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A/N: very wishy washy on this one, I've been having a few issues with writing lately so im sorry for any mistakes...but here this is !

Synopsis: Your yandere boyfriend's compliment goes a little too far when he tries to cheer you up.

T/W: Mildly graphic threats of violence, forced kissing, manipulation, insecure reader, yandere themes/behaviors


You found yourself in a bathroom stall for the fifth time in one evening, sitting on the toilet with your head in your hands. You just wanted it all to go away: the people, the drinks, the music that boomed in your ears. You had already stained your sequined clothes with spilt champagne earlier that night, the stickiness of it on your chest beginning to mix with the thick sweat crawling down your neck. It was too damn hot in here, the buzz of the bathroom fan making you claw at your updone hair.

The mass amounts of club goers here were far more accustomed to this lifestyle than you. Which was intimidating, to say the least. They all looked so perfectly dolled up-- not a smudge of makeup out of place, delicious scents of colognes and perfumes mixing together. Not to mention, they could hold their alcohol far better than you could.

One bitter cocktail and you were already hazy-eyed, your face warm and balance a little loopy. You were by no means drunk, but the contents of your drink had certainly offered a level of instability to your emotions and movements.

The image of men in their chic dress shirts that showed hours of gym time and girls in their tight party dresses made you want to curl up in the corner and marinate in self-pity. It was hard not to compare yourself, not when you spent hours searching for the right clothes that would fit with your boyfriend's stylish accents, constantly perfecting your concealer to hide the dark bags beneath your eyes.

And yet, even with your hard work, you still felt out of place, still felt the pinch of hundreds of passing stares and biting grins of condescension as you stood next to your overly charismatic significant other.

Through your pounding headache and shaky breaths, You could hear the winding creak of the bathroom door being pushed open.

Narrow-footed shoes echoed on the white tile floor, slowly passing each bathroom stall and sink basin.

"Sweetheart?" A voice questioned. "You in here?"

You stayed silent, covering your mouth and lifting your feet from the floor. You didn't want him to know you had spent the past 20 minutes in here wiping away stinging tears from your eyes, shoving paper towels down the front of your dazzling shirt to soak up champagne. You smelled like alcohol and whatever cleaner they used to permeate the bathroom with, and it certainly wouldn't be a sight that you wanted your boyfriend to see.

However, despite your attempts to make yourself disappear, you saw his clubbing shoes patiently make their way to the front of your stall. You looked within the separating crack of the door and the wall, seeing a blur of black clothes and sun-kissed skin. Your eyes focused and without warning you made eye contact with him, his face showing a worried, yet sly grin. He was waiting-- peering in on you sitting there in ruin.

You jolted in surprise, your foot slipping from the toilet seat as you looked away. You hoped if you moved fast enough, that maybe he would think you were someone else.

"C'mon, let me in." He pressed against the door, trying to open it from the outside.

Well, seemed like tricking him didn't work.

"Don't come in here Ezra! I--" You weren't sure how to convince him to go away. "I don't want you to see me."

He went quiet, keeping his hand atop the door handle and watching the door.

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