thinking about messy eater ex-boyfriend, Elias, who gets so easily love drunk on you, chin dripping with drool and slick—lips puffy from exertion and pelvis grinding against the bed as your thighs shake around his head. his eyes rolling back when you grab his hair, nails digging into his scalp: he loves it.
a man who knows your body inside and out who groans at little whimpers and gets off on your pleasure. someone who aches to give you everything, heart in his throat and hands clasping yours, dreaming about wedding bells and forever. who eats you like a man starved, fingers clenched in a bruising grip and arms crossed against your hips like you might leave him again. who drags your body closer after you try and shift away, overstimulated and breathless.
Elias who feels more loved the more you make a mess on him, tears rolling down his cheeks, lashes damp, and reaching out for you still even after he got you back.
To anyone who has read my Haikyuu Hanahaki Disease AU, I will be rewriting them and will be posting them on my writing blog @rinniesworks !!
Please check it out when you can, since I will now be posting whatever I wrote on that blog instead of this one since this is far too cluttered to navigate through!
Have a great day!
btw i was rewriting the iwaoi one and god I hate my laptop🤡
synopsis: After a break up with you, Elias does his best to get you back.
pairing: yandere!ex x reader
content: mdni, angst, stalking, smut (in the form of a hand), unhealthy relationships, allusions to s/a, depression, spiraling, murder
a/n: inspired by this post of mine! enjoy! hope you like my boy, Elias!
The thrum of the bass rumbled through him as a stranger ground up on his body, unknown hands groping him in the dark between flashing lights of the club. There was the indecipherable croon of a singer flooded out by the murmurs and cheers of a drunken crowd and Elias was of no exception.
It had been days since you called, or texted—the last Elias heard of you was the slam of the door as you walked out of his apartment with a box of your stuff and his heart along with it. The buzz of alcohol could distract from the numbness that overtook him, a virus that spread so easily like it was what bled out of him. Falsities and fixed grins were all he could brave in the wake of that moment, the world washed out less vibrant the day you left. Barren sheets was all that greeted him when he'd come home, shivers racking his body as he stared at the spot you use to lay beside him until his eyes were bloodshot by dawn. So he'd accepted any excuse to get out of there, parties, dinners, anything. His apartment held a ghost that never appeared, remnants covered the place, a grieving monument of the act of loving you. Throw pillows that you'd left, a blanket drooped on the floor, a used mug—all that and more left to collect dust as he stood there.
When days turned into weeks, weeks into months, he'd crash at a friend's place, a stranger's bed, a hotel room—apartment rent paid for, sure, but nothing touched. There was a charger in his car and a bag of clothes he'd carry wherever he went, empty coffee cups sat at the floorboard and a blanket in the backseat. A shower at a gym and a coin in a laundromat was how he got by, phone nearby and left on your socials. It was obsessive the way he'd refresh, a bloodhound for updates. Lists kept of a coffee shop you'd visit or a quick drive to a restaurant you'd frequent, locations were saved and photos researched. You moved out but old habits were kept the same, a trip to your favorite guilty pleasure bagel spot, a mall you'd hit up for window shopping—he'd catalog and consider bumping into you at one of them, eyes soft and smile softer. Maybe if he did that, you'd fall in love again.
It was with that his hope hinged, a flare in the dark, a what if. His feet trailed behind you, hoodie clad and covered in the shield the night provided him. Prowling alleys and wary eyes as he guarded your figure walking home. Glimpses of your face under streetlights made his blood rush, adrenaline kicking in as he stared in the face of divinity. Awash with the warm glow, you headed untroubled in the night.
Heavy breaths fogged the window as he admired your face, slack and flushed. Looking at you like this, warm and cozy under blankets, made him almost forgive the transgressions you've done. As if you haven't been shattering his heart in restaurants with potential lovers while he cried in his car. It was painful, watching on with a clenched jaw as they made you laugh or had they're hands linger on you. It was worse when they stood you up or made you cry, body tense and curled up as you tried to protect yourself. A part of him knew it was hypocritical to be angry at you for this—he too tainted his body in ways that hurt to speak of, months spent like a broken toy, a used doll.
So he tried.
Tried not to be angry at you as you twirled in a new dress, a new apartment with someone new holding your hand. Tried not to be angry at how happy you looked without him while he suffered, years down the drain that spilled out his hands as he watched in horror. Nights splayed out on the bathroom floor in tears, sweat, and vomit. It was those nights where he missed you the most, clutching at his chest in a daze searching for you, body aching. His lungs never worked the same, rattling instead, painful against his ribs, breath stuttering. Elias tried so hard but he was so angry. At you. The world. Everything.
It was with that anger that he fisted his cock, blood smearing against the base as he squeezed. It was slick against his palm, a sheen of red vibrant against him as he watched you unconscious body shift, mouth lax. His tip leaked as thoughts of you ran though his head, both jagged and painful but sweet as he reminisced on kitchen nights dancing to nothing or the curve of you pressed against him in a warm hug. The way you'd laugh at him during mornings spent in bed aimless in chatter or the sweet grin you'd give him after your lips touched his cheek. He wondered if you'd laugh now knowing there was a man in his trunk, if delight would fill you at the sight of him knowing that.
Or would you cry? Horror? Fear? What would be your expression? Would you cry for him or the person in the body bag? It wouldn't matter. None of it would.
As long as your eyes were on him, nothing would ever.
When he came to, fluid dripped down you window.
Acid burns in his throat as he all but spews vomit into the toilet bowl. The seat felt cool on his cheek as he shivered, naked and wet. His skin was still stained red no matter how many times he scrubbed, peering at the world with glassy eyes as he did so. There was something wrong with him, there had to be. Why else would he take such vindictive pleasure in murdering the man who made you cry your way home last week? Bleary, he wonders if you'd do the same.
There was a grin he couldn't quite keep off his face even as he rubbed the skin of his body raw. A curve that stayed there while he committed the act to when he disposed of the evidence, something bloody, thirsty, almost akin to pride. As though the world gave him the right to do this, a sick justice for his suffering.
He should turn himself in, he knows, but didn't they deserve it? For being the reason your pain matched his for a moment. Elias couldn't bear to see you like that again, a cauterized wound on someone else's porch. His heart, a traitorous thing, strangled in your ribcage gave a dull thump: aching as you ached. It made him long for mornings where he'd press his lips to your forehead on days where the sun never shined for you, where he'd kneel at your feet and rub away those unseen bruises life had given you. Where it was his birth given right to worship you—until it wasn't.
Maybe he'd gotten boring, now dull and old over the years. Or maybe you'd seen something dark in him that he never knew til now.
Elias wished the man struggled more when he killed him, that instead on blood splattering his face it was bruises, cuts, something lasting—something that hurt. Given him something that would've landed him in the hospital instead of this dusty apartment where he stained your once shared, sweet memories with red. Regret tore through him, it had been so easy, too easy. There was barely a fight as he gutted the man, just blood. Blood everywhere. On his hands. Face. Everywhere.
It was a bitch to clean up.
Muscles he didn't know he had were sore, the coolness of the tile floor easing the pain away as he stared at the ceiling. The fluorescent stung his eyes, he should really turn the lights off—get into bed and sleep there. He can't, won't, doesn't want to lay there in that too big bed where his sock drawer lay the ring he was going to propose to you with. The tile was cold against clammy skin as he curled up, shivering.
A part of him wonders if he died the day that you left.
Your smile was sweet under the warm light of the café, teeth flashing brightly at the barista as you ordered. There was the smooth chatter of a morning rush and an undercurrent of jazz that always made you feel at peace here. Today was a good day, at least, no bumps in the road so far. Your car started up smoothly, traffic yet to be seen, a day off well deserved.
A contented hum escaped you as you sipped your coffee, creamy and rich in flavor. It paired well with your bagel, not as good as the hole in the wall at 27th but still good. Taking a glace around, the café seemed busier than usual, a lively bustle today. Life was…good so far kinda like the bagel you ordered, not the best but satisfactory for what it was. It's been almost a year since you broke up with Elias and you've been strong enough to have made no contact with him—a part of yourself is a bit proud of that fact. It was hard resisting the urge to check up on him, to see if he's happy where he is now, that he was better than the tear-stricken mess you'd left him. That you always left him as.
Elias, your sweet ex-boyfriend who you met at a friend's house party all those years back. The person you always had regrets about, bad days taken out on and upkeep left to him when you struggled to get out of bed for days. Sweet Elias who cried when you cried and whose heart you broke in a casualty of trying to better yourself. Someone who deserved better than to always be at your beck and call or to clean up after your messes or to get yelled at in the throes of your depression for something he couldn’t help you with.
Admittedly, you missed him a lot like the ache of a phantom limb, a habit you were trying to shake off, the name on the tip of your tongue. There were mornings when you'd wake up and accidentally make breakfast for two or call his name out in search for your missing keys like he'd always be there. He was a constant for years, a steady rock to your turbulent storm and someone that, if you were digging deep and being truthful, made you feel a little bit inferior besides. Surely, a part of him must be in disdain for having to always take care of you just as a part of you was bitter for his competency. For his persistence. His presence.
What was the saying, "familiarity breeds contempt"? Well, you had been too familiar with him that the air started to feel like smog. There was a part of you that felt cruel for not crying after you left him, no days spent in bed wallowing or hours on the phone checking if he'd call you. Mostly, you felt free like an old life you left behind and maybe it's true. Casual dating felt like a breath of fresh air, even if they left you crying or stood you up—it was new! New experiences, places you've never gone before, it made you feel braver for it.
Which is why it felt like a sudden halt seeing him in front of you.
His expression was awkward, hands in his pocket, slouched. He looked—not bad—rugged in a way, hair careless and stubble grown. Elias looked different, he wore different, too. Gone were the sweater vests and button downs, now replaced by hoodies and baggy jeans—casual in a way he'd never been. New.
"—seats were taken." Maybe you blacked out for a bit there, only catching the tail end of his sentence as you nodded, slow and in disbelief.
Just as he sat down, you blurted, "What are you doing here?"
His eyes widened, brows furrowing as he stuttered, "Oh! I—uh—," before getting cut off by an employee setting down a plate.
"—bagel." And he gestured, head downturn at his plate.
Ah.
"Ah."
Stupid, why else would he be here.
As he lifted the bagel you couldn't help but notice—
"Your hands," stark and obvious against the lights of the café, "they're red."
He ran one of them through his hair and said, "Yeah, hair dye, y'know—I tried—last night," and cut himself off there.
It seems as though you kept asking the obvious as you stared at his head, the glint of it tinted red when he moved, no bleach. His scalp was red, too.
"It looks nice," you said belatedly.
Really nice.
It made his eyes stand out, muted green now vibrant and eyelashes long and pretty in a way you never noticed before.
Like a curse your traitorous heart thudded, looking at the man across from you who held himself differently, less upright and more slack. The rattle against your ribcage was an old friend that greeted you after seeing him. You took a deep breath and startled, like a fish breathing air—it was as if you had a new pair of lungs.
Licking your lips, your mouth felt dry as you asked, nonchalance almost failing you, "How—how have you been? After, well, everything?"
A fresh start, an old face, something different.
As if the moments apart never mattered, you gravitate towards him again. Eager in a way you hadn't been with him for years.
In a scene that almost felt curated.
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a/n: divider by @/cursed-carmine!
a/n: ngl, still trying to figure out how tumblr works and how people get those pretty gradient colors in their text. anyone know how to make mood boards?
a yandere! ex who after you break up with them stalks you obsessively.
a yandere! ex who can't go back to the place you shared together so he sleeps in his car just to escape the ghost of you.
a yandere! ex who waits like a dog by the phone just in case you call.
a yandere! ex who grows bitter and jaded the more dates you go on, thinking he could treat you better. that he did treat you better, so why—?
a yandere! ex who struggles to move on, who can't move on, who will never move.
a yandere! ex whose name is Elias, whose screensaver is still you, whose heart lurches at the mention of your name.
Elias who after the break up drinks to numb the ache of you and watches you through windows to see if you're okay.
Elias who still pays the rent to an apartment he doesn't live in because he can't bare to erase the memories of you two together.
Elias who is so tempted to kill the next person you go on a date with just to see your reaction if he did, if you'd cry more than the day you stood in front of him while you tore his heart from his chest and took it along with you.
When the winds caught news of your passing, I had to resist the urge to appear in Liyue. I had to push back the desire to make sure you were alive and well, despite the many rumors from merchants and tourist alike.
I was weak, and I still am. Had I done more to protect my gnosis from being taken, would I be able to fly to you, appear before your people, and help find the person that ended your life?
Maybe, in the far off future, I will see you once more my friend. As with your passing, I am now the only one left of the original seven.
You were alive. You were okay. If only you could have seen the way I collapsed to my knees as they went weak with relief, you would have either helped me up or ignore me completely.
Despite the relief, I could feel a pang of betrayal and sadness. Why? Why did the Tsaritsa forcibly take my gnosis, but did not give you the same treatment?
Do they still see me as the weak Archon I once was? Am I still the weakest Archon amongst the Seven?
Tears welled up in my eyes but I blinked them away. Pulling out my lyre, I started to weakly play.
A tune that foretold an adventure, one that was about a traveler that traversed the lands in search of their family, while helping those in need.
Yet why did the song seem so somber? Why did my voice sound so strained?
Is it raining? Why were there droplets of water on my lap? Despite my questions, I continued to play.
Hoping that the winds would carry my song. In hopes that those who hear it, can hear the message beneath.
If we met under different circumstances, would we be able to get along?
“Is that all you got? Is this what the ‘Uncrowned King’ of Mondstadt can amount to?”
If the two of us were normal people, not under the influence of the past trauma we experienced, would we have stayed by each other’s side?
“Come on. Speak up, or did I hit you that hard that you can’t even speak?”
Had I known I’d fall for you I would have kept my distance. Pushed you away despite the urge to fight you and maybe have you as close to me as possible
“..Diluc..?”
Maybe then you would be alive. Had I known your departure would cause be so much grief, I would have taken much more care in not extinguishing the fire known as Diluc Ragnvindr
