When you wake up the next morning, he’s made you breakfast.
It's not an odd thing for him to do, yet no less appreciated, as well as a sense of relief. You were afraid he might have figured out different things during the night and woken up upset with you, but this proves he’s still ashamed.
You don’t know why exactly, but it makes you feel a little good inside, which in turn makes you feel a little guilty about it all... But you suppose, it wasn't that you were feeling happy or anything, you were just a little giddy that he was taking it so seriously. Another part of you had thought he’d just sweep it all under the rug and pretend nothing had happened.
But that’s not the kind of man he is.
No, instead, he’s on his knees. Arms wrapped around your thighs, head buried in your belly, muffled sounds of, “Please, please, please, don’t leave me,” pouring out of his mouth while you stand there, still dressed in one of his cotton t-shirts you’d worn to bed.
His words, though had started off more or less like something you wanted to hear, didn’t exactly end as such.
“Leave you?” you mirror, eyes wide, feeling your heart drop down to the very pits of your stomach. “Who said anything about that!?”
Taking his face in your hands, you notice the heavy purple bags under his eyes—he must not have slept a wink. Or, actually, maybe that's not all… Judging by the looks of the red roots netting the white and the equally annoyed rouge of his cheeks, you suspect he'd been too busy crying to sleep.
He’s crying still, smothering his face back into your belly with his shoulders hunched up, voice breaking on a sob, whimpering loudly, “So you’re not leaving me?”
You feel awful now. This isn't what you'd wanted. You just wanted to tell him off, just a bit, make him reflect on his actions a little, not torture himself.
“Of course I’m not leaving you!” you very nearly yell. “What are you talking about? I would never leave you–” You get down on your knees down alongside him, hugging him back tightly.
“So you forgive me?” he immediately whines into the cove of your neck, joined by tears smeared into your skin, while pouring his overwhelming weight against you, very nearly making you fall backwards.
“Yes, stupid, I forgive you!” You declare loudly from over his shoulder, feeling befuddled by the odd situation—unsure of what to do other than comfort him with assurances, “So, uhm, stop crying—everything’s alright—”
His head lifts, breaths hitchy and heavy, looking at you with enlarged puppy-dog eyes—the type you’d never think to see on him. “So you don’t hate me?”
You shake your head, both in disbelief and to negate the ridiculous question. “No! I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t hate you.”
His lip warbles, brows cinched, looking pathetic, asking, “So you still love me?”
You take his face in your hands again, needing to hold it together now that the surprise and absurdity of it all were bordering on ridiculous enough to make you almost laugh against your will. You didn't know he had this side to him, is all. It’s hard to take him seriously when he's being so… well, uncharacteristically cute.
“Yes, I still love you, I never stopped loving you,” you confirm, looking over his harrowed expression. “Jeez—you need some sleep...”
“I can’t sleep without you.” He shakes his head, pouting. “I never can. I need you—without you I’m just a worthless mess—not an alpha—not even a man–”
A snort escapes you at that, needing to shake your head at his melodrama while suppressing a smile. “That’s not true–”
“Yes, it is,” he interrupts with another almost theatrical whine.
“Don’t be silly.” You’re fully giggling now, though trying not to. You’d heard about getting high off of no sleep, but you’d never actually witnessed it—at least not to this degree. “Come, you’ll feel better once you eat. We’ll talk more after you’ve had a nap, alright? Everything’s going to be okay.”
He bites his lip, shutting his eyes with another sniffle, before conceding with a whisper, voice all hitched, “Okay…”
You help him eat and bring him along with you back to bed, letting him use you as a body pillow.
Stroking his head as he snores, you listen to him whir with little sleepy moans, holding you around the waist with his head drowned in your chest, drooling on you like a baby.
He’s out like a light. Fully exhausted, poor guy. It makes you smile. Your thoughts of him being upset with you and your stunt seem silly now. Suppose he isn’t as macho as you thought...
It’s strange, all this time, you’ve thought of him as someone independent and unshakable. Who’d have known his fortitude could be so easily broken down?
Never in your life would you think you’d ever get to see an Alpha cry like that. You know it’s stigmatized, you know many would have you think it makes him less red-blooded. But honestly, if anything, it actually makes you feel kind of happy.
Somehow, you don’t feel like you’re as different as you thought...
There’s a groan, followed by a yawn coming from below, and you turn your head down to see his eyes, half-mast and dazed, slowly blinking the sleep off.
“Good morning,” you coo, smiling softly.
He immediately hides his face back in your chest with another apology getting muffled against your skin, “I’m sorry…”
You run a hand over his locks, stroking him sweetly. “It’s okay,” you repeat from earlier. “I didn’t mean for it to be such a big deal, it really wasn’t–”
“No,” he interrupts—head popping up and looking at you, eyes big and earnest, stating, “You have every right to be upset,” before continuing with another ramble, “I just barged in and pounced on you, I didn’t even ask first—it was late, and you were all ready to go to bed, trying to tell me something and I just completely ignored you like a fucking dickhead.” His head drops down again, burying itself in shame with another muffled utterance, “I’m the worst.”
“No, you’re not,” you deny, placing a kiss on the top of his head. Smiling as you give him credit, “Though… I’m glad you understand why I was upset.”
It’s quiet for a moment. He tugs your body closer, both arms snaked tight around your waist, exposing his face and turning his head upward until his ear is the one resting against your heart.
“There’s more to it, though... isn't there?” he mumbles, a little hesitantly—anxiously even. “Something you’re not telling me—something you wanted to talk about... Something that’s wrong–”
You shake your head, cutting him off, “No, no, nothing’s wrong—” You scooch down until your heads level, holding his face in both palms with eyes locked. “I promise, everything’s okay now—it wasn’t really that big a deal to begin with, just me in my head. Honestly, we can forget all about it now.”
“No,” He returns the gesture, layering his hands on top of yours, pulling them down and holding them between you. “Please, tell me.”
You bite your lip at that. Thinking it over once again.
During his nap, you’d actually decided it wasn’t all that necessary to talk after all. You’d been feeling bad because you weren’t sure whether you were being seen or heard, but this whole episode has proved those thoughts wrong.
Though… you suppose, things weren’t all resolved.
“Well… it’s just,” you start, not feeling as prepared as you’d done yesterday. You’d written down what you’d wanted to say, and now it’s like you’ve forgotten every word. “I guess…” Though you suppose it wasn’t really all that complicated at the end of the day. “I just want you to talk to me more.”
Because that’s really what this has been all about. Misunderstandings and whatnot.
You sigh, feeling good about having cleared that up, but catching his gaze, you realize it hadn’t been all that clear at all—a halfway cocked eyebrow raised expectantly over his eye, silently hoping for a little more context.
You go flushed then, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. Rushing to continue with half-though-out sentences, “Or, well, it’s not like you don’t talk to me—what I mean is—I want you to include me in, uhm… like… decision-making and stuff–”
Feeling overheated with stupidity, the tops of your cheeks and tips of your ears both burn. You sigh again, needing to catch your breath and calm down, at least enough to slow your voice down before continuing, now more relaxed as you go, “I want you to confide in me with your thoughts and feelings and if, you know, you’re struggling with anything—even if it’s just work-related stuff, I just… want to help you like you help me.”
You’re the one who wants to hide your face now. But even so, you steal yourself and look up at him through your lashes. “Is that okay?”
It catches him off guard, by the looks of his mouth opening and closing again with only a dumb “Uh,” leaving them. But he as well, manages to reel himself in enough to form an answer.
“Of course it is, yes, I—” he says, stumbling a bit as he thinks. “I guess I just always thought those things were an Alphas responsibility… To provide and protect you, and never burden you with anything–”
“And I love that about you,” you assure, giving his hands a squeeze where they in turn squeeze yours. “But I don't want that to mean protecting me from life.” You smile. “We’re supposed to be building it together, aren’t we? I want us to take those challenges on and figure them out side by side. Don’t you?”
He looks at you, staring, face a little unreadable. You feel a little anxious in the wait for his answer, but then it comes.
Resolute and resounding, “The only thing I want is to make you happy.”
He brushes your forehead with his, nuzzling closer until the tips of your noses touch. “And if this’ll make you happy, then I’ll be relying on you from now on.”
He kisses you then, softly.
He tastes like salt from before, but you don’t mind.
No, the opposite actually. When you part, it’s with confidence enough to finally say it, whispering it against his lips, “One more thing.”
And he whispers back, just as softly, “What?”
Biting your lip again, your heart flutters dramatically in your chest, just as eager as the rest of you. “I know we haven’t spoken about it, but…”
You’d been so nervous about it before today, but now, all those doubts have been settled, and you can’t really feel or think of a single reason to wait even a single second longer.
(Just some brainstorming I whipped up in the past 15min, for a future project.)
Yandere English professor DILF that secretly writes you the most amazing and beautiful love poems and leaves them in your locker. You do well in his class already but he overlooks some mistakes. He always asks to see you after class to talk about what you brought up in your last assignment or discuss a book with you. Uses his status as a top professor to get information about you, including your schedule.
Yandere bully who has made you his favorite victim, trying to bully those around you to isolate you. Homophobic. Can't admit he is in love with you even though he forces you to be his lab partner all the time, "because you'll get us a good grade." Insults you all the time but can't get you out of his head. Jerks off to thoughts about you then punches you to feel better about it. Might get drunk and sloppily make out with you against your will then deny it all a minute later.
Yandere upperclassman who condescends to you and points out all your flaws, biting his lip at the look of embarrassment on your face. But you'd look even better when he praises you. You'd be such a good pet for him, if he could break you. Wants you to be his puppy, on your knees in front of him, sucking his cock, nuzzling his hand when he pets you. He wants you living off of his attention. He is very popular but likes how you don't trip over yourself to please him because of his popularity and wealth. Likes how authentic you are. Definitely considering using his wealth to kidnap you to his mansion at the end of the year.
Yandere loser nerd who you were too nice to a few too many times. The saddest wettest most pathetic bitchless loser. Stalks you. Sneaks into your room and steals your dirty clothes and jerks his musky cock while sniffing them. Probably forgets to shower sometimes so he is always a bit musky. Super skinny stuttering pushover with extreme social anxiety but he'd follow you anywhere. Wants to drug and kidnap and violate you but would apologize and cry the entire time he was doing it.
men who touch you like they love you. they are soft and kind with every move they make. because, well, they do love you. you are their life, their treasure, their only girl.
men who smile softly when you show them your new outfit or nails, or something you made for them. who adore you and all that you do. you're practically an angel to him.
men who caress the side of your face ever so softly. who gaze lovingly into your eyes. who, in public, kiss you with such love and care that you'd swear you were made of glass.
men who hold out their hand for you to take when you're crossing the street, descending the staircases, or just when there are too many people around. he has to protect you, to keep you safe because you're such a sweetheart.
men who gently run their hand over your hair, tucking loose strands behind your ear. who gently kiss the top of your head. who hug you with their whole body. who just love you so much <3
are the same men who fuck you like they hate you.
men who are mean and rough with every move they make on the bed. because well, he does love you so much that the only way he could express it sexually is to be a little mean. maybe it's the cuteness aggression. maybe he's just a sick fuck.
men who have a gross grin as he looks down at you. your pretty face against the pillow, drool spilling from your swollen lips and your fingers gripping the sheets. he can't help but snap his hips faster into you. he can't help but go rougher, your body can take it right?
men who slap the side of your face so hard you have tears brimming on your eyes, but your pussy squeezes him equally as hard. men who squish the sides of your cheeks and force you to pucker your lips out so he can kiss you. he loves forcing your mouth open with his and slipping his tongue inside. at this point he's practically fucking your mouth with his tongue. a strong hand behind your head so you can't move away from him. his heavy body crushing yours. <3
men who use the same hand he offers you to cross the street, to flip you over on your tummy and fuck you silly. who easily switches positions with you like it's no one's business. who wraps his fingers around your neck and smiles sweetly as he pushes into you. causing you to cream around him.
men who grip your hair and pull it when you try to hide your face or move away. men who press their bodies on top of yours, forcing you to stay in place as he enjoys you.
men who, if he never treated you so kindly in public, would assume he hates you with the way he fucks you in private.
spoiler - he loves you to death !!!! never doubt his loyalty <3
i was rereading my favorite series that cause me mental suffering and
Genuinely? LMLMN Marco scares the absolute fuck out of me, like genuinely disturbing.....
no i totally get what you mean about "what about the other people in a yandere life?" and honestly- this is something i have been exploring through my own writing through multiple perspectives.
as in being someone close enough to see other sides of the yandere, or even the "normal" or "the mask".
and i'm really genuine when i say, Lmlmn is one of my favorite series' around yanderes, it's subversive, take a different angle.
the main character isn't boring & bland, they have actual complex emotions, LIKE WHEN I SAY HOW MUCH I LOVE MC AND HOW YOU WROTE THEM!!!!, -i'm like so happy the mc wasn't a dumb bitch-. and Marco is also interesting and have multitudes.
the whole story feel like a fucked slice of life, and so so so human. and i felt so many emotions anger/ fear/anxiety/ grief/ resentment (toward both Marco and Mia funnily enough). and i keep coming back to it.
even if you grew out of it, which is so natural, i genuinely enjoyed analyzing and reading through it.
i personally think i would enjoy your writing even if it wasn't about yanderes, i liked the depth you tackled the story with.
♡♡♡♡ ♡♡♡♡
Anon, this gen means so much to me, again tysm for enjoying the series 😭
That's amazing to hear youre also exploring through your own writing cause I dont see a lot of takes on this! So im interested 👀
And yeah with the "what about the other people", it always got me thinking about how most yanderes are mostly: "The love of my life is my only purpose in life" And we don't usually get to see the other side of the character like favorite hobbies, or how they maintain geniune relationships! What are they thinking when it isnt their S/O on their mind? What are they like as a person?
With the Mc, I genuinely at the time, tried my hardest not to make them helpless (even though they technically are with the situation.. ), and more morally grey(?). Morally Grey is not the word I'd use, but basically the Mc wasn't supposed to be the typical "perfect victim". Not the stuttering pleading, begging, weak— but the guilty victim. The self loathing, and self aware victim that knows they cant go back to what they've done and as a result, bitterly plays into their mistakes.
They have flaws, and even adapted some horrible habits and mentalities as a result from what happened to them..
Even though the story is taking ages to complete, I know regardless if ends up bad or good, I'll complete it! Better to leave things wrapped up than forgotten 🙏🥹
I think it would be so funny to get a movie about this.
You, the side character, watch this impossible woman get the CEO and are ultimately forced to handle all of her bullshit and if you dare mess up, YOU are the bad guy.
Hiya Angels!! ^^ For those who are unfamiliar with how these mini updates work, most Day X.5 releases tend to focus on improving the pre-existing content and QoL aspects of 14DWY — rather than adding new content to the demo.
For Day 5.5 specifically, you can expect:
A new and improved character customisation screen
A massive UI and SFX overhaul
The highly anticipated release for the "14 Nights With You" DLC
Additional hidden secrets and achievements to unlock
And maaany more changes, which you can read about here!
Continuation to being transported into a romance as (Y/N)'s friend
You hadn't signed up for this nonsense. You were perfectly fine being a background character, enjoying peaceful days and countless benefits as a consequence to (Y/N)'s luxury trickling all the way down to you.
Sure, some days were awkward: it was hard to focus on your latest report when the billionaire CEO would growl and tug at his shirt, trying to intimidate his love rival for openly flirting with (Y/N). You could barely hold back your grimace whenever you had to lead presentations and discovered, mortified, that your ever-seductive friend was curled under the table, servicing your boss in a miserably failed discretion. You once nearly choked on your meal when you heard the CEO whispering to (Y/N) how he added his own secret ingredient, and you realized you'd accidentally swapped lunches.
Nonetheless, life went on. You couldn't complain much. Except now, for whatever damned reason, you began to be noticed by the main cast. A glitch in the matrix? Were you turning into your own version of (Y/N)?
"Don't act mysterious. Just give me your phone number," the rebellious love rival demanded, visibly impatient. He slicked his hair back and grunted at you.
Sir, I didn't even exist to you until two episodes ago, you were temped to say. You wondered if you'd accidentally pressed some forbidden button in the breakroom and involuntarily caused this mess.
From the corner of your eye, you saw the manager making his way towards your desk. You could tell from the wide, relaxed grin that he had similar intentions to this self-proclaimed alpha male.
In a moment of panic, you sprung out of your seat and rushed for the supply closet. Maybe you'd find some quiet there. Maybe everything would return to normal if you closed your eyes for long enough.
Right as you slammed the door shut, you noticed you weren't alone in the cramped chamber.
You're transported into the fictional setting of a romance plot, except you're (Y/N)'s friend instead of (Y/N) themselves. Life is surprisingly chill, albeit a tad peculiar.
You stepped into an empty office, with only a handful of coworkers sitting around and chitchatting. What's going on, you asked, as one of the managers handed you a cup of coffee. (Y/N) got kidnapped again, he stated casually, it's the third time this month. Ah, so the billionaire CEO must've been away to save them. Less work for you.
Indeed, being a secondary character to (Y/N)'s dark romance comes with surprising benefits. You eye your fridge, stuffed to the brim with leftovers from your town's most exquisite restaurants. (Y/N) can never decide on what to eat, so your mysterious boss just orders everything on the menu and has you dealing with the rest.
Yet, something's off. Lately, you've begun to notice that your existence is interfering with the natural order of the universe. The love rival who's been fighting for (Y/N)'s affections suddenly gawks at you in utter disbelief; were you always there? How comes he never realized it until now? The shy underling who'd been secretly crushing on (Y/N) for the longest time hesitantly sits next to you, throwing you quick glances. The flirty manager who won't stop teasing (Y/N) abruptly stops by your desk.
It's as if the cast is only now becoming aware of your presence.
You’d taken a pair of scissors to the new dress he’d bought you.
It was a pretty thing—something you’d squeal and wear to any and every given occasion. But you had none of those anymore, and the dress did nothing but rub salt in the wound as a rude reminder of the fact that you were here, trapped in this godforsaken house, with him as your only source of company.
And your sole admirer. So, if you were to dress up, it would be for no other reason than to amuse him. And with that being the tragic case, you destroyed it—let him see what you thought of his gift—tossing it on the floor before him like something gutted. Letting him know rather clearly that you wouldn’t be playing his games—that, if he thought he could make you dress up for him like a toy doll, then he was deadly fucking wrong.
“Fuck you and your sick fucking fantasies.”
It had been a while since you’d gotten this upset. Usually, you’d just play along—to a degree that was far from giving it your all, but still. You don’t know exactly what warranted a bigger reaction this time.
Possibly, it was the idea of it all that had you so shook.
The dress reminded you of the world outside and with it, the understanding of how utterly far removed from it you were and had been now for a very long time.
It was a really pretty dress, too—you’d have used any excuse to wear it, called your friends up, made plans on the spot to go out for no other reason than to paint the town red while looking drop-dead gorgeous.
It would bring tears to your eyes if you weren’t so angry, fuming where you’re standing, wanting to stab him to death, yet having settled for killing the dress instead, as it was a more likely target.
“Oh?” is all he says without looking a smidgen worth of upset. “That’s too bad…”
He shakes his head, looking at the dress on the floor while holding his maw, pointer finger tapping on his chin.
“I was planning on taking you out in that.” He sucks his teeth casually, as if what he’d just said was any such thing as trivial, then sighs just as blithely. “Damn shame…”
A rush runs through you at the same time. Feeling a stab of regret fester in your chest before confusion’s able to overlap it, mingling with each other into this gross feeling of distress and disorientation—as if reality had just blended with a dream.
You stare at him, head spinning, nearly whispering, “What?”
He doesn’t pay you the same regard, almost dismissing the entire conversation with a wave of his hand. “Oh, you know, what with it being our one-year anniversary and all…”
You continue to stare at him—knowing full well how utterly insane he is, though, not sure if this is one of those types of crazy where he forgets to lock away the knives before you’re able to swipe one or if it’s the other type of crazy where he knows exactly what to say to make you feel just as mad as him.
“Why? Did you forget?” he continues, cocking a brow at you.
He is dressed nicely, you note. Not a full suit but something like it—a neat pair of trousers, a clean polo shirt, polished dress shoes…
Was he really planning on taking you outside?
“Well, it doesn’t really matter now…” he clicks his tongue, looking back at the ruined dress on the floor. “You don’t have anything to wear anymore–”
“No—I–” you interject before you’re able to think about how desperate you sound. “I have other dresses–I can–”
“No, don’t bother,” he cuts you off coldly, a hand held up to silence you. “It’s ruined now. We’ll try again next year.”
You swallow thickly at that, repeating it in your head—next year. It echoes back as a question—next year? But… but it’s so long until then. Too long.
“No! I’m sorry,” you blurt out, rushing over to him, hands splayed flat on his chest as you plead, looking up at him now with pathetic eyes and an even worse off voice, “Please, I–I wanna celebrate–I do–”
His head veers up, mouth pulling to the side as he cocks his head, looking at the ceiling while giving it a hum in thought, “Mh… m’ not really in the mood anymore.”
You heart rifts, “But–”
“I spent a lot of time picking out that dress for you, you know?” he cuts you off, looking down his nose at you. “Thought about how good it would look on you and everything.”
He eyes your face like that, with this awfully jaded expression on his own, clicking his tongue, “It’s all a waste now, isn’t it?”
You shake your head, brows knitted. “N-no-I—I can still wear it.”
You rip yourself away from him while pulling off the shapeless shirt you were wearing, nearly naked now as you all but throw yourself onto the floor after the dress you’d tossed the same way.
“Just wait–”
You tussle it up into your arms before scrambling up to your feet again, hurried as you wrestle with it, pulling it up over your hips, then shoulders—a gash on the front of it marking where you’d cut it open.
“See? It’s not so bad,” you insist despite the obvious. “I can fix it—I just need to sew it and–”
You stop mid-ramble as he abruptly walks away, falling silent while you watch him bend down to the floor where the scissors had slipped to when you’d first thrown the dress at him.
He picks them up slowly, eyeing them for a moment, then walks back to you—unreadable expression on his face as he appraises the damage done to the dress with his free hand, running over the crude cut made on your stomach.
"You really think you could fix it?" He asks coolly while his digits climb higher, leaving the fabric in favor of tenderly thumbing your chin as he drinks in those big, hopeful eyes of yours as you nod your head all earnestly.
"Yeah?"
His fingertips slide across your cheek, tenderly yet oddly aloof in the action as he picks up a tress of your hair to play with.
He coils it around his pointer before bringing his other hand up and snipping the lock clean off.
Your ears draw back at the sharp sound, feeling the wisps brush your naked arm as they silently fall to the floor. You look down to see them lying there—not just a few strands, but a big and unforgiving chunk.
“D’you think you could fix that too?” comes a voice—brisk like the sound of the scissors.
You just blink, lips parted in stale shock.
“Well?” he asks then, quickly making another crude snip—this time even more—before the loss of the first has even finished dawning on you.
But you sober up with the sudden hand bundled in with the rest of your hair, fierce in his grip, nearly ripping it out from the roots, tangled at your nape and pulling you back, making you back curve and neck crane as a loud cry breaks free from your throat, “What’re you–why?”
“Why?” he jeers, then seethes, spitting through clenched teeth, “Why?” The scissors make another messy cut. “You shit on my gift, and you’re asking me why?”
Another chop and you’re thrown back down to the floor. You feel the hair beneath your hands where you brace yourself. Then the feeling of the scissors at your throat, stabbing into your chin as he uses them to lift your head up.
“You're fucking delusional if you think I'm taking a spoiled little brat out on a date when she doesn’t deserve it.”
The heavy tears running down your cheeks are nothing to him, as your hair falls in odd short lengths around your ears, burning with feelings you have no idea where to place.
“Especially when you look like a fucking mess.”
He turns away after that. Dress shoes tapping on the floor in a business-esque fashion, taking him to the closet by the outer door, from which he grabs and throws on a coat-jacket, before just as callously leaving you altogether with a loud slam and a following lock.
It's silent after that as you catch up on your own breath.
It takes about an hour or so, at which point and for reasons unknown—as though afraid he’d be back so soon—you gather the hair from the floor and throw it away, along with the dress.
Then you shower and go to bed.
Several hours later, night falls, and yet, you’re still awake, hearing the tell-tale noise of him coming back. The pattern of his actions tells you it's after having had a few.
He kicks off his shoes but doesn’t bother undressing as he stumbles in through the bedroom door, throwing himself on top of the covers down next to where you lie. The strong scent of alcohol mixes in with his cologne and an underlying musk as he huddles in close, spooning you with his bigger body as a drape.
His nose runs along the crown of your head, lips on the crest, speaking against it in slurred mumbles, “I’m sorry I messed your hair up… I was just angry with you, you know—I try so hard to make you love me, and sometimes it feels like you just wanna fight me on every single little thing. You just—you drive me fucking crazy—but I still fucking love you, don't I?”
He kisses the top of your head a dozen times, messily, like in a frenzy, while squeezing you tight, before calming back down with a happy sigh.
“You know… I was thinking, you’d look good with short hair if we even it out a bit. We can watch a few videos and figure it out tomorrow, hm—what do you think? Wouldn't that be fun?”
Your bottom lip quivers, and you bite into it to make it stop. Only muttering back a soft, “Okay…”
He hums at that, keeping your head tucked under his chin as he shimmies to find the perfect position, making the entire bed shift beneath his weight. He sighs once again when finding it, this time through a big yawn, “I think it’ll be cute.”
Your lip is probably going to bruise come morning. You don’t even know if you’ll be able to sleep.
“And you know, even if it isn’t, it’ll probably have grown out before our next anniversary anyway.”
I just read love you not and I was wondering, does the story is over? Cause I just can’t but feel that there should be something more🥲 I know it’s silly, but still. Im sorry for taking your time with my question, but it just keep lingering in my mind ever since I have read it. Thank you🙇🏼♂️🙇🏼♂️
This means so much to me 🥹
I genuinely appreciate it when people ask about my stories because oftentimes I have a habit of dropping them haha
But to answer your question, LmLn is not finished, and I'm still working on completing it! It's just taking a while because I'm unable to stay focused on the story due to mental health issues, and i haven't been on tumblr a lot!
Eventually, I'll get the story done!! Even if it doesn't come out good in the end- I will complete it!!
Better to finish things first, and it comes out wonky, rather than never doing them at all!
i was rereading my favorite series that cause me mental suffering and
Genuinely? LMLMN Marco scares the absolute fuck out of me, like genuinely disturbing.
his abuse and cruelty toward someone he considers a fucking friend, and have "a soft spot" for (ignoring the complexity of their relationship) feel so real, like his behaviors and rationalizing himself isn't far fetched at all.
i legit know people like him. and their abuse creeps up on you with all the weird emotions that comes with being "friends" or "close"
Mc was damned the day they became friends, that's for sure.
Thank you for reading! 💖🥹
Im glad you feel that way! LmLn Marco was intended (and still is) to be the most vile person you've ever met, yet at the same time feel mixed emotions for! At least, that's what I was going for when I first wrote this story years ago 😭
Being with him is something not to root for. It's hard to explain, but when first writing him, he was supposed to be a showcase of how yandere characters, with their obessiveness, cruelty, and narcissism, can affect others besides their love interest.
Kind of like a "okay we see yanderes with people they 'love', but what about the others in their life? What about the friends and acquaintances that get affected by them?"
