#emotional reader

i'm on my period and want egg rolls terribly, so you are in the same boat. make your boyfriend(s) dazai, chuuya, atsushi, and akutagawa figure it out, fem!reader.

⭐︎

can i pls req for an amethio x reader fic where reader secretly a crybaby? like in a sense that they don't mean to be the way they are, they just cant help but result into crying whenever things go wrong. OKOK THANK YOU AND GOODBYE 🤯🤯🤯🤯

-🐑

Amethio x Emotional!Reader | Headcanons

A/N: Was the bird by any chance a goverment drone🤨🤨🤨,, if so-- tell them that I've already paid my taxes.

Hiyah dear !! I’m really glad you sent this in, your energy is very soft but also very intense emotionally. You feel things deeply, you love deeply, and even if you are insecure, there is a lot of creativity and warmth in you. You needed someone who would not be overwhelmed by your emotions, but instead hold them without making you feel like too much.

I am going to pair you with …

　　　　　　　　　　　 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐃. 𝐀𝐜𝐞 　　　　　　　　　【Ｔ𝐡𝐞　𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦　𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞】

You would have met Ace in a way that felt almost accidental.

Somewhere open, somewhere warm, somewhere a little chaotic but still comforting. You were probably off to the side, sketching or lost in your own thoughts, emotions running a little deeper than usual.

Ace noticed you because of that.

Not because you were loud, but because you felt like something.

He is very drawn to people with strong emotions, even if they try to hide them. You might have looked a little distant, maybe even overwhelmed, but there was something soft about you that caught his attention.

He approached easily.

“Whatcha drawing?”

Casual. Friendly. No pressure.

You probably got a little flustered, maybe trying to brush it off or downplay it, but Ace does not let things stay surface level for long. He leans in, genuinely interested, asking questions, making you feel seen without even trying.

And that is how it starts.

You get attached to him faster than you expect.

Ace has a way of making people feel safe, and for someone like you, who feels things so deeply and struggles with insecurity, that safety becomes everything.

Your emotional side?

He never shuts it down.

If you cry, he does not make you feel weak. He stays. He listens. He lets you feel everything without rushing you to stop.

“It’s alright. You don’t gotta hold it in.”

He says it softly, like it is the most normal thing in the world.

Your insecurity is something he handles in a very natural way.

He does not give long speeches or overcompensate. He just… treats you like you are already enough.

He compliments you casually. He notices your art. He points out things you do without even thinking about it.

“You’re really good at that.”

“You always notice stuff other people miss.”

And slowly, it starts to stick.

Your possessive side?

He finds it cute.

Not in a teasing way, but in a genuine way. He understands attachment more than people think, and as long as it is not controlling, he does not mind being someone you hold onto tightly.

If anything, he reassures you without making it a big deal.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Simple. Honest.

Your creativity is something he loves.

He will sit with you while you draw, sometimes watching, sometimes just laying nearby, completely relaxed. He becomes your biggest supporter without even trying to be.

And he keeps things light when you get too deep in your emotions.

Making you laugh. Distracting you. Pulling you out of your head just enough so you can breathe again.

The relationship is warm, emotional, and full of life.

You feel everything deeply. He keeps you from drowning in it.

And in return, you give him a kind of softness that he does not get from many people.

May I request a mini fic for reader x Dazai, where the reader struggles regulating their emotions. Like reader one day is spiraling from something and Dazai one day confronts them about. It then ends turning into an argument and reader gets so frustrated and overwhelmed that they end up hitting Dazai. Though after they hit him they immediately realize what they did and starts apologizing and breaking down.

Thank you and feel free to ignore!!!!

P.S. I really love your works plz never stop writing AHHH ( ꜆⌯' '⌯)꜆♡

Why Would You Do That...?

⌯⌲ i’m feeling a little messy with this one. cw/tw for the above: read at your discretion.

“You literally don’t understand!” You bellow, storming away from him in the small apartment, this unknown anger that has been stewing and boiling inside of you all week, not knowing where it’s coming from, but it’s absolutely ready to pop any second. Little things have been adding onto it that are entirely outside of your control: Dazai’s been coming home late from work because his cases are getting more difficult and time consuming; nothing seems to be going right at your job, and you’ve somehow irrationally deduced that it's all your fault; you’ve ruined dinner two nights in a row, forcing him to have to either pick something up on his way home or stop by the grocery store to pick up other ingredients so you two aren’t starving when he is already exhausted from a long day; and the final nail in your coffin was your favorite drink being sold out at the vending machine when you were already on the verge, hoping it would provide you a bit of solace and consistency.

You've been rampaging Yokohama, its civilians, your boyfriend, and your home all day since.

“I do understand! We go through this every other month where something is bothering you, you don’t know how to tell me, we fight, then you cry about what’s wrong so I can fix it!” Dazai shouts back, making the mistake of following after you. “What I don’t understand is why you make me have to pull out of you whatever the hell it is that’s wrong!” He’s reasonably angry. He’s tried so hard to understand you, to give you your space when you need it and be your shoulder to cry on when you’re tired of pushing him away. He does know it’s difficult for you, feeling every emotion all at once, sometimes something he’s grateful he will never be capable of, but he doesn’t know how to actually fix it. Most of the time, it’s just you yelling at him for thirty minutes straight about stuff he didn’t do but it’s his fault, and he accepts full blame until you’re a puddle in his arms, soaking his shirt with your tears, then passing out on the couch.

He isn’t used to someone exhibiting so much emotions and feelings, but he truly is doing his best. He also just tends to… blow his top when he’s finally had enough.

“This is why you don’t understand! You think you have to fix everything! There isn’t anything to fix!” You argue, whirling around to face him, and he’s wearing an equally frustrated and angered expression.

“Then at least talk to me about it instead of huffing around slamming doors! We aren’t the only ones who live here!” He scolds, hands fists at his sides while his nails dig into the sweating palms. “You do this shit every time, and I’m getting sick of it! I don’t know how much more fuckin’ understanding and coddling I can give you until you can get your shit together!” You don’t really give yourself time to stop and process what he’s saying, the mood you’re in making everything come off as an attack. All you’re hearing is him yelling at you, not that he wants you to talk about it. Not that he is wanting to hear you out, to see what’s wrong, like all the times before. You hear him cussing at you, and it isn’t helping.

“What the hell do you mean ‘get my shit together’?!” You counter, thrusting a finger at his chest. “This is why you don’t understand anything when it comes to me! Maybe I want to act out, maybe I want to throw a fit and yell and scream and slam doors! Maybe it helps instead of getting any of your goddamn solutions!” The entire time you rattled off your tangent, your finger brutally jabbed at his chest repeatedly, making him wince toward the end until he shoves your hand to the side, and his jaw flexes. Dazai is hardly ever the one to speak without thinking, trying to be careful with his words, especially when it comes to you — but he meant it when he said this was getting exhausting. He loves you and cares for you and wants you to be okay, just as any other boyfriend would, but this is… a lot. It’s a lot, and he doesn’t know how to get a handle on it without potentially hurting your feelings.

He doesn’t like fighting like this. He doesn’t like the yelling and screaming, but he doesn’t know how else to get you to stop because leaving you alone shouldn’t be the only option.

“So you like just being crazy?!” He blurts, his mind also not comprehending a majority of what you’re actually saying, lost in the heat of the moment, lost in the fact you’ve been screaming at the top of your lungs since he got home. You stare at him, chest heaving, eyes shaking in their sockets, and the silence he had been begging for finally comes. However, he doesn’t bask in it. He adds onto the void. “You like running around making people miserable just because you are?! Fuck, at least I offer to make shit better but it’s almost like you enjoy living like this!” He accuses, and a small part in your brain is beginning to snap. “You may want to act out and scream and yell but I’m tired of it! Maybe I don’t want you acting like a fuckin’ psycho for once—!”

Crack!

The silence that befalls the room is different, the echo of what you’ve done surpassing the thin apartment walls to reach your neighbors, the overwhelming sensation of dust settling on an otherwise mangled and bloody battlefield overcoming the two of you. Your hand is frozen, eyes wide, heart stopped, and part of you has no idea what happened; Dazai’s head is turned, eyes wide also, a burning sting lingering on his cheek, and there is a part of him that thinks maybe he deserved this. What he said was… unkind, for lack of better words, said in blind rage, something he normally would never say to you under any other circumstance.

He blinks, his fingers carefully inching up toward his cheek, gingerly pressing down on it, to feel the scorching heat radiate from his skin, and you haven’t stopped staring. Your mind is trying to come down, to collect itself, and suddenly this unbearable quiet is damning. You don’t like it; you don’t like what you’ve done.

“O-Osamu, I didn’t—”

“Okay,” he murmurs, carefully clearing his throat and gingerly grabbing your wrists, but the grip is a bit tight. Your head shakes, looking up at him with tears you don’t have much of a right to shed, letting him walk you backwards, and it seems he is looking through you.

“Osamu—”

“I’m gonna put you in here, okay?” He speaks gently, softly, as if a switch has been flipped in his brain from the previous fury he had. Brows furrow up at him, more surprised by his lack of reaction, by his sudden caring approach, but your feet follow the path he’s sending you through the hallway. “I’m gonna have you sit in here, alright?” He asks, recognizing the doorway you’re going through leads to your shared bedroom, him then guiding you to sit down. “Stay in here, okay?”

“But Osa, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“Just stay in here?” He interrupts, letting you go to place an open palm on your head. A few tears do slip, the realization finally hitting you like a ton of bricks, but you’re confused on what’s happening, what he’s doing, why he’s acting like this. “Stay right here for me.” He keeps repeating, leaning down to suddenly press a cautious kiss to your forehead, lingering, before standing back upright and making way for the door. Of course, that doesn’t sit well with you, jumping to your feet to chase after him.

“Osamu, wait, I’m serious,” you rush out, fingers extended to try to grab his sleeve, his bandages, anything, but you just barely miss. “I’m seriously so sorry, you have no idea. I-I don’t know what made me do that!” You are grappling for straws now, trying to organize your thoughts, but you can’t. You two had a fight, you hit him, and he’s walking away. Something’s not right, it’s not normal, this isn’t how everything is supposed to go. “I’m sorry!” You raise your voice again, and his hand is on the front door handle, glancing over at you with an incredibly empty smile, nothing behind his eyes.

“I know,” he tells you, carefully eyeing you up and down. “I thought we agreed you’d stay in your room?” Your room, no, no it is not just yours — it belongs to both of you. The tears aren’t stopping, but your puzzlement and quizzical gaze is the thinning thread holding you back from a full breakdown. “Go back to bed for me, just stay there safely, and then we can have dinner.” You don’t know how to handle being talked to as if you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum, being told to sit in “time out” for your actions; maybe in a way that is how best to handle this situation. However, his hand’s still on the knob that takes him outside, away from you, the harsh redness on his skin prominent still, and there’s a hint of glassiness in those emotionless eyes.

“Please don’t leave,” you whisper, taking a step toward him, but his hand comes out to stop you, to reassure you. “Osamu, I am so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!” You try to get your point across, your own palm starting to sting now, a phantom memory. “Stay, go in there with me, I’ll be good and won’t bother you. Just don’t leave.”

“I know you’re sorry, and I know you didn’t mean to,” he closes the gap between you, leading you back to the bedroom, setting you down on the mattress again, and combed back your hair, noting the tears streaming down your face, and trying to prevent anything further from happening. He can’t handle it, not right now. “Be good and stay here, right here. I’m just going for a walk, I’ll be back.” He nods until you do, a small sniffle following, and he stands up once more, going to the door, then closing it behind him. You sit there in the silence, momentary, before you hear his voice on the other side. “I promise I’ll be back."

You believe him, you believe him with your almost your whole heart that he’ll be back. There’s the piece that doubts, though, the piece that knows he is suicidal, that he is leaving you to sit in your room to think about what you’ve done while he goes outside. Outside isn’t safe for a man like him, but apparently neither is being inside with you.

And Dazai makes you sit there, alone, by yourself, worried to death that he’s dead. That he’s hurt. That he hates you. Until the bedroom door opens after a few hours, to reveal your boyfriend, looking about the way he left, and he just offers his hand. He doesn’t say anything, and you stare at it before hesitantly, shakily, resting yours in his open palm, and he clears his throat while his thumb runs along your knuckles. “Thank you for waiting here. You were good.” He praises, sincerely, but his tone is low. He isn’t looking at you.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m really sorry,” he nearly interrupts, kissing the back of your hand a few times before letting it go and heading to the bathroom, the door shutting behind him, and the shower hissing to life. You don’t understand why he is the one apologizing, he didn’t inherently do anything wrong. You didn’t like what he said, but it didn’t warrant you slapping him across the face. Him kindly asking you to sit in your room to wait for him was generous compared to how that could have actually played out, but an apology from him just seems flat out wrong.

You carefully get up, slowly, shuffling to the door, wiping away what’s left of your visible crying, and falter. Your fist hangs in the air, gearing up to knock, but you wonder if he needs more space. However, it swings open to reveal him completely undressed, the hurt and agony he hid from you now etched across his features with a wrinkled brow and scrunched nose, the whites of his eyes fading to a rough red, and he finally acknowledges you, looks at you instead of through you, and his lips part, but he doesn’t know what to say. You eye him up and down, his gauze gone, scarred skin out on display, and being closer, you can tell his hair is still a bit damp and mangled — when he hasn't gotten in the shower yet.

“Osamu, did you jump in the river again?” You breathe, mortified, guilty.

“Will you wash me?” He asks, voice cracking, and you waver, wary. Your hands feel tainted with violence, and he wants you to take the time and care to bathe him. That should mean something, right? “P-Please.” He adds.

"Y-Yeah, alright," you have been holding back your tears since he left, trying to be a "big kid", not getting upset at every single thing like you usually do, but today hurts. Today is incredibly painful because you did something to him that you never thought you'd do, something that made him have to separate himself for a few hours from you, that made him jump in the river when he promised to never do it again. Something that has made his eyes a little redder and a little glassier. Something that has made him so vulnerable to ask you to wash him in the shower.

And you do. You take your time, being gentle — almost too gentle — while he is huddled on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest, and not speaking to you. As your fingers carefully massage shampoo in his scalp, the dam you had been holding back finally lets loose, and you're sobbing in the shower, washing his hair, and he has to bury his face in his arms to prevent you seeing that he's been crying too, more from saying such hurtful things to you, knowing fully well that he needs to handle you with care, and he didn't. He still believes that your actions were just, but he doesn't know if he could go through that again.

Then tomorrow, when it's a brand new day, you're both going to ignore it, as if nothing happened it.

i lost my train of thought with this one.

- ghxst

mini fic masterlist

Hiyah dear !! I’m really happy you sent this in, im hopinggg youre not too mad at me its six years late heh....

I am going to pair you with …

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 　　　　　　　　　【Ｔ𝐡𝐞　𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐝　𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞】

You would have met Sanji in the most natural way possible for you.

Through food.

You had either found yourself on the Sunny or near a place where the crew had stopped, and like always, you were drawn in by something comforting. Maybe it was the smell of something cooking, maybe it was curiosity, but either way you ended up near the kitchen.

Sanji noticed you immediately.

He always notices people, but with you it was different. You were not loud or demanding. You were watching, observing, clearly interested but a little hesitant to step in. That alone caught his attention.

“Hungry, mademoiselle?”

He says it smoothly, already offering you something before you even answer.

You probably got a little flustered, maybe tried to be polite about it, but once you tasted his cooking that was it. You lit up without even realizing it, and Sanji saw that.

That was all it took.

From then on, you kept coming back.

At first it was just for the food, but then it became for him too. You would linger, watching him cook, sometimes asking questions, sometimes offering your own ideas. Cooking was something you loved, and for Sanji, that meant everything.

He starts teaching you.

Not in a strict way, but in a soft, encouraging way. Guiding your hands, showing you techniques, letting you experiment. He never shuts down your ideas, even if they are a little messy. If anything, he loves how passionate you get.

And you do get passionate.

When you love something, you pour everything into it. Whether it is cooking, languages, or even just talking about a book you read, you come alive in those moments. Sanji absolutely adores that about you.

“You put your whole heart into everything, don’t you?”

He says it like it is something precious.

But he also sees the other side of you.

The lows.

The days where your emotions turn heavy, where everything feels too much, where you get quiet and distant and overwhelmed by your own feelings. Sanji is very emotionally aware, more than people give him credit for, and he notices immediately.

He does not ignore it.

He stays close.

If you withdraw, he gently pulls you back in. He will sit with you, bring you something warm to eat, something sweet, something comforting. He does not force you to talk, but he makes it clear you are not alone.

“If something is weighing on your heart, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

He means it.

Sanji is the type to pour his love into actions. You will feel it constantly. Plates made just for you. Little treats he knows you like. Adjusting recipes based on your tastes. Letting you stay in the kitchen even when no one else is allowed to crowd him.

You become his person in that space.

And when your emotions swing the other way, when you are excited, passionate, full of energy about something you love, he matches it. He listens to you ramble, asks questions, encourages you to keep going.

Your love for languages fascinates him too.

He will ask you to teach him phrases, repeat them with a ridiculous accent just to make you laugh, and suddenly your heavy mood is gone, replaced with something lighter.

The relationship is full of warmth.

Very expressive, very affectionate, very alive.

He is not intimidated by your emotional depth.

He cherishes it.

And in return, he gives you stability. Someone who stays consistent even when your feelings are not. Someone who reminds you that it is okay to feel deeply, but you are never alone in it.

You are allowed to be passionate. You are allowed to fall apart sometimes.

One of the best things for a bookworm who easily emotionally attach is that they could easily connect and absorb the story as if it were their own. But the problem is that it is a double edge sword.

I do not like tragedy books or movies. Why? Because it would take days for me to recover from the pain. It's especially hard when the author gives us an amazing storyline where you get butterflies for the couple and get giddy with them only to break them up.

[ I get it it's reality. People die from illness, people break up, some couples just don't work out. But it doesn't stop me from feeling the pain the characters feel. ]

So why am I writing about this? Well, I first experience this when I read an amazing fanfiction by Dramione. It was perfect. The pace was just right, the characters acted like they were the original and the world was realistic. Let me elaborate. They got together because of a reciprocal need. They hated each other but they needed each other’s help so they tolerated each other but just barely. They kept arguing, cringing at each other’s touch, and nearly break off their fake dating agreement. But slow, and I mean slowly, they started to accept their similarity. It took them 20 chapters to act friendly to each other and when they did became friends it was the most beautiful friendship I have ever saw. They weren't those cliche couples that took picnic dates and dinner dates. They were just what you would expect from Hermione and Draco. But then their contract was coming to an end and the agreement was that after getting what they need they would break the wedding off and never see each other again. It was an unbreakable bond so there was no getting out of it. And when that happened, Ron and Hermione got married while Draco married Hermione’s assistant. That broke my heart. I stopped reading for weeks and cried for three whole days. I even cried myself to sleep.

From then on, I would read a book and whenever I see red signs I would leave. Earlier this day, I read a random book without reading the synopsis. Still, I knew an idea of what type of book it was because of the type of recommendation it was under. It was an “It was you all along”. So I read the first chapter and I fell in love with the two of them. Their conversations were unique and their couple “thing” was something I never thought of. The flow was just beautiful. But what I never expected that the antagonist of the story was the girl’s history. I expected it to be the guy because he despised relationships and only stood by one-night stands. But then it only took two months of knowing each other for the guy to accept their relationship. I was bewildered because if the guy who never even had a two-night stand relationship easily claimed her as his girlfriend then where was the story going? Then I thought, may this is him dealing with maintaining the relationship. Halfway through we meet the girl’s first love who was mention in the letters she was reading at the beginning. I started to question everything. Because the girl’s first love was present when the girl was dealing with her abusive father. I saw a red flag when her boyfriend accidentally pushes the girl and hitting her in the face. Right there I stopped because I now knew how the book was probably going to end. Still, I didn't want to just assume so I read the epilogue. I was right. The story was about the cycle of an abusive relationship. The constant “it was an accident” “he loves him” were signs of that relationship not working out. In the end, she ended up with no one but still hinted that there is still a future with her first love.

@xxcutiemooglexx so I decided to write a thing were bakugou comforts the reader after they have heard their mom and dad arguing, and emotionally it has gotten to much.

"I can't do this anymore, you say that you love me and want what's best for this family but..." The arguments started up again last night. Mom and dad were yelling, I even heard glass shatter. I dont think, that their quirks were used or at least I couldn't hear them... This time. I try my best, I go to school, I work my part time job, help out around the house. However, I still feel as though all of this is my fault. Money, mistakes, attention, you name it, it all takes time out of their schedules.

I let out a sigh trying to drown out the voices from last night, each hurtful word, curse or slur racing around my mind. "Stop" my voice barely a wimper, my hands clutching to my stomach as I keel over, physically sick, mentally exhausted. Too wrapped up in my own head to notice, a slightly angry looking teenager right by me.

"Oi..." His voice agreesive, yet not actually all that hostile. It sounded like his tone was more of a default setting than anything else. I looked up in the direction of his voice. His facial expression matched the tone he emitted, however his eyes held slight concern. "Do you need a doctor?" He asks, clearly taking note of the bodily position I'm in.

'Oh... No. Sorry, I'm probably in your way" I say softly standing up, not noticing the tears that are now halfway down my face.

Bakugou sighs, irritation clear as he pulls me in hiding the tears that suddenly turned into a free flow of emotion. How is it a complete stranger can have such a comforting effect on someone. Bakugo himself unsure why he is reacting the way he is, could he blame it on his time with best jeanist, or perhaps he had been surrounded by deku and his friends for too long?

"I'm...sorry" I spoke the words, as I felt my throat close up and chest become tight from trying to force the tears along with the pain to stop. A subtle but clear tch sound was heard from the stranger.

"Whatever, just calm down" Although the blond with an aggressive temperament and body language to match sounded almost dismissive, he himself didnt make a move to move until the tears had stopped, breathing became steady and I looked up. At this he took a step back. "Sit on that bench, I'll be right back" he states

I nod softly feeling too drained to argue and too confused not to want to know what he was up to. As I took a seat on the bench in the shade, hoping to hide my puffy face and reddening eyes, he dissapeared into a convenience store, only to return five minutes later.

"Use these... Your face is a..." As though he was about to finish that sentence he must of decided against it as he passed me some face wipes.

"Thank you...ERM" I say accepting the wipes, implying what is your name whilst, cleaning my face as I get rid of any tear residue that was making my face feel sticky.

"Katsuki Bakugou, yours?" He asks he was clearly raised with manners, from his actions and the words he spoke. Just a little hot tempered naturally.

"Right.. I'm (Full name). It's a pleasure to meet you. I appreciate everything you've just done for me" I speak gently, appreciatively a small greatful smile gracing my features.

Bakugou proceeds to pass me a can of coffee a tug playing at the right corner of his lips but other than that no sign of any happy kind of emotions to be seen. "Well can't let you cry in front of everyone. It wouldn't be very heroic" he says in almost a cocky tone before getting up walking of down the street, without bothering to look back. I, myself too stunned to realise what's going on, can't even call out his name.

Looking down to open the can of coffee that bakugo had passed to me, I notice the receipt for the coffee and facial wipes with a note on it.