love is dangerous for someone like gwylan—he’s all too aware of the pain that can come from it
m!gwylan x gn!reader | MDNI, angst, grief, gwylan’s yandere tendencies if you squint, not beta read
note: an attempt to familiarize myself with writing angst </3 the title is inspired by the song title ‘she will destroy you’ — cocteau twins (i often listen to the moon and the melodies album while thinking about gwylan’s sorrows)
read on ao3
Any affection aimed at Gwylan is just like sand slipping through his fingers, something short in comparison to the memories that’ll remain on the shore and inspire the whales to weave them into their mournful song for centuries.
Everything around him is a reminder; a warning sign as to why he shouldn’t be reckless given the cycle he’s in.
And you—his curious, sweet pet—are the greatest reminder of all.
The beautiful pink roses people tend to admire only taunt him, bullying him for his infertility despite reproduction being an instinct rooted deep in his very being. Before you came along, there wasn’t much he could do but sigh over this knowledge. After all, it’s not like he had a partner in the first place, and thus, there’d be no heartbreak. Now, if he’s ever left to ruminate it, he’s left at a complete loss.
Sometimes he wanders through his place, looking over the various items and reminding himself that one day the shop will act as a treasure chest with all your stories, and you won’t be there to tell them yourself. Or perhaps in the future, he’ll be in a similar but completely different body, sickening waves of grief from multiple lifetimes rocking him all over the place until he’s dizzy.
The only remedies for memory are forgetting or letting go, and Gwylan can’t do (and often never wishes to do) either of them—he cherishes everything too dearly to let go or forget. Like he’s once told you: he likes collecting clothes, knick-knacks, and memories. This remains true even if it’ll lead to nothing but sorrow in the end.
The bitterness of alcohol will never wash away the forever lingering feeling of your kisses. And even if the rhythm of your heartbeat were to turn into a haunting melody instead of a lullaby, he wouldn’t make any attempts to get it out of his head.
Despite all his flaws and attempts to keep you away, you’ve kept on pursuing him. And that, along with your fascinatingly resilient soul, has left him both frightened and enthralled.
He’s always been scared of swimming in the ocean, but he has already sunk into one made of your tears (he’ll never admit that he’s drowning, though). He’s let the salt burn all his wounds, just like how you let all his thorns pierce through you every time he puts up a barrier and a crumbling act of indifference.
Gwylan denies that what he feels for you is love. How foolish. He doesn’t love you, he can’t love you. His heart isn’t able to and he has already told you this.
So, then, silly pet, why do you look at him so sadly when he fails to utter the words out in response to yours?
Three simple syllables, I love you, are all you’re waiting for. Or maybe not even a direct confession, just any confirmation on the depths of his romantic feelings for you.
You’re always met with a wry smile that very quickly turns into a sulk when you look away, his ears flattening and an ache forming in his throat. He doesn’t want to push you away with his inability to confront his feelings, but old habits die hard and he has grown somewhat used to counting on your patience.
There’s a deep fear rooted in Gwylan. As soon as he comes to terms with the certain, indisputable fact that he loves you, and says as such, life will play a silly trick and speed up the hourglass on what little time the two of you have.
Until he’s brave enough, he will do just about anything to keep you by his side except say or verbally allude to those three forbidden words.
He has become a source of comfort for you—someone you can come to when things are difficult. Someone to hold you close, listen to all your worries until the furrow of your brows diminishes, and, if things are particularly dire, to lull (intoxicate) you with flowers or sweet words and smiles.
The familiar collar locked on your neck keeps you connected to him from anywhere and everywhere, a singular threatening touch to it and he’ll be alerted immediately. And ultimately, it makes you completely his, keeping your devotion and obedience in place; it’d be very hard to get away from him, just the thought of fleeing itself would be difficult to maintain.
You’re completely under his trance, and he intends to keep it this way whether you’re willing or not. All your senses should always be spellbound by him: by the sweetness of his lips, the warmth of his palm atop your head, the smell that he rubs onto you, each gentle smile he casts at you, and all his well-earned praise.
You didn’t expect to be able to easily leave after burrowing your way into his heart and soul, did you?
Even a week without your presence fills him with a bottomless void. He needs your warmth to keep the fear of you vanishing at bay, craves your ardent touch, and misses you so badly that not even your lingering scent all over your pet bed can soothe him.
Gwylan needs you to keep on going. For as long as you’re alive, he refuses to live without you—he wouldn’t be able to.
If you were to go first, he’d be completely shattered and unable to ever piece himself back together. He’d likely go soon afterwards from the heartbreak.
He also can’t bear the thought of leaving you all by yourself. Living is hard enough as it is, how could he make you face a hardship he knows all too well?
Or maybe what lies at the end of the road won’t be as agonizing as he believes, where one will be without the other. Maybe it’ll be a mutual farewell from the earth with a kiss that tastes like a mix of blood and the sea, your heart’s beating as one, and matching red roses as accessories that’ll wilt and join the soil with both of you.
And by that time, he’ll without a doubt be able to say with a weak and tender smile: “I love you.”
