounter was a contest, every conversation a challenge, every moment spent in his presence a battle for dominance.

You danced around each other endlessly, an intricate, unspoken rhythm that neither of you could break. One moment, he’d set the direction, leading with a cocky ease that seemed unshakable - the next, you’d outpace him, forcing him to catch up, to adjust to your steps.

The dance extended into every aspect of your lives. Missions became opportunities to one-up each other, to prove who was faster, sharper, more capable. Training sessions were wars of endurance, each of you pushing harder, refusing to yield until exhaustion forced a truce. Even on days off, when most people would relax or recover, you found ways to compete - whether it was sparring, aruging or something as mundane as seeing who could stack the most chairs before they toppled over.

His attention was relentless, his focus always sharp and unyielding. He discounted you with every other word, mocking your efforts, analyzing your achievements as if he were the ultimate judge of your worth. His words - arrogant and biting - were no better.

"Trying to catch up to me again? Good luck with that, shortcake."

"Don’t trip over your own shadow while you’re chasing me."

"Nice job today, small fry. Almost makes me feel like you’re worth competing with."

Each message was a spark, igniting the fire that drove you to prove him wrong, to show him - and yourself - that you were more than capable of matching him. To the point of beating him.

Neither of you ever held the upper hand for long - one day his victory, the next yours. The score didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that the fire between you never burned out, keeping you locked in this endless, maddening dance.

And maddening was pace of his hips that were thrusting into you every other day. The old floor, even with a layer of training mat, would creak under his powerful movements.

Both of you decided after some time that your dispute had to be settled by other means, so you challenged each other to a duel where there were no rules and all moves were allowed. It usually ended with the two of you meeting in the old training room after class, to resolve a conflict you were currently having. The winner was the one who first knocked his opponent finally to the ground.

Differently these encounters ended, sometimes he was the unbeatable winner, pounding you into the floor, bending you at every possible angle, whispering sweet nothingess and words of mocking encouragement to your ear, making tears drip down your flushed cheeks. Sometimes it was you who won, pinning him to the floor, bouncing off his hips in a frenzy, one in which you commented on how loud he was, how crying and pathetic he looked - words that were meant to degrade him, were just making his glimmering eyes roll back. Eyebrows raised and stupid handsome face twisted in a sigh so beautful that you would end up with the lost of insults after a while.

He won last week. Your asscheeks painfully pounded into the mat material, as your hands clasped tightly on his shoulders, creating scars that were meant to affect him, but only seemed to make him whine even more. Laughing breathlessly at your attempts to hurt him, as if he wasn't the one leaving rudely visible red marks on your neck that poke through uniform.

He'll probably laugh about winning his final match, too.

Because there will never be any again.

Everyone tried everything to undo the effects of what had happened - to remove the curse. When this proved impossible by the specifications of the object you touched, which could be called a trap, they at least tried to restore the flow of your cursed energy. This, too, proved to be a failure.

You’d told yourself, at first, that it must be temporary. That the connection to your technique would return, that this was just a setback. It had to be. Something so integral to your being couldn’t just vanish - it was part of you, wasn’t it?

That was you, right?

But each attempt proved fruitless. Every meditation session, every exercise, every attempt to summon even the faintest flicker of cursed energy - it all ended the same way: in silence, in emptiness.

The denial fueled your determination, pushing you into training sessions that bordered on self-destruction. You traded your technique for raw physicality, throwing punches at the training dummy until your fists bled, the skin splitting open as you struck again and again. And again. Sweat soaked through your clothes, mingling with tears you refused to acknowledge as they streamed down your face.

You screamed, raw and guttural, into the empty training field, but the sound brought no release, only exhaustion. You never shouted like that, never cried like when you fell on the ground and realised it was all pointless.

One conclusion came from your attempts.

You had been crippled.

"Maybe if I had a son, he wouldn't have made such a foolish mistake." the words clung to you, searing through the phone’s receiver like acid. Your father’s voice, sharp and cold, cut through the fragile thread of composure you had been holding onto. The regret, the disappointment, and - worst of all - the indifference. He didn’t even sound angry, just tired. Tired of you.

Your throat burned.

"Father, please..." but you didn’t know what you were asking for -mercy, understanding, or perhaps the impossible: forgiveness.

"You've squandered everything." his voice was steady, unaffected "Centuries of legacy, your birthright, your technique - gone. Do you understand the magnitude of what you’ve done?"

Do you? You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak. Your thoughts swirled into a vortex of self-loathing, replaying the moment over and over again.

"We'll talk later when I decide what to do with you." and just like that he hung up.

That was it. No comfort. No acknowledgment of the years you’d given, the sacrifices you’d made, or the countless moments you’d bled and bruised yourself into perfection. The line had gone dead with a finality that echoed through your chest like a hammer strike. His voice - so cold, so detached - ingered in your mind, cutting deeper than any curse could.

You set the phone down on the desk, your hand trembling slightly as you withdrew from it, as though it might burn you if you held on any longer. The chair creaked faintly beneath you as you sat motionless, staring at the wall opposite you.

You wanted to apologise to him, to beg his forgiveness for your mistake, for your stupidity, you wanted to cry on his shoulder, to apologise - again - that you had let him down. But he just wasn't interested. He was no longer interested in your perspective.

You, simply didn't interest him.

That room was dim, the shadows thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint glow of a single overhead light. It wasn’t enough to fully illuminate the faces of the elders who stood before you, their disapproval palpable, their voices sharp and cutting as they dissected your situation. Each word they spoke dug into your chest, stripping away what little pride you had left.

You were stripped off the title of a prodigy.

They called you a dissapointment now.

You became an example.

A cautionary tale.

The damage has already been done.

People tried to reach you. Geto, Shoko, Nanami - even Yaga made an effort to draw you out of your spiral. But their words felt hollow, meaningless. What could they possibly say that would fix what had been broken? They didn’t understand. How could they? They still had their power, their purpose, their place in this world. You didn’t.

He was on mission overseas, so maybe the information about your state didn't quite reach him yet. Not that you cared if he made contact.

He would probably just laugh at you anyway.

Of all these people Geto, had tried the hardest, his presence quiet but persistent. He tried to be there for you. But there was no you inside.

He’d sat beside one day, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. His touch, once an unremarkable soft gesture, now felt heavy - too heavy. You realized then just how much strength he had, how much stronger he’d become while you had only weakened. His grip, once equal to yours, now dwarfed it.

"You’re still here." he’d said softly, his voice careful, measured "That matters the most."

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, but they couldn’t penetrate the hollow void inside you. Instead, you’d turned away, muttering some excuse to just leave.

You didn’t want his pity. You didn’t want anyone’s.

You didn't believe that anything else mattered to anyone except your gift. Not after everything that happends.

So you let yourself sink in that conviction.

Your own reflection became that a stranger. Each glance in the mirror revealed another part of yourself fading away. Your muscles, once taut and defined from years of rigorous training, softened, weakened. Your face, once bright with determination and pride, dulled, the light in your eyes all but extinguished. Even your posture changed, slouching under the weight of your defeat.

You avoided mirrors after that. It was easier not to look at yourself, not to see the person you’d become.

The thought of him haunted you. He was the only person who had not yet spoken about your situation. You could almost hear the laughter that would spill from his lips when he found out.

He’d won, hadn’t he? He will be happy that you lost.

Not through a sparring match or a test of strength, but through your own stupidity. He wouldn’t even need to lift a finger - your downfall was self-inflicted. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

He’d probably make a joke of it, something biting and sharp, something that would leave you hollowed out even further. The idea of facing him, of hearing his voice, made your stomach twist - but you kinda wanted him to say somthing to you.

Although you were sure what his reaction would be.

By early autumn you became a ghost of the person you’d once been, a shell going through the motions. The world felt distant, muted, as though you were walking through a haze. The wind carried the crisp scent of leaves, the air beacme sharp enough to sting your lungs as you exhaled. Your student status was taken away by higher-ups, they decided that sending you on a mission was pointless. Just like you. The peak of your skill now was ability to see a curse, not to fight one.

You could do whatever you wanted, so you went to all sorts of faraway places.

You’d grown used to the isolation. It was easier not to see anyone, not to hear the pity in their voices or feel their lingering stares. Geto had tried, tried and tried. Staying with you whenever he could, but even his presence, as steady and grounding as it was, felt too heavy. He tried talking to you, but your mind seemed closed to his willingness to help and his affectionate tone. You weren't a person who knew how to accept help from others, no one ever taught you that. Even if you appreciated it, you didn't know how to show it. And the truth was - you couldn’t bear the weight of his concern, couldn’t summon the energy to reassure anyone that you were fine.

Because you weren’t fine. You were no longer yourself.

That was the only thing that had mattered.

You wanted to disappear into the nothingness that seemed to have taken root inside you. You wanted to stop existing in a world where you no longer had a place, where the purpose that had defined you all your life was gone.

But instead, you thought. And thought. Alone, in the dark, your mind was a relentless spiral, turning over every moment, every decision that had brought you to this point.

You never really faced your fears before, you realized.

This and many other thoughts stirred in your head like a swirl, twisting your perception of reality.

You were walking through the school gates, the crisp golden leaves crunching under your boots. The sun hung low in the sky, its light casting long shadows across the pavement.

You really didn’t expect to see him.

He was back.

Snow-white hair catching the sunlight, posture impossibly relaxed, as if the weight of the world didn’t touch him. He walked with that characteristic ease, the kind that could embarrass a hundred men without effort. His phone was pressed to his ear, and you could hear his laughter even from a distance - light, careless, the kind of laugh that had always annoyed you.

For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t notice you. Of course - why would he? You didn’t even have the faintest trace of cursed energy anymore. You were just a random person, a shadow of who you’d once been, just a presence walking aimlessly on a pleasant autumn afternoon.

You kept your hands buried in your pockets, eyes fixed on the path ahead, determined to pass him without incident. Without one stupid comment. Without one look into that judging eyes.

You realized you weren't ready to face him. A whole range of emotions came up in you: anger, anticipation, sadness, wanting, resignation, longing, but most of all - shame.

But then his gaze fell on you.

You could feel it before you even looked up, the weight of his attention, sharp and unmissable. His eyes flicked over you once, casual and dismissive, but then he froze. Head snapped back in your direction, and the expression on his face shifted so quickly it almost startled you. Satisfaction melted into pure, unfiltered shock.

You didn’t stop.

You didn’t have the strength to deal with him, with his taunts, his smirks, his cutting words, his blue eyes. Not now. Not ever. You moved past him without a word, steps steady and deliberate, though your heart pounded in your chest so much.

You will let him enjoy his win in your silence.

"Oi!" his voice cut through the air, sharp, insistent "Stop you - Wait!"

You didn’t turn around. In fact you didn’t even flinch. Instead, you reached into pocket, pulling out the battered pack of cigarettes Shoko had handed you weeks ago. You lit one with a shaky hand, the ember flaring briefly before the smoke curled into the air. You inhaled deeply, the bitter taste grounding you as you kept walking.

Gojo stood frozen, watching you disappear down the path. He tried calling after you couple of times, louder each time. But he didn't run after you. Six Eyes scanned your silhouette with dangerous precision, noticing every small detail that had changed. The slump in your shoulders, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the dullness in your eyes. The lack of a slightest trace of cursed energy.

What the hell happend to you?

He hadn’t seen you in weeks, but the person walking away from him now was unrecognizable.

You weren’t just tired. You weren't yourself.

You came back hours later to pack your belongings.

The weight of tomorrow hung heavy in your chest, suffocating and inescapable. Your father’s decision loomed over you, its implications gnawing at your already fragile sense of self.

You decided to take a walk, one last time over the terrain you knew and loved so well.

You didn’t want to think about what he might have planned for you. You didn’t want to imagine the hollow life that awaited you, stripped of your identity and power. But the thoughts were relentless, swirling in your mind as you walked, each step taking you farther from the dormitory and deeper into the forest.

Would he make you a servant? Marry you off to someone important, someone who could salvage what little value you had left? Would he exile you to the far corners of the clan, where you would live out your days in quiet obscurity?

The possibilities churned in your mind, each one heavier than the last.

For weeks, you’d been coming here, searching for something in that reflection. Searching for the person you used to be, the prodigy who had stood tall and proud, who had been her father’s pride and her clan’s future. But all you found was a ghost, a shadow of what you once were.

The night was quiet, perfect for the last one here, the air heavy with the crisp scent of fallen leaves and damp earth. A pale moon hung in the sky, its light casting silvery ripples over the world, softening the edges of reality.

You crouched down, as you approached the edge of the water. Your hands brushing against the damp grass, and stared into the lake’s surface. For a moment, the sight of your reflection startled you, as it always did now.

You closed your eyes, for a brief moment, the quiet of the forest enveloping you. A faint rustle of leaves, the distant call of nightlife and the soft lapping of water against the shore - it was all so achingly peaceful. And yet, it offered no comfort.

The lake held no answers, no revelations. Just the same distorted reflection, the same fractured image of yourself.

The reflection there was faint, distorted, but still recognizable. You could make out the curve of your jaw, the hollowness of your cheeks, the dim light in your eyes that once burned so brightly. You stared at yourself, unblinking, searching for the person you had been.

But you were gone.

...

What is the point of all this?

The question came unbidden, as it had so many times before. It's not like you're usefull to anyone. Your whole life has been based on being a sorcerer, the next clan head also, but not being just a human. You don't know how to live a normal life - you don't know if you even want to live one.

You thought about the weight of your father’s expectations, the years you had spent chasing his approval. You thought about the countless hours of training, the bruises, the exhaustion, the fleeting moments of pride that had kept you going. And you thought about the emptiness you felt now, the void left behind by the loss of your technique.

It's all been bringing you to one conclusion for some time: you are nothing without your technique.

This is a painful truth that you had to accept some time ago.

You had the feeling that the water was looking at you - offering a hideout.

You moved, taking one hesitant step forward.

It won't be that bad, right? Everything is better than facing the consequences of your own stupidity.

Another step joined the previous one, your feet touching the cold surface. The smell of wet grass and vegetation wafted through the air.

You’d left everything behind on the shore. Your jacket, hoodie, and shoes - they lay in a silent heap, abandoned like everything else in your life. You won't need them anymore.

The water was cold. Icy. It cut through your skin like shards of glass, wrapping around you with an unforgiving grip as you plunged deeper and deeper into the darkness. The shock of it made your muscles tighten, but you didn’t fight it - not at first. You let the weight of the water pull you down, let the emptiness consume you.

Everything was dark, impossibly so, swallowing everything in its depths. You couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything but the cold pressure against your skin and the burning in your chest as your lungs screamed for air. You let yourself sink further, closing your eyes against the suffocating blackness.

And yet, your mind wouldn’t still.

Thoughts came rushing in, unbidden, like a flood breaking through a dam. Every memory, every failure, every moment of doubt and despair surged to the forefront. The weight of it all pressed down on you, heavier than the water, dragging you deeper into the abyss.

You had thought this might be the solution. The way out. An escape from the suffocating spiral of your existence. But as the air in your lungs ran out and your body began to betray you, survival instinct kicking in, you realized there was no escape. Not from the memories, not from the pain, not from yourself.

Your limbs flailed, your arms slicing through the water as you tried to fight against the primal urge to breathe. Your body betrayed you, forcing you to the surface even as your mind screamed to let go, to give in.

Just a little bit.

But it was too late. The water felt thick, heavy, an impossible barrier keeping you from the surface. Your lungs heaved, desperate for air, but all they found was water. Cold, bitter, unrelenting water that filled your chest and drowned your last desperate gasp for life.

The memories came in flashes, fragments of a life that now seemed so far away. The pride in your father’s eyes the first time you mastered your technique. The sound ofm Geto’s gentle laugh on a quiet afternoon. Shoko’s quiet. The way Gojo’s voice had always irritated you, his smirk a constant thorn in your side.

They all felt so distant now, like they belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn’t a failure. Someone who still mattered.

And then there was the weight of the other memories - the shame, the disappointment, the voices of the elders as they condemned you. The coldness in your father’s tone when he told you he’d decide what to do with you. The emptiness that had consumed you in the weeks since.

You felt your body shutting down, your vision darkening as the water enveloped you. Your limbs grew heavy, your mind hazy. The struggle became a distant thing, like a flickering light fading out.

And yet, in those final moments, as the water pulled you under completely, one thought rose above all the others, sharp and unrelenting:

You are a failure.

Gasp.

The world returned to you in gasps and violent coughs, water pouring from your lungs as your chest heaved painfully. Your body felt like it had been ripped apart, the freezing cold of the lake still clinging to your skin, but the sharp sensation of something - someone - holding you brought clarity in a rush.

You blinked against the blurriness in your vision, barely able to make out the figure above you. His white hair was plastered to his forehead, the sharp strands dulled and dripping, and his electric blue eyes were wide, filled with a mix of fury, fear, and something raw. His hands trembled as they held you, but his grip was firm, refusing to let go.

Him.

You coughed again, turning your head as water spilled out of your mouth, your chest burning with each labored breath. Reality slammed into you like a punch: you were on the shore, cold earth pressing against your back, and he was the reason you were still here.

"No." you croaked, the word scraping against your throat like sandpaper. Panic surged through you, body reacting before mind could catch up. You twisted violently, shoving against him with what little strength you had left, trying to escape the strong grasp. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be saved.

He didn’t let go.

"Stop." he growled, his voice low and strained. It wasn’t the teasing, mocking tone you were used to. This was different. Commanding, almost desperate.

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice cracking as you thrashed against him, the fight in you born not of strength but of pure, unrelenting despair "Let me go, Gojo!"

"No." his grip tightened, his hands locking around your wrists as you tried to claw at him. You jerked and struggled, but it was no use. He was stronger, and even without your powers, you were nothing compared to him. The realization hit you like a dagger to the chest, sharp and agonizing. You couldn’t even free yourself. You couldn’t do anything.

"Stop it" he snapped, voice cutting through the chaos as he pinned your wrists to the ground, forcing you still. His weight loomed over you, his breath ragged and uneven as he glared down at you, his eyes burning with an intensity you couldn’t meet.

You froze, your body trembling beneath him, the fight draining out of you as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. The only sounds were the quiet lapping of the lake’s waves and the harsh breaths between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. His chest rose and fell rapidly, droplets of water sliding down his face, hair wet. His grip on your wrists loosened slightly, though he didn’t let go.

"What are you doing? What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, his voice rough and low, each word laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Anger? Fear? Pain?

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze "You shouldn’t have stopped me."

His grip tightened again, his fingers trembling as they pressed against your skin "Stop you -" he cut himself off, his jaw clenching tightly as he took a shuddering breath "You’re such an idiot."

You wanted to scream at him, to shove him away, to make him understand that there was nothing left of you worth saving. To let you go and withered. But the words caught in your throat, tangled with the grief, anger and despair that had been building inside you for so long.

"What are you doing here? You've been following me?" your voice sharp despite the hoarseness from the water you’d just coughed up. You glared at him, still pinned beneath his weight, wrists trapped in his hands.

Gojo’s expression flickered between irritation and something you couldn’t quite place - concern? No, that wasn’t possible. He raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with his usual brand of mockery "No. Better -what were you doing here?"

You turned your face away, refusing to answer. The moonlight glinted off the water, its calm surface a contrast to the chaos swirling inside you. You could feel his eyes boring into you, Six Eyes missing nothing.

It didn’t take long for him to piece it together.

His grip on your wrists tightened, just slightly "You should have known better." he said, his tone shifting, lower now, more serious "With all that negative energy bottled up, you could’ve attracted a curse."

You snorted bitterly, the sound harsh and raw "As if I’m not already a curse."

His lips turned into a thin line, glimmering eyes narrowing as he leaned closer "Don’t say stupid things." what you said wasn't stupid, he was stupid for coming here and saving you.

"You are stupid for saving me." the words burst out of you, cracking, unrestrained.

The admission hung in the air, raw and cutting, and you hated how much it revealed. You hated how much he could see now. You felt as if he had caught you on something. Not only at this desperate attempt to avoid your fate, but also at being vulnerable. His face was so close now that you could see every drop of water clinging to his white long lashes, you could also feel the intensity radiating from him like a physical force.

"I told you not to say stupid stuff." he said, his voice low and biting, each word hitting like a hammer "You’re dumb enough as it is."

You wanted him to leave you alone.

You growled in frustration, your movements wild and erratic as you struggled against his grip, you tried to kick him, but to no avail "Let go of me, you asshole!"

"No." his response was immediate, tone resolute.

Can he listen to you for once?

"Fuck you!" you hissed.

"You already did!" he barked, his voice cracking through the tension like lightning.

You froze, the retort you’d been about to throw back dying on your tongue. That was an answer you didn't expected. It made you pause. Well...

Gojo sighed, a sound of exasperation tinged with something softer, something almost like… care "You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?" he muttered "But I’d rather deal with that than lose you."

What?

No, you must have overheard, he would never say such a thing to you.

You would almost believe those softly sparkling eyes, that looked at you in a way that it felt anxious. Well, almost, because you knew exactly who was saying those words to you. You scolded yourself for this in your head.

"Why the hell are you here?" you demanded an answer on dodged question, voice shaking with both anger and something dangerously close to despair "Did you save me because you were afraid you’d lose your favorite object of derision? To mock me? To laugh at how pathetic I’ve become?"

His eyes widened briefly, the accusation catching him off guard, before narrowing again in frustration "Do you seriously think I’d waste my time saving your sorry ass just to mock you?" he shots back "God, you’re so full of yourself sometimes."

"Then why?" you spat "Why did you saved me?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze shifting to the side, avoiding yours entirely. You could see the tension in his jaw. But he still said nothing. As the answer was too much for him to bear. He was about to speak, but he noticed the way you shivered violently, the cold catching you again. The soaked fabric of your clothes still clung to you, and the sharp autumn air made it impossible to stop trembling. Gojo changed his mind.

"I’ll let you go now." his voice lower, less biting "Get dressed - but no stupid actions."

His grip on you eased, and he moved back just enough to give you space, though not far enough to let you out of his reach. He stayed seated on the damp ground, watching your every move with an intensity that made your skin crawl. He didn’t trust you. Not yet.

You listened, you didn't have a choice now.

You crawled toward the pile of clothes, hands shaking so badly that it was difficult to grab anything properly. You stripped off your soaked shirt and pulled on your hoodie in a hurry, not caring whether he saw or not. You were too cold to care about modesty, too angry to care about anything else.

He also got dressed, buttoning up his sweats and putting on his jacket. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until his voice broke through.

"Why do you act like a moron?" his words were sharp, almost accusing, but there was something beneath them - a tremor of genuine frustration. Not a trace of his previous gentleness.

You didn’t answer, keeping your focus on zipping up your jacket, your movements jerky and uneven.

He grabbed your arm suddenly, firm but not painful "Oi, answer me!" his voice rose, the intensity of it cutting through the cold air.

You snapped your head up, your eyes blazing as you glared at him "The hell do you want?"

All you wanted now was to escape to a warm room and cry.

His grip on your arm tightened for a moment before loosening slightly, but still there, his expression flickering from serious to worried to confused "Why... why did you want- " he struggled for the words, frowning "Why did you want to end it all? It’s stupid, this logic is idiotic even for you."

You growled.

"What’s dumb is that you don’t understand it." you shot back, your voice sharp, almost venomous. The anger bubbling inside you was the only thing keeping the cold at bay. You wanted to get up, but his grip kept you down.

"The stupid thing is what you’re doing." he countered, his voice rising again "Do you think your death will change anything?"

That was enough for you.

"Great!" you shouted, pulling your arm free of his grip and stepping back, your chest heaving as emotions boiled over "If I’m so fucking worthless, then let me die, for fuck’s sake!"

Shock.

Pure, undeniable shock.

Those vivid blue eyes of his, so infuriatingly piercing, widened. Eyebrows raised, lips parted slightly, as if he were about to speak, but no words came out. It's as if he doesn't believe you just said that. As if he just realised the seriousness of the situation. You saw his chest start to rise faster, not sure if from the cold…. or from panic.

"I don’t want you to -" he started, his voice breaking slightly, even softer than before.

But you crossed your limits.

"You won, okay!?" you cut him off, voice sharp, loud and trembling. The words spilled out of you like a flood, raw, unrestrained "You can rub my face in your victory now! I don’t care anymore! Torment me, mock me, laugh at me - now’s your time!"

His eyes narrowed, confusion clear as his brow furrowed "What?"

"Do it! Now’s the time where you can laugh all you want, insult me all you want - because now, at least, you have a reason!"

"I- " he tried to speak, but you wouldn’t let him.

"Tell me what a failure I am!" you suddenly cried "Tell me how I mean nothing, how all my efforts have gone to waste, how I’m worthless! Because now, at least, I’ll admit you’re right!"

"Stop-" he started, but his words fell flat against the force of your pain.

"Tell me how all your life you knew you were better!" you shouted, hands shaking as you gripped the sleeves of your jakcet "Tell me I’m an idiot, that I’ve always been dumb! Laugh in my face, mock me, just finish me! Say all the things you’ve been thinking, all the things you’ve wanted to say - just say it!"

Your voice broke completely, the words tumbling into a sob "You can finish me..." you choked "Come on. Just… just do it!"

This was to much, you felt so so much.

He was so disoriented. You could see this by his reaction.

"Because I'd believe you'd laugh than suddenly care what happens to me." you chocked.

Silence.

Tears blurred your vision. You were done pretending to have any pride left. You've had enough of everything. You didn't understand his reaction, his sudden tenderness confused you, everything was so wrong. You just wanted to get back to normal, when you - and everything had it's place.

But no, suddenly the world has turned - you don't have your technique, your father will probably disown you, and your rival and bully is suddenly trying to be nice. You don't want to be here anymore. You don't know how to find yourself in this world and you don't know how to talk about it.

It's humiliating to cry in front of him, you know it, but you don't care. You let it all out, just like the water from before.

He just stared at you, eyes wide, jaw tight. You could barely see through the fact that you sobbing next to him, hiding your face and bringing your legs to your chest.

"No." he whispered.

You blinked at him, raising your head, confused "What?"

"No." he repeated, louder this time, his voice firm but trembling "I’m not going to mock you."

You let out a loud bitter laugh, shaking your head "Of course not. Because you don’t even have to, do you? I’ve already done it for you."

"That’s not-" he cut himself off, shortening the distance between you "You’re wrong."

"About what?" your voice breaking again "About being a failure? About being nothing? Tell me what part of that is wrong?"

"All of it." he confirmed, voice steady now, glowing eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart clenched "Every single word. You’re not nothing. You’re not a failure. And I swear to God, if you say that again, I’m going to-"

"To what?" you challenged "Save me again? Drag me out of the lake and lecture me about how I should see the bright side of losing everything? Spare me the pity, Gojo. I don’t need it."

"It’s not pity!" his voice ringing loud, showing that emotions were also building up inside him. Unexpectedly, two large hands moved to cup your face, forcing you to look at him, to stare at two glowing blue dots "I’m not here because I pity you. I’m here because-" he faltered, voice catching as his breath hitched, his thumbs brushing against your cold, damp skin "Because I care."

The silence that followed was deafening. You froze, your face dropping as the weight of confession hit you like a tidal wave. He wonders if you know how much it cost him to tell you this directly. You, you wonder if what he says is a joke.

He... what?

His hands stayed on your face, steady despite the way they trembled slightly "I wanted to talk to you." the voice that came out of him was so quiet, so full of affection, that it was almost nothing like his "I started looking for you as soon as I got back from the mission. I wanted to... I don’t know, do something. Anything."

You burst out laughing bitterly, the sound sharp and raw in the stillness. It felt absurd, impossible. Gojo Satoru, your rival, the person you’d been compared to all your entire life, the one who mocked you, humiliated you endlessly, competed with you relentlessly - suddenly was caring about you?

You don’t believe him - because how could you?

For so many years, he had been the same infuriating presence in your life, treating you with an air of superiority and, at times, outright disdain. His words had cut shar, leaving wounds you’d carried silently for years.

There wasn’t a single thing he hadn’t laughed at. Your hair, he’d compared it to the end of a broomstick. Your smile? He’d once called it a donkey’s grin - or whatever the Japanese equivalent it was, delivered with his trademark smirk that made you want to slap it off his face. Your taste in music? "Cheesy pop thrash" And your clothes? Oh, that was his favorite target "Are you dressing ironically?" he’d asked once, tilting his head with mock curiosity "Or is this a social experiment I missed?" It didn’t stop there. He even mocked the way you walked once, calling it "Too stiff, like you’re auditioning for a role as a wooden puppet"., the way you ate "You attack food like it owes you money." and even the way you carried your books "Why are you holding them like that?" he’d said, mimicking your grip dramatically "You're so weak that you can't hold them properly?"

So yeah, it was laughable.

He may have saved you and you may want to believe in what he says, but you are just not able to.

Can you really blame yourself?

Well, kinda, because you were the one making out with him every other day. You might have believed that he liked your attention, that he might have wanted you - but you wouldn't believe that he wanted to care about you.

You reached up and pulled his hands off your face, your cold fingers brushing against his quite warm ones "Don't give me that. What could you supposedly do?" you asked, voice dripping with disbelief and mockery. The cold seeping back into your body now that his touch was gone

"Anything." he said, his words still tumbling out, almost frantic "Talk, sit with you, I don’t know - something. I- " he stopped, his own frustration bleeding into his voice "I don’t know." his eyes were so pleading.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to stop the tremors as you looked away "Don't bother." voice low, void of fight "Doesn't matter now. My father is picking me up tomorrow."

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

"I have heard too many versions, all from different people, of what my father supposedly planned that - that I don't know..." you paused, the lump in your throat growing unbearable as you forced yourself to say these words.

You wanted to say that you were afraid, that you didn't know what to do, that you felt you had let everyone down, that nothing made sense to you now.

That it was too much.

That you didn't allowed yourself any form of comfort.

"I know one thing, though." you hesitated, the weight of your next words heavy, but you looked up, meeting his gaze with trembling resolve "I’d rather die now, than live my life as a clan failure."

He growled, frustrated, as if nothing is working on his favour. As if he was breaking.

"Who cares what the clan thinks? Who cares about anything they say?" Gojo’s voice rising, desperate and insistent, his words coming faster now, blabbering "They’re a bunch of old fools who don’t know what they’re talking about! You are more than their expectations. You are more than your technique. You are - "

Maybe he wanted to comfort you that way or maybe he wanted you to believe his tale of him 'caring about you'.

But you had already made up your mind.

Gojo knew that you might not believe him in what he was saying now, he knew, that you would be angry with him for all that he has done- you were right - you should be. What he didn't predict, however, was that you would know him well enough to know this one hidden truth about him.

What you say now will leave a mark on him for years. You frowned, voice totaly sure of the words you're saying.

"Don’t preach to me about things you don’t even believe yourself."

You hadn’t spoken since that night by the lake.

Not when you were picked up, your father’s silence mirroring your own as you sat stiffly beside him, staring out the car's window. Not when he informed you of your new path with the cold efficiency of a man making a business transaction.

Your age wasn't very favourable for this, admittedly - you should have started your training as a maiko a long time ago, wanting to become a geiko. However, your father, using his connections, found a place that will accept you for training. He found an okiya in Kanazawa that from now on - will be your temporary home.

You didn’t fight him. You didn’t speak at all. You have done enough.

The years that followed were grueling in their own way, though nothing compared to what you’d endured before.

Training as a maiko demanded a different kind of perfection, a complete transformation of body and mind. The disciplined, precise movements of martial arts you had once mastered - were now replaced by the elegant, deliberate grace of traditional dance. Every step, every turn, every motion had to flow with effortless beauty, concealing the pain and time it took to perfect them.

You hated every second of it.

Your figure changed over time, slimming down in ways you hadn’t anticipated and curving in a few other places. You "got smaller", your once powerful frame softening into something more delicate, more feminine. Your reflection in the mirror became even stranger - a porcelain doll painted and adorned to please others. Gone were the rugged hands that once wielded cursed tools, now they held fans, makeup brushes, creating beauty where you once brought destruction.

The contrast was unbearable.

You missed the fight, the passion, the adrenaline, the raw exhilaration of your old life. Sometimes, as you trained with the fan, your body betrayed your mind, instinctively slipping into the stances meant for a sword. For your lost technique.

Every day felt like a reminder, a performance, not just for others but for yourself, as if pretending long enough might make you forget what you had lost.

But it didn't.

You never completely left your old self behind; the memory of that person remained vivid, etched into your mind. Recalling the past -missions, getaways, trainings, fleeting moments of triumph and connection - became a daily ritual. Nostalgia and grief intertwined, two of many companions that you had learned to live with, their weight both comforting and unbearable.

Despite it all, he kept reaching out to you.

Gojo’s messages came daily at first, long, rambling texts filled with details of his day - missions, strange encounters, little jokes he’d picked up along the way. He sent pictures of things he thought might make you laugh: a badly drawn doodle of you scowling, a ridiculous meme, a cursed object that looked suspiciously like a poorly designed toy. Each message carried a tone of casual insistence, as though he were trying to prove his point - that he cared. Or perhaps he was trying to reshape your relationship, to turn you from the rival he mocked constantly into something else, maybe - a friend.

Eventually, the messages slowed. Whether it was his own frustration, the demands of his life, or something else entirely, you didn’t know. You didn’t care to know. Cutting yourself off from him, from everyone, was the only way you knew how to endure.

At some point, you stopped reading them altogether. The weight of shame pressed down on your chest, suffocating any inclination to respond. You couldn’t face him - or anyone from your past. The person they knew was gone, and what remained of you was too broken, too hollow, to withstand their judgment or pity.

Your thoughts spiraled endlessly, dragging you deeper into a pit of self-doubt. You convinced yourself that no one could possibly care for who you were now - powerless, dull, and unremarkable. What was left of you wasn’t worth saving, and surely, he had to see that too. Eventually, you were certain, he would stop trying. And that thought, as much as it pained you, felt like the only mercy left.

Sometimes, you’d catch yourself hovering over his messages, tempted to open them. The thought of catching a glimpse of the snippets of his life - once so intertwined with yours - felt like a small, guilty comfort.

But no, you didn't do it.

Years just passed, and the day of your Kurokami, the ceremonial debut marking your transition to full-fledged geiko, arrived. Your father had spared no effort, inviting everyone of importance - every known clan in the jujutsu world, their representatives gathered on the sprawling estate for a grand celebration steeped in tradition and political maneuvering.

It wasn’t about you. It was never about you.

This was a spectacle, a carefully orchestrated display of your father’s influence and connections. Each guest, each detail, was part of a greater plan to cement alliances and further his ambitions. You were just another piece of that plan, an accessory to his power.

The highlight of the evening was the final dance of a maiko, the moment of transition - a symbol of beauty and accomplishment in its purest form. But it wasn’t your dance. It wasn’t you, his daughter, he didn't even introduce you.

No, you were just a dancer now.

You entered the stage in silence, your heart slowing as the soft glow of the spotlight bathed you in its warmth. The muted chatter of the crowd faded into an expectant hush, the weight of hundreds of gazes pressing down on you. The air felt thick, heavy with the unspoken demands of the evening. The elaborate kimono you wore seemed to amplify that weight, its intricate embroidery shimmering under the light. Each layer of fabric, from the trailing hikizuri hem to the opulent obi tied with meticulous care, felt like a chain binding you to the role you were expected to fulfill.

The role that you didn't like.

The adornments on your hair - a delicate array of golden combs and jade pins - added to the strain, each piece glinting like a reminder of the perfection demanded of you. Even the subtle fragrance of incense clinging to your garments seemed to emphasize your place in this performance: a symbol, a display, but never a person.

Your movements, however, betrayed none of your inner turmoil. You moved with the fluidity that had been drilled into you for years, every step and turn perfectly calculated. The soft clack of your lacquered sandals against the polished wood echoed through the room, a rhythm as precise as the dance itself. Each motion was a testament to your training, your arms flowing gracefully as though carried by the air.

And then you saw him.

He’d changed. A lot. The years had shaped him into someone sharper, more refined, though the essence of him - remained unmistakable. His snow-white hair was still its signature mess, but it seemed more intentional now, as though he’d taken the time to style it. The glasses he wore were different, darker and sleeker, framing his face in a way that gave him an air of maturity you weren’t prepared for. Somehow, impossibly, he seemed even taller.

Even more handsome.

You couldn’t remember every detail of his face - time had eroded those memories - but some things stayed vivid. You remembered his hands cupping your face that night by the lake, trembling and warm despite the chill. You remembered the look in his eyes, desperate, as if trying to hold onto something slipping through his grasp. Those moments had etched themselves into your mind in ways you hadn’t dared to revisit.

Is it bad that you missed seeing him?

At first, his expression was unreadable, his lips slightly parted as though he’d been caught mid-thought. His usual cocky smirk, the one you had come to know and despise - was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a stunned stillness to him, an uncharacteristic vulnerability that made your chest tighten. Those piercing blue eyes, always so vivid, widened as they traced your figure.

You could see the faint flicker of recognition in them, the way his gaze darted across you as if trying to reconcile the person before him with the one he had known.

You couldn’t glance at him as much as you wanted to, though the urge tugged at you with every turn, every delicate gesture. The temptation was a steady hum beneath your practiced composure, but you ignored it.

Whatever he felt, whatever you felt, didn’t matter. Not here. Not now.

It was the longest performance you've ever done.

When your it ended, the room erupted into applause, a symphony of polite enthusiasm filling the grand space. Guests turned to your father, their compliments flowing freely, every word dripping with veiled flattery.

"What a remarkable performance, truly exquisite." one elder said, nodding with approval. He said this loud enough that you could hear him.

"Master, your planning is unmatched." said another, their tone measured and calculated "A brilliant highlight for the evening."

But not him.

He didn’t join the chorus of praise. He didn’t clap. He didn’t say a word. He just sat there, silent, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that felt like it might swallow you whole. The weight of his gaze burned hotter than any ovation, lingering on you as though he were trying to reach across the distance, trying to say something without words. Maybe something like - look at me again.

You didn’t dare to do this again, too afraid to face him, to face the reality of all you’d ignored: the messages you’d left unread, his attempts to connect with you, his clumsy, awkward texts filled with jokes and small glimpses of his life. You couldn’t bear the thought of the weight in his gaze reflecting those unanswered words, those years of silence between you.

Instead, you kept your head high, your back straight, your movements precise as you exited the stage. You didn’t need to see his face to feel his disappointment - or his persistence. It lingered in the air, following you even as you stepped out of the light.

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violettesorrows · 18 days ago

Text

A Rat Among Birds and Bats (Part Two)

Description: (Yandere! Batfam x Depressed! Reader) You tried to live life normally after your encounter with a certain hero last week, but now one of your classmates can't seem to leave you alone (2.2k words)

Warnings: general yandere behavior, implied stalking, really brief mention of being held at gunpoint, mentions of depression/anxiety and its symptoms this one is very tim drake heavy but the rest of batfam is coming i promise

part one || two || three || four

The next few weeks felt normal. Or at least, as normal as they could be in one of the most crime-ridden cities in America. Like clockwork, you went to class, then went to work, then went home to do schoolwork and maybe sleep for a few hours before you repeated the cycle all over again. The only real thing out of the ordinary that happened to you was one of the other students in your class approaching you after the day’s lecture.

He had stark black hair, blue eyes, and dressed like he would describe his family’s economic status as ‘comfortable’. He was currently talking to you about how difficult the coursework for this class could be, and how you and he should probably form a study group or something. Which was weird, because like this is the first time you’ve ever talked to him. You think his name was Jim or Tim or something? You honestly didn’t even know if he was taking this class. You didn’t know a soul in here. A person could hold a gun to your head, and you probably couldn’t name or place two people in here other than your professor.

You blinked, having zoned out while the guy in your class just kept yapping. You’re pretty sure it’s been a solid few minutes without you saying a single word, and he was still going.

“So, what do you think?”

You honestly had no idea what he was talking about anymore. You’d blocked out his chattering like at least five minutes ago. But instead of coming off as a complete ass and telling him that, you just noncommittally and vaguely agreed to whatever he was talking about. Hopefully, it wasn’t too obvious you really didn’t care.

Tim -you were sure his name was Tim now- only smiled in response. “Great! Let’s exchange contact information.”

The color drained from your face. What the hell had you just agreed to? Was he a scientologist or like a member of some other cult trying to recruit you? Regardless of your hesitations, your social anxiety made it near impossible to say no. Other people were watching. The two of you had the same class. If you made it a point to be vehemently anti-social, things would be weird, people would find you weird.

And that’s how you ended up with a new contact labelled “Tim” in your phone that day.

---

Tim texted you pretty frequently. At first, you were reluctant. You figured he was just a pretty, rich boy who saw you as another charity case, something he could fix. He would ask you how you were, how your day was, how you slept, if you’ve eaten. The kind of normal, mundane things good friends would ask each other. Of course, you couldn’t be entirely honest with him, not without raising some major red flags. The last thing you wanted was to be put in an involuntary psychiatric hold. Or worse, getting too close to someone and getting burned in the process.

Some days, you were happy that someone took the time to check in with you. It made you feel like someone genuinely cared for you. Other days, you were annoyed. You didn’t want anyone to care for you. Life was just easier that way sometimes. Before you knew it, though, Tim and you were regularly meeting in person. He’d just managed to worm his way into your life. It started with him offering to buy you coffee after class and then just… kind of went from there. Before then, the two of you started hanging out regularly at least once a week like you were normal friends.

You couldn’t bring yourself to end your newly found friendship, nor were you certain you could keep up the facade for much longer. Having a friend was exhausting since you were careful about what you said or did, afraid that he’d see you for what you were if you didn’t. You also tried your hardest not to talk about your homelife or financial situation. You doubted he would understand it anyway. That being said, you really were starting to warm up to him. After isolating yourself for so long, you had to admit that it felt…nice … to have some genuine human connection.

You didn’t even notice when some of your things had started to go missing. A pencil you swear you had put in your bag, a hair tie you could have sworn was on your wrist, an eraser or paper clip or a loose leaf paper with one of your doodles on it. But you were very obviously depressed, and depressed people tended to be forgetful, so you didn’t bat an eye at it. You probably misplaced all those things anyway

One day, Tim asked if he could come over to watch a movie at your place. He really wanted to watch one of the newer movies that had just come out. Thinking about the abysmal state of your apartment, you said no a little too hastily. He then proceeded to invite you over to his place. You sucked in a breath. You weren’t sure if you could make it, you probably had work.

“Then just take the day off or something. Call in sick,” He said a-matter-of-factly.

You balked at him, not expecting him to understand. You couldn’t just ditch work for the day to hang out with him. It’s not like you had a job for fun or as a hobby, you had bills to pay. And sick or not, if you didn’t go to work, you wouldn’t get paid for the day, and that could be the difference between your lights or your gas being turned off.

Still, you couldn’t blame him. You purposefully avoided talking about your personal life for this very reason. The two of you lived on completely different planets.

“I’ll see what I can do,” You said with a strained smile. As soon as you thought he wasn’t looking, your smile dropped. Your gaze looked downcast as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. Little did you know, he was always looking. And the two of you were going to see that movie this weekend, he would make sure of it.

---

You showed up to your shift on time, despite almost missing the bus. This morning you had been scrambling to not get to work late this morning, but as it turned out all your efforts were in vain. Your workplace was closed, surrounded by police tape and sirens. Your manager was standing outside, talking to a police officer before his gaze finally caught on you.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you get my text? Place’s closed. Turns out the owner was involved in some sort of drug bust or crime ring,” Your manager shrugged, like he was just delivering the weather for today. Things like this just tended to happen in Gotham. “I’m not sure about the details.”

You couldn’t help but think the worst. Does this mean you’re fired? How would you pay rent? Feed yourself? You struggled to find your voice as it felt like the whole world was spinning. “What about work?” You asked with a slight crack in your voice.

Your manager only shrugged his shoulders again. “I’m not sure, kid. Things might clear up in a week or maybe those doors will stay closed forever. That’s how the cookie crumbles in this city sometimes.”

His gaze was almost pitiful as he looked down at you. “Either way, it’s best to get yourself home, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” You muttered as you pulled your jacket closer to your frame and stalked off. You needed a moment to think.

Next thing you knew, you were kicking an empty coke can a couple of streets down the way. Your luck was so great. First, you were held at gunpoint and now this. The next bus wasn’t coming for at least another hour, and of course you didn’t have enough money for a cab. So you were stuck here in Lower Gotham, on a side of the city that wasn’t safe even during the day. You had to figure out what to do and fast. You couldn’t just stand around like a sitting duck.

You unlocked your phone, your finger hovering over a certain contact. You didn’t want to bother him, make your problems his problems, but you were really in a bind. Maybe, just maybe, just this once you could ask for help. Before you could ruminate about it anymore you pressed the call button. The phone rang and you tensed. What if he didn’t pick up? What if he was busy? What if he couldn’t be bothered with-

“Hello?” Tim’s voice answered.

You felt like your heart was going to stop. You weren’t sure what to say, where to start. So instead you just echoed back his greeting. “Hello…” You said weaker than you would’ve liked.

“Hi,” he said again. He paused for a minute, pensive. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh…how’d you guess?” You said dryly with a forced chuckle.

“Well, for starters, you rarely ever call me.”

“Sorry.” You said, a knee jerk reaction.

“No! No! It’s fine, I’m sorry! You should call more often” He said, scrambling as if he’d said something wrong. You almost told him he had nothing to apologize over before he cut you off. “Just… just tell me what’s wrong. We’ll start from there.”

You held back tears. Everything, you thought, Everything is wrong. Instead, you got straight to the point. You took a deep breath, hoping to steel yourself. “I’m kind of…stranded, I need a ride. Please. If you’re not busy.”

“A ride? Sure. Where are you? Actually- nevermind, just text me your location, I’ll be there in twenty.” Tim hung up shortly after, not even giving you time to explain yourself.

You first thought that maybe Tim was a good friend after all. He was coming to pick you up without even asking how you ended up in this situation in the first place. He had just dropped everything to go help a friend in need. What a nice guy, you thought, maybe you could trust him just a little bit. You know, with small stuff.

As promised, a car rolled up to pick you up with Tim in the driver’s seat. You were a little surprised, he wasn’t supposed to be here for another ten minutes.You shook off the feeling quickly, maybe traffic was light, maybe he was just on this side of town.

He opened your car door from the driver’s seat, a charismatic smile on his face. “Get in, loser, we’re going shopping.”

You sat down in the passenger’s seat before buckling yourself up. “Shopping?” You asked with a quizzical expression. Please, no. The last thing you wanted was to look at things you couldn’t afford.

“It’s a reference? Mean Girls? No?” Tim sighed. “Okay, forget about it. Dumb joke.”

“Sorry.” You chuckled awkwardly, blushing a little out of embarrassment. You should have gotten the reference. He had taken time out of your day, the least you could do is laugh at his lame jokes.

His arm went behind your headrest as he backed up the car. “Don’t worry about it. Anyways, where to? I could bring you home or we could go watch that movie you were talking about earlier.”

Actually, he was the one who mentioned wanting to go to the movies. You didn’t mention it though, thinking it too inconsequential to bring up. “Uh, a movie sounds nice, I guess?”

“Great!” Tim practically beamed. “Sooo, we could go to a movie theater or my place? Whatever you’re more comfortable with, of course, it’s your choice-”

He was cut off by the sound of his phone ringing. Tim ignored it in favor of continuing his train of thought. “As I was saying we could either go to-”

His phone beeped, the notifications going off left and right. He groaned exasperatedly. “One moment, I gotta reply to this.”

You couldn’t see who or what he was texting. Tim was careful to tilt his phone screen just out of view. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t trust you or if it was just the sheer force of habit. You didn’t really care. His business was his business. If he wanted to share he would, it wasn’t your palace to go prying.

A few moments of silence passed before Tim finally spoke again. He put his phone away in his pocket. “Sorry about that, it’s just my brother. Something’s going on at the family home and.. well… there’s no other way to ask you this, do you mind if I make a quick pit stop? I just need to take care of something real quick.”

Honestly, Tim was doing you such a huge favor, you didn’t care if he had a million errands to run. In your book, you owe him one. So, you didn’t think much about agreeing to stop by his family home for a quick second. If only you could have known what the future holds. If only you could see Tim’s blank gaze as he locked the car door and drove off.

#yandere batfam #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere tim drake #platonic yandere #tw yandere #tim drake my beloved #platonic yandere batfam #a rat among birds and bats

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tttt06 · 1 month ago

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Sex Can't Solve Everything

IdolEnhypen x Blackreader

Request are open! I reply quickly. Masterlist here

Synopsis~ Enhypen's reaction to you trying to cope by having sex with them.

Warnings~ Sexual comfort, fluff, conscious toxic relationships, alludes to ab*se, fights, angst, mentions of death of a close friend, mentions of depression, I didn't really describe the reader, so she's normal and able bodied. I just didn't give her features.

Word Count~ 3k

Heeseung

You and Heeseung had a long day. You came back from the funeral of a close friend.

They were someone you've been friends with since childhood. She died tragically in a traffic accident, and you've been hurt.

Hee noticed the way your eyes darkened.

The way you've gotten quieter.

You aren't the same because she's gone. How could she leave you in the cruel world like that?

Heeseung moved out of the kitchen to pass you a chopsticks. You weren't going to eat the ramen he made you anyway. You were too in your head.

Heeseung softly kissed your head and asked, "You doing okay?"

You blinked, eyes dry from the tears you've cried today.

You still smelled like Chloe's mom.

You just laughed, "Yeah, I'll be okay."

Heeseung gave you a comforting smile. "I'm here if you want to talk."

You shook your head, "I'm okay."

He looked over your face. Mascara was running down your face. Your eyes were beat red. You didn't even do your edges today. That was an essential part of your day.

Hee just cupped your face and kissed your forehead. You pulled his face down to press into your lips.

"Hmm."

You were shoving your tongue into his mouth. You jumped, and he caught you. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he walked to the couch.

He sat down as he tried to catch your rapid kisses.

They were hungry and passionate.

You bit his lip, and he pulled away, "Slow down."

You said, "m, m."

Your grip on him strengthened as you started to grind against his boner.

The memories of Chloe and you rushed to your head, and the only thing you could do was sob.

Heeseung pulled away when he felt you crying. His eyebrows furrowed with worry.

He cupped your face, "What's wrong?" You sobbed, "I miss her."

Heeseung pulled you into a hug. "I know you do, and as much as I love having sex with you, that's not how we solve things. Sex is a way to show you how much I love you, not this."

You cried, "I don't know what else to do." He sighed as he listened to your cries, "I miss Chloe!"

Heeseung rocked you until you fell asleep.

It was a rollercoaster of emotions for him. He knew it would be a difficult chapter for the two of you, and he was willing to work through it.

He put you to bed and ate your bowl of ramen.

He sat there and thought about how to help you.

Jay

Winter was here. The time of year when you often disappeared. You'd stop texting back, coming over, and spending time.

Jay knew it was seasonal depression. You were unhappy during wintertime, and he knew it wasn't your fault.

After about nine hours of practice, he came to your apartment.

You were there, cuddled on your couch, reading. A blanket was on your lap. The blanket had Jay's face plastered on it. You bought it as a joke.

You were so funny to him. The things you'd do as a joke always made him laugh.

You saw him and smiled. "Oh hey. You came over."

Jay said carefully, "I haven't seen you in over a week, and you stopped responding to my messages."

You pouted while looking at your phone, "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, "It's okay. I understand. I just came to check in. I could head out if you want."

You stood up quickly, "No, no. Stay."

You walked closer to Jay. His breath was warm on your face. You cupped his cheek and kissed him softly.

Jay relaxed as he tilted his head. He kissed you just as passionately as you.

His hands traveled to your waist, and he pulled you closer. You walked him to the bedroom and kicked the door behind you closed.

After pushing Jay on the bed, you looked at his face.

He looked so confused.

You furrowed your eyebrows and leaned back for another kiss, but Jay jerked away.

"Why are you crying?"

You touched your face as you realized. "I am?"

Jay let you climb into his lap as you said, "I don't know. Now I feel really sad."

You felt yourself start to cry as Jay hugged you. "It's okay, babe."

You hiccuped, "I wanted *hic* to stop thinking *hic* about my problems."

Jay laughed at your hiccups as he said, "That's understandable. But there's another way to do that."

Jay rubbed calm circles on your back. That only made you cry more. Jay has been so understanding.

Your crash-out boyfriend was the sweetest. You loved Jay, but you only ever felt nothing or sadness.

"Jay, I want to feel something. Please."

You rocked on his hips. Jay can't resist you. Still, he deflected, "No. We can watch a movie together."

You asked, "Why? Why can't you?"

Jay sighed. He pulled you down with him as he plopped on the bed.

"It'll come to a point where sex isn't about love anymore."

You couldn't respond. Jay was right.

You listened to him. You cuddled close to him and turned on the TV.

Jay was a sweet guy. He ignored your messy room, dirty kitchen, texts, and angry blow-ups because he loved you.

Jake

Someone from your past was coming out of jail. You're the one who put your ex-boyfriend there, and it was stressing you out.

DJ (Your ex-boyfriend) hurt you.

He hurt you in and out of the relationship. He manipulated you, cheated, and left you alone on the street.

Jake found you. Jake helped you get better.

Jake was with you when you found out the news. You were sitting on the bed, watching Bluey.

Two grown adults were watching Bluey because the show was good as fuck.

You sighed as your phone rang. Jake was biting his lip as he looked at you. You answered it, "Detective Seo? Nice to hear from you."

Seo sighed. "Yes, I wish under better circumstances. Sadly, I have bad news."

You furrowed your eyebrows. Jake carefully watched your face, "What's wrong?"

Seo said, "DJ... he's out."

You jolted, "What? Where?"

You were frantically running around your apartment as you started to pack, "We have him on an ankle monitor. He's in the States. He's not allowed to leave the country. Don't worry. Witness protection found you a safe place in Korea."

Jake ran after you as he watched you throw things in the luggage.

You knew everything you needed to run.

"I'm getting a ticket to a different country."

Jake and Detective Seo both said, "What?"

Detective Seo said, "Stay there. Please. Your best hidden there."

Detective Seo hung up, and you were stuck. All you could do was cry as the tears streamed down your face.

Jake is quick to hug you to make you feel better.

The problem is, there is no feeling better.

You kissed Jake. Then you started making out. It was slow and comforting. You didn't want that, though.

You wanted him to be rough tonight.

You were biting his lip and touching up his abs. Jake pulled back to quickly say, "Slow down."

You didn't listen.

You unbuckled his pants and were ready to give him head. When you looked at his dick, he was only half hard.

You looked up at Jake.

His eyes were filled with confusion and vulnerability.

Jake shuddered as he asked, "What are you doing?"

You moved away from his pants. Your head hung low as you tried to explain.

You wanted to what? Use Jake's body as a distraction? You're no better than the man who's free and dangerous. The man you spent years hiding from.

You changed your house, name, and lifestyle. You deleted all social media and tried to move on.

Now, you're forcing yourself on Jake to distract from your problems.

You felt tears welling up again, "I-i'm so sorry."

Jake shook his head and cupped your cheeks, "It's okay."

You cried, "No, it's not."

You pulled away from his embrace. You felt like you didn't deserve it.

You know how susceptible Jake is to sex. He wouldn't have stopped you.

"I'm a horrible person."

Jake watched as you walked out of the bedroom.

It wasn't until hours later that he'd sit next to you quietly. He rubs your back and asks, "Is this about your ex?"

You nodded, "He's out of prison."

Jake's breath was heavy as he tried to wrap his head around how you might be feeling.

"Baby. You can use me however you need to make yourself feel better."

You shook your head, "Sex should be for love."

Jake smiled, "I love you so much, I'm letting you use me."

You looked at him with a smile that didn't reach your eyes, "I can't do that."

Jake sighed. His body leaned back on the couch as he said, "How about you ask me to make you feel good?"

He kissed your temple as your eyes widened, "Yeah?"

He nodded.

Sunghoon

You had a bad day.

That's all it was.

You came home, threw off your black heels, and ran to the bedroom.

Sunghoon was taking a nap. You quietly walked to his side of the bed and kissed him.

He jerked awake, "Eh? Oh, hey, babe."

You smiled, "You tired?"

Sunghoon turned his back and said, "I don't remember."

His voice sounded a little hoarse, so he must've been sleeping for a while. You saw the tea and cough drops on the bedside table and asked, "Were you recording today?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I passed out when I got here though."

You climbed on his lap, and he straddled your hips. "Mm. Can we have sex?"

Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows, "No." He scoffed a little and flipped you over, "What's wrong with you? You crazy?"

You whined, "Hoonie! I had a horrible day, and I want you."

Sunghoon laughed, "Okay, we can talk about it. I see you're not wearing the same clothes as this morning. What happened?"

You sighed, "I spilled coffee on myself, fired Rachel, caught two of my workers having sex in the break room, had to fire them too, had 7 meetings about color design, and my mom yelled at me because I hadn't come over last week."

Sunghoon's face dropped, "... sex in the break room?"

You nodded, "You see?! My life is a movie."

Sunghoon laughed and kissed you. "I guess. The answer is still no to sex, though. You can't solve your problems like this."

You slapped his chest, "But you make me feel so good."

Sunghoon bit his bottom lip as he traced your face. Your body started to heat up as you squealed, "Don't look at me like that! Oh my god!"

He smiled, "You're so cute, I guess we could have sex."

He reached down and gave you a tender kiss. Two seconds later, Sunghoon was slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Sunoo

Sunoo and you had been fighting. Arguing non-stop.

It was happening for days. It was over a girl.

He was texting some girl you've never heard of, and you, being petty, accused him of cheating. You know he wasn't, but he was hiding her from you.

It was weird.

So, you've been dragging him through hell because of it.

It was when you were really going at it in the dorms. The boys had all left because you were screaming at each other.

Sunoo was yelling how you were doing too much, but you knew you weren't. He loved the tension.

Sunoo was close to your face as he spat, "I'd never cheat on you with anyone because I fucking love you."

That's all you wanted to hear. You smashed your lips into each other as your tongue slipped into Sunoo's mouth.

He picked you up and threw you on the bed. You started lifting his shirt to feel his bare skin. Sunoo was frantically leaving kisses on your neck, sucking.

You moaned as you started unbuckling his belt.

Sunoo grabbed your hands and put them above your head. "Calm the fuck down, Y/N."

Anger bubbled in his throat as you gulped. Shit, he was so hot when he was like this.

Sunoo looked at your face, and it softened. "Why are we doing this?"

You shuddered, "I don't know, but I like you like this."

Sunoo asked, "What? Angry? That's toxic." You shook your head, "It's not toxic." Sunoo laughed, "Purposely starting arguments to actively make me angry? Kind of is."

You sighed, "Sunoo, just touch me."

Sunoo shook his head, "No, you're gonna sit here and think about how fucked up that is."

You pouted as you sat on the opposite side of the bed. You confessed, "I knew you weren't cheating on me."

Sunoo laughed, "I knew that. I know you like to fuck with me."

You sighed, "Maybe I am a little toxic. Why are you still with me?" Sunoo confessed, "I like the rush."

He kissed your cheek.

Jungwon

It's the same as Sunoo. It wouldn't be on purpose, though. Jungwon would be gone for days or weeks on end.

All you'd want was a text back, but he couldn't do that.

You showed up during practice. Jungwon furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at you like you were crazy.

"I know, but just come here."

Jungwon followed you outside to the hallway. You heard the boys continue to practice to give you two privacy.

"Can you come over tonight? We have to talk."

Jungwon said, "Okay, but why didn't you text me that? Why show up to my practice?"

You laughed, "You don't respond to my messages." You scoffed, "Jungwon, just come over. Don't blow this off."

You started to walk off, and he grabbed your arm, "Hey."

You turned to him, "What?"

Jungwon looked you up and down, "What's with the outfit?"

You reminded him, "My little brother graduated today. I invited you to come with me. You're here." Jungwon sighed, "I'm sorry."

You shook your head, "It's whatever."

Jungwon noticed the lack of a nickname. You didn't call him baby, honey, love, or sweetie. When you left, you didn't tell him you loved him.

When he did visit your house, you didn't talk. You fucked. It was passionate, something you two have never done.

He didn't like the change. He enjoyed the soft whimpers you let out. He didn't like the screams, the rough nature of him, the nails digging into him, the speed of it all.

You were lying on his chest, tracing his abs, when you began to talk.

"You haven't been here for me these past two months. I feel like I'm single."

Jungwon tensed, "Why did we have sex instead of talking about it?"

You laughed, but the laughs turned into cries. "What else am I supposed to do. You've been blowing me off. Today, you forgot to meet me at the school. My brother was waiting for you to show up. You see? You're not just blowing me off, but my little brother. He was upset."

Jungwon rubbed your back, "I'm sorry."

You cried, "You should be. I had to explain to my brother that you won't be around often."

You lifted your head, "I wanted to break up with you today. But we had sex. Now, I can't let this go."

Jungwon's eyes were filled with hurt. "Don't."

He kissed you slowly, and you were back in the missionary position. You two were trying to fuck away your problems. Jungwon didn't stop saying how he'd do better and how much he loves you.

You believed him.

Ni-ki

Ni-ki and you were still teens. You two were trying to navigate how to communicate and be vulnerable.

Though difficult, you two always tried. You both would call out each other's toxic traits. You had avoidance of confrontation. Ni-ki really hated it, but he'd always call you out.

He was never mad when you brought up things you didn't like about him. He was an understanding partner.

It was a day a long day. You got home, trash was filled, dishes were in the sink, and Ni-ki was in your living room playing his video games.

You were upset. You came home from a long day at work, and the house was still dirty.

You were seething but didn't want to mention the issues. Instead, you let Ni-ki sit there in the mess.

Ni-ki noticed you didn't announce you were home. You went straight to your room and showered. He'd usually be invited to the shower. It was why he hadn't showered yet, so he could do it with you.

As you did your skincare, Ni-ki watched you in your silky robe.

Ni-ki asked, "Why are you upset?"

You corrected, "I'm not upset."

Ni-ki took a deep breath. "What's wrong?"

You closed the bathroom door, not wanting to hear his bullshit. How could you not know what's wrong?

Ni-ki opened the door and cornered you to the sink. He was so much bigger than you in every right.

He leaned over and asked again, "What's the matter?"

You wanted to avoid this, so what did you do? You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. You had brushed your teeth, so you tasted like mint.

Ni-ki tilted his head and kissed you harder. His hands unwrapped the robe, and he felt your bare ass.

You whimpered in his mouth, and he pulled away.

"So, you're that mad, you're seducing me?"

His hand kept kneading your ass. His strength makes you sway back and forth. "Baby." He said, trying to get you back in reality.

You shook your head, "Can you do me a big favor?"

Ni-ki nodded, his hands going to your waist to let you know he was listening. "Go on."

You said, "Can you take the trash out and wash the dishes in the sink?"

He smiled, "Yeah, but keep this sexy robe on."

He was running off to follow your instructions.

Hongjoong Fan Fic on May 29th

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xenteaart · 9 months ago

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when you're feeling weak, i'll be the words if you can't speak

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but it can fit any au, really) genre/warnings: er, angst, hurt/comfort, implied suffering w depression and anxiety. reader is feeling off and insecure. also kinda going almost non verbal author's note: a short lil songfic ig coz it's inspired by Isak Danielson – I Can't Lose You. basically channie being a comfort boyfie material

to put it simply, you were never not anxious or insecure. but stepping into the big adult life, you sort of learned to conceal it well, even from your own self. the fake it till you make it thing, and you could even say you've "made it" with a small exception of the days where your brain and your entire nervous system randomly circled back to your default settings. "so what are you gonna eat, baby?" chan asks with a cheerful soft tone, glancing over the menu and then back at you.

today's a good day. you haven't been too overwhelmed with work, nothing out of the ordinary happened. so naturally, a pinch of guilt somewhere deep in your guts makes you feel like a bother to be around, and today — for no good reason.

"are you okay?" he notices your slightly spaced out gaze when you're trying to read the menu but not really reading, more like frowning and getting nervous.

"yeah.. no. no, i don't know," you murmur barely audibly, losing your focus for the tenth time in a span of the last five minutes. brain fog takes over, making your vision blurrier than normal and your thinking all floaty and hazy. as if you're looking at the world through dirty lenses, but also the lights are too bright and your surroundings are loud.

"i dunno, i just..." can't even speak for myself today and choose a meal and say it out loud because suddenly everything is embarrassing and difficult.

chris looks slightly worried because you might be in pain or feeling unwell, but nothing hurts except your pride. because you're a big girl, you have been for years, and now you want to cry on the spot because you can't choose between pasta and soup all of a sudden. it makes you feel even more stupid.

"can you please choose and order for me today? my brain just can't," you try to explain, visibly stressed and overwhelmed by a simple mundane task, "i want somethin' warm and filling," you specify to make it easier for chan.

he doesn't make a big deal out of it, just nods and meets you with a gentle 'course, baby. he then talks to the waiter and makes sure they don't ask you anything which feels like a relief. sometimes it's nice to feel invisible, especially in a vulnerable state.

after the horrifying deed is over with, chris leans in a little closer to be able to speak in a softer, quieter voice.

"d'you wanna just have dinner in silence and head home?" he asks while massaging your palm with his fingers soothingly, so calm and nonchalant as if you didn't just obsess over the smallest thing to the point of making yourself filled with shame and insecurity.

that's how chris always does it. by showing you that whatever it is that's bothering you is not a burden to him. he's got you. it's okay if you want or rather need him to do something for you. he's happy to be your strong shoulder to lean onto and not think about a single thing while he takes care of whatever it is at the time.

"yeah. or you can tell me about your day and stuff. i wanna know and i'm okay with listening. just not... responding, maybe?" you give him an awkward smile as he nods understandingly and plants a little kiss on the back of your hand. a modern gentleman and a caring lover.

somewhere in the middle of a story about how cubase was lagging and almost crashed mid producing session today, the waiter brings your meals. it's two pumpkin cream soups, some grilled and seasoned breads and a fresh greek salad to share.

oh, to be loved like this.

your stomach growls at the smell of food, and a bright proud smile is instantly painted over chan's features.

#bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan x female reader #chan x you #chan x reader #bang chan x you #skz x you #skz x reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids bang chan #stray kids imagines #chan x y/n #chan x female reader #bang chan x y/n #my fic #my writing #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader

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elsa-fogen · 6 months ago

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hello lobotomy au - special delivery! PAIN.

it's even more depressing than i expected... shit. it makes ME sad. which, usually, doesn't happen.

this au is really fucking depressing.

"i'm not gonna post about this au any time soon" - she said and immediatelly posted something

okay, so, how this "surgery" affected the Trix

Stormy's now absolutely passive. she doesn't do anything on her own, doesn't talk, doesn't react. she's basically like a ragdoll - except the times when she's not. she has only two conditions now, 1 where you can do anything with her, 2 where you can't move her even with a fucking tank. nothing in between. What is going on in her hed tho is a complete mystery.

Darcy's doing little bit better. just a little bit. she still can talk, can do many things. she just doesn't. she's absolutely apathetic, and without guidence she can just… starve to death, lying on the floor near the full fridge, just because she can't make herself get up and do anything (I wanted to give her memory issues - that she can't make any new memories and wakes up thinking that the last battle with the winx was just yesterday, but i was told that lobotomy doesn't cause memory issues). she also almost doesn't feel any emotions. The only thing she feels - is rage towards people who did this to them, when she sees Icy crying. speaking of her…

Icy is lucky (or unlucky) to be the most functional one of the three. she can still walk, talk and react almost normally to her surroundings. she just has really hard time thinking anout literally anything. it's like her iq dropped from 180 to 40-50, idk. so, yeah, no plans for world domination in this condition can be made. she even has hard time planning her day. And, also, she now can't control her magic at all - anything she touches will be frozen, so she has to wear artifacts that don't let her use magic at all. But not only her magic is out of control, her emotions are as well. In my aus Icy usually doesn't cry at all. In this one tho... in this one she will cry for all her alternative versions, yeah. And, as a bonus, occasional epileptic seizures.

And the worst thing is - she DOES realise how much she changed, notices that things she used to do without thinking at all now are taking her way to long to do. And she sees how her sisters changed as well. And she hates herself, she hates the winx, she hates the light rock for doing this to them. But she can't just end her sufferings, although she was thinking about it, her sisters will not survive without her. so she keeps living. for them.

she found a way, she spends her evenings trying to live through the next day and making a plan in her notebook, she sets alarm clock for every step, she sends million delayed reminders to herself. she goes to bed very late, but at least her next day will be a little bit easier.

But... their life has another catch. Obviously, none of them can work, not with such conditions. Icy tried, but got fired in less than an hour. But they are getting only one pension - for Stormy. Why is that? Because Icy and Darcy have huge family savings. But they can't get to them - it's now too difficult of a task to do. Icy can't plan the whole thing through, something will go wrong and she will be lost. And Darcy can't even leave the house before losing last bit of motivtion. Even if she left, she would stop in the proccess without someone who'd tell her to continue. And they can't go together, not without Stormy. And with her it becomes much more complicated. Hell, they can just lose her somewhere. And so they have to just survive with what they got.

The Trix don't have anyone, except for themselves. Who will take care of Darcy and Stormy if something happens? Icy always would answer: I will. But who will take care about you, if something happens to you? Darcy and Stormy will, isn't it obvious?

she never thought, that something can happen to all of them at once.

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mcflymemes · 1 month ago

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PROMPTS FROM THE FOUR SEASONS * assorted dialogue from the 1981 film, adjust as necessary

is this the fun part? are we having fun yet?

i can hardly remember the first time i got laid.

you've made soem friends, right?

for somebody who likes to get to the heart of things, you have this incredible knack for denying your own feelings.

god, i love that woman. she just kills me.

i feel like i wish you would just sort of shut up.

has it been really tough?

does he observe good bathroom etiquette?

i want a woman i can be excited by.

maybe we shouldn't go anywhere.

do you think they're going to do it again?

i get passionate sometimes.

you're kidding me, right?

are you mad at me?

everyone in connecticut knows that you're italian!

you picked a hell of a time to get irrational.

i'm not irrational. rational people get angry. irrational people pretend they don't.

i just told you my deepest fear. why can't you listen to what i'm saying instead of how i'm saying it?

do you have any idea what it is to be afraid of death?

don't laugh at him.

you think because i'm quirky, i don't hurt?

he's been having affairs all along. dozens.

you're kidding.

how could you not know?

he told you all of this?

[name] is driving me crazy.

what's the matter with him?

he's very needy, that's all.

that's a problem i have. when i get angry, i overanalyze.

i don't understand. i've hurt you in some way?

you didn't tell either of us.

all i've ever gotten from you is judgment and disapproval.

when you wanna talk intelligently, i'll talk. otherwise, forget it.

i don't find them all that adorable.

they're making this trip very difficult.

you're making me angry.

i'm enraged.

how was i supposed to know?

i think you should apologize to her.

i got excited, i spoke my mind, i said i was sorry, and it's over and done with.

how can you say that?

i just say what i think.

why do you always say what you think?

i think he's hurt. i think maybe we owe him an apology.

when people have been friends as long as we have, it's not such a terrible thing to kid somebody out of a depression.

don't get upset about what you don't understand.

i've just about had it with you people.

i'll tell you what's the matter. i'm mad!

let me tell you something. as far as i'm concerned, you are all demanding and unforgiving. every single one of you.

how come everyone thinks i'm paranoid?

you think whenever your brain has a thought, it has to just drop down onto your tongue like a gumball.

let's calm down. it's not all that bad. it's just a little embarrassing.

i don't see what the big problem is. we're all adults.

you're the one i wanted to make cry.

i'm ten years older than you, right?

i go to sleep at night on an ache so bad that it simply will not go away. i wake up in the middle of the night sweating, hearing my own bones decay.

you talk like a bad textbook.

i'm saying this in the most loving way: "shit or get off the pot!"

nobody can do what you do. my god, you're perfect.

how dare you call me that?

it's not hot enough.

why do you always have to do that?

why couldn't you have just kept quiet?

i know you're italian!

please don't take this the wrong way, you know how fond i am of you, but i think your mercedes sucks!

i am sick and tired of all this macho bullshit.

these people are vicious.

please don't tell me to calm down.

will you guys shut up?

i am the greatest!

why can't they fight it out?

did anyone sleep last night?

i don't wanna look at my friends naked.

#rp meme #rp prompt #rp memes #mcflymemes #roleplay memes #rp starters #roleplay prompt #ask meme #roleplay meme #ask memes #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters

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saltpepperbeard · 2 years ago

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OBLIGATORY COMPLETE OFMD SEASON 2 TEASER THOUGHTS AND SPECULATION POST™

Okay, to start off, I cannot BELIEVE we got this. I cannot BELIEVE we got a voiceover of Stede's note to Ed. We were all thinking it. We were all hoping for it. I CANNOT BELIEVE WE LEGITIMATELY GOT TO SEE AND HEAR HIS LOVE RIGHT OFF THE BAT. HE LOVES HIS ED SO SO MUCH.

Followed by this shot right as Stede is narrating. It's difficult to tell, but it seems like Ed??? The one-armed jacket and the fact that it's layered with Stede's narration makes me quite certain it's him. But ALONE??? AND COMING OUT OF THE SURF??? (There's a shot later that has me PARTICULARLY raising eyebrows at this moment. I'm thinking that he fell off the boat/was lost in that one storm shown later, and Stede of course is going to dive in after him or attempt to get to him in some sort of dramatic way. Which makes me think he and Stede are going to potentially talk feelings/reconcile on the beach)

And the fight choreography of this. Are you actually kidding me right now. ARE YOU KIDDING ME. GETTING TO SEE ED ABSOLUTELY KICKING ASS IN COMBAT??? NEVER IN A THOUSAND YEARS DID I EXPECT TO SEE A SHOT LIKE THIS BUT I'M HOLLERING SO HARD OVER IT (NOT TO MENTION, AGAIN, LOOKING AT THIS AND A LATER SHOT..........I'LL SCREAM ABOUT MY THOUGHTS WHEN SAID SHOT APPEARS HSKDLS)

Oh, they're PINING pining. They're YEARNING yearning. They're GAY gay.

They want to be back with each other so so so bad I'm losing my mind <3

"Fuck you, Stede Bonnet." The way he's JUST as dramatic as we were all thinking. The way he's hurting in a way WE ALL ANTICIPATED. LIKE, YOU HATE TO SEE IT, BUT MAN DSJKLDSSDKL. Also, the contrast of him saying that vs Stede's voice over is so so insane. The editors are INSANE FOR THAT ONE.

AGAIN, GOING BONKERS OVER ED'S CHARACTERIZATION BECAUSE HE SEEMS EXACTLY HOW I ANTICIPATED. Outwardly, angry, hardened, and cold. Inwardly, heartbroken, desperate, and wanting nothing more than to be back with Stede. Because hello, HELLO, HE'S NOTCHED WHAT I ASSUME TO BE HIS NUMBER OF DAYS WITHOUT STEDE IN THE WALL??????

HI OLU HELLO OLU MY DEAR DARLING OLU

but also screaming and crying and throwing up because this is ALSO what i was anticipating/hoping for. the crew being like "ummmmm lmao captain?? you really think you've got this under control???"

"You think Blackbeard's going to murder you?" I THINK NOT BECAUSE WHAT IS HE EVEN SHOOTING AT JSLDKS. OFF TO THE SIDE??? A WARNING SHOT????? Also the lighting of this and his look matches the ending shot so I'm very eyes emoji at this entire thing.

HOWEVER...

"MURDERER THRICE OVER?????????????"

Like sorry, that sign won't stop me because I can't read. Look at him. LOOK at him. You're telling me he stole the wedding cake toppers so he could PAINT HIMSELF ON THE BRIDE??? SO HE COULD MAKE HIMSELF INTO THE BEAUTIFUL BRIDE HE WANTS TO BE????? SO THAT HE COULD PLAY PRETEND MARRIAGE BETWEEN HIMSELF AND STEDE???????

INSANE!!!

INSANE FOR THIS!!!!!!

Again, bonkers editing. The split screen. The CONTRAST between Stede's hopefulness and Ed's depression. The WAY THEY LINED IT UP TO MAKE ED LOOK LIKE HE'S TAKING AIM AT STEDE. THE WAY THIS PROBABLY PERFECTLY ENCAPSULATES THEIR CHARACTERIZATION IN THE FIRST FEW EPISODES HSDJKLSDS LIKE BITING THE EDITORS BITING THEM BITING THEM

ALSO ED AND ALL OF HIS GUNS,,, NINE GUNS???????

It kills me because he's probably being exactly what he thinks people see him as. He's probably like "Oh, you want a monster? I'll give you a monster."

WHICH,,,, NO, HONEY. YOU'RE A SWEETHEART, SORRY ABOUT IT.

AND THEN LOOK AT THEM. LOOK AT OUR DARLINGS!!! FANG'S FUCKING SPIKES ARE SO METAL. FRENCHIE'S WOLVERINE COSPLAY SHDJKLSHDLKS. JIM!!! JIM JIM MY BELOVED JIM, AND THEIR PAINTED BEARD. THEIR GENDER!!!!!!!

Honey hsdksjds the drama of it all. THE DRAMA. CRASHING WEDDINGS TO DISRUPT LOVE BECAUSE YOUR OWN WAS DISRUPTED??? SIIIIIIRRRR THE THEATRICS, THE SPICE OF IT ALL

excuse me ma'am that is a gay man shdkjshkls THAT IS A GAY MAN. WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING,,,

kiss me instead like wtf

OKAY NOW THIS,,,

THIS.

PRESIDENTIAL ALERT: THE BABYGIRL IS FIGHHHTTTTIIIING

BUT IZZY WATCHING ON??? IZZY????????????

I have Genuine Thoughts™ about this. I have a feeling that the big arc/character development Con mentioned might pertain to him like, REALIZING what's important, and what Ed actually wants and needs. And a good chunk of that will be him realizing the consequences of his actions, and maybe potentially wanting to undo the damage. And also, in his Bitchy Izzy Ways™, he might also get very very tired of Ed's sulking/theatrics and want to rectify things for that reason too.

So I feel like he's going to sort of team up with Stede and show him the ropes for that reason?? So they ALL can work towards betterment???

WHICH IS NUTS LMAO. NEVER EVER EXPECTED THAT.

REGARDLESS, GO STEDE BABY GO!!!

HI REVENGE HELLO REVENGE PLEASE DON'T DO ANYTHING DRASTIC LIKE EXPLODE OR ANYTHING PLEASE BABYGIRL <3

yeah yeah the titties we've all seen them.

BUT AGAIN, AGAIN, STEDE OFF TO THE SIDE. STEDE WATCHING. STEDE LEARNING THE ROPES FROM THE MOST UNEXPECTED PERSON EVER SHDJKSDS LIKE WHAT!!!

AND HEEEEEEERE WE GO. HERE'S THE SHOT I WAS REFERRING TO EARLIER.

THE SAME BLACK SAND BEACH. FIGHTING THE BRITISH. ED AND STEDE. ED WITHOUT HIS MAKEUP ON. STEDE IN A DIFFERENT OUTFIT.

ARE THEY BOTH,,, FIGHTING TO GET TO EACH OTHER??? FIGHTING THROUGH CROWDS AND ENEMIES TO GET TO EACH OTHER'S SIDES???????

WHAT IF THEY FIGHT TO EACH OTHER AND THEN KISS HUH???

WHAT THEN.

HIIIIIIYYYAAAA JACKIE <33333

ALSO HELLO IS THAT THE SWEDE BEHIND HER???????

EXPLOSIONS FIRE EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS FEELING VERY WEE JOHN CODED RIGHT NOW!!!!!!

AND THIS IS YET ANOTHER SHOT I WAS REFERRING TO EARLIER,,,

LIKE UHHHHHHHHHHHHH

WITH ED ON THE BEACH, AND THIS SHOT OF SOMEONE FALLING INTO THE WATER,,,,,,

I HAVE A FEELING THAT ED IS GOING TO DO SOMETHING THAT ENDS WITH HIM FALLING OFF THE BOAT. MAYBE HE TRIES TO SAVE SOMEONE???

if he fights to save stede from going overboard or something equivalent i'm going to eat all the tiles off my floor <3

LIKE IT'S BAD BESTIES. IT'S BAD. IT'S DIRE. THE WATER IS SO FUCKING HIGH AND THEY'RE IN A STORM AND JIM IS SCREAMING AND I AM ALSO SCREAMING!!!

But then also, LOOK AT FUCKING WEE JOHN!!! IN DRAG!!! HE'S A FUCKING MERMAID!!! JIM ISN'T A MERMAID???? WELL, THAT'S FINE--WEE JOHN IS!!! LIVING HIS BEST FUCKING LIFE!!!!! AND WHAT IF HE MADE THAT COSTUME HIMSELF SJDKSDJLS <3

AND THE FINAL SHOT I'M CHOOSING, THE FINAL ONE OF THE SET,,, MATCHES UP WITH THAT LIGHTING EARLIER.

WHO ARE WE FIGHTING, ED BABE. WHAT'S THE TEA. WHO ARE YOU CLOBBERING.

IS IT US?

IT'S PROBABLY US.

BECAUSE THIS ENTIRE THING HAS ME SO SO SO DEAD Y'ALL

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mclacedes · 8 months ago

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The Idea of You (LN4)

2. The Idea of Worthiness

summary: in which lando decides to make it up for ghostin you

previous ••• next

WARNINGS: it's pretty much all angst. in-depth described anxiety attack, anxious behaviour/mannerisms, description of depression and suicidal ideation, loneliness

wc: 3k

“but what if i can't do it?”

A/N: before anything else, i want to make it clear that my intention is NOT to trigger any kind of trauma in anyone with this. the reader has been warned of potential triggers. if you are going through some kind of psychological hardship, know that there are people who care and who worry <3 you are never 100% alone!

january 1st, 2024 — 3:30pm

you came home with a knot in your chest that seemed to tighten with every breath. the morning had been a blur, an awkward dance around lando’s mother as you searched for a polite excuse to leave.

of course you'd chosen the most simple and non-negotiable of lies: i need to spend some time with my relatives.

despite it being faintly true, you knew you'd spend the whole day with lando's family if the circumstances were different.

the night's words lingered in your mind as you walked out, wishing it could cover the truth: you couldn’t bear the thought of facing lando after what had happened—or rather, after what didn’t happen.

now, the silence in your own home was suffocating. you slumped onto the couch, your mind replaying the scene on a loop: lando's words, lando's reassurance, the way his lips had bruised yours, the heat of his breath so close, his hands on you, his hands in you, his fingers’ magic, and then... you wake up alone.

now, you knew lando felt the same, you knew that things could work out, you knew just the intensity of your feelings for him. but you also knew he hadn't texted you back all day and, seemingly, nobody knew where he was.

as his closest friend, you knew that he'd only have left that way if something really bad had happened.

what you didn't know though, was how bad it felt for him.

it had been a long time since lando had received the diagnosis. after years of wondering what was wrong with him and why he felt such a void within himself, he'd been told he had depression.

what they say is that treatment is easier when you have the right diagnosis, but that doesn't erase the fact that some days were infinitely more difficult than others—harder to get out of bed, harder to leave the house, to work, and singularly hard to live, specially because the latter is the last thing you want during a depressive episode.

he started going to therapy regularly when he was a minor, forced by his parents, but when he became an adult he left—said that talking about how horrible he felt wouldn't help, it would only make him feel worse.

and then the episodes gradually became worse as his life improve. for example, before arriving in F1, he oftentimes found himself fighting against the urge to simply end it all: the pain, the suffering, the disruption, the constant failed attempt at a better day, his very life.

even though he never attempted it, lando was caught contemplating the possibility of the end; he used to wonder how people would react when they heard "lando norris died, suicide", what it would be like if he wasn't here anymore.

“such a kind soul”

“such a beautiful boy”

“smart, funny”

“talented guy”

that's what people would say, in the best of cases.

in the worse of cases people wouldn't even notice he was gone.

well, following next to depression was anxiety.

lando’s anxiety was a constant undercurrent to his depression, feeding off it, amplifying it, tangling him further in a web of self-doubt. it was always there, an invisible weight pressing down, but some days it grew loud enough to silence every other part of him, like a swarm of thoughts buzzing incessantly, trapping him in a looping worry about everything and nothing all at once.

it started with racing—the very thing he loved was also the source of his most unrelenting fears. despite his undeniable talent and the acclaim he’d earned, the worry always crept in: what if i mess up? what if i’m not good enough? what if it’s all just a fluke, and one day everyone realizes i’m a fraud?

he dreaded that moment when the lights turned green, not because of the physical danger but because of the psychological toll—that split-second when any mistake, any misstep, could spiral out into a visible, unforgivable failure.

even beyond racing, the anxiety spilled into every facet of his life. he overthought every message he sent, every interaction, analyzing them for any hint of rejection, any confirmation of his worst fears. if he didn’t receive a response right away, his mind spun stories, convincing him he’d somehow upset the person or made a fool of himself.

and now, with you, it was worse. his feelings were tangled with worry and doubt; he feared you’d eventually see through his flaws, his bad days, his cracks, and walk away. the closeness you’d shared the night before terrified him. he wanted you desperately, yet that desire to let you in also exposed him to his greatest fear: that he would scare you away merely by the fact that he existed.

this anxiety could sometimes send him into a state of paralysis, leaving him unable to reach out, unable to bridge the gap even when he wanted nothing more than to feel your presence, to hear your voice. today was one of those days—the aftermath of a moment so perfect, so vulnerable, that his mind filled with a thousand worries. he couldn’t bring himself to message you, to even show you the rawness of his internal struggle. instead, he withdrew, waiting for the fog to clear enough for him to reach for you again.

but you had tried.

you: lando hey

you: i'm worried abt u

you: text me whenever u get the chance pls

you: i'm right here if you wanna talk”

there were another 20 texts of kindred nature from you in his phone—you spent the afternoon rewinding what had happened, wondering if there were any signs that he would do something to himself or… the devil god knows what.

you had barely moved or done anything at all since you had gotten home because lando still hadn’t texted back, and the worry in your chest was growing impossible to ignore.

you’d known him for years—long enough to see the shadows he kept hidden behind his easy smile. he had always brushed off the subject, deflecting it with humor or quick changes in conversation. but today, his silence was colder, sharper, more unsettling than usual.

hours had passed since you last saw him, and finally, you gave in and sent him a message, trying not to let the desperation seep through.

you: lando, i hope you’re alright. let me know when you’re home safe, ok?

the message delivered, but no ‘read’ receipt appeared. your heart sank, and as you stared at the screen, scenarios spun wildly in your mind.

lando was good at hiding. he knew how to pour himself into everything and everyone else, keeping busy, laughing, entertaining—until he couldn’t. when the episodes came, he retreated so far into himself that it was like trying to find someone in a pitch-black room.

you tried calling him. the line rang and rang, finally going to voicemail. your voice was barely a whisper as you left a message.

“lando… if you see this, please just… come home. or let me know you’re okay. i’m here, alright? no matter what, i’m here.”

when the call ended, the silence in your apartment felt just as cold as his void.

—

unbeknownst to you, he was okay.

at least that's what he said to max when he called saying cisca was worried about him. and thats what he said when he called his mom.

“i’m okay.”

but he knew there was nothing okay with him right now.

far away, in his silent retreat, a wave of coldness washed over him, and his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. that feeling in his chest was known: he was panicking.

it felt like the walls were closing in, a vice squeezing his chest tighter with every passing second. his hands trembled, fingers twitching as if searching for something to anchor him, to ground him in reality. he fought to keep his breathing steady, but the more he tried, the more elusive calm became. memories of your kiss haunted him—both a balm and a wound. how could something so beautiful leave him feeling so lost?

what if i’m not enough for her? he thought

a tight knot of fear formed in his stomach, mingling with the ache of longing. was he really ready for this? for you? for love? the questions spiraled, colliding with the weight of his own expectations and the pressure of his career. he couldn’t shake the sense that he was on the brink of something monumental, yet all he felt was the crushing weight of uncertainty.

the doubt crept in, fueled by echoes of his past, whispers of inadequacy that had followed him through the years. he recalled the stinging memories of being told he wasn’t good enough, of moments when his efforts felt like they never quite measured up. every trophy he’d won and every incredible milestone he had achieved done little to silence those voices. instead, they morphed into an insidious belief that no matter how hard he tried, he would always be a step behind, always falling short.

what if she hates me?

with you, the stakes felt impossibly high. what if he couldn’t be the partner you deserved? what if the pressure of the spotlight overwhelmed him and drove you away? those thoughts twisted in his gut, feeding the anxiety that swelled within him. he imagined you in a world where he wasn’t there, finding someone who could offer you the stability and unwavering support he feared he lacked. the very thought crushed him, deepening the ache in his chest, as it reminded him of all the times he had to fight for validation, only to come up empty-handed.

he was scared of what loving you meant, terrified of failing you, terrified of failing himself. the weight of it all felt unbearable, a heavy blanket of dread that threatened to suffocate him.

what if i fail her?

lando was too scared, too anxious. with every breath, his lungs ached, and with every tear that gathered in his eyes, he felt weaker. it was as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath him, and the vast unknown loomed below—a place filled with possibilities but also with the risk of falling into darkness. he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, trying to ground himself as the rising tide of emotions threatened to pull him under.

every heartbeat felt like a reminder of his vulnerability, a painful pulse that echoed the uncertainty gnawing at his core. he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was teetering on the edge of something profound, yet all he could focus on was the suffocating fear of not being enough. the love he felt for you, so pure and intoxicating, was also a heavy burden, weighed down by his past failures and fears. the thought of letting you down, of not living up to the promise of what could be, sent chills racing down his spine.

she's too perfect, i'm a mess

as tears spilled over and streamed down his cheeks, he felt a mix of shame and desperation. lando had always prided himself on being strong, on facing challenges head-on, yet here he was—vulnerable and exposed, battling an internal storm that felt relentless. the very act of loving you felt like a gamble, one that he wasn't sure he was ready to take. would he be brave enough to step forward, to embrace the chaos of his heart, or would he retreat back into the safety of his own fears?

with every sob that escaped him, the overwhelming tide of emotion pulled him deeper, and he struggled to keep his head above water. the thought of calling you, of reaching out for the connection he craved, felt both necessary and terrifying. what if you saw him like this—raw, broken, and afraid? what if he could never find the words to explain what he felt, or worse, what if you saw him as nothing more than a disappointment?

what if she saw me for who i truly am?

taking a shaky breath, he reached for his phone thrown on the couch, sitting on it. his hands were still trembling as he dialed the only person, besides you, who he knew wouldn't judge, but understand him.

“hey, mate, how you doing?” max fewtrell greeted him with his usual easy grin, only for the smile to falter the second he took in lando’s state: tears streaked his face, his eyes swollen and red, his nose and cheeks raw from wiping at them. his lips, split and bloodied, told the story of how he’d been biting them all day. lando’s breath hitched in his throat, his words barely making it out.

“hey… mate, i—” he tried, but the lump in his throat choked him. lando couldn’t even speak.

“lando, what happened?” max said, his voice low and steady, concern etched across his face.

“i think i… i fucked things up with Y/N,” lando's voice cracked, desperation pouring from him as if his world was unraveling right there in front of max.

the sight in front of max sent a chill through his spine. lando's looks, disheveled, like he’d been pulling at it in frustration all day. his bright green eyes were dulled, sunken and rimmed with red. the bags beneath them were dark, a stark contrast against his pale skin. his hands trembled on his knees, unable to steady themselves. his chest heaved, like the panic was consuming him from the inside, leaving only a fragile shell of the person max had known for years.

lando wiped at his face, the back of his hand coming away wet. he shook his head, sinking deeper into the couch.

“we kissed, we slept together and i pushed her away, max. i—i could’ve stayed. i could’ve—” his breath caught again, ragged and uneven. “but i left with no explanation. i went up and left her there, max… i’m so stupid.” he cried out.

lando’s breath hitched, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to stop the tears, but it was no use. his shoulders shook, and a sob escaped him, raw and unfiltered. he hadn’t felt this way in a long time—like he was too broken to be loved.

"max, i’m a mess," he whispered, his voice cracking. "i couldn’t stay, i couldn’t even look at her this morning because… because she deserves better. i mean, look at me," he gestured to himself, his hands trembling. “i’m fucked up, max. i couldn’t even say the words, couldn’t even be honest. how can i be with her when i don’t even know what’s going on in my own head?”

max’s brows furrowed, his face softening as he listened. lando looked like he was spiraling, and it hurt max to see his best friend like this—feeling like he didn’t deserve something good because he was caught in his own storm.

“lando, mate,” max started, carefully choosing his words, “you’re not as messed up as you think you are. yeah, you’ve got stuff going on, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve her, or that you don’t deserve to be happy. and running away from her because you think you’re too broken for her… that’s not the answer.”

lando shook his head, wiping at his eyes, his voice trembling as he spoke. “but i am broken, max. i don’t even know how to deal with my own shit, let alone someone else’s. she’s this… this amazing person, and i’m just… i’m just me. she deserves someone who has it all figured out, not someone who’s going to bolt the second things get real.”

max let out a breath, leaning forward a bit. “no one has it all figured out, lando. not me, not her, not anyone. she’s not expecting you to be perfect, she’s expecting you to be real with her. that’s all. and yeah, maybe you’re not in the best place right now, but you can’t let that be the reason you push her away.”

lando let the words sink in, but it didn’t ease the heaviness inside him. “i left because i thought… i thought i’d hurt her more by staying. i didn’t want her to see me like this. i didn’t want her to see how much of a mess i am.”

“but by leaving, you hurt her anyway,” max said gently. “because she cares about you. and if you care about her too, you’ve got to let her in, even if it’s messy, even if you don’t have all the answers. it’s okay to not have everything together, lando. it’s okay to be scared. but you can’t run from this.”

lando swallowed hard, staring at the floor, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch until his knuckles turned white. max was right. he had run—run because he didn’t think he was good enough, run because the idea of her seeing all his cracks terrified him.

“but what if i can’t do it? what if i let her down again?” lando’s voice was barely audible now, thick with doubt.

max’s expression softened even more. “then you figure it out, together. but you’ve got to give her the chance to make that choice. don’t decide for her that you’re not good enough. let her in. let her see you, even the parts you’re scared to show. that’s how you build something real.”

lando’s breath came in short, shallow bursts, his heart pounding in his chest. the thought of opening up like that—to be fully seen, in all his messiness, all his vulnerability—scared him more than any race ever had. but the thought of losing Y/N, of pushing her away because of his own fear… that scared him even more.

“yeah, sure,” lando whispered, his voice hoarse. “i need to talk to her. i need to fix this.”

max smiled softly, relief flickering in his eyes. “yeah, mate. you do.”

after bidding his best friend farewell, lando sat and tried to calm himself down by pressing his fingers with exposed raw flesh due to the fact he had gnawed at his own hands out of anxiety. he had to come up with something to make it up to you. he needed to.

TAGGINGS: @meglouise00 @rawr-123s-stuff

#lando x reader #lando norris angst #angst #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #lando angst #lando norris #mclaren #ln4 mcl #ln4

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vanillinwrites · 10 months ago

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yandere phantom troupe- depressed darling

Thinking about how most yanderes would be terrible at dealing with a darling with mental illness? Because even if darling already struggled with their mental health, being kidnapped and held hostage can't help. And no matter how badly their yandere wants to help, they can't ever let their darling go, even if it would help them more than anything. The best they can do is try to make life with them as good as possible.

This is written with depression in mind, but kinda blankets over any struggling mindset. (this doesn't mention any kind of self harm or suicidal ideation, i might make a part two touching on that, but this one is safe from that content.)

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Chrollo, paku, and shal- all enable mental illness by accident. You're precious and helpless and so so weak, so it makes sense when you can't do things for yourself. Don't even worry about trying to get better, just be yourself- you're perfect, they don't want you to change at all (not even for the better). But all three of them would at least try to offer comforts, because they hate to watch your struggle and hurt.

---

Pakunoda knows what kind of self care and healthy habits suit her, and she tries to push those on you. She'll run you a hot bath, light scented candles, paint your nails, get you a journal to write in. But if those things don't help you she doesn't really listen to what you want or need. She simply insists that she knows best and you're being difficult- she wants you to trust her judgement on this, even if you know she's wrong.

Chrollo notices immediately the shift in your mood and demeanor. He insists you talk to him about whatever's on your mind, even if all you really want is to keep your mind off it. He presents it as a way to help you, so you can get all those thoughts out of your head. Sometimes it works. Sometimes you're grateful that he listens so intently with no judgment. But sometimes you don't really want to share what's on you mind- but you don't really have a choice, and he always knows if you're keeping something from him. Anything you ask for is yours instantly, anything he can do to try to help you. But when you ask to go home, he looks at you like you’re not making sense. He reminds you, gently, that you ARE home.

Shalnark is the worst of the three, he doesn't really offer much in the way of support, even though he thinks he does. He keeps you near him all the while, holding you close and trying to keep you from crying, constantly trying to distract you. But as soon as the distraction fades away you feel just as bad as before. It's a Viscious cycle, one that has you constantly needing to rely on him for comfort because there's no real progress being made. But that's OK, because he loves getting to dote on you. He really does think it’s going to help, keeping your mind off of it, but the truth that always comes back is your separated from everything in your life, everything you love, and he refuses to acknowledge that.

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Machi, phinks and uvogin- both do their best to genuinely help, but neither of them are good at it. Both of them try to offer support however they can, because they both hate seeing their darling so miserable, but neither of them have a very good sense of how to help. At the very least, they are trying, and that counts for something.

---

Machi knows a lot about medicine, between her nen and her extensive knowledge she can fix up almost any wound or injury. But with things like mental illness it's harder. She can't understand why you're so unhappy, and she can't figure out how to fix it. She even lets you outside (only in the backyard, and only with her) but it doesn't seem to help. She does a hundred thousand little things to try to help, from cooking your favorite food to buy you your favorite books to sewing or buying you new clothes. It's frustrating to not be able to help you and she hates being helpless in this.

Phinks doesn't understand, and that makes him so much more volatile than he needs to be. He wants to be able to help you, and on some level, believes he should just know how to help you. It’s frustrating- almost infuriating- that he can't help you. And no matter what he does, how considerate he tries to be, it never helps. At the very least, he can't get mad at you when he sees how sad you are all curled up and crying. But being spared his fits of rage is one of the only upsides when he is so clueless on how to help. With phinks, I really do think you’re best off just asking for anything you need. He is willing to indulge you a little bit to make you feel better.

Uvogin also does his best to help, but he’s equally bad at it. He doesn't have machi’s understanding of medicine, and is all around much less patient. But he is more patient and understanding than phinks. if it’s for you, he’ll do his best. Uvogin does his best to do little things he knows normally make you happy- from little jokes, to your favorite shows and music, to your favorite meals. And to be fair, life with him isn't nearly as bad as life with some of the other yanderes in the troupe, so he’s already better off than a lot of them.

-----

Feitan, shizuku, illumi- Completely ignore it. Of course they notice you seem down- not like yourself, sad, depressed even. But what can they do? Isn't it enough they make sure to meet all of your physical needs, isn't it enough that you get to live with them, their darling pet? It had better be enough, because you’re very unlikely to get any kind of comfort.

---

Feitan doesn't notice until it gets concerningly bad. Sure, he knew you were unhappy, miserable even. He didn't blame you for that, afterall, even he would admit he’s been cold to you. And since you've come here, you’ve been subjected to so many horrors it’s almost a given that your mind would be caving under the pressure. But Is he really so unbearable? He doesn't think so. For a while, he tries forcing you to go about your day with him like normal. But by now, he’s gotten used to seeing you smiling, acting almost lively, at least pretending to be happy. It grates on him that he can't see you smile now. He keeps you in your room, checking on you incessantly, but content to let you rest until you’re feeling better, or at least able to fake it.

Shizuku is the most likely not to notice at all. She doesn't keep quite as close a watch over you as a lot of the other troupe yanderes do, and for the most part, you're grateful for that. But in this care, it’s not such a good thing, because if she noticed you were sad, of course she'd try to help. But sadness can be subtle, and unless you're outspoken about it, she might miss it. She loves you more than anything, but your moods and feelings are something she struggles to keep track of. It’s hard for her to know how you feel, and she doesn't know what you need without knowing how you feel. If you do manage to open up to her about how down you feel, she’s more willing to try to help you.

Illumi has gone through quite a bit of trouble to make everything in your home suited to your tastes. Your clothes- while all picked out by him- are all in colors and patterns you like. Your meals- while all cooked by him- are all your favorites. Your bedroom- once again, set up by him- is almost perfectly to your taste as if it’d come straight out of your pinterest board. So what more could you possibly need? What needs of yours aren't being met? If you tell him, there’s a chance he’d listen, especially if the thing you need is simple. But don't even bother asking to be let go, or you will be punished, no matter how much you cry.

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u3pxx · 1 year ago

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PLEASEEE can you elaborate on the gavinners i cant stop looking at them theyre so pretty

sometimes i forget that outside of my friends and servers, i don't really talk much about my gavinners boys* huh! so basically, i originally wanted to make them so i could beef up turnabout serenade in my roleswap au, kind of like turnabout samurai where you have a lot more characters which in turn means a lot more suspects!

but then i realized, wait, i need to make them in the canon-verse first before i could make their swap au counterparts! and so now they exist pftt

here y'all go, i'm gonna be copy-pasting the character descriptions i wrote for them during art fight pftt <3

🥁 DEIDRE MINUENDO

Height: 5'7" (170 cm), 5'9.5" (176) with boots on Birthday: Jul 7 ♋︎ | Pronouns: He/Him, She/Her, They/Them

Deidre is the seemingly gloomy and stoic drummer of the band The Gavinners! At first, it could be difficult to get a read on them but despite all that, they're just like that because they prefer saving their energy. It might not look like it, but Deidre enjoys company even if they're not the most chatty with it and thrives the most when they are around other people (she prefers it if she's around the people closest to her though). Deidre is pretty sensitive and an emotional person even if they don't outwardly express it. To the people close to them, Deidre has a sarcastic streak and can be pretty snappy when it comes to teasing. She can dish it but she can't take it however as they can get slightly irritated when they're teased back. Even if they are a rockstar, they can get embarrassed when people praise or say nice things about them to their face, he tends to brush affection if even if he is secretly flattered by it (he's not gonna admit it though pftt) They also enjoy doodling here and there and like stuffed animals (they have a few of their own!)

Deidre was the closest to Daryan so the events of 4-3 affected him immensely. They felt betrayed and confused and tried to deny that Daryan would be capable of taking another person's life; they scrambled to do everything to protect Daryan from omitting information and even lying on the stand. In the end, all of their efforts were for naught and they felt incredibly guilty for what they've done, especially since she started antagonizing Preston when he was starting to suspect Daryan. They cut themselves off from the group, their job, and stardom. They ended up severely depressed and started to rarely go outside anymore. Only Doremy (Daryan's twin, also a close friend of his) was able to reach him during this time while Viva tried to but he kept refusing to see him. It took them a long time to finally be able to reconnect with the group and it took them a lot of help and support to be able to be well again. Deidre carries Daryan's betrayal to the group heavily and it took a while for her to start forgiving herself.

⚡ VIVA CHI

Age: 25 | Height: 5'9" (175 cm) Birthday: Jan 1 ♑︎ | Pronouns: He/Him

Viva is the lively and energetic bassist of the band The Gavinners! Though he may seem goofy and a little unserious, he actually is pretty responsible and is the mediator of the band (as the eldest brother of his siblings and the eldest of the band, he kind of made that his responsibility). He's a forensic scientist and has always had an interest in science alongside music ever since he was young (he thinks Ema is very pretty but she finds him annoying pftt). Viva was the last one to join the band when they were all in high school and despite his extroverted personality, felt a little shy at the time getting to know a new group of people (it's because Preston was there who he may or may not have crushed at while in high-school.) He's a lover of all things caffeinated (especially energy drinks though he should really pace himself) which isn't always the best match to the fact that he's got terrible anxiety and thinks himself down a spiral when he gets too worried.

Once the band disbanded after the events of AA4, Viva, though left in a bad place with his anxiety shot through the roof, fared better compared to the other members. He tried his best to keep in touch with everyone with varying successes despite Daryan's arrest being fresh and hurt. - visiting Daryan in prison to hear his side of the story - popping in to check at Preston in his office because the guy started to take worse care of himself - contacting Deidre even if she was trying to isolate and cut herself from everyone and looking out for Klavier even if he buried himself in his work He took a break from music like everyone else, he still hopes one day they can meet up and play music again, not even as a band, but as a group of friends who loved creating music.

🦇 PRESTON KEISS

Age: 25 | Height: 6'1" (185 cm) Birthday: Oct 25 ♏︎ | Pronouns: He/Him

Preston is the mysterious yet magnetic keyboardist of the Gavinners! Tall, dark, and bewitching; Preston is aware of the impression people have of him at first glance and likes to use that preconception to surprise and even catch people off-guard by purposely being silly or crass. He has a number of odd quirks and mannerisms that he doesn't realize he has, people tend to notice but they often let it pass because he is very handsome (pretty privilege lmao). Preston can sometimes be mischievous and finds certain things amusing only to him even if others don't find it as funny. He's always had an interest in horror and the macabre ever since he was a young boy which developed into a great fascination with the special effects used in old and new horror films alike. (He can be a bit jumpy when watching movies even if he loves to do it, he can't help it if the movie gets to him!) He plays up his whole immortal vampire schtick because the fans tend to theorize if he really was one. (He is not, he'd love to be one though pftt) Preston is very stubborn and adamant about his opinions and can be difficult to sway if he thinks he's correct; he is also quite awkward when it comes to personal matters, as can be seen in his strained relationship with his older sister and whatever romantic thing he's trying to achieve with Viva. He's used to acting larger than life when the cameras are on but being raw and honest has him feeling a little embarrassed and stilted. Preston smokes and keeps it a secret. (Don't tell Viva that!)

Preston was the first person in the band to start suspecting Daryan which he mostly kept to himself at first but wouldn't deny when you asked him (Deidre did not like that.) After Lamirior accused Daryan in court, Preston was determined to make Deidre confront the truth (unfortunately, not taking in why Deidre might be upset and in denial about it) which caused them to have a fight (with Viva being unsuccessful in de-escalating it.) After the Gavinners disbanded, Preston didn't feel very well after Daryan got sent to prison and lost contact with Deidre (whom he hasn't talked to since the case. [he misses them.]) He seemed fine afterward with his workload seeming to increase though upon closer inspection, he's started taking worse care of himself, skipping meals, and losing his interest in music. Preston has a lot of baggage to sort through regarding his friends and his family that will be difficult and painful for him to confront, but rest assured, he's gonna come out of it happy and well.

and here's a compilation of some very old turnabout serenade drawings too :^]

(i didnt make dei's bday turnabout serenade on purpose, it was a tragic happy accident DFGHDJ i wanted his bday to be 7/7 bc i made daryan 6/6 but then the date. i realize the date orz)

#also i dont think ive mentioned this before but ive been thinking about preston being somewhere in the autism spectrum too :^]#ace attorney #deidre minuendo #viva chi #preston keiss #klavier gavin #daryan crescend #the gavinners #sunnysidedoodles #den's gavinners tag #den's ocs tag #sunnysideanswers #id in alt text #described

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whitenoisewhatanawfulsound · 23 days ago

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Miles Away.

Spencer Reid x Reader

Spencer's use of drugs makes him an unreachable shell of a person. Words can be horrible and true at the same time, and you'll never be able to take them back.

1.2k words

cw: Spencer's use of drugs, drug use, fighting, a lot of awful things are said, ANGST, no happy ending, Spencer is angry and unwell, I think thats the gist of it but let me know if I missed anything.

an: This is... Rough. It's quite depressing, so please approach with caution.

You've been here before.

Maybe only once or twice, but it's so agonizingly familiar that it physically hurts. The pounding of your heart and rush of thoughts is overwhelming. You taste copper, only to realize that you've been biting down on the inside of your cheek too hard.

It's hard to look him in the eyes, sometimes. It's ironic. Looking Spencer Reid in the face should be far from difficult. Faint stubble and irises that could very much be made of coffee and honey just aren't so comforting anymore. It's hard to look at him and really see him, like you used to be able to. He's not so telling anymore. Just blank. It's unfair that he can read you like it's nothing and he leaves you with crumbs.

Neither of you have talked for about three minutes, the silence is awful. Spencer always told you about how much he loved the kind of silence the two of you had. He didn't have to worry about filling it; It was soft. It was holdings hands and warm blankets and skin and the turning of pages.

This was harsh and loud. You could cut it with a plastic knife. It envelopes you like smoke and you struggle to breathe, It feels like someone is standing on your chest.

His lips are pressed into a thin line. You want to take three steps forward and pry them open, force words from his vocal chords, something that makes sense. Something to work with.

"Why won't you just talk to me?"

Spencer sighs and shifts on his feet.

"It's not worth it." That's what he thinks, anyways.

"I don't understand."

"I'm not asking you to."

"But I want to, Spencer."

He doesn't respond. It's infuriating.

You try to scan his face for something, anything. You're not given very much.

That is, until your eyes fall back onto his. His pupils are tiny, Minuscule. Dark circles frame them, and his cheeks look hollow, his cheekbones startlingly prominent. You look down and he's picking at the skin around his fingernails.

"Spencer," You start carefully. This is bound to end poorly, but it's so hard to ignore. "Are you using?"

It sounds weird, not like how you usually sound. It comes out small and afraid. It sounds like when a child asks, "will it hurt?" As they clutch at their parents hand, a needle poised at their arm.

Spencer does not speak. It's so unlike him. That's how it feels most days, though. You miss him, even if he's standing right in front of you.

"I'm not using." Liar. It's painfully obvious but somewhat surprising, especially from a profiler.

"I struggle to believe you."

He shakes his head, exasperated.

"I told you to tell me about these things." Your words do not come out soft.

"I knew that you would be upset." Neither do his.

"Well yeah, I'm fucking upset. This isn't exactly a pleasant discovery, is it?"

"I'm sorry, am I mistaken, or is it suddenly you with the drug problem?"

"Problem?" You scoff. "Spencer, this is far from a problem. You're addicted."

"As if I didn't know that."

Fuck Spencer Reid.

"You're killing yourself, you know that right? You come home every day bitter and cold, and you snap at me constantly. Do you know how that feels? Horrible. It feels horrible."

It becomes less factual, and more about hitting where it hurts. And God, do you know where it hurts. Every little whisper he's ever given you tells you where it hurts. Every choked sob has told you where it hurts. Every small, afraid, and tired glance has told you that it hurts.

"You're exhausting, you're too much. I can't do it anymore, I can no longer save you, I don't know why I thought I could."

It's cruel. You regret it the moment you stop talking.

"You shouldn't have tried." It comes out bitter, and you think that he means it.

Oh, you know it fucking hurts.

His lips are pulled into a small frown, his eyes sad. He moves away, leaving you in the middle of the space between his kitchen and living room. You hear the jangle of his keys and the sound of the front door.

You don't think that you've ever heard Spencer slam a door, even when its warranted. He always closes them softly. Carefully. He's never mentioned it, and you've never asked.

You almost wished he had slammed it this time. You want the finality of it. It will never come, though. As much as you want it. There is no finality in recovery, there is no finality in fights. You will never be able to take your words back. You can forgive, but you cannot forget.

It's awkward standing in his apartment without him. You'd come here with him, and he left without you. It feels as if the green walls are closing in on you.

You don't know whether to go or stay. Going feels wrong, but so does the latter.

You curse yourself when you go after him.

Damn Spencer and his long legs.

You have to practically run to catch up to him. It's dark out and the streetlights are on, and there's barely anyone out.

"Spencer," You breathe as you catch up to him.

He keeps walking.

"Please, let's talk?"

Nothing. He says nothing.

"I know I said awful, awful things that I shouldn't even be thinking-"

"But you thought them anyway, yes? They must be true."

Fuck.

You stop, it's no use chasing after him.

You watch as he whips around.

"You tell me I'm exhausting, do you know how often I've heard that? I'm sorry that my existence inconveniences you, but if I tire you so much than go."

"It doesn't inconvenience me, but Spencer, you have to understand that the drugs you're taking are killing you. I miss you." You're not sure you want to anymore.

"I'm right here, aren't I?"

"No, you're not. Don't you understand? You're distant. It's like I'm speaking to a void."

"A void would be less tiring though, wouldn't it?"

"Don't do that." Yeah, it would, wouldn't it?

He frowns. You used to kiss away his frowns. You can't anymore, they don't disappear like they used to. They taint his face as if they're scars.

You want to crawl beneath his skin, carve out what is rotted and replace it with your own flesh. Remove the blood that is poisoned and give him yours. You don't care if the poison kills you. You want to give him everything you have and he just. Won't. Let. You.

It starts to rain, heavy and sudden.

"I want to help you, but I can't when you won't let me." Your voice cracks halfway through and there's a familiar lump in your throat.

"Has it occurred to you that I don't want your help? You try to ‘help’ everything. There are some things in life that you just can't fix."

He starts walking again.

"Where are you going?"

"Away."

You watch him leave. Your clothes stick to your skin uncomfortably, water drips from your eyelashes making your vision blurry.

You used to say that Spencer could be the moon; gorgeous and oh so intimidating. Illuminating and so lovely. You could stare at him for hours, you could write essays and books about him. You'd go after him again, but sometimes it really does feel like he’s 238,855 miles away.

#border by sweetmelodygraphics #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #bau x reader #angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst

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chuuyaa-nakaharaa · 1 year ago

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Really, Dazai?? Sigh

Yeah sure. Even as an ugly creature I'd still love you and whatever.

*rolling on the floor, groaning.*

— @dazaii-osamuu

Not again.. Get up you idiot!

#ooc: // (honestly hope you do)#(ik its hard bearing it all but id say youre doing great by being strong)#(but if it ever gets too difficult for you to handle then. again. thats perfectly acceptable &#its good to distance yourself from them)#(but still thinking of like. ending it off on normal and casual terms is pretty respectable)#(im not exaggerating cause the ppl ik of here get too dramatic in a srs manner and its exhausting to see)#(like they throw a sudden “burst” tantrum and start blaming [person] over a small thing. pretty childish shit)#(<< not a lot tho just to clarify)#(but tl;dr— im proud of you lemon. i really do wish the best of things on your side)#<- prev tags #(it can be a little difficult when they just act like I'm patronizing them even though I'm being completely normal about something)#(I have asd (tldr: autism) but they don't really take that into account)#(not to mention my (social and generalized) anxiety; selective mutism; and probable depression)#(but then they just talk about their mental disorders? and then disregard others??)#(ik they have problems but like. so do I?? why can't they take that into account I'll never know)#(but yeah just distancing and not doing much with them)#(also thank you. I've made a lot of friends on here and that honestly does make my day more than irl friends)#(hopefully things stay fine!!)

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cosmicalily · 1 month ago

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cosmic convos | @cosmicalily's not-so-fictional thoughts and ideas

hi angels, i wanted to pop on here and chat about something that i've been thinking about a LOT recently, both in relation to kpop and kpop fandoms, but also in real life! i don't normally like to make big statements like this regarding situations, as i'm a big believer in only talking about things i'm fully educated in and properly understand, not just things that make me seem like a 'good person' for saying. i'll be very honest; the stray kids fandom hasn't been my favourite thing to be associated with recently. i'm obviously not talking about the fans that i'm friends with, and the lovely people who follow me and interact with me on here, but the ones who continually keep taking advantage of people, and also just being downright disrespectful and invasive under the guise of 'care' and 'love'. the fandom has grown a lot since i first joined it back in 2021, which is obviously incredible for the boys, and i'm so proud of them. however, the bigger a fandom gets, the more toxic it can get, and unfortunately, due to the effect of conformity, the more that toxicity increases, the more it's normalised and practiced. i know a lot of people find a lot of love and comfort in kpop idols, and this is something that i totally support and have even spoken about before, however there is a level to which 'finding comfort' blurs into 'entirely reliant', which is not okay. having complete dependance on a human being, regardless of whether they're a celebrity and don't know you, or someone present in your day to day life, is a type of attachment that is not healthy at all, and i'm noticing it's becoming increasingly more normalised. of course, as people, we need support from one and other and can't be entirely independant, but there's also a level to which the expectations you put on someone to be there for you reach the point of exploitation. i think this line gets crossed far too frequently in kpop fandoms because we forget that they're not just a celebrity, they're a human. could you imagine being the sole source of comfort and protection for a literal population of teenagers? that's fucking nightmare fuel. i think there's also a massive issue in fandoms regarding both the victim and the hero complex. people feel the need to be the ones being 'saved' by someone, or feel the need to be the one 'saving' someone. this leads to jumping to conclusions, creating toxic expectations and overall intrusive behaviour that isn't fair on either end of the spectrum. i feel like people are genuinely lacking emotional intelligence these days, and are just posting things to make them look like 'good' fans, when they actually don't understand the situation or even care about it. if you actually cared about them, you'd listen and respect their boundaries, not push them to try and figure out 'what's wrong' or conspire that they're 'hiding something'. and, for the love of god, please stop trauma dumping on idols. they're not trained psychologists. this is not their job. providing care and love towards the fandom is fanservice, giving you advice on dealing with depression isn't. also, they're not fucking trained to give you advice, so not only is it unfair to them, it's probably not accurate. if you're really struggling, please go see a therapist, or speak to someone close to you. i know seeking support is hard, and it can be difficult to find the right people and trust someone enough to talk about it, but why would a stranger on the internet be any more effective? they don't know you, they don't know how to help. it's an awkward situation on both ends, and it won't be of any benefit to you or them. i fucking adore stray kids still, but i'm resonating less and less with the fandom each day. xxx, lils

#star blabs #stray kids #skz #kpop #stays #skz stay #bangchan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #i.n #skz imagines

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writtenbymisunderstoodnerds · 11 months ago

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Rock bottom (But you pulled me up) (Ingrid Engen x Reader)

I'm trying to work on my requests and WIP, but inspiration is lacking so I thought I'd try something new. This is my first time writing for someone out of the uswnt and in this style so please let me know what you think.

Warnings: Mentions of depression, anxiety, brief emotional abuse. Slightly suggestive at the end. Anything I've missed let me know.

Words: 2.8K

You could tell Ingrid was hurt, it was written all over her face. She had made you a lovely dinner and just wanted to have a movie night after not spending much time together. Yet here you were making an excuse to leave once again, you felt like a horrible girlfriend. Ingrid had taken the time to do something nice for you, but you couldn't get out of your head enough to enjoy it. Before you had the chance to get up, Ingrid uttered those three words that sent dread coursing through you. "We need to talk."

You swallowed hard before speaking, "About what?"

"You barely spend anytime with me anymore. You never message me first, we only do stuff because I organise it. I don't feel like you want me anymore. You're slipping away. Are you trying to get me to break up with you because this hurts so much more than just doing it yourself."

"No! Ingrid-" Tears stung your eyes as you tried desperately to keep it together. Afraid that if she saw how broken you were she would just leave. Things had been difficult for you lately, you were depressed, anxious and stressed. You felt so close to rock bottom, as a result you had been pulling away from Ingrid. The last thing you wanted was Ingrid to leave you, but you also didn't want to be a burden to her or scare her away with your emotions.

"Then what is it? Did I do something wrong?"

You could practically see the hope disappearing from Ingrid's eyes the longer you didn't answer, leaving hurt in its place. "I feel like when I see you, I need to be able to give you 100% of myself, of my energy and time. I can't do that right now and it makes me feel guilty. Like I'm a horrible girlfriend, that you deserve better than what I'm giving you."

Ingrid took your hand, everything in you fighting the urge to lean into her touch, to fall into the comfort you knew was waiting. If only you could bring yourself to accept it. The voices of your parents and ex-girlfriend hung in the back of your mind stopped you though. The voices that told you you were a burden to the people around you, that everyone had bigger problems to worry about and didn't care about you. The voices that told you Ingrid deserved better than you and your problems.

"Elskling, relationships don't have to be equal all the time. There's times where it'll be 50/50, but there's times where you give 90% and I'll give 10% or the other way round, sometimes it'll be 70/30 or 60/40. You get my point. What's going on? You haven't been yourself lately and it's really worrying me. Talk to me please."

You sighed pulling away from Ingrid to cross your legs under yourself, grabbing a cushion to hold. There was a part of you that thought being single would be easier, that there was less risk of hurting Ingrid that way. At the same time you knew it was those stupid little voices in the back of your mind that kept pushing that thought. You loved Ingrid more than anything in this world and deep down you knew she loved you just as much. You didn't want to let everyone else win, you didn't want to let your mind win for once in your life.

Talking about feelings was incredibly hard, it wasn't something you could do while being comforted by Ingrid or anyone really. "I'm sorry for the way I've been acting lately, it's not fair to you and I know that. I-I'll try to explain it all, bu-but I need you to be patient with me. Just let me speak and not touch me, I can't do this if you do."

"Anything you need. I just need you to know that whatever you tell me, I won't ever judge you. I love you Y/n, I love you so much."

"I love you Ingrid. I'm sorry if I ever made you doubt that. Okay, so I um I think I need to start with why I have such a hard time letting people in, especially those I love. My family, well to put it bluntly they're assholes. They were constantly putting down everything about my sister and I, nothing we ever did was good enough. Any problems we went through were nothing to them, they always told us that people had bigger problems, that they had bigger problems and we were just adding more stress to their lives if we talked to them about anything remotely not positive. Tha-thats the short version anyway. My uh my ex was pretty similar, she would tell me that she had better things to do then deal with my trauma or depression. If I was unhappy she would turn it around, say that she wasn't enough to make me happy. Even before her, I majorly struggled with my feelings and opening up to people. Fear mostly, that's why I um haven't told you anything. Fear that I'll be too much for you and that you'll leave me."

Tears threatened to fall, but pushing them back you continued talking. "I'm really struggling right now Ingrid. My depression is the worst it's been in years. The anxiety just sits there constantly under the surface making it feel impossible to breathe. Constant doubt about if I've made the right decisions, if I'm good enough at football, if I'm good enough for you, there are so many more things I could list. Sometimes I feel like everyone would be better off if I just packed up and left. I'm so sick of feeling like this, but I don't know how to get it to stop. This is probably one of the scariest things I've ever done, but I've had already almost lost you Ingrid. I can't let them win by actually losing you. I love you so fucking much, I can't lose you Ingrid, I can't."

Tears were near pouring out of you both as Ingrid sat there for a second. When you didn't speak she must have decided you were finished talking because the next second arms wrapped around you so tightly and you completely broke. Ingrid held you tight until the sobs turned to sniffles then you feel silent. Ingrid's hold never completely let go, it was like a life line at this point.

"I love you Y/n. I loved you before and I still love you just as much now. I'm not going anywhere. Nothing your parents or ex said is true. I always want to know how and what you're feeling, I will always be here for you. No matter what your mind tells you, you are never too much for me or for the team or anyone who truly loves you. Our lives are so much better with you here so please don't even think about leaving because we will miss you. I will be here every step of the way while you figure things out, I will help you get the help you need. If you need space, I'll give you that, but if you need me here then I will always be here. I know you feel like you need to be giving me all of yourself, all of your energy, but you don't. Even if you can just give me 1% until you get over this bump in the road then that's enough for me. You are enough for me Y/n."

"I think there will be times when I need to be alone, but most of the time I just really want to be with you. I need to work on accepting that I deserve your love and comfort so I actually seek it out when I need it or want it. Some reassurance every now and then will help I think. Can we talk about the next steps tomorrow? I just want you to hold me right now."

"I will give you all the reassurance you need and more. Have you eaten today?" Ingrid asked, but the look in her eyes told you she knew the answer so you just shook your head. "Okay, I'm going to order some food while we cuddle here then we can go to bed."

True to her word, Ingrid held you tightly while you lay on the couch, staying close to your side during dinner and as you got ready for bed. "Thank you, for everything you've done, for being here, for loving me."

Ingrid kissed you softly, before pulling away and leaving soft kisses over your face, "Always."

Lying in bed later that night, head resting against Ingrid's chest, you decided to admit the one thing that kept swirling around your mind, "I think I need to take a break from football. Not the training, I think that helps me, but games. The pressure that comes from each game feels like weight being added. Makes me feel like I'm being dragged further down into this hole."

"Okay, if that's what you feel you need then we can talk to the coaches or Ale and she can sort it out. I know the thought of telling anyone else what is going on is scary, but Ale or anyone else on the team aren't going to judge you or think any less of you because of it."

"I think maybe we can talk to Alexia, not tell her everything, but the jist of it."

"I'll be by your side when you're ready." ---

It had been a few weeks since the talk with Ingrid and since you made the decision to stop playing in games for a while. The only person who knew why was Alexia, it was clear that everyone else was worried, but until now you hadn't felt ready to tell them and thankfully they didn't push.

There was still a long way to go, but things had been slowly getting better over the last few weeks. You had started seeing the team therapist multiple times a week and had restarted medication for the time being at least. Everything was starting to become clearer, you weren't as anxious all the time, you were becoming more willing to talk to Ingrid, to actually spend time with her without worrying about not being enough, and smiles and laughs were becoming more genuine when they did happened.

The team had been amazing despite not knowing what was going on, they were as supportive and loving as ever. So you decided it was time to let them in a little bit. You squeezed Ingrid's hand, getting her attention as you spoke quietly, "Can you get their attention please? I know they're worried about me and I think I'm ready to tell them."

"Hey! Can we have your attention for a minute."

Once everyone's attention was on you, the anxiousness started to creep in, but with Ingrid's hand still firmly holding yours, you took a deep breath and spoke, "I know you've all be wondering why I've effectively benched my self the last couple of weeks and I want to be honest about it. I've uh I've been um struggling a lot mentally at the moment and I decided I needed a break. The pressure was too much, I couldn't handle it on top of everything else. So uh yeah, I don't want you guys to keep worrying about me."

It was quiet for a few seconds before many arms wrapped themselves around you, mumbled we love you's and we're proud of you's were heard as you sunk into the arms of your teammates. Surprisingly, Mapi was the first to pull away, cupping your cheeks as she spoke uncharacteristically softly, "You keep doing what you're doing and come back to us when you're ready. You always have is in your corner Y/n. We are so proud of you and we love you. If there's anything you ever need you can come to us okay?"

"Thank you Mapi. Thanks all of you." --- A few months had passed and you were finally feeling like yourself again. There were still hard days, you were pretty sure there always would be, but you were genuinely happy again most of the time. You found yourself more willing to open up to not just Ingrid, but some of the other girls you were closest to. It was safe to say your life was pretty well back on track, there was just one thing left to do and that was get back to football. You hadn't told anyone of your plans to start playing games again, you had just been put in the line up as a sub, but after conversations with the coaching staff you knew you were likely to come in at half time.

When the line up came out, Alexia was the first to notice and speak up effectively getting everyone else's attention, "Y/n?"

"Yes Ale?"

"Is there anything you want to tell us?"

Ingrid looked at you confused as you shrugged trying to be as innocent as possible while knowing exactly what she was talking about. "Oh really? Well how about the small fact that your name is on the substitute list again?"

"Oh yeah. That is a thing I guess."

Smiles grew on everyone's faces as it clicked what was happening. Ingrid practically jumped on you repeating over and over how proud she was, kisses placed over your faces. The team joined not long after, everyone cheered and congratulated you.

"Okay okay, you can let go of me now. Yes I finally feel ready to come back."

Once everyone had let you go, Alexia pulled you up into a hug. Since she found out about your struggles, Alexia had been amazing. She was always subtly checking in whether you were at training or not, she would pull you away when everything got too overwhelming and Ingrid was busy, making some excuse so know one else would know the truth. Alexia was always just there in a way that was subtle and comforting. "Well we're so so glad you're back. I'm so proud of you Y/n."

"Thank you Ale, for everything."

As soon as your foot hit the pitch, you felt the excitement, adrenaline and happiness that you thought may have been gone for good. You felt yourself falling in love with football all over again, it was like the final weight had fallen from your shoulders. There would always be bad days or even bad weeks, you knew that, but with Ingrid, your family and your new found coping mechanisms, you finally felt ready to face them.

---

You arms wrapped around Ingrid as she chopped the vegetables, she briefly turned to kiss your cheek before going back to her task. "Hi Elskling, you played really well today. How did it feel?"

"Hey love. It felt incredible, I know I needed a break, but man did I miss it. Anyway, enough about me I have a surprise for you. I was originally going to give it to you after dinner, but I can't wait anymore. Here." You replied, placing an envelope on the counter in front of her. You could never express how thankful you were for everything Ingrid had done for you over the last few months, for sticking by your side through everything. So instead you had decided to start with a few days away in Venice. It was something she had wanted to do for a while and you decided to make it happen.

Ingrid looked at you for a second before opening the envelope, a smile appearing as she looked at the tickets inside. "What's this?"

"I know what you're going to say to this, but I am so thankful for everything you've done for me. Sure we've spent a lot of time together, but it hasn't been the quality, good time you deserve. So you and I are going to spend a few days alone in Venice in a couple of weeks when we have a bit of time off. Now I don't want to hear any buts or I didn't have to do this, just say you're excited and give me a kiss."

Ingrid cupped your cheeks, allowing you to press her against the counter as she pulled you in for a lingering kiss. Just as Ingrid went to pull away, you cupped the back of her neck pulling her back in as the kiss grew heated. You didn't want to say that you stopped enjoying Ingrid's kisses because that's impossible, it was just intimacy beyond cuddling between the two of you had dropped off to almost nothing the last few months. There were still short kisses here and there, but you couldn't get out of your head long enough to actually be present for anything more and that wasn't fair to Ingrid. Your lips moved along her jaw as a quite moan slipped past Ingrid's lips.

"Di-dinner," Ingrid moaned as your hand slipped under her shirt.

Ingrid's legs wrapped around your waist as you walked back to the bedroom, "Dinner can wait."

#ingrid engen #woso imagines #woso imagine #woso fanfics #ingrid engen x reader #woso

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