#he will break like an eggshell if you are too hard on him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bettys-redwinesupernova · 3 months ago

Text

FEAR OF WATER

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: after an abusive past, y/n struggles with toxic communication in her relationship with rafe. when fear pushes her away, love teaches her to stay.

based on this ask !! this was a really angsty and emotional one to write and i LOVED it anon, so thank you, and apologies it’s taken a while <3

(check out my other rafe cameron & drew starkey works here !!)

WARNINGS: angst w/ a comforting ending, slightly toxic!reader (unintentional), emotional abuse (by readers ex), trauma responses, arguing, crying, cursing, soft!rafe, fear of letting people in, flinching, detailed descriptions of emotional abuse & manipulation. (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

THIRD PERSON +

The slam of the front door rattled the picture frames on the walls, the weight of Y/N’s footsteps heavy against the wooden floor as she stormed into the kitchen. Her hands were shaking—she hated that they always did when she was this upset. It made her feel weak, even when the anger inside her burned so hot she thought it might consume her entirely.

Rafe followed behind, slower, guarded. He had that look in his eyes again—the one that made her stomach twist with guilt before she could even process why. The look of someone who was tired, not from the fight itself, but from the exhaustion of never knowing how the next argument would go.

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this,” she spat, her voice sharper than she intended. “You know exactly what you did.”

Rafe exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “Y/N, I don’t—what did I do? Just tell me.”

His calmness made her angrier. It made her feel unheard, like he wasn’t taking this seriously. Her brain was wired to expect resistance, to expect gaslighting, to prepare for the fight that had always followed in her past relationship.

“You said you’d call, and you didn’t. You do this all the time, Rafe. You make promises, and then you break them, like it doesn’t even matter.”

“That’s not fair,” he said carefully. “I got caught up at work. I should’ve called, I’m sorry, but it’s not like I did it on purpose.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. There’s always an excuse.”

He frowned, stepping closer, but she took a step back, arms folding over her chest like she was shielding herself from an attack that wasn’t coming. He sighed, something pained flickering across his face.

“Do you hear how you’re talking to me right now?” His voice was quiet, not angry, not defensive—just… tired.

And that was when it hit her.

She wasn’t even really arguing with him. Not Rafe. Not the boy who held her when she had nightmares, who traced circles on her back when she was overwhelmed, who had never once raised his voice at her even when she threw words like daggers. She was arguing with the ghost of the man who had hurt her before, who had made her feel like she had to fight to be heard, to be understood.

Her chest tightened, shame creeping up her spine.

She was training him.

She was teaching Rafe—patient, loving Rafe—that no matter how hard he tried, it would never be good enough for her. That he’d always be walking on eggshells, waiting for the next time he slipped up and she lashed out.

She was turning him into someone who feared her.

The realisation knocked the air from her lungs, and before she could stop herself, her feet were already moving, carrying her toward the door.

“Y/N, wait,” Rafe called, but she couldn’t—she couldn’t.

If she let him say something kind, if she let him look at her with that soft, exhausted sadness in his eyes, she’d break down right in front of him.

She barely registered getting into her car, barely noticed the shaking of her hands as she fumbled with the keys.

And then she was driving.

Her vision blurred with tears, and she blinked them away furiously, but they just kept coming, spilling down her cheeks in hot, silent streams.

She had pushed him too far this time.

She knew it—knew, in the deepest part of her heart, that there was only so much someone could take.

She wanted to be better. She needed to be better. But how could she, when she didn’t even know what that looked like? When she had spent so long being told that love was a battlefield, that the only way to be heard was to yell louder, fight harder?

She should’ve let Rafe in. She should’ve told him why she reacted the way she did, why she felt like she had to accuse before she could be accused, hurt before she could be hurt.

But it was too late.

She had to leave before he could do it to her.

Because that’s what she had been taught—that love never stayed, that sooner or later, they always left.

And she’d rather be the one walking away than the one being abandoned.

The thought shattered something inside her, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself sob.

—

Rafe had never felt this kind of exhaustion before.

It wasn’t the kind that came after a long day working in the heat or the kind that settled in his bones after a sleepless night. No, this was different. It was the weight of not knowing—the crushing uncertainty of whether or not he had just lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He hadn’t stopped calling since the moment Y/N ran out of his house. The first few went straight to voicemail. Then, after what felt like an eternity, a text finally came through.

I’m safe. I just need some space.

The relief had been instant—so strong that his knees nearly buckled. But it didn’t last long. Because the truth was, she might be safe, but she wasn’t okay.

And the worst part? He didn’t know how to fix it.

Rafe sat on the edge of his bed, phone still clutched in his hands, staring at the screen like it might give him the answers he needed. But there were no answers—just the hollow ache in his chest and the endless loop of their fight playing over and over again in his head.

It wasn’t the argument itself that unsettled him. Couples fought—it was normal. He and Y/N had had disagreements before, sure, but never like this.

The way she’d looked at him tonight wasn’t how someone looked at the person they loved. It was how someone looked at a threat.

And that… that was what haunted him the most.

Rafe never wanted to be something Y/N had to defend herself against.

His thoughts raced, trying to piece together why she had reacted the way she did. It wasn’t like he’d done anything that bad—he’d forgotten to call. That was all. It wasn’t like he lied, or cheated, or intentionally hurt her. And yet, the second he tried to explain, she had shut down, turned on him, twisted it into something it wasn’t.

It was almost like… she expected him to hurt her.

The realisation hit him hard.

Y/N had mentioned her ex before, offhandedly. Just a couple of times. She never said much, just that he was shitty, that he messed her up.

But this… this was more than just the baggage of a bad breakup. This was damage.

And if there was anyone who might have more answers, it was Sarah.

—

Sarah wasn’t surprised when she opened the door to find Rafe standing there, disheveled and tense, like he’d been pacing for hours.

She sighed, leaning against the frame. “I figured you’d show up eventually.”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Did she tell you?”

Sarah nodded her head. “She sent me a short text. It was reallt vague, but I gathered it wasn’t good.”

Rafe swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I just… I don’t understand. She got so defensive. It was like—like she thought I was trying to hurt her. And when I tried to calm things down, it just made her angrier.”

Sarah’s expression softened. “Rafe…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “You know her last relationship wasn’t good, right?”

“She said it was shitty, but—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t realise how bad.”

Sarah sighed, crossing her arms. “Her ex was emotionally abusive. Manipulative. The kind of guy who’d twist things until she thought she was the problem. He made her question everything. Gaslit her, isolated her. It took her forever to get out.”

Rafe’s stomach twisted.

Y/N had never told him any of that.

Sarah continued, her voice quieter now. “She’s not like this because she wants to be, Rafe. It’s a trauma response. She learned to survive by being defensive. By fighting back first before she could be blamed. And now, even when she’s with someone who actually loves her, it’s hard to unlearn that.”

Rafe nodded slowly, his jaw tight. He could see it now, see how it all fit together.

How the moment something felt like it could go wrong, Y/N would push him away. How she always needed control over the situation, how she sometimes twisted his words—not because she wanted to hurt him, but because that’s how she had survived before.

She wasn’t fighting him. She was fighting the past.

Sarah sighed. “I don’t want to say more—it’s not my story to tell. But if you really care about her, you’ll be patient. She needs to learn how to trust that you’re not him.”

Rafe nodded, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I do care,” he muttered. “More than I probably should.”

Sarah gave him a small, sad smile. “Then don’t give up on her yet.”

—

Rafe sat in his truck, staring at the dark road ahead, his mind still reeling from everything Sarah had told him.

It all made sense now.

It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t love him. It wasn’t even that she wanted to hurt him. It was that she didn’t know any different.

And that broke his fucking heart.

He thought about the way she looked at him when they weren’t fighting—when she was curled up in his arms, or when she laughed at something stupid he said, or when she kissed him like he was the only thing keeping her steady.

That was her.

Not the girl who lashed out. Not the girl who pushed and twisted things in an attempt to stay in control.

He couldn’t let this be the thing that ended them.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that Y/N deserved to be loved the right way. She deserved someone who wouldn’t run just because loving her required patience.

She deserved someone who would stay.

And if that meant showing up even when she didn’t know how to ask him to—if that meant proving to her that he wasn’t like the man who hurt her—then he’d do it.

He threw the truck into drive, determination settling in his chest.

He needed to see her.

He needed to talk to her.

So Rafe headed towards his place to grab his phone before heading to Y/N’s to fix things.

He had barely stepped into his house when the knock echoed through the quiet space.

He frowned, glancing toward the door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and after the night he’d had, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for surprises. But when he pulled it open, his breath caught in his throat.

Y/N stood there, her frame swallowed by an oversized hoodie, sleeves pulled over her hands as she twisted the fabric between trembling fingers. Her eyes—blood-shot and swollen from crying—met his with a hesitance that made his chest ache.

She looked afraid.

Not of him.

But of what came next.

“Y/N—”

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been crying for hours. Maybe she had. The weight of everything unsaid hung between them, thick and suffocating. Rafe wanted to say something, anything, but she beat him to it.

And when she spoke, the words tumbled out in a frantic, shaky rush.

“I—God, I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted, sniffing as she swiped a sleeve under her nose. “I just—I need to say this before I lose my nerve.”

Rafe nodded slowly, heart pounding. “Okay.”

She took a deep breath, and then, like a dam breaking, everything spilled out.

“My ex—he wasn’t just shitty, Rafe. He was toxic. He—he manipulated me, controlled me, made me think I was losing my mind. Every time we fought, he’d twist my words until I couldn’t even tell what was real anymore. And when I got upset, that became the problem. I was the problem. He convinced me I was crazy. That I was too much, too sensitive, too difficult to love.”

Her voice cracked, and Rafe’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

He had felt it before—the anger, the quiet rage that settled deep in his bones whenever he thought about the way Y/N’s past had left its mark on her. But now, hearing her say it aloud, it burned white-hot in his veins.

“I spent so much time walking on eggshells, just waiting for the next thing he’d use against me,” she continued, voice thick with emotion. “So eventually, I just… I learned to fight back first. Before he could get the upper hand. Before he could make me feel small again.”

Rafe swallowed hard, feeling something inside him break at the way she spoke—like she still carried the weight of it all, like she still believed she was the problem.

“Y/N,” he started, but she shook her head.

“I need to finish,” she whispered. “Please.”

He nodded, his throat tight.

She exhaled shakily. “I didn’t mean to treat you like him. I swear I didn’t. But I don’t know how else to be. Every time we fight, I feel like I have to defend myself before you can hurt me. But you never do. You’re nothing like him, Rafe. You’ve never made me feel small, never made me question myself. You’re the only person I’m actually terrified of losing, so tonight—” Her voice wavered. “Tonight, I left before you could.”

Rafe felt his heart shatter.

She had run because she thought he’d leave her. That he’d get tired of her, of the way she struggled to let go of the past.

She didn’t realise he never would.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she barely seemed to notice, too lost in her own confession.

“I don’t want to be like this,” she whispered, voice raw with desperation. “I don’t want to push you away. I don’t want to hurt you just because I don’t know what healthy love is supposed to look like.”

“Y/N…” Rafe’s voice broke, and suddenly, he was moving—closing the space between them, cupping her face in his hands with a gentleness that made her shudder.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, she just leaned into his touch, like she was memorising the feeling of him still being there.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so fucking sorry, Rafe. I know I’ve been difficult, I know I’ve been hard to love, but please—please don’t go anywhere.”

He felt his own tears spill over at that—at the sheer, heartbreaking fear in her voice.

She thought he was going to leave.

She truly believed that he’d wake up one day and decide she wasn’t worth it.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his grip tightening like he was afraid she might slip away again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Ever.”

Her breath hitched, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, like she was trying to anchor herself to him.

“I promise,” he continued, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “You are not too much. You are not difficult to love. I don’t care how long it takes for you to believe that, I’m not going anywhere.”

A sob wracked through her body, but this time, it wasn’t just pain—it was relief.

And then, in the quietest voice, she whispered, “I’ll get help.”

Rafe pulled back slightly, searching her eyes.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “I want to get better. I want to be better. For us.”

She let out a shaky breath, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and determination.

“Now I’m not afraid of the water,” she whispered. “I’ll dive right in. And I can be brave, so I’m gonna give it a try.” Her lip trembled. “Because I know you’ll be on the other side.”

Rafe’s heart clenched.

Because for the first time since she had come into his life, Y/N wasn’t running.

She was staying.

And so was he.

Rafe cradled her face, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, his own tears still slipping down his cheeks.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. “I’ll always be right here.”

She exhaled shakily, nodding as she let herself fall into his embrace, arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

And as they stood there, wrapped up in each other, Rafe knew—this was what love was supposed to be.

Messy. Imperfect. But real.

And this time, neither of them were afraid of stepping into unknown waters.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

thank you so much for this request anon, i love me some angst !! pls keep requesting everyone, i am working my way through them and i have like four in my drafts rn to be edited so stay tuned !!

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

619 notes · View notes

98752-blog · 7 months ago

Text

You normally kept to yourself, a little cold, a little aloof - polite but definitely standoffish.

Soap takes that as incentive to pick at you, tease you anyway he can - he was bordering unprofessional, but hey, he got Lt. to open up didn't he? You shoot back just as much, a little more sharp but he can see your shell breaking.

one day, he notices you seem a little more tired, a little more drained, you're in the hallway, murmuring quietly into your phone. He can't make out what exactly is being said, but he decides to go up to you once he sees you've hung up.

"Look as though yer boyfrien' jus broke up w'ye," he grinned, cute and boyish

You say nothing, your chest is shaking and your breathing is shallow. You're afraid if you speak, you'll just crumble.

Your lack of words stuns him, and you shock him even more when you just walk by him to head back to your room. He trails after you, not much in mind, though deep in the recesses of his mind, he is worried.

When you go to shut the door in his face he can't hold back his comment:

"Team's walkin' on eggshells cus' a ye"

You shoot him a nasty glare, and all the words he wanted to say die in his throat. There are thin tear tracks down your face, he pushes forward, "Hen, i didnae mean,"

papers shift underneath his feet and he looks down in surprise, there are letters and trinkets strewn about your floor, pictures and so so many letters.

"What's all this?"

"Get out Soap." You find an empty spot in the mess and he has reason to believe you've sat there more than once.

"Worried abou' ye." You just shake your head, hands finding the letters closest to you. He carefully steps over the mementos, and scoots until he's standing next to you, before plopping down gracelessly.

"Lookin' like yer friend really did break up with ye." He said quietly, taking everything in.

"Johnny, can you just go, please." Your voice breaks midsentence and he whips his head around and sees you now, fat tears down your cheeks. Without thinking his hands reach out and he pulls you into his arms, cradling your head against his chest.

"Ach, I- Hen, listen, I'm an eejit, a big smelly eejit - I'm sorry, really, I am - don' cry, please." He whispered, heart clenching as you trembled in his arms. When you settle, he shifts to reach for a letter - there are so many he doesn't have to move far. It's from your mother, apologizing for how she had reacted to you moving across the world.

He remains silent and stationary, before reaching behind him and grabbing a blanket to wrap around you, tucking the ends behind him.

"Sometimes I wish I wasn't here." He jolts and squeezes you, "I ken bonnie, it's ay tough life ta hae any relationship."

"I don't have a boyfriend Soap. I mean missing all these big things back home... losing my childhood dog, missing my grandmas funeral, not being with my grandad while he was hospitalized."

You sniffle and it sounds like a gunshot to him, his heart beating too fast, "I'm not there to support my family, I'm not there for them when I should be."

"Ye can take a leave." He says, voice low and soothing. You scoff, wet and rough, "What then? Try my best to put everything back together just to leave and go save the world again?"

"Their world is falling apart and mine is going with it. Theirs is the one I'm supposed to be saving - I can't - because I'm not there for them when I should be."

His arms were tight around you, "I ken bonnie, it's hard... hard to be away from the people you love."

"I wouldn't come back." You whispered hoarsely. the words hanging in the air like a dirty secret.

The door creaked open and his head shot up, "Bloody hell," Ghost stands in the doorway, his figure nearly blocking out the light. His eyes dart from Johnny's to your small figure, bundled and cradled gently. He lingers for a beat more before he trudges in, leaning down to pick up all the letters and trinkets off the floor. He sits in your chair with a heavy sigh, eyes scanning over everything in his hands.

A heavy question sits in the air: Do you want out?

"Sergeant." The Manchurian accent rumbled in the space, you lifted your head up, eyes bloodshot.

"Sir."

"My office, 0600 tomorrow."

"Sir." Ghost looks at you impassively, before directing his attention to the notes in his hands.

The words blurred together,

what you've missed

what you're going to do when you visit

when are you available

would you ever come back

Your best friend got married, a wedding invitation sits unopened, the date months past - a mission in Russia, he recalls vaguely.

An invitation to a family gathering, new relatives to meet, new babies to play with, faces to see, places to go

missed

missedmissedmissed

Ghost couldn't relate, a shadow of who he used to be, a dead man walking.

But he feels a small ache; a bittersweet longing, he may not have people who cared for him anymore

but you certainly do.

And he can spur the smallest bit of humanity in him to feel some regret for you, knowing that despite him not having anyone, he wasn't being left behind in their lives - unlike you.

for: @waves-against-a-cliff thank you, for speaking sense

for:@rememberwren can't write heartache like you do, but damn trying - projecting in the meantime

#cod #cod x reader #soap x reader #angst #ghost x reader #platonic #want an out

522 notes · View notes

sorvqlz · 2 months ago

Note

Ticci Toby headcanons in a relationship with the reader? :3

Ticci Toby®

Hello !! I hope my pov meets your expectations this is of course how I personally think he would be

Romantic Hcs:

- Toby’s idea of love is warped. He never had a stable, caring family, so his affection comes in extremes—either overwhelming clinginess or sudden, cold detachment.

- He would be obsessive. Not in a cute, protective way, but in a “you belong to me, and I will kill anyone who tries to take you away” way.

- He wouldn’t fully understand normal relationship boundaries. If his partner ever tried to leave, he wouldn’t just let them go—he might stalk them, watch from a distance, or even resort to threats to keep them close.

- His paranoia would make him constantly question his partner’s loyalty. If they spend too much time away or talk to someone new, he won’t necessarily lash out, but he’ll watch—waiting for signs of betrayal.

- If he does get jealous, it won’t be dramatic—he won’t argue or demand reassurance. Instead, the person making him jealous might just disappear one day, and Toby will act like nothing happened.

- Toby is violent by nature. He doesn’t have a normal way of handling anger. If his partner upsets him, he might not hurt them directly, but he could break things, punch walls, or go out and kill someone to vent his emotions.(He'll try very hard not to be physically abusive with you, because he's not evil he's just mentally disturbed and because of trauma not because he was born crazy)

- If his partner is involved in his world (e.g., another killer or someone who doesn’t fear violence), they might be able to navigate his moods carefully. If they’re not, they’d constantly feel like they’re walking on eggshells.

- He wouldn’t tolerate disobedience. If his partner actively tries to defy him or leave, he won’t hesitate to use force to keep them in line—whether that’s intimidation, threats, or physical restraint.

- Toby isn’t completely incapable of love. In his own twisted way, he genuinely cares for his partner. If they’re hurt, he’ll take care of them. If they’re sad, he might not know how to comfort them, but he’ll sit with them in silence because he wants to help.

- He enjoys physical closeness, but it’s more for his benefit than theirs. Holding onto his partner makes him feel real—like there’s something in this world that belongs to him.

- He might force his partner into isolation. Not necessarily by locking them up, but by manipulating them into believing the outside world is too dangerous and that he’s the only one who truly understands them.

Bonus:

If His partner tried to leave

- Toby would see it as the ultimate betrayal. He’d either break down completely—laughing hysterically or crying—or flip a switch and go dead silent.

- There are only two possible outcomes: They don’t get far (bcz he’ll find them), or he lets them go only to stalk them for weeks or months later.

- If they run to someone else for help, Toby will take it personally—and that person won’t be around for much longer.

Author's note: realistically toby in a relationship wouldn’t be safe or romantic. He’s an unhinged killer with deep issues, and anyone involved with him would be trapped in an obsessive, dangerous love that’s impossible to escape.

(I still believe he can get better deep down, because in my pov the creepypasta's are forced to be killers of Slenderman since he's abusive and shit, I personally think that if Slenderman didn't recruit the crp's lots of them wouldn't be killers)

#ticci toby #tobias erin rogers #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta fics #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta headcanon #crp #creepypasta #crp fandom #ticci toby x reader #x reader #this fandom is dead

204 notes · View notes

lowryuk · 2 months ago

Text

Yours to Break.

Pairing: Ex-boyfriend!Eren x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.3K

Summary: No matter how hard you try to stay away from Eren, he always finds a way back to you—and you always let him.

A/N: hihihiya! I hope you enjoy and if you do, please consider to like, reblog and follow :D. I’m always open to give additional headcannons on my fics, so don’t be afraid to fill up my inbox with questions or comments—I’d love to answer them! The ex!bf eren won the poll so here it is. Look forward to the jock!Eren x reader that will come out some time next week (aiming for Tuesday night). Also, thank you for all the love on “What Was Mine.” I’m super glad so many of you enjoyed it :)

Side note (read after you finish fic to avoid spoilers): I know Eren’s pretty toxic in this one (I genuinely didn’t mean to do that lol) but I promise you he gets better over time and him and reader work it out.

(Warnings are below undercut)

Warning(s): Toxic!Eren (sorry), borderline abusive relationship (Eren’s very manipulative), Violent!Eren (but not towards reader), fight scene, possessiveness, angst, jealousy from both sides, insecurity, unprotected sex (wrap your willyyy), p in v, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, marking/biting, dirty talk from Eren, hair pulling, cum eating, fingering, finger sucking

Taglist❣️: @erenjaegerwifee, @m0chamami

Eren Yeager was your first love.

It started in high school, in a cramped math classroom where he took the seat beside you and, with an easy confidence, offered to help when he noticed you struggling. Numbers had always come naturally to him, while you found comfort in words. So when you walked into English class and spotted him flipping aimlessly through the pages of a novel he clearly had no interest in, it only made sense that he patted the seat beside him, smirking as if to say, your turn to return the favor.

He was charming in a way that felt easy, the kind of person who could make anyone laugh with little effort, who was liked by everyone without even trying. And he knew it. He took advantage of the way you got flustered when he leaned in too close, how your gaze would drop to your desk anytime he said something bold, teasing you just enough to make your stomach tighten in that unfamiliar, fluttering way.

At some point, he asked for your number. It started off as innocent as it could be—just conversations about homework and upcoming assignments, exchanging notes before tests. But before long, the texts became less about school and more about each other. Late-night messages filled with inside jokes, subtle flirting that you’d overanalyze before falling asleep.

Then, one day, he asked if you wanted to hang out after school. You said yes, and sitting in his car, parked in a quiet lot, he turned to you and asked you out on your first real date. From that moment on, Eren was yours, and you were his.

For three years, life was blissful.

Then, in your first year of university, something shifted. Eren changed.

The boy who had once been so easygoing, so secure, had suddenly become possessive. At first, it was subtle—an offhand remark about how a guy in your class seemed too friendly, a joke about how you were too nice for your own good. But soon, it escalated. If you had a male partner for a group project, Eren had to be present, insisting it was only to “keep an eye on things.” The first time he said that, you could only stare at him, stunned into silence.

He had never been this way before. He had never cared if you had male friends, never acted as if he didn’t trust you.

"Why would you even think that?" you had asked him, incredulous, because you had done nothing—absolutely nothing—to warrant the suspicion lacing his voice. But he brushed it off, called it a joke, even though there was nothing funny about the way he was suddenly scrutinizing your every move.

You should have left then. You should have realized that love wasn’t supposed to feel like walking on eggshells, wasn’t supposed to be a constant battle to prove your loyalty to someone who once trusted you implicitly. But the thought of leaving him was suffocating. You didn’t know how to exist in a world where he wasn’t yours, where you weren’t his. So, you bit your tongue every time he accused you of things you hadn’t done. You let it slide when he checked your phone, when he questioned why a guy had liked your photo, when he made you feel like you had to explain yourself for things that never needed an explanation before.

And you endured it all—until the night of your best friend’s birthday.

She had gone all out, booking a VIP section at one of the best clubs in the city, followed by a stay at a high-end hotel where everyone would unwind, sober up, and just enjoy each other’s company. The moment you told Eren about it, he made his stance clear—he didn’t want you to go. You weren’t surprised. You had skipped out on nearly every get-together in the past year to appease him, and on the rare occasions you did go, Eren had been right there with you, monitoring, hovering, making it painfully obvious that he didn’t like or trust your friends and your friends felt the same way about him.

They had been in your ear for months now, warning you that his behavior was concerning, that he was controlling every aspect of your life. The worst part? They weren’t wrong. You just weren’t ready to admit it yet.

So this time, you refused to back down. You had to go—if not for yourself, then at least for the people who had been patiently waiting for you to come to your senses.

Eren wasn’t happy, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Instead, he settled for damage control, reminding you—no, demanding—that you answer every single one of his messages throughout the night and call him the second you want to go home and he’ll pick you up. Because god forbid you stay the night with your girlfriends. God forbid he didn’t have a grip on you, even for just one evening.

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your dress, adjusting the hem before stepping out of your room. The black bodycon hugged every curve, accentuating the shape Eren had always been so possessive over. And judging by the way his eyes darkened the moment he saw you, that possessiveness was alive and well.

His gaze swept over you slowly, his jaw tightening. He didn’t say a word at first, just exhaled through his nose like he was biting his tongue. It was rare for him to hold back, but you knew exactly why he did—because if he started an argument now, there was a chance you’d walk out of this apartment and ignore his messages for the rest of the night.

And Eren couldn’t have that.

So instead of criticizing your outfit, he did what he always did. He pulled you into him, his hands trailing down your waist, pressing flush against the fabric he so clearly disapproved of. His lips ghosted over your cheek before dipping lower, warm breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck. Then, before you could react, he sucked at the spot beneath your jaw, just enough to leave a mark.

You let out a sharp whine, shoving at his chest. “Eren.”

He smirked, fingers tracing over the faint bruise he’d left behind like a signature. “M’sorry, baby,” he murmured, though he sounded anything but apologetic. “You just look so good. Smell good, too.”

You sighed, shaking your head. You knew what he was doing. He’d played this game before, trying to soften you up with kisses and sweet words, hoping you’d decide to stay in instead. But tonight, you weren’t falling for it.

“Come on, ‘ren,” you said, stepping back before he could try again. “I’m gonna be late.”

The corner of his mouth twitched downward, a heavy exhale slipping past his lips. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he must’ve realized it was pointless. Without another word, he grabbed his keys and his jacket, leading you out to the car.

The drive to the club was quiet. His hand rested on your thigh like it always did, but there was a stiffness to his touch, like he was holding something back. When he pulled up to the entrance, he reached for his phone and sent you a notification.

“There. Sent you money for drinks,” he said, his voice low. “Text me if you need anything. Call me when you leave.”

You glanced at your phone before looking back at him. His green eyes locked onto yours, intense and expectant, waiting for you to promise you’d do exactly as he asked.

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Thanks, ‘ren. I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t look satisfied, but he let you go, watching as you stepped out of the car and made your way toward the entrance.

Inside, the club was already packed. Music thrummed through the walls, shaking the floor beneath your heels as you moved through the crowd. Your friends spotted you before you even had a chance to search for them, waving you over with excited grins.

The night started exactly as planned—shots, music, laughter, all of it. You danced with your girlfriends in the middle of the club, letting loose, letting the alcohol warm your veins and wash away the stress. A few guys—friends of your friends from university—joined in, pairing off with the girls around you. You weren’t interested, content just dancing with them, but then—

You felt hands wrap around your waist.

You stiffened immediately, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The touch was unwelcome, unfamiliar, and when you tried to pull away, the grip only tightened. The man behind you was drunk—too drunk to register your discomfort, too drunk to listen to your protests. You shoved at his arms, twisting in his grip. “Hey—let go.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he chuckled, slurring something incoherent into your ear as he held on tighter. Eventually, you stomped on his foot hard enough with your heel that he let go, but the damage had already been done.

Somewhere in the crowd, a camera was on.

You didn’t know who recorded it, didn’t know how it got out so fast, but somehow, the video landed in front of Eren. Some guy—one of the ones dancing with your friends—had been filming his own night, oblivious to what he was capturing in the background: you, struggling against a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Eren follows that guy and by chance, viewed his story. And he saw everything.

By the time you finally ripped yourself from the stranger’s grip and rushed back to the VIP room, dragging your friends with you, your phone was already blowing up with notifications. Call after call. Message after message.

What the fuck?

Who the fuck was that?

Pick up the damn phone.

Answer me.

Your stomach churned. You sat down, fingers flying across your screen as you started typing an explanation, but no response. You sat on the couch, in distress. Your friends pried, asking what was wrong, but you played it off, painting a smile on your face. “Nothing! I’m just a little overwhelmed from all the drinks and dancing. You guys should get some more drinks, I’ll join you in a bit.”

The girls nod and make their way back to the bar. The moment the last girl leaves, your attention is back on your phone. 16 minutes have passed and still no response. You chew at your lip. You knew it was only a matter of time before his face appeared here.

And you were right.

The door to the VIP room slammed open.

Eren stormed in, his eyes locking onto yours. They were sharp, furious, burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You stand up to explain yourself, praying to get an explanation in before he rains hell on you.

“Eren, I didn’t—”

“Save it,” he cut you off, voice low, edged with something dangerous. “I don’t wanna fucking hear it.”

He didn’t give you a chance to argue, didn’t wait for an explanation. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you, dragging you through the club. You followed, chest tight with unease, because you knew—knew the second you got in the car, he was going to explode.

But the universe had other plans.

Before you could reach the exit, a body stumbled into Eren’s path, swaying with the weight of too much alcohol and poor decisions.

It was him.

The same guy from before. The same hands that had grabbed at you, the same slurred voice that had whispered too close to your ear. His eyes were glazed over, unfocused, but the smirk he wore was clear as day. He was saying something, words too muddled to make out over the bass of the music, but whatever it was—Eren understood. His shoulders tensed, jaw locking so tightly it looked like it might snap. You barely had time to react, to process the moment, before—

Crack.

The first punch landed so fast, so brutally, you almost didn’t register what had happened. The guy’s head snapped to the side, his body crumbling beneath the force of Eren’s knuckles meeting his jaw. A choked grunt left his lips as he staggered back, crashing into a nearby table, sending glasses and bottles tumbling to the floor in a shatter of glass and spilled liquor.

Gasps rippled through the club. The air shifted, charged with electricity, the weight of too many eyes turning to watch the scene unfold.

But Eren wasn’t finished.

He was on him before the guy could even think about recovering. Grabbing the front of his shirt, he yanked him forward, then sent another devastating punch across his face, knuckles colliding with bone. The guy groaned, his head snapping back with the impact, but Eren didn’t stop. His rage was relentless, a force of nature that had no intention of slowing down.

Another punch. Then another.

The force of each hit sent dull, sickening thuds reverberating through the air. Blood smeared across Eren’s knuckles, staining his skin as his breathing grew heavier, more ragged.

“Eren,” you gasped, reaching out instinctively, but he wasn’t listening.

He couldn’t hear anything over the white-hot fury roaring in his ears.

The guy was barely putting up a fight, too drunk and dazed to do anything but weakly raise his hands in a feeble attempt to block the blows. But Eren didn’t care. He just kept going, pinning him to the floor with his weight, his fist drawing back once more—

Until strong arms wrapped around him from behind. The bouncer.

It took everything in him to haul Eren off, muscles straining as he pried him away from the bloodied, barely conscious man beneath him.

“Enough, man! That’s enough!” the bouncer barked, struggling to keep a firm hold as Eren thrashed against his grip.

The guy’s friends rushed to his side, helping him up, but he could barely stand, his legs wobbling beneath him as he slumped into their arms. Blood dripped from his nose, from the corner of his mouth, smearing across his cheek in messy streaks.

You swallow hard, the weight of a hundred eyes pressing into your back as you force your legs to move. Shame coils in your stomach, heavy and suffocating, burning hotter with every step you take toward the exit. You don’t need to turn around to know your friends are still watching—silent, wide-eyed, exchanging looks you can’t bring yourself to decipher.

You just keep walking, head low, body tense, each step dragging under the weight of everything that just happened. The pulsing beat of the club feels like it’s mocking you now, a steady thrum against your ribs as you push past the crowd, past the mess Eren left behind, past the whispers and the stares. The moment you step outside, the cool night air hits you like a slap to the face.

Eren stands a few feet away, back against the wall, shoulders still rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline surging through his veins. The bouncer is in front of him, speaking low, one hand raised in an attempt to keep him grounded, to keep him from snapping again.

Eren doesn’t look like he’s listening.

His hands are still clenched at his sides, blood smeared across his knuckles, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He’s seething, barely restrained, like a live wire just waiting to spark. You hesitate for a second, nerves twisting in your gut, but then you take a deep breath and step forward. The gravel crunches beneath your heels, and at the sound, Eren’s head snaps up.

His eyes find yours instantly.

And just like that, the bouncer’s words fade into the background. Whatever thin thread of patience was keeping Eren in place? Gone.

He pushes off the wall, rising to his full height, and you swear the air shifts. The tension is palpable, thick and suffocating as he takes a step toward you. His expression is unreadable—stormy, dangerous, still brimming with barely restrained fury.

You open your mouth, not even sure what you’re going to say, but you don’t get the chance to speak.

“Let’s go.”

His voice is rough, tight, leaving no room for argument. There’s no question of whether or not you’ll follow him. It’s a command, plain and simple.

Then he turns, not waiting for a response, and starts walking toward the car—expecting you to do the only thing you can.

Follow.

But you don’t.

Not after what you just saw.

Your body refuses to obey, frozen in place as a cold, creeping realization sinks into your bones. Eren takes a few more steps, fully expecting you to fall in line like you always do—but when he doesn’t hear the familiar rhythm of your heels clicking against the pavement behind him, he stops.

Slowly, he turns, and that’s when he sees it.

The look in your eyes.

It’s not anger. It’s not disappointment. It’s something far worse.

Fear.

His chest tightens, the breath leaving his lungs in a slow, staggering exhale.

Eren’s seen you upset before. He’s seen you roll your eyes at him, huff in frustration when he’s being stubborn, even cry when things got too overwhelming. But never—not once—has he seen you look at him like this. Like you don’t recognize him. Like you’re not sure if it’s safe to be near him.

A sharp, ugly pang of regret twists in his gut. His fingers flex at his sides, still smeared with the remnants of his outburst. He doesn’t even remember throwing that first punch—doesn’t remember the decision, just the impact, just the raw, unchecked fury that swallowed him whole the second he saw that guy put his hands on you.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The club doors swing open behind you, breaking the suffocating silence.

“Don’t.”

Your friend’s voice is sharp with concern, and then she’s right there beside you, eyes scanning your face before snapping to Eren. Her grip on your arm tightens slightly, grounding you.

“She’s not going with you,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Eren’s jaw tenses. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look at her. He only looks at you.

Waiting. Pleading. Silently praying for you to tell her she’s wrong. That you’re still his. That you’re coming home with him.

Your friend gently pulls you closer, lowering her voice as she leans in. “Stay with us. Stay with me,” she urges. “You know you’re more than welcome to.”

You hesitate, one last glance at Eren, but the answer is already clear. You nod.

That’s all it takes.

Your other friends begin trickling out of the club, surrounding you in a quiet show of support. And Eren—Eren just stands there, watching it all unfold. Watching as you choose to stay. Watching as the space between you stretches wider and wider, until it feels impossible to cross.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, and for the first time tonight, you feel the weight of everything settle over you. You don’t want to get in that car. You don’t want to sit in silence while he stews in his anger. You don’t want to go home with a version of Eren you don’t recognize.

Something in Eren’s face cracks. It’s small, barely noticeable to anyone else, but you see it. You see the way his brows pinch together, the brief flicker of pain behind his eyes before he locks it all away.

Eren exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. He nods once, more to himself than anyone else.

And then, without another word, he turns and walks away.

You don’t watch him go. You can’t.

Because deep down, you know.

That was the end of you and Eren.

—

The first month without Eren felt like a drug withdrawal.

Your friends had to step in, blocking his number on your phone because they knew you wouldn’t. They were the ones who went back to your shared apartment, packing up your things and returning them to you in silent understanding—because if it had been up to you, you would have walked through that door and never left.

You weren’t strong enough to face him. To see the place where your life with him once existed.

So you let them handle it.

And in the weeks that followed, it felt like you cried enough tears to drown in.

Everything felt hollow. Your bed, too big. Your room, too quiet. Your days, a haze of exhaustion that you couldn’t shake, no matter how much sleep you got—though sleep rarely came easy. Your body ached for something familiar, something warm, something safe. But the only thing that had ever felt like home was the very thing you had to stay away from.

Eren.

Your friends were your lifeline, your anchor in the storm that threatened to pull you under. They kept you moving, kept you functioning. They took turns staying over, making sure you ate, helping you through assignments when even the simplest tasks felt impossible. They covered for you in class, took notes, did everything they could to make sure you didn’t fall apart completely.

Because you couldn’t face campus.

Not when you knew he was there.

So you hid.

You spent hours in the library, surrounded by books, teaching yourself the material from the safety of quiet corners where you knew he wouldn’t find you. Where no one would look at you with pity or whisper about what happened. Where you could pretend, just for a little while, that you were fine.

But the second month was different.

The second month, you forced yourself to return to class.

And the very first lecture you walked into—he was there.

Your heart lurched before you could stop it, the reaction so deeply ingrained that it disgusted you. Because even after everything, even after what he did, some part of you still longed for him.

But you didn’t let yourself look at him.

You didn’t need to.

You felt his eyes on you the second you walked through the door.

He was waiting for you.

You knew it before you even sat down. Before you even heard from your friends that he had been asking about you. That he had been the one sending them notes, making sure you didn’t fall behind. That he had been looking for you, searching for any trace of you on campus.

You didn’t know any of that then.

All you knew was that you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

So you took a seat on the opposite side of the lecture hall, your posture rigid, your focus locked on the professor, even as you felt the weight of his stare.

Unfortunately, avoiding him wasn’t as easy as you hoped. You had chosen your classes together, planned your schedules to align—because, back then, you had never considered a world where you wouldn’t be by each other’s side.

And now, you were paying the price.

He was in most of your classes. Which meant he was always there. Always watching.

Never approaching.

Just watching.

Sometimes he would get distracted, pulled into conversation with his friends, and you would take the opportunity to slip out unnoticed. But most of the time, you had to move. Had to find new places to sit, new spots to claim as your own. Because he had taken over the one you used to share, as if holding onto it would somehow bring you back.

But it never did. Because you knew better now.

You reminded yourself every single day that Eren was bad for you. That you left for a reason. That no matter how much you missed him, no matter how much his absence burned, going back would only mean getting hurt all over again.

And you wouldn’t survive it a second time.

By the third month, you were starting to feel like yourself again.

The ache in your chest was still there, but it was duller now—less consuming. There were even days when Eren didn’t cross your mind at all. Small, fleeting moments where you were too busy laughing with friends, too immersed in your coursework, too wrapped up in your own life to remember the ghost of what used to be.

You had caught up with all your class material, no longer drowning under the weight of everything you had missed. You even started going out again, slowly reclaiming the pieces of yourself you had lost along the way.

But parties were different.

Parties meant a high probability of running into him.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for that.

The first time your friends convinced you to go out, you had braced yourself for it—for the possibility of seeing him across the room, for the way it might send you spiraling. But he wasn’t there. Or if he was, he stayed buried in the crowd, out of your sight, allowing you to actually enjoy yourself for the first time in months.

You had smiled that night. Laughed. Felt alive in a way you hadn’t in so long that your friends took notice.

Which was exactly how you ended up here.

“I don’t know… I really don’t wanna go,” you sigh, flopping onto your bed as your best friend digs through your closet. “He’s going to be there. I know it.”

She rolls her eyes, unfazed. “And? You can’t let Eren stop you from living your life.” She turns, leveling you with a look. “You’re bound to see him at graduation. What, are you gonna skip that too just because he’ll be there?”

You glare. She has a point, but you don’t want to admit it.

“I just don’t see why we have to go to this party,” you argue, grasping at straws. “It’s a frat party for the football team’s season finale win. Eren is the quarterback. That’s literally his event.”

“Which is exactly why you should go,” she counters. “Show him you don’t care. Show him you’ve moved on.”

You scoff, unconvinced.

She sighs, dramatic and exasperated. “Besides,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows, “that cute guy from Kirstein’s party—Porco, right?—he’s gonna be there. Maybe you two can finally hit it off.”

Your stomach twists, and you don’t know if it’s from nerves or uncertainty.

You hesitate.

Because deep down, you know she’s right.

You’ve spent the last three months avoiding Eren, avoiding anything that might put you in his orbit again. But that fear has kept you from actually living, from moving forward, from proving to yourself that you can be okay without him.

And you want to be okay.

So you exhale, pushing past the doubts clawing at the back of your mind.

“Fine,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “But if it sucks, I’m leaving early.”

Your best friend grins, victorious. “Deal.”

—

You step into the crowded frat house, the noise and chaos of the party immediately hitting you. The sharp stench of alcohol, weed, and sweat clings to the air, mixing with the heavy bass of the music that rattles the walls. It’s so loud, your ears ache, and the vibrations almost drown out your own thoughts. People are packed into every corner, some stumbling around in drunken oblivion, others caught up in their own heated conversations, laughing and shouting to be heard.

Your friends immediately vanish into the mass of bodies, their laughter and voices lost in the tide of noise. You can barely catch a glimpse of their heads as they weave through the crowd. You sigh, already feeling the weight of isolation. You should’ve pregamed, should’ve had a drink or two to take the edge off, but you figured you’d be alright. Now you curse to yourself.

The feeling of being an outsider gnaws at you as you weave your way toward the back of the house, looking for some reprieve from the madness. The music seems slightly quieter in the corner, the people fewer and farther between. You make your way to the counter, pouring yourself a crappy, sour concoction. It’s just something to occupy your hands, something to take your mind off the fact that you're surrounded by a sea of people, yet feel utterly alone.

You lean against the counter awkwardly, your fingers tapping the rim of your cup as you survey the scene. The longer you stand there, the more you realize how much you wish you didn’t feel so out of place. It’s supposed to be fun, right? You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself, yet all you can think about is what’s happening on the other side of the room.

And then you see him.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart skips a beat. His green eyes find yours almost immediately, locking with yours from across the room, and for a moment, the noise of the party seems to fade. It’s just you and him, that intense, familiar gaze burning into you. Your stomach flutters, your pulse quickening as you instinctively look away, embarrassed by the sheer weight of his stare. But even as you force yourself to focus on anything but him, your brain locks the image of him in that moment in a way that feels almost intrusive. You can’t unsee it.

There he is, sitting on a couch, looking effortlessly handsome as always. His friends are scattered around him, but it’s the girls that draw your attention. They’re all over him, leaning into him, touching his arm or laughing too loudly at everything he says. Their eyes are bright, eager, like they’re competing for his attention. The sight makes your chest tighten in an unfamiliar, raw way. You hate it. You hate how your stomach twists in jealousy, how your pulse spikes as you watch them cling to him, as if they’re the ones who belong there, the ones who get to be close to him.

It’s ridiculous.

You have no right to feel this way, but there it is. The jealousy. The sharp, bitter ache in your chest.

Eren, oblivious or maybe not, remains relaxed, his attention still half on the crowd and half on whatever conversation his friends are having. A beer bottle rests lazily in his hand, and yet you can’t help but feel that he’s watching you too. Noticing you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to react, to do something, anything, just so he can watch you squirm.

So, you decide to play his game. If he’s having fun, then why shouldn’t you? The burn of his gaze on your back is unbearable, but you’re not about to let it control you. You clutch your drink a little too tightly and step toward the nearest guy—a random face you don’t even recognize. Without hesitating, you drag him to the dance floor, your body moving to the beat of the music as it blares in your ears.

The guy seems more than happy to comply, his hands moving almost immediately to your waist as you both start dancing. You can feel his eyes on you, a heat that sears through the crowd, but you refuse to give in. You tilt your head back, letting out a laugh at whatever nonsense the guy is saying, letting the music drown out the weight of Eren’s presence. You want him to see. You want him to feel the sting of watching you, of knowing he has no claim on you anymore.

The night carries on, and so does the game. You're all over the place, hopping from one group to the next—dancing with the guy, laughing with your friends, joining in on a game of beer pong. You’re doing everything you can to avoid Eren. When you make your way down to the basement for beer pong, you know before even turning around that he’s there. Right behind you, close enough that you catch the faintest trace of his cologne beneath the scent of alcohol and sweat. And because he’s there, so is everyone else. A crowd follows, drawn in by him like gravity, but you don’t care.

You don’t acknowledge him. You don’t spare him even a glance. Instead, you make it your mission to rub it in his face.

Beer pong used to be your thing. You and Eren were practically unbeatable. But tonight, you’re not teaming up with him. You find a random guy and start the game with him, your laughter filling the air as you take your shots. The game ends, and you lose—your partner was terrible, after all. But it didn’t matter because you were having fun.

Even though the guy was terrible at beer pong and completely clueless, there was something undeniably cute about him. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you, like he was captivated, and the more you chatted, the more it seemed like he was genuinely into you. Honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing. He was easy to talk to, lighthearted, and in the moment, you found yourself enjoying the attention.

You stepped outside for a break, finding a chair near the backyard to cool off. The chill air did wonders against the heat of the party, and for a brief moment, you let yourself enjoy the solitude.

Of course, the rando followed. He sat down beside you, leaning back casually, his presence comfortable in a way that didn’t feel forced. You had a casual conversation—mostly about the party, how much fun you were having—but you could tell where this was going. His eyes had a certain gleam, the kind that made your stomach flip with unease but also something else—something more promiscuous.

Then, just as you were about to stand and go back inside, he leaned in closer, his voice low and smooth as he whispered, “Wanna get out of here?”

You almost said yes. Almost.

But before you could respond, a strong hand wrapped around your arm and yanked you to your feet. The sudden force took you off guard, your body jerked backward, and you barely had time to blink before you were being dragged back into the house. You glanced up, heart sinking, and sure enough, it was Eren. His grip tightened around your arm, pulling you through the crowd like you didn’t have a say in the matter.

You tried to break free, your heels digging into the floor, but it was useless—Eren’s hold was ironclad. He didn’t give you a chance to fight back, leading you down the hall toward the laundry room. The door creaked as he shoved it open, the dim light flickering above. Without a word, he stepped inside and pulled you after him, letting the door fall shut behind you with a quiet thud.

Your heart skipped, irritation flooding your chest as you pulled against him. “What the fuck is your problem?” you snapped, voice trembling with a mix of anger and confusion.

He didn’t even flinch. He stepped closer, his presence looming over you, dominating. His jaw was tight, clenched in frustration, eyes darker than you’d ever seen. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

"You are my fucking problem," he growled, his voice like gravel, rough and unforgiving.

The air between you two thickened, suffocating. He was close—way too close—his chest brushing yours, his breath heavy with alcohol and desperation. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the space between you, and it hit you harder than you expected. You tried to ignore it, but it made your heart race.

He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped lower. "You really thought I was gonna let you leave with some random asshole?"

You recoiled, your chest tightening with frustration. You fought the urge to push him away, the words already on the tip of your tongue. "It’s none of your business, Eren," you snapped, your own voice shaking with a mixture of defiance and frustration.

Eren’s lips curled into a humorless smile, but the anger in his eyes was sharper than ever. “The fuck it isn’t,” he spat, his voice filled with venom.

Your chest rises and falls as you try to steady your breathing, but it's impossible with Eren this close, the heat of his body searing through the tiny space between you. His jaw is clenched, eyes burning with something between anger and desperation.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Your voice shakes as you step back, putting distance between you. "You’re bad for me, Eren. You always have been."

His jaw tenses, hands balling into fists at his sides. "And you think you’re any fucking better for me?" He takes a step closer, eyes locked onto yours. "You think I don’t know how much we fuck each other up?"

"Then why do you keep coming back?" you demand, voice cracking despite your best efforts. "Why can’t you just let me go?"

Eren exhales sharply through his nose, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "You think I haven’t tried?" His voice is rough, wrecked. "I’ve done everything I fucking can to move on. To stop thinking about you." His hands twitch like he wants to grab you, but he forces them to stay at his sides. "But every time I try, I just end up right back here. Right back to you."

Your throat tightens, and you shake your head. "This isn’t love, Eren. It’s just something we don’t know how to quit."

He exhales sharply, jaw clenching. "Maybe I don’t want to quit." His voice is rough, ragged. "Maybe I’d rather ruin myself than live a life without you."

His words slam into you like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your mind screams at you to walk away, to end this now, but your heart betrays you. You don’t move when he presses closer, don’t push him away when his fingers finally brush against your skin.

"Tell me to leave," he breathes, lips ghosting over your jaw. "Tell me you don’t want this, and I swear to god, I’ll walk out that door and never look back."

But you don’t say a word. Because you can’t. Because you do want this.

Eren sees the answer in your silence before you do. A dark smirk ghosts over his lips, a glint of triumph flashing in those wild green eyes. "That’s what I thought."

His lips are on you before you can protest, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. The second you kiss him back, it’s over. The tension, the months of pent-up frustration, the unbearable need—you both snap. Months of anger, heartbreak—it all ignites in a way that’s so ferocious, so consuming, that your knees nearly buckle beneath you.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, pulling you impossibly close until there’s not even an inch of space between you. You’re supposed to shove him away. You’re supposed to hate him. But when his hands slip down, fingers digging into your thighs, lifting you onto the edge of the dryer, you don’t protest. You can’t.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he breathes against your lips, his voice rough, desperate. His hands tighten around your thighs, spreading them so he can step between them, pressing himself against you. “Missed you.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking him back up so you can crash your lips onto his again, swallowing the low groan he lets out as you roll your hips against him. His grip tightens—possessive, desperate—as he presses you harder against the cool metal, his body heat swallowing you whole.

“This whole time,” he mutters against your lips, voice low and wrecked, “you’ve been acting like you can move on, like you’re fucking over me.” His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you right where he wants you. “But I see you, baby. You burn for me just as much as I burn for you.”

You hate how true it is. Hate how easily he reads you.

His hands slide up your thighs, bunching up your dress, fingers teasing along the bare skin underneath. His lips are everywhere—trailing down your neck, over your collarbone, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice all smooth arrogance, all cocky challenge as he drags his lips back up to your ear. “Go ahead. Push me away. Walk out that door.”

Your breathing is ragged, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. You should push him away. You should leave.

But instead, you whisper, “I hate you.”

Eren smirks. “Liar.”

Then his hands are on you again, and this time, there’s no stopping it.

“Eren—” you whimper.

“Shh.” His teeth graze the side of your throat, nipping at your skin before soothing it with his tongue. His breath is hot against your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you, baby.” His hands slide higher, thumbs brushing over sensitive skin, making your breath hitch. “I know you still belong to me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he presses his body against yours, hips rolling forward in a slow, deliberate grind. The hard press of him makes your breath stutter, makes heat coil deep in your stomach. You arch into him as he sucks a mark onto your skin, claiming you in a way that makes your head spin.

“You gonna keep lying to me, baby?” Eren mutters, voice thick with amusement. His fingers trace slow, lazy circles over your thighs, his movements teasing, controlled.

You open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to shut up, to stop playing games—but before you can, he grabs the thin fabric of your dress and rips. The sound of tearing cloth barely registers before his hands are on you, gripping your breast, his mouth attaching to your sensitive tit.

You gasp, fingers curling into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist, bringing him impossibly closer. He rolls his hips into yours, pressing the full length of himself against you, a broken whimper slips past your lips.

"Feel that?" he breathes, voice thick with need. "All for you, baby."

Then his fingers finally move between your legs, brushing over your thin, damp fabric keeping him from what he really wants. His smirk deepens. "Tell me what you want. Beg for it."

Your breath stutters. He’s playing with you, dragging this out just to watch you fall apart. You hate him. You hate how good he is at this—how he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to touch you to make you melt.

But you’re not giving in that easily.

“Fuck you,” you snap, but it comes out shaky, breathless—less of a threat and more of a plea.

Eren grins, like he’s thriving off your frustration, like it only makes this better for him.

“Oh, you will,” he purrs, dragging his lips down your jaw, your throat, sucking another mark onto your skin like he wants it tattooed there. His teeth graze your pulse, and you can’t stop the way your body jerks toward him.

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours for just a second, his grip tightening. “Look at you.” His fingers press against the wet spot, slow and teasing, and you whimper. His favorite sound. “So fucking wet for me, and you wanna sit here and tell me you hate me?”

You bite your lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

But then he hooks a finger under the waistband of your panties, pulling it down, and fuck—

“You’re soaked, baby,” Eren moans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, his head tipping back, his fingers barely dipping into your heat. “God, I fucking knew it.”

Your body betrays you, bucking against his hand, and Eren laughs.

“There she is,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear as he slowly, slowly drags his fingers up your slick folds. “Knew you’d stop pretending eventually.”

You should tell him to shut up. You should shove him away.

But when two fingers slip inside you, curling just right, pressing against that spot that makes you see stars–

All you can do is moan his name.

And Eren loses it.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, lips crashing into yours again, swallowing every sound you make. His fingers fuck into you, deep and slow, his palm rubbing against your clit just enough to make you tremble. Your hands claw at his shoulders, your head falling back against the dryer as he works you open, stretching you out with his fingers, his mouth kissing your pretty titties before trailing down to your belly button. You’re falling apart, barely holding on, your whole body trembling, burning.

And Eren knows it. Feels it.

“That’s right, baby,” he whispers, voice thick, lips dragging back up so he can see your face as his fingers fuck into you harder, deeper. “Cum for me.”

And you do.

Your body shatters, waves of pleasure crashing over you so violently you think you might black out. Eren groans as you clench around his fingers, watching every second of it with hooded, hungry eyes, like he’s memorizing the way you come undone for him.

“Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathes, his free hand cupping your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he drags you through it, fucking you with his fingers until you’re shaking, whimpering, completely wrecked.

Then—without breaking eye contact—he pulls his fingers out, glistening with your release, and licks them clean.

Your whole body burns at the sight.

Eren groans, closing his eyes briefly before he looks at you again, smirking. “Goddamn. You taste even better than I remember.”

You’re still gasping for air when his hands grab your thighs, pulling you flush against him again.

“My turn, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. He grinds against you, and fuck—he’s so hard it makes your mouth go dry. “This is what you do to me.”

Your head is still spinning, but when you feel him reach for his belt, your heart beats faster. Eren’s belt hits the floor and your whole body tenses, every nerve ending on fire. Your thighs are still shaking from your last orgasm, but Eren—cocky and relentless—grins down at you like he’s just getting started.

“We both know you’re not leaving until I’ve fucked you so good you forget why you left me in the first place.”

You don’t get a chance to argue because suddenly his hands are gripping your thighs, yanking you to the edge of the dryer, forcing your legs wide open. And then—fuck—he’s pushing inside, and your brain short-circuits.

You can’t think. You can’t breathe. You can’t do anything but gasp as Eren buries himself inside you, slow and deep, stretching you in a way that has your head tipping back, your fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eren groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his hands digging into your waist like he’s losing his mind. “Still so fucking tight.” Your breath stutters. Your legs tremble. And then Eren pulls out just to slam back in, knocking the air straight from your lungs.

Your nails dig into his skin, and Eren grins like he loves it. “Yeah? Feels good?” he pants, dragging his lips down your throat, sucking another mark into your skin. “Tell me, baby.” You can’t form words. Can’t do anything but whimper, moan, cling to him like you’ll fall apart if he stops.

Eren fucking thrives off it.

“C’mon, use that pretty mouth, sweetheart,” he taunts, rolling his hips in a way that has your whole body convulsing. “Tell me how much you fucking love this.”

You want to fight it. You want to bite back.

But then he grinds deep, his fingers brutal on your thighs, and—fuck—you break.

“So fucking good,” you gasp, damn near crying as your head tips back, giving yourself over to him completely. “Eren, please.”

Eren’s groan is animalistic, his grip tightening as he picks up the pace, snapping his hips into you over and over, fucking you so deep you see white. “Yeah? Missed this cock that much?” he growls, his teeth grazing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Missed me that much?”

Your whole body shudders because—fuck—you did. You hate how much you did. Eren knows.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, grabbing your jaw, forcing your teary, fucked-out gaze on him. “You can’t stay away from me, baby. You never could.”

His thumb brushes your lips, and without thinking, you part them, sucking it into your mouth, letting your tongue flick over the tip. Eren’s breath stutters. “Fuck,” he chokes out, his body trembling against yours as he watches you. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You smirk, flicking your tongue against his thumb again, and Eren snaps. His pace turns brutal, desperate, unhinged, his grip bruising as he drives himself deeper, harder, faster, like he’s trying to ruin you. Like he’s trying to make sure you never forget who you belong to.

“Not letting you go again,” he pants against your lips, each word punctuated by a sharp, punishing thrust. “Not fucking happening.” The dryer beneath you shakes, slamming against the wall by the force of his thrusts. You break around him, legs trembling, body shaking, a sob of pleasure ripping from your throat.

Eren follows seconds later, burying himself as deep as he can groaning, “fuck, m’gonna breed this fucking pussy. Make you all round and full with my kid. Bet you’d fucking love that shit.” He bites down on your ear, his whole body tensing as he spills inside you.

And even then, even when he’s breathless and spent, he doesn’t let go.

His arms stay wrapped around you, his lips press against your forehead, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, softer now, rough fingers tracing lazy patterns into your back. “Always have been.” And this time, you don’t argue. Because fuck, you know it’s true.

You look up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and for a brief moment, you let yourself savor the feeling of being close to him again. But that moment is short lived. His mouth crashes onto yours once more, swallowing any protest, any resistance. You whine against him, the sensitivity of your body only driving him further.

Without warning, he thrusts back into you—hard, deep—your gasp echoing through the room. Your nails dig into his back, and his body presses against yours, moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if savoring every inch of you. You can feel the muscle in his body, each movement setting fire to your senses.

The stretch is almost too much, overwhelming in the best way, and you can't help but chant his name, your body trembling beneath him. It feels like too much, but at the same time, you crave more. God, the way he makes you feel, you can’t fucking deny it anymore.

Eren pulls back for a second, his breathing ragged, and looks at you, his eyes filled with hunger. “Say it. Say you need me, say you fucking belong to me.” His voice is rough, almost begging, but not quite. It’s a demand wrapped in raw desire.

“I need you,” you gasp, your head thrown back, lost in the feel of him inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots. “I belong to you.” The words come out in a breathless rush, and it feels like every part of you is finally breaking apart—letting go.

His grin is triumphant, dark, like he’s just won something, but he doesn’t slow down. No, he’s persistent. His thrusts are harder, faster, making your body jerk against the dryer, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the confined space of the laundry room.

“You’ll never get away from me again,” Eren growls, his grip tightening on your thighs, pushing you up against him harder. “I’m not letting you leave. Not this time.”

You can’t answer. The words are lost in the swirl of sensations, the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. But when you feel yourself about to break, when your body tightens and your heart skips a beat, you know the end is near.

“Eren, I can’t—” you try to warn him, but it’s too late. You’re spiraling.

And then, he moves faster—deeper—pushing you over the edge. You explode around him, your entire body shaking as you scream his name, clinging to him like he’s the only thing that keeps you tethered to the ground.

He follows shortly after, his own release deep inside you, his body shuddering with the force of it. He collapses against you, his forehead resting on yours, both of you gasping for breath, tangled together in a mess of sweat and desire.

For a few moments, neither of you moves. The only sound filling the quiet room is your heavy breathing and the slow, steady hum of the dryer spinning behind you. Eren shifts, pulling you up against him, and you can feel his warmth as he wraps his arms around you. He grabs a shirt, handing it to you, and you pull it on before he tugs you back against his chest.

There’s an elephant in the room, and you don’t fight it. You can’t stop yourself from saying, “Eren, we can’t just pretend this is...”

He cuts you off before you can finish. "I know. I'm getting help."

Silence fills the space between you, the weight of his words settling around you like a heavy fog. Then he speaks again, voice raw, vulnerable.

“The night we broke up, the look in your eyes... it haunts me every single day. You were scared of me. And all I wanted to do was protect you. When that happened, I knew I needed help. And fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He holds you tighter, burying his face in your hair. It’s rare for Eren to be this open, this vulnerable with you. The only other time he’d ever let his walls down like this was when he found out about his dad’s affair. He’d taken it hard, and all he wanted was for you to hold him, console him. And that’s what you did.

“I’ve been going to therapy. I bottled up all my emotions, and the shit with my dad sent me into a spiral. I saw what it did to my mom, how it affected her, and I started thinking if I controlled you, you wouldn’t hurt me like that. Now, when I think back, I realize how fucking dumb that was. You’re everything to me. So precious, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

He pauses, his voice shaking slightly as he continues. "But I did. I pushed you away, and I was out of my fucking mind. I get it if you don’t want to jump right back into this, but... with time, could you give me another chance?"

You look up into his eyes, your thumb brushing away the tears that streak down his face. Your heart aches seeing him so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this alone, Eren," you whisper softly. "I wish you’d let me be there for you.”

He shakes his head, pulling you closer, his hands trembling. "Don’t apologize. This is all on me. I just… I can’t fucking lose you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

“You’re not losing me," you say, your voice firm but full of tenderness, trying to calm him down and reassure him. Eren stares at you for a moment, his lips parting slightly before he breathes out, barely a whisper, “I love you.” Your heart stutters in your chest, the words you've been longing to hear for these last few months. You lean in, your forehead resting against his as you whisper back, “I love you too. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

#eren angst #eren jeager x reader #eren x you #eren smut #eren aot #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger #aot x you #aot angst #aot x reader #aot smut #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x reader #tw: toxic relationships #tw angst #fic: Yours to Break.

392 notes · View notes

rafeysafterglow · 1 month ago

Text

he was my best friend, and that was the worst part

pairing: exbestfriend!rafe x pogue!reader summary: your relationship with your longtime bestfriend and now boyfriend, rafe, start to fall apart cw: angst, cold rafe, reader and rafe fighting a/n: im crying this was so hard, mbobhft is my fave from ttpd, i would literally put the whole song if i could. also i know this lyric isnt from the official song, but this version lives in my head rent free

ttpd series masterlist ♡

it all started in second grade when a strange boy tapped your shoulder to hand you a dandelion he found in the playground. ever since then, you two were inseparable. since you were a pogue, his family tried, very hard, to stop the friendship, but stubborn little rafe would not stay away from you. according to him, you two would end up married in the future.

you had always been the quiet one, unassuming and always blended in with the crowd. but, everything changed when senior year started. somehow, you started receiving a lot of male attention. it made you uncomfortable because you never had experience with boys, the only boy you knew was rafe. you complained to rafe that all the attention was making you nervous, and he did not hesitate to warn all the boys in your school that you were unavailable. since then, you were known as “rafe’s girl.”

so, it wasn’t a surprise to anybody when you two started dating for real. everybody already assumed you two were already together, anyways. rafe had always been the only boy you feel comfortable around, and possibly the only person who knows you best. of course, when the news broke out, his family tried to convince him that you were not good enough for him. on the other hand, the pogues warned you about him. that he was reckless, chaos, and completely unhinged. he just never shows that side to you. you didn’t listen to them. you had known rafe for so long, you depended on him. you couldn’t stay away from him, even if you tried.

despite what people say, your relationship was still going strong, even after graduation. he made promises to you that you were his forever, infinity. “i’m gonna make you my wife, i promise ya,” he whispers into your hair after your thousandth date. and you believed him. why wouldn’t you? he has been the only constant presence in your life.

now, six years later, it felt like the universe was trying its very hardest to pull you two apart. six years, and no ring. six years, and with each day passing by, the more distant rafe becomes. the years that passed put a strain onto your relationship. somehow, the romance fizzled down, and now the both of you are just two people in a loveless relationship, with no plans of moving forward. everybody around you had built a life for themselves, marriage and children. it would be too soon before you would be invited to another wedding.

you tried very hard to hang on. you didn’t want this to end. before everything started going downhill, you two had the most loving, romantic relationship. everyone at that point had come around to you two. somewhere along the line, something changed. everyday, you walk around in eggshells around him, afraid, that the smallest mistake can break this whole thing apart.

little did you know, rafe was struggling with the voices inside his head. what if everybody was right? a kook is not supposed to marry a pogue.

he thought he was better than this, better than listening to the people around him. but he was wrong. as the years pass, he witnessed his kook friends go off and marry another kook. he felt like an outsider, a pretend kook. he was raised to believe that the pogues are the enemy, and he was starting to accept that.

since that realization, he distanced himself from you. in his head, he was giving you the easy out by ignoring you. at least, you were his childhood best friend, he thought he was honoring you by not leaving.

it was the obvious for the two of you that this relationship was nearing the end. it was only a matter of time before one of you, most likely you, pull the trigger. and that’s exactly what you decided to do when you realized you couldn’t waste your 20s stuck in a constant cycle.

that realization led you both here, sitting opposite each other in the kitchen island. the kitchen which you two designed, together, inside the house that you two share. the walls of the kitchen is adorned with photographs of you both throughout the years.

“i think this has been a long time coming. you know where this is going, rafe, i don’t think i can do this anymore,” you begin.

he stayed quiet, at first. then, he nodded, “i understand.”

you couldn’t even look at him. he wasn’t even going to fight for you? after everything you two has been through? you couldn’t stop yourself from snapping, “you understand? that’s it? you’re not even gonna fight this? i knew you were an asshole, but i never took you for a coward too, rafe.”

“look, what do you even want me to say? you said it yourself, it’s been a long time coming,” he sighs out.

“i want you to fight for me, rafe,” you say, “you told me you were going to ‘marry me,’ you promised!” he stayed silent, which allowed you to continue, “after everything, growing up together, you’re just giving up?”

“i don’t think this is gonna work. i just... don’t think we’re meant to be. the connection is not there anymore,” he whispers, not even having the decency to look you in the eye.

something in you snapped. you stood up and bursted out, “that’s something you say in the beginning of the relationship, rafe, not six years down the line!”

he doesn’t seem taken aback by your screaming. but nonetheless, he stays calm, “i’m sorry, really, i am. i.. just can’t do this. i can’t marry you.”

the heartbreak on your face is evident. you slowly sat back onto your chair, “get out.”

as you watched him walk out the front door, you just realized, not only did you lose your boyfriend, you also lost your bestfriend.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafeysafterglow #rafe fanfiction #drew starkey #rafe obx #rafe cameron outerbanks #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fic #rafe fluff #drew starkey fanfic #obx fanfic #rafe cameron x female reader #best friend rafe #rafe cameron x pogue reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe x you #ttpd taylor swift #the tortured poets department fic

155 notes · View notes

joelalorian · 1 year ago

Text

Fall Into Me

dbf!Joel x f!reader

The first TLOU fic I ever read was a dbf!Joel story and it left an indelible mark on my soul. Unfortunately, I never bookmarked it so I have no idea which one it was. It's only natural that I had to try my hand at one at some point. So, here we are.

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 4.1k

Series Warnings: Mature to start, but will ultimately be Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. There will be angst, drama, fluff, humor, romance, smut... basically, the works. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname from her dad, which will be explained at some point.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

If you asked him over a decade ago where he’d be now, Joel Miller would not have placed himself as a single father to a tenacious pre-teen desperately trying to keep things afloat. He spent too many hours in the week working to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. He would be lost without the help of his brother and the few friends he had. He had no social life to speak of and could not for the life of him remember the last time he went on an actual date.

No, back then, Joel thought he’d be living the good life in ten years’ time – traveling, going out with the boys, maybe have a girlfriend or wife. Basically, just getting to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Don’t get him wrong, though. He was still living a good life; it just was a different sort of good than what he hoped for back in the day.

He loved his daughter with every fiber of his being. Sarah was the best damn thing that ever happened to him, his entire world, and he wouldn’t change the past ten years for anything. He bent over backwards doing whatever it took to make his little girl feel cared for, happy, and loved. He just wished there was a little energy left for something for himself at the end of the day.

Joel Miller was drained. Mentally, physically, and emotionally.

He awoke with a groan as the bright sunlight broke through the gap in his curtains. It was Saturday – his birthday – and he hoped to sleep in, at least a little. Between the brightness of the morning and the stifled sounds of clanging pans and voices carrying up the stairs from his kitchen, sleeping in was not happening.

He hauled himself out of bed with a groan worthy of a man twenty years his senior and stretched out his limbs to ease the achiness in his bare back and chest from too much manual labor. Throwing on a pair of well-worn sleep pants and a faded tee shirt, Joel slipped from his bedroom and down the stairs. He moved rather quietly for a man of his size, stealing a moment to lean against the entryway into the kitchen and watch as Sarah and Tommy worked together making breakfast.

The counters were a mess of spilled pancake mix, eggshells, and… was that coffee dripping over the edge and onto the floor? It was a toss-up on who made the bigger mess, his ten-year-old daughter, or his grown ass brother. Still, Joel could not stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched them laughing and teasing each other. That, right there, was the reason he worked so hard, why the loneliness was worth it.

When Tommy flipped the stovetop off, Sarah turned to find her dad smiling goofily at them. “Happy Birthday, Dad!” she exclaimed, launching herself at his chest. Her lanky arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Thanks, baby girl,” Joel replied, pressing his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss before he settled her feet on the ground.

“We made you breakfast!” Sarah declared, gesturing toward the disaster zone formerly known as his kitchen.

“I see that,” he chuckled, voice still slightly rough with sleep.

Tommy turned with a smirk, hands grasping two plates filled with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. “Take a seat, brother. Let us take care of you on your birthday.” Placing the food on the small dining table, Tommy roughly patted his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry ‘bout the mess, I’m on cleanup duty after we eat.”

“We expectin’ company? That’s a helluva lot of food,” Joel grumbled. He needed coffee, stat.

“Yeah, JB is comin’ over to see ya before heading to the airport. His daughter finished grad school over the summer and is moving back home.” Tommy set more food and a full mug of dark roast coffee in front of his brother. The scent alone made Joel perk up a little.

The Millers hadn’t met you yet, having only become friends with your dad through work after you’d already left for college on the east coast. Your dad had a good decade on Joel, but he and the Miller brothers got on like a forest fire from what he told you. With visits home always short and rushed, busy catching up with family and your own friends, there was never time for your dad to introduce you all. Now you were coming home for good and would have plentiful opportunities for spending time with your dad and his friends.

“Speak of the devil,” Tommy muttered as the doorbell rang. Sarah bounded to the door to greet your dad with a hug. In many ways, the girl reminded him of you when you were young, and it always brought a smile to his face.

“There he is! The man of the hour. Happy Birthday, buddy!” Your dad, John, or JB as the Millers called him, ruffled Joel’s already mussed hair, leaving a few locks standing straight up in further disarray. Pulling a 12-pack of beer from behind his back, your dad set it on the table in front of Joel, topped with a little red bow. “I gotcha a lil’ something to celebrate.”

“Good man,” Joel replied with a chuckle. “Have a seat and help me eat all this. Tommy just told me your lil’ girl is coming home, finally.”

Your dad’s face lit up even more at the mention of you coming home. “She’s not so little anymore, but I sure am glad she’s moving back here. Said she had enough of the east coast, but I think she just missed her ol’ man.” After wolfing down some food, he added, “Think we could host a small barbecue here this coming weekend to celebrate? Your backyard is way nicer than mine and you got the pool and all.”

“Not to mention that fancy ass grill,” Tommy chimed in.

Swallowing a long sip of his morning go juice, Joel nodded. “Of course. Invite whoever you want. I’m looking forward to finally meeting your daughter.”

“Me too!” Sarah added. She heard a lot about you from your dad and hoped you were as cool in person as he made you out to be.

Joel’s mind started spinning upon hearing his daughter’s excitement. With her school hours being so different from his typical work hours, he was spending a small fortune on after school care for Sarah. She was still too young for him to leave home alone, especially on those days where he’s stuck late at a job. He was barely scraping by as it was and couldn’t really afford the cost of after school programs. Perhaps…

“JB, ya think your daughter would mind watching Sarah during the week while she’s home. Drop off and pick up from school and keeping her company ‘til I get home from work? I could pay her – it wouldn’t be much, but better than nothin’, I imagine.” He watched Sarah’s eyes light up at the suggestion and knew it was a good choice.

“I’m sure she’d love to. She wasn’t planning on finding a real job until after the holidays, so I know she’ll be free during the day,” your dad replied. “I’ll talk to her about it on the ride back from the airport and let you know.”

Three suitcases and a carry-on bag. That’s all you had left from six and a half years of pursuing higher education in North Carolina. You sold or gave away anything that did not fit into your luggage or hold sentimental value of your time away. Now, you were moving back home to save some money before you had to start chipping away at the mountain of student loan debt you accrued.

You loved learning, always have, but you were relieved to be done with school. Equipped with a bachelor’s degree in earth sciences and a master’s in education, you felt like a real adult ready to take the world of middle school by storm… well, starting after the new year, maybe. For now, you needed several months of limited to no responsibility to recoup your mental and physical energy. That last couple years of school really burned you out. Not to mention the last-minute rejection of a teaching position you thought was in the bag…

Anyway, you were better off leaving North Carolina behind and returning to Austin. You missed your dad something fierce and his particular brand of caring for you was exactly what your weary soul needed. It was you and him against the world, just like when you were a kid.

You flight was smooth and uneventful, yet you were relieved to deboard the plane. Something about being stuck in a tin can at the mercy of someone else’s ability to keep the thing from plummeting to the ground really aggravated your anxiety. Flying was something you would never enjoy; it was merely a means to an end when you wanted to travel long distances.

The journey to baggage claim was a slog with the crowd of passengers all heading to the same place. You were wondering how you’d wrangle three large suitcases by yourself when you caught sight of your dad. His broad smile took over his face when he spotted you, rushing over to sweep you up in a big bear hug.

“Hey Spud, how was the flight?” he asked as you waited for the baggage carousel to begin moving. “Looks like it was a full plane.”

“It was, but the flight was good. I’m really glad to be home.”

“Me, too, kid.”

You settled into a comfortable silence, watching various pieces of luggage pass by on the carousel. Your bags were scattered, and you had to wait several cycles to get all of them. Your dad lugged the final suitcase over the carousel with a grunt. “Jesus, what you got in this one? Bricks? A body?”

“That one has my gaming system and half a closet full of clothes,” you replied with a laugh.

Before long, everything was loaded into your dad’s truck, and you were heading back towards town. The radio hummed at a low volume as you both chatted about everything and nothing all at once.

“Hey, so I know you said you weren’t looking for full-time work until after the new year, but I have a proposition for you.” Your dad’s eyes stayed focused on the road, and you merely quirked a brow waiting for him to continue. “My buddy Joel – you know the one I told you about? Well, his daughter is ten and he needs some help with the school run and after school care. Our work hours aren’t exactly the same as elementary school, you know?”

You nodded, remembering all the times your dad spoke to you about Joel, as well as his daughter and brother. Despite never meeting them, you felt like you already knew their whole life story. “So, he’s looking for a nanny or something? I could do that. It would keep me from getting lazy while I navigate getting my Texas teaching certificate.”

Your dad grinned, one hand patting your leg. “I was hoping you’d say that. Joel will pay you, of course, but just… don’t expect much. It ain’t easy for him being a single dad trying to keep everything afloat.”

Again, you nodded, a soft smile creasing your lips. You knew all too well how challenging it could be for single parents, having grown up with just you and your dad. Much like what your dad told you about Joel’s experience with the mother of his child, your mom split when you were barely a toddler. Things weren’t always sunshine and roses, but your dad sure did his best to make sure you had a great life. Honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, that life with your dad. You had a feeling it was much the same for Joel and his daughter.

“I’m happy to help, even if he doesn’t pay me. I’m sure his daughter will enjoy having a female influence in her life if nothing else. What’s her name again? Sarah?”

Your dad’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Yup, that’s it. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, Spud.”

A mist of tears prickled your eyes as you mumbled out a “Thanks, dad.” After a beat, you added, “Must you keep up with that nickname?”

“Of course. You’ll always be my little Spud,” he laughed as you rolled your eyes. “Oh, by the way, we’re going to the Millers on Saturday for your welcome home party.”

“What’s all this?” Joel questioned as Tommy and Sarah placed a heavy, wrapped package on the table before him along with a few smaller presents. The remains of a birthday cake sat nearby, having been delightfully devoured by the Millers while celebrating Joel’s birthday.

“Just a little somethin’ from me and Sarah,” Tommy replied, a boyish grin alighting his handsome features.

Joel gazed between them with curiosity. Not big on celebrating his own aging, he rarely got big gifts. “You wanna help me open this, nugget?” Sarah’s eyes lit up, small hands reaching to tear the wrapping paper into shreds. It only took a few moments for the contents to be revealed, leaving Joel confused at the modern contraption sitting in front of him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You play video games on it, dumbass.” Tommy harumphed as he began a diatribe on the features of the gaming system – he had one just like it at his place and it provided hours of entertainment when he didn’t feel like going out. “I figured it would be a good hobby for you since you never want to join me in going out.”

“Huh,” Joel grunted in return, brows furrowed as he read the instructions on how to setup up the machine. His attention was diverted by Sarah shoving the smaller parcels into his lap.

“Here, dad! These go with it.” Together, they tore into the wrapping paper to find several video games, a few of which were family friendly. The final gift was a spare controller for the gaming system so he and Sarah could play together.

Despite still being unsure that the gift was a good fit for him, Joel was grateful to Tommy for the effort. “This is too much, man. You shouldn’t spend this kind of money on me, Tommy.”

His brother waved him off. “I found a great deal and you never get anything for yourself, brother. You deserve something to indulge in. Believe me, you’ll have fun with this.”

The rest of the evening was spent with Tommy setting up the system and showing the father-daughter duo how to play some of the games he picked out. The living room filled with lots of laughter and teasing, and Joel found himself really getting into the fun of the video games.

After tucking Sarah into bed, Tommy showed Joel a game that was too violent for the little girl but entertaining for the men. The game was set in Washington DC which had been ravaged by a brutal pandemic and the main character was part of a group of agents fighting off nefarious gangs trying to take over the city. Joel caught onto the gameplay quickly and the two men found themselves building the loadout for Joel’s character, taking out bad guys, and chatting well into the night.

At two in the morning, the pair looked at each other with bleary, red-rimmed eyes and finally called it a night. Joel directed Tommy to crash in the spare room as he shuffled off to bed upstairs.

It didn’t take you long to get settled into your dad’s house. It wasn’t the home you grew up in and you only visited a few times after he bought it. After years living away on your own, you thought it would be an adjustment being under his roof again, but it wasn’t. He understood the need for personal space and never hovered unless you were hurt or sick. He gave you the downstairs bedroom – it was the largest in the house, with an ensuite bath and huge walk-in closet.

“Dad, no! Why in the world is this not your room?” you questioned when he placed your bags on the brand-new, king size bed he had delivered the week prior.

“Hell no, Spud. What do I need all this space for? I like the upstairs rooms better – the light is all wrong in this one anyway.”

You looked around, holding in a giggle. The room faced south, giving you just the right amount of natural light all day. That’s what your dad didn’t like. He preferred to live like a bat in a cave with blackout curtains and limited lighting.

“Alright, well, I love it. The natural light is perfect for me. I can actually put some plants on the windowsills. Thank you!” You kissed his cheek as he left you to get settled.

You spent the week rearranging the bedroom how you wanted it, setting up your gaming system, and putting all your clothes into the walk-in closet. Your dad hadn’t done much with the room other than furnish it, so you made a few trips to the store to get a bathroom set, floor lamps, and wall décor to make the room your own.

Before you knew it, Saturday morning dawned bright and warm. The day of your welcome home gathering arrived, and you would finally get to meet the Millers. An excited energy had you moving about your space in a flurry, tidying up and getting ready early. You’d seen some photos of the Millers that your dad sent you – Sarah was adorable with her dark, springy curls, and Joel… Joel was handsome, in a broody, overworked kind of way, with dark, riotous curls and big, warm chocolate eyes. Kind eyes, you called them.

“Hey Spud, you ready?” your dad called from the kitchen as you put the finishing touches on your hair. It was pinned up, leaving the smooth skin of your neck bare. The sundress you picked hugged your curves in just the right way, falling just at your knees in a flow of lightweight material. In early October, Austin was still hot, and you hoped the Millers’ yard was shaded.

“Bring a swimsuit! They have a pool!” he yelled as you grabbed the last of your things. Turning back to your closet, you grabbed a dark green one-piece suitable for family-friendly swimming and tucked it into your bag.

“I’m ready!”

Your dad smiled at the sight of you. “Let’s go then. We’re heading over early so you can officially meet the Millers and we’ll help them setup before everyone else arrives.”

“Sounds good. Who all’s coming anyway?” Your eyes widened as your dad rattled off a list of people he invited, including his work buddies and some of his and Joel’s neighbors. He would have invited some of your old friends from high school, but you all lost touch over the years. The party was turning out bigger than you thought. Your heart swelled with how happy your dad was to have you home for good.

The Millers lived in the same neighborhood, only a few blocks away, so close you could have walked if not for the scorching sun. The drive took only a few minutes before your dad pulled into the driveway of a two-story home similar to your dad’s, with simple landscaping and two wooden rocking chairs on the wide porch. Lovely and quaint, the house made you more curious about the people who lived there.

“Dayum! Get a load a JB’s daughter, Joel,” Tommy called from the living room, leaning over the couch to look out the front window. “She’s smokin’ hot!”

“Dammit, Tommy. Stop spying on ‘em,” Joel growled, sneaking a peek over his brother’s shoulder to do a little hypocritical spying of his own. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of you and he couldn’t break his gaze away, even as JB led you toward the front door.

“What was that about spyin’, brother?” Tommy teased, practically dragging Joel away from the window as a knock sounded against the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

Tommy opened the heavy wooden door revealing the pair of you standing there, matching bright eyes and wide grins greeting him. “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Tommy.” Reaching a hand toward you, Tommy completely ignored JB, who just scowled at him.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” you replied, offering him your hand and name in return. Joel’s scowl matched your dad’s expression as Tommy held your hand for several beats too long.

“Back off, Tommy,” your dad grunted, swatting at the younger Miller brother. “This here is Tommy’s brother, Joel. The one who actually owns this house and the better Miller, if you ask me.”

“Ain’t no one askin’ you, old man,” Tommy’s smart mouth shot back at your dad.

Joel ignored both men, eyes like dark pools as he gazed at you, awed at how small and delicate your hand felt in his. “Howdy, darlin’,” his voice rumbled from his chest. “Come on in. There’s someone else lookin’ forward to meeting you.”

Leading the way through the kitchen into the backyard, Joel felt the heat of your gaze burning his back. Were you checking him out? There was no way. You were beautiful and likely in your early twenties. He felt ancient, though he was only in his early thirties, the hard labor of construction work having taken its toll on him.

“Hi Dad!” a young, sweet voice called from a small swing set where a precious little girl entertained herself. “Who’s this?”

Joel introduced you to his daughter, leaving the two of you to get acquainted as your dad called him away.

“You were away at college?” Sarah questioned, motioning for you to take a seat on the swing next to hers.

“I was,” you replied. “But I’m back for good now.”

“That’s good. What grade did you get to? I’m in fourth grade.”

You thought about it a moment. “I guess it would be 18th grade. But you stop counting grade numbers after 12th and start using different words to describe what year you’re in during college.”

Sarah listened raptly while you explained the different terms, what you studied in school, and what kind of job you were hoping to get.

“You want to be a teacher?” she asked, awed.

“I do! I want to teach middle grade science.”

“I love science! Maybe you could be my teacher when I get to sixth grade!”

Joel returned with your dad and Tommy in tow to find you and Sarah having a blast. The little girl sat in your lap as you kicked your feet out, swinging as high as you could, singing some camp song you remembered from your youth.

“See? Told ya she’d love to spend time with Sarah,” your dad said to Joel. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, staring at the two of you with a glazed look in his dark eyes.

Shaking himself off, Joel turned to your dad. “Guess I better work out some details with her.” He stepped over to the swing set, taking a seat on the empty swing and hoping to the heavens above that it held his weight. He struggled internally on how to start the conversation and was just about to blurt something out when his amazing daughter saved the day.

“Dad! She wants to be a teacher! A science teacher! Isn’t that cool? Did you ask her about watching me yet? I think she’d love to.” Sarah rambled on excitedly, amusing you and Joel. Turning to you before Joel could chime in, Sarah turned to you with baby cow eyes, adding, “You would love to, right?”

How could you ever resist that look? No one could. Both you and Joel were powerless as you nodded, and the offer became official. Cell numbers were exchanged and before you knew it, you had a job starting Monday.

Hours later, slightly drunk on spiked fruit punch and buzzing with energy, you thanked Joel for hosting the barbecue and giving you a job. You kissed his stubbled cheek, forcing thoughts of how attractive he was as far down as they could go. You could not develop a crush on your boss. “I’ll see you Monday morning, bright and early!” you declared before following your dad through the front door.

TBC

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel x female reader #the last of us #tlou #dbf!joel #Fall Into Me #pedro pascal #eventual smut #eventual romance

930 notes · View notes

captain-bubble-wrap · 4 months ago

Note

May I have a pregnancy announcement with Quinn? 🥹 Can you make her nervous, please??????

One nervous expentant mother coming up!

This couldn’t be happening right now. There was no way what you were seeing was correct.

For the last month or more you had noticed things that weren’t your normal. You had tried to explain them away as just PMS symptoms, but the nausea was the one thing that was the tell-tale red flag. The mood swings were nothing new, but they hadn’t gone away. Poor Quinn had been walking on eggshells for weeks on end despite having done nothing to warrant your attitude. Everything else just aligned with your cycle paying you a visit, however it never came around. You had been more stressed as of late, and a missed period wasn’t something you experienced often, but enough that you didn’t freak out initially. However, with everything stacking up, you bought a pregnancy test to hopefully clear your mind of any uncertainty.

Now, you stood alone in the bathroom, braced against the vanity while the timer on your phone ticked down to the last remaining seconds, although the test was very clearly completed. The blue plus-sign was the darkest shade of blue on both of the lines that the test could produce. It was a definite positive. With hands over your mouth in glaring realization, you stood there staring at it, trembling. Quinn was just beyond the bathroom door, unaware of the news you now had to give him.

How would he take it?

You weren’t married; you weren’t even engaged, yet here you were, feeling mocked by the pregnancy test sitting there on the counter. You couldn’t hide the fact now and this was no false-positive. You had to tell him. Your fingers were still shaking when you reached for it, nearly dropping it once it was between your fingers. “Shit~” You spat, just under your breath. You needed to get yourself in order or this was going to be so much harder. By this point, you had no idea how long had you been locked in the bathroom; how long did the test take again?

You tiptoed from the bathroom, hoping you’d find him not in the middle of something so you could get it over with as soon as possible, still unsure what his reaction was going to be. He was in the living room, feet up on the ottoman, streaming a Thursday Night Football game. He hadn’t noticed you approach until you squeaked out his name.

“Quinn?”

The first time you said it, he hadn’t heard you. The second time, however, it was more shaky and a touch louder, “Quinn?”

The change in your tone was what pulled his attention away from the broadcast. The look on your face had pulled him to his feet.

"What’s wrong, baby?” His face was drenched in concern and immediate dread. He knew you better than anyone and even he hadn’t seen you like this before. “You look really pale. Why don’t you sit down?”

The test wand was tucked in the palm of your hand and braced against your wrist. When Quinn asked you to sit on the sofa, you did so, but crossed your arms over your stomach, further helping you conceal the test until you were ready to finally break the news. He was looking at you with such worry. For some reason you thought he would be eyeing you with suspicion, but your rational brain knew Quinn wasn’t that way.

He’d sit right next to you, both of you turned towards the other slightly. Your eyes were down, staring at your knees before his hands touched you gently. His soft affection made you jump even though you saw it coming. It was like you were split between two different places.

“Are you alright?” He asked, never dreaming you would have jumped at his touch.

Your heart was beating so quickly, you couldn’t tell if you had said your reply loud enough because all you could hear was the thumping in your ears. “No.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Still, your eyes were down, unable to look at his worried face. Quinn would actually bend down hoping to catch your gaze. When your eyes met, you began to cry. It was just too hard to keep the amped up emotions inside any longer.

“Oh, baby! Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” He reached forward, pulling hair behind you ear; his warm touch grazing your ear. “I’m really worried about you.”

“Quinn, I’m~,” you mumbled, your eyes flipping between both of his for something to focus on. “I’m...”

“Hmm?” Quinn’s tone was sympathetic, soft, and unhurried. He had his emotions reined in while you were running a thousand miles an hour.

“I’m...pregnant.” Immediately, you broke down, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you sobbed.

To say Quinn was shocked would have been an understatement. He wanted to smile, to be excited, but seeing you react like you were stopped his celebration. He’d hold your face with both of his hands and kiss you so passionately.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart! This is incredible!”

You’d sniffle once he parted from your lips. Reaching up to wipe your eyes, you forgot the test was in your hand, and it would drop from your lap to the floor. Quinn would beat you to picking it up and when his eyes saw the positive indicator he grinned. “Oh baby, I love you! Please, don’t cry! I’m so happy!”

Words were still hard for you; you were still sobbing, though you didn’t know why other than your hormones were running without restraint. Instead, you reached for him, and he took you in his arms immediately.

"Baby, baby, baby! It’s okay!” He hushed, one hand on your back, the other smoothing your hair. “Happy tears, okay?”

This made you cry more, buried into his neck as your fingers clawed into his back.

“Shhh, you’re okay. Everything is fine, sweetheart. I want you to be happy...” his voice dropped off, his non-hormonal stressed brain making a very irrational thought appear. “Do you not want to have the baby?”

You pushed back from him, eyes wide and in shock as you searched his face. “Of course I do! I’m just... I don’t know how to feel right now I’m so confused! I’m so sorry!”

He gave you a smile, “You have a lot going on, babe! It’s okay to be all over the place!” Quinn’s fingers tightened ever so slightly. “I love you so much!”

"I love you, too!” You continued to weep, just wanting to smile and share in his happiness. “You’re not upset?”

“Upset? Absolutely not! Why would I be?”

“Because we weren’t even...we hadn’t talked about this.”

“Everything for a reason, baby,” he smiled wider. “I can’t wait to let mom know. She’s going to go crazy!”

Your face went completely white. Both of your families had to be told, how had you forgotten? You struggled to tell Quinn, how were you going to handle telling two separate families of this news?

“We’ll tell them together, okay?” He added, seeing the immediate change in your expression. “We’ve plenty of time. Right now, all I care about is you and how you’re doing. I know the last month hasn’t been easy, and this explains a lot.”

“I’m so sorry I’ve been so mean to you, Quinn!”

“No, no, don’t cry! I’m alright, so just let that go.” He smiled again. “You’re okay.”

Falling against his chest again, you’d put your chin on his shoulder and whimper. Everything was hitting you at once and all you wanted was a break from feeling like an emotional nutcase. Quinn, on the other hand had taken to rocking you gently.

"Everything it okay, baby. I promise you. I couldn’t be more happy right now! To have a little family with you, I can’t lie, I’ve had daydreams about it. Now, it’s going to happen and I’m so happy!”

"Promise?”

“I promise. I’ll make sure you have everything you need, okay? I’ll go with you to as many appointments as I can and I’ll take care of you every step of the way.”

“Quinny,” you finally smiled. “You’re so sweet.”

“Anything for you and our little baby.”

#💌Maven's Love Notes #🥹🥹🥹 i thought this was a cute ask #i hope it was okay #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic

285 notes · View notes

madaqueue · 5 months ago

Text

RECIPE FOR DISASTER — yuji itadori & ryomen sukuna x gn!reader

request | event masterlist | fluff : baking cookies

“no offense, yu, but literally what did you do?”

yuji pouts over the glass bowl, in it laying some combination of chocolate, sprinkles, and…goo.

“i don’t know! i swear i followed the recipe,” his lips curl into a frown, one that makes you giggle at the sight, like a puppy who didn’t get a treat he worked oh-so-hard for.

“he probably fucked it up by looking at it wrong.” your gaze shoots to sukuna, his legs idly kicking from where he’s perched atop the kitchen counter. reaching out to smack him for his indignance, he catches your wrist in the air. “and if you get flour on my shirt, you’ll be going in the dough next.”

with a grumble you pull back, instead offering yuji a comforting pat. “it’s okay, yu, it happens. maybe let’s just order something-”

“no!” you and sukuna freeze at the outburst, yuji’s cheeks turning pink. “no, we can do this, really! let’s just try one more time, please?”

and even though he rolls his eyes, sukuna mumbles a low “fine” as he hops down, black boots landing heavily on the hardwood floors. “but when this goes to shit, it’s your fault and you’re paying for our takeout.”

yuji’s smile grows impossibly wider as he sets the goo-bowl aside, already searching for another. rummaging through the cabinets, he sprawls ingredients across the table.

the three of you work in silence for a while: you, carefully measuring sugar and flour; yuji cracking the eggs; and sukuna off in the corner, mixing oil, butter, and vanilla. soft music plays from a speaker nearby, and for a moment it’s peaceful, until yuji’s voice breaks the silence:

“what the hell are you doing?”

“what am i doing?” sukuna challenges. “i’m doing what your stupid ass told me to do!”

over your shoulder, you turn to find the two of them bickering over their now-shared mixing bowl, holding a clumpy off-white mixture that looks distinctly non-edible.

“you didn’t mix it right, why does it look like that!” yuji exclaims.

“oh, so it’s my fault it’s wrong? you’re the one who doesn’t know how to crack a damn egg - there’s eggshells everywhere in here!”

“that’s not my fault, i swear there weren’t any like a second ago!”

you find sukuna’s gaze across the kitchen, mischief glimmering behind the crimson. “that’s not my problem, now is it, yuji?”

sliding yourself between them, you manage to catch a glimpse of their concoction, something that seems all too liquidy and solid for a cookie recipe.

“sukuna, what did you put in here?” you ask incredulously.

“i just did whatever he told me to - a quarter cup of oil, half a tablespoon of vanilla, and eight sticks of butter.”

you choke on your spit. “eight sticks of butter?”

“yep,” he smirks, crossing his arms. “that’s what yuji said.”

staring at the boy behind you, he smiles sheepishly. “that is what the recipe called for…”

grabbing the phone from him, you scroll through lengthy walls of text to find the culprit of this fiasco. at the very bottom of the page, the text glares back at you: “eight tablespoons of butter.”

“yuji.” you rub your eyes in disbelief. “eight tablespoons. that’s one stick of butter.”

“oh,” he shrinks, raising his shoulders apologetically. “oops.”

“told you it was your fault, you idiot-”

“and you,” you spin on your heel to face sukuna, finger pointed in accusation towards him. “you knew the recipe was wrong and you did it anyways!”

leaning forward, you smell the vanilla wafting off his skin. “i was just doing what i was told, sweetheart.”

shoving him away, your hand leaves a flour-white imprint on his black cotton t-shirt, one you’ll surely be forced to clean later. but he doesn’t get angry - instead, sukuna lets out the biggest, bellowing laugh, one that electrifies the air and shakes the cupboards. it’s a laugh that vibrates in your chest as you join in, ruffling yuji’s hair as he begins to giggle.

the absurdity and joy overtakes you; you laugh until your ribs hurt, and yuji smiles at you. “i’ll get the takeout menus,” he grins, and in the tiny kitchen, all you feel is warmth.

a/n: samara, my most beloved dear samara - i love you so much and i'm so happy to have met you :') thank you for loving our silly stupid boys with me, thank you for letting me scream and rant abt things to you, thank you for making this little online space one that i cherish so much <3 I LOVE YOUUUUU and i hope you enjoy this :33

#press snowflakes in a book like flowers ❆꙳•❅#q writes #drabbles #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #yuji itadori x reader #itadori yuji x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #yuji itadori fluff #sukuna fluff

351 notes · View notes

sturniololuvz · 1 month ago

Note

part 3 of say that again would go CRAZYYY

LMAOOO IF YALL INSIST

“You Meant It”

(Part 3 to “Say That Again” | angst | aftermath of running away | fighting between the triplets | breaking point)

You didn’t come home that night.

Or the next morning.

Or the one after that.

And the house was breaking apart.

Physically, emotionally, spiritually — it didn’t matter. Every single part of it felt wrong without you there. And the tension between the boys was boiling hot.

No one was sleeping.

No one was eating.

No one knew where you were. And that was the part killing all of them the most.

⸻

Chris was spiraling.

He barely spoke. Barely moved. Just kept pacing or sitting with his head in his hands. Kept going over every second of the fight in his mind — every curse, every scream, every second he didn’t say “I love you” when he should’ve.

Matt was the first to snap.

“Have you even tried calling her again?” he shouted.

Chris didn’t look up. “She’s not answering.”

“Well no shit, because the last thing you said to her was ‘shut the fuck up.’”

“Don’t start with me.”

“I will start with you!” Matt’s voice rose. “She looked at you like you were the only one who could calm her down, and you fucking yelled worse than any of us.”

Nick stepped in. “Matt, back off.”

“No!” Matt shoved a chair out of the way. “He gets to walk around like he’s the only one who feels like shit? Like we didn’t all lose her?!”

“She’s not lost,” Chris said through clenched teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Matt barked. “Then where the fuck is she, Chris?”

Silence.

Chris’s jaw flexed. “If you hadn’t been so hard on her all the time—”

“Oh, fuck you,” Matt snapped, stepping toward him. “You don’t get to throw blame when you put your fist through the goddamn wall.”

Nick shoved them apart, shoving Chris back by the chest. “Both of you—fucking stop!”

Chris’s hands balled into fists again, chest heaving. “I can’t just sit here. I can’t. She’s out there and we don’t even know if she’s safe.”

“She’s smart,” Nick said, voice a little steadier but his hands shaking. “She’ll be okay.”

Chris’s voice cracked. “But what if she’s not?”

Matt sat down on the floor like his legs gave out. “She meant it. When she said she couldn’t breathe in this house. She meant it, Nick.”

And that’s when Nick broke too.

“She was trying to tell us for months,” he whispered, wiping his face. “We were so busy filming, working, doing stupid shit—and she was falling apart in front of us.”

Chris collapsed next to Matt, eyes burning.

“I’d give anything to go back. I’d say I’m sorry a thousand fucking times. I’d tell her every day that she’s not a burden. That she matters.”

Nick sat on the stairs.

“We let her feel alone in her own house.”

⸻

Meanwhile, across town…

You were curled up on a friend’s couch. Hoodie zipped up to your neck. Phone on Do Not Disturb. Eyes swollen from crying.

You hadn’t meant to sleep there two nights.

You hadn’t meant to stay gone this long.

But it was the first time in a long time you felt like you weren’t walking on eggshells. The quiet didn’t hurt. No one was screaming. No one was telling you to grow up, or calm down, or stop being dramatic.

And yet… your heart ached.

Because even after everything — after all the yelling, after Chris’s voice broke and Matt’s eyes filled and Nick tried to pull it all together — they were still your brothers.

And God, you missed them.

But you didn’t know if you were ready to forgive them.

Not yet.

Not until they proved they’d really changed.

⸻

Want Part 4?

We could do Chris finding out where you are. Matt driving in the rain. Nick finally breaking down over the phone with you. Or maybe… you come home — but things aren’t magically okay.

Let me know. I’ll keep building this.

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolos #sturniolo #stur #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sister sturniolo #sturniolo series

122 notes · View notes

xmpsrrr · 20 days ago

Text

“If You Didn’t Want to Stay, You Should’ve Just Left”

(suna x reader)

The door creaks open. Keys drop into the bowl.

“You smell like whiskey and smoke.” Your voice slices through the silence like a blade.

Suna freezes mid-step. You’re sitting at the kitchen table in one of his old shirts, hair a mess, face blank—but your eyes are sharp. He’s seen that look on you before. Usually right before he ruins something.

“Didn’t know I needed to check in with you,” he mutters.

You laugh. It’s not pretty. “You don’t. Not anymore. I stopped expecting that weeks ago.”

That hits, but he masks it with a shrug, heading to the fridge for water. “What do you want me to say?”

You scoff, standing up, slamming your hand on the table. “I want you to care, Rin.”

Silence. He takes a sip of water like he didn’t hear you.

“I want you to care enough to come home when you say you will. To text me. To notice when I stop talking because I know you’re not listening.”

His jaw tightens, but he keeps his back to you. “You think I don’t notice? I notice everything. I just don’t see the point in turning every little thing into a fight.”

“This isn’t a little thing!” you snap. “You walk in like you live in a hotel—come and go when you want, sleep next to me like a stranger, and then act like I’m too emotional when I ask where the hell you’ve been.”

He slams the water bottle on the counter, turning to face you finally. “I’ve been out because being here feels like walking on eggshells.”

Your breath catches.

“Because I never know what version of you I’m coming home to,” he continues, voice rising now. “You’re always angry, always waiting for me to mess up. Like I don’t already know I’m shit at this.”

“You are shit at this,” you spit, instantly regretting it, but too far in to back out now. “You don’t try. You don’t show up. You’re here, but you’re not with me, Rin.”

He swallows hard. You can tell it lands. But instead of backing down, he throws his walls higher.

“Then why are you still here?” he says, voice quieter now. More dangerous. “If I’m so impossible to love, why the hell are you still trying?”

That makes your chest cave.

“Because I love you,” you say, the words cracking in your throat. “And I thought you’d eventually love me back.”

Suna doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. Just stares at you like he’s looking at a version of you he doesn’t recognize anymore.

And you realize—he doesn’t have an answer.

Your voice breaks again, softer this time. “If you didn’t want to stay, Rin… you should’ve just left.”

That’s when it hits him. All the silence he thought kept things safe, all the nights he convinced himself you were fine—it wasn’t protection. It was distance. And now? You’re at the edge.

He steps forward, regret all over his face—but you hold up your hand.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Not unless you mean it.”

Because tonight? Half-love isn’t enough. Empty apologies won’t patch bullet wounds.

And Suna Rintarou finally sees it.

This time, he might lose you for real.

hope you guys enjoyed!

#suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna rintarō #haikyuu #haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #haikyu fluff

88 notes · View notes

asunflowerana · 8 months ago

Text

brownie bonding — Nanami Kento

summary: kento makes most of his quality time with his baby daughter.

warnings: pure fluff, dad!nanami, cooking.

wc: 800.

A warming melody of jazz echoes on the portable radio in the kitchen, filling the bonding moment perfectly. Nanami is just finishishing tying a cook’s apron around his waist, feeling a bit awkward to wear such a flowery print, but it was a request from his baby daughter. There’s no way he would refuse her.

“You look pretty, daddy!” His sunshine compliments him, sitting in the high chair at the counter with her head covered by her tiny cook’s hat. She isn’t a kid that plays around: if she’s going to cook, she’ll wear the proper clothes for it.

Six years old, acting that way already. Imagine when she’s sixteen.

He can’t help but send her a fondly smile. One of the good things about having a kid is that you will always receive an honest answer from them. His little girl it’s saying he looks pretty, so maybe flower prints actually suit him.

He moves his focus to the counter, checking the ingredients on display: sugar, butter, wheat flour, powdered chocolate, milk, eggs, chocolate chips. The mixer is set, the oven is heating up, and they have everything they need to start the day’s recipe:

Brownies

You’re on your way home from a business trip today, and they both came up with the idea of surprising you with some brownies. In addition to welcoming you home with a delicious gift, Kento also takes this opportunity to spend more quality time with his daughter. She’s growing up so fast that he’s been feeling guilty for missing some moments of her life because of work. He wants to make sure that as long as he has time, he’ll make the most of it alongside her.

“Alright sweetheart, what’s the first step?” He claps his hands, giving her the task of leading and guiding them through the recipe. She bows to read the children’s cookbook she got for her birthday last year, and points her little index to the first illustrated step.

“We need to mix eggs with sugar.” She says, cautiously taking the mixer’s bowl and placing it in front of them. “Can I put them in, daddy?”

“You can, but you need to be careful with the eggs. Break this way.” He demonstrates to her, tapping the tip of the fork against the eggshell until it breaks a small part. He then opens it halfway, and pours the yolk and whites into the bowl. “Your turn now.”

Eri picks up another egg, and tries to imitate exactly what her father did, but ends up hitting the shell too hard, causing the egg to break right on the table and smear the wood with white and yolk. The dirt definitely doesn’t please her father, but he isn’t going to make a big deal of it. These things happen, even to adults, and he doesn’t want to make his daughter feel guilty about something like that. So when she looks at him with those fearful little eyes waiting for a scold, he starts to chuckle at the situation, making her visibly relax as the moment passes by.

They continue with the recipe, now with Nanami directly helping her put the ingredients into the bowl, and his heart warmed to see his daughter having fun cooking, her mini apron’s all dirty from chocolate. “Now we have to add the flour.” He takes the bag from the counter, and gives it to her. “Think you can do it, sweeheart?”

She nods eagerly, and starts pouring flour into the meter. A small amount of flour escapes, but she manages most part of the process, placing the measured flour into the bowl. “I did it!” She announces as soon as she’s done, a huge one missing tooth grin on her face.

Nanami smiles at his daughter’s delight, caressing the top of her head. “Yes sweetheart, you did it.” He presses the ‘on’ button on the mixer, and it starts to churn all the mixture into the bowl. The two watch together the mixture incorporate and become a smooth brown dough, which soon after was put on a platter to bake in the oven.

Since the brownie would take about forty minutes to bake, Nanami thought it would be a good time to give his sunshine a bath and get her ready before the sweet is done.

But his daughter has other plans in mind.

“Daddy, you have flour on your face.” She points in the direction, making him run his hand over his whole cheek. “No, missed.”

“Where’s it?” he asked, leaning his face close to let her clean it for him.

She puts one of her flour-covered hands to his nose, laughing when she sees the art she’s made on her father’s skin. “There.”

His first reaction is deadpan, not believing he fell for a six-year-old child’s trick. But he’s definitely not a quitter: as soon as she gets occupied laughing at his face, he places his hands on her sides and holds her, giving her a mischievous smile. “So this is how you want to play, huh? Very well, young lady… You shall be defeated.” He starts tickling her body, making her squirm and laugh even more. He releases her eventually, and the two soon start a big flour fight around the room, running and throwing flour everywhere.

Not only they’ll give you a brownie tray, but also a pretty messy kitchen to deal with afterwards. But you can’t deny that it’s worth the price.

#nanami as dad is too precious pls #w.jjk #jjk x reader #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jjk nanami #nanami fluff #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #kento x reader #kento x you #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #nanami dad #domestic fluff

390 notes · View notes

espinosaurusrexex · 6 months ago

Text

A degree? Who needs that anyway?

Boyfriend!Bucky x Female!Reader

summary: Bucky noticed you were exhausted during this time of the semester. Being the supportive golden retriever boyfriend he was, he just wanted to make you feel better. Unfortunately, his efforts only showed him how stressed you really were. So he vowed to support you through it all.

a/n: I have finally finished all my work and am back in business, baby! I'm so excited to spend the cozy season writing and posting again. Thank you for being so patient and supporting. I am so unbelievably grateful for this community. This is for all the academic girlies struggling through exam season like I do...

word count: 1.9k

warnings: feelings stress and not being enough, perfectionsim (and the pressure that comes with it), projecting self worth onto academic achievements, Bucky being adorable and supportive (perfect boyfriend alert!), just a whole lotta fluff

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝒄.𝒂𝒊 ✧*･ﾟ

You were stressed. Bucky knew it. Everyone was walking on eggshells around you, if - ever - you allowed yourself to step out of the apartment to see your friends or work your part-time job. He'd never seen you like this. You were a social butterfly, the total opposite of him with the ability to recharge when you were around the people you loved most. But for a month or so you'd been living the hermit life. And Bucky did not like it one bit.

It gave him an uneasy feeling, a squeeze to his heart, a hatred for anything that could potentially set you off. Because it was there - the potential. He was just waiting for it. For the shoe to drop, for you to break. For him to go on a rampage against all things bothering you.

He knew you were strong and stubborn, and that you hated to ask people for help. But there was only so much a person could endure. Hell, Bucky knew too well himself. Because he was the same. He hated asking for help - he hated accepting that he was bad at something. But this... just broke his heart.

He tried to take you out, to get you to eat with him - anything to get you back to your normal routines. But not even when he mentioned your favorite pastime activity did he get an enthusiastic smile out of you. That’s when he knew something was seriously wrong. Well, not something. He knew it was University. You’d complained about your professors at the beginning of the semester to him, how they were too ambitious for their own good and required a mountain of weekly readings not even that guy from Transformers could manage. Now... towards the end of the term, he saw how that ambition bled into your papers and final exams.

And Bucky? Well, he didn’t know how to act around you. It seemed like a silly selfish problem but normally you would be the one seeking contact and physical touch. He enjoyed it every time but he was just not good at initiating it himself. You’d seemed to shut him out completely. Working yourself away on your desk only to fall asleep on it and have Bucky carry you to bed. He hated seeing you like this.

He knew it wasn’t a permanent state - it couldn’t be. Because even though he considered you the strongest person he knew, there had to be a point at which even you broke.

And then, one day, it just happened. Without warning. Bucky hadn’t wanted to be right, so he had just ignored the thought of your breaking beneath all the pressure completely. And that was why he did not have as much as a hunch when you were talking over breakfast and the dam broke.

You had been up since well before Bucky had finally convinced you to eat with him. He’d even gone to your favorite bakery this morning to get the little pudding pastries you loved so much. And when he came back, he silently pulled your chair back and dropped you at the dining table. Everything seemed pretty good for a while. And then, out of nowhere, while Bucky was telling you about his trip to the Bakery, you had just started crying - hard.

Bucky had never seen so many tears. Not even when the wives of his fellow soldiers stood at the peer waving his comrades goodbye with white handkerchiefs. He shook the memory away. He thought the amount of tears quite impossible with the neglect of drinking water he had witnessed over the past week but they just kept coming. And Bucky wanted to hold you but something told him it wouldn't help one bit.

You were sobbing into your hands drawing in shaky breaths as you hid your face from him and everything inside him began to scream. Scream at him for sitting there frozen like an idiot and screaming at all the professors who deserved nothing more than a good punch in their oh so intelligent faces.

"It's just all too much. I’m so exhausted, Bucky.” A trembling breath that was muffled by your hands pressing into your mouth. Bucky was raging, but he let you continue. “And I hate that... I hate that I let this consume so much of my time and ...me. I hate that I let it affect me so much when I’m at the point at which I don't even know if it's worth it anymore.”

Bucky drew in a sharp breath at that statement. You had been working so hard, dedicated so much time and effort to work toward a goal he wanted you to achieve as much as you wanted to initially. To hear you doubt yourself broke his heart into a million pieces. He knew you were capable of it, but something told him not to say that just now. It was then you finally lifted your face and let your reddened eyes search for his. His fingers itched to touch your face. Why didn’t he do so?

“And it doesn’t help that everyone believes in me you know?” He nodded, though he didn’t quite understand. “I love each of my friends but every person that tells me they believe in me and how they don’t even doubt I’ll make it adds more pressure on top of the standard I set for myself.”

This was it. This was the moment he needed to touch you. Bucky rose from his chair and knelt down beside yours. His warm hand reached up toward your face and you immediately fell into his embrace. Your forehead pressed into his muscular shoulder, your arms reached around him and his entire body felt tingly as relief flooded through it.

"I am so scared I'm going to fail.” You exhaled into his shirt as his hand gently stroked your back. He wanted to tell you how failing wasn’t bad. How much he would love you regardless and how stupid a dumb degree was anyway. He wanted to kiss you and whisper against your skin how you could excel at everything you tried by simply being yourself because, for Bucky, you were the epitome of perfection.

But he didn’t do any of it. Because he also knew how important this was for you. Even if you were questioning if anything was worth it at this point - it definitely wasn’t in his eyes if it meant seeing you so crushed by something as trivial as a file on your computer - Bucky knew he’d help you walk through a hurricane if that was what you needed from him. Hell, he’d gladly do so if it would bring your beautiful smile back to your face. This degree felt really close to what he imagined walking through a hurricane to be like right about now. And he thought that he would never want one himself if this was what you had to go through in order to get it. Besides, who needed a degree anyway? Back in his day, you weren’t more special for it. Being a soldier did the job just fine... then again, that was probably worse than the hurricane thing. Focus Bucky.

Bucky pulled back and kissed your tears off your face and then he pressed one more kiss to your salty lips for good measure. Yes, he’d do anything for you - degree or not.

“What can I do to help you, love? I hate seeing you like this.” He froze for a second in fear of adding more pressure by expressing his sadness. And surely, you just started crying harder as your face fell forward again. Oh no, Bucky thought.

“I-“ you hick-uped, “I don’t know.” Seriously where did you get all that water from? “I love you so much. And I appreciate you so much and I know you want to comfort me but if we were to cuddle for an hour I would just stress myself out about the time I could spend studying - even if all I wanna do is cuddle you.” The stream didn’t stop when you cried harder. “And I hate that!”

Bucky nodded frustrated. "I love you too.” And then he cradled your head with his metal hand.

For a good minute, you just stayed like this. Bucky pressed you deeper into his chest until your sobs slowly died down and your stuffy breathing became steadier. He kissed your hair just to stroke over it again and then kiss it once more. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he did something that relaxed you a little. And even though you had just cried a river in your kitchen, you were so much calmer than before.

You sniffled adorably when you looked up at him after some time. “Just know I know how difficult I am right now. I cannot wait for this to be over. It’s just... I don’t even know how to take care of myself right now, I can’t possibly know how to include you in this as well.” A final tear fell and Bucky was fast to wipe it away. “But I am so glad you’re here.”

“Okay, I understand.” He answered and hugged you again, vowing to initiate daily cuddle/relief breaks from here on out. There wasn’t much he could do, he knew that and hated it too. If he could, he would write your papers for you, but Bucky was convinced he was not nearly smart enough for that, so anything else had to make do. He’d keep the apartment clean so you had a good atmosphere to learn, he’d make sure you slept and ate on time, and he’d supply all the love you deserved regardless of exam season. “And you just know that I will be here for you, patiently waiting until you have the capacity to include me again.” He pushed your hair from your forehead and kissed you sweetly. “I will support you in everything you do...” Another kiss, this one, you reciprocated. “Always.” And another long, warm lasting kiss to seal his promise. “If you promise me one thing... one thing only,” he whispered.

“What is it?” You whispered back.

“Promise to let me take care of you. I know you would spend 25 hours in a day studying if it were possible, but you can't keep it up like this.” He nodded. “Let me make sure you have the headspace for all your studying. Don’t deny my bringing you food, or dragging you to bed. And collect at least three kisses and one hug every day for emotional support,” he smiled faintly, a cheeky glimmer in his eyes that shone in yours as well.

“Okay, I promise.”

Bucky kissed you again, pressing your body against his with gentle strength. His heart began to beat faster when he felt your nails rake down his shoulders.

From then on Bucky would come up to you and hug you for a couple seconds, calling it ‘quick recharge’. He would hold you when you cried - but only when you cried because you needed to spend your dedicated hours of studying- holding you was for later. And then he would remind you to drink enough water after watching your tears soak into his shirt. But what he looked forward to the most, were the evenings when you would cuddle into his side in bed and let him lull you to sleep. He felt accomplished as he watched you relax outside the study schedule you set up with him, being able to fully be present when you ate together or went to bed. There were still rough times, but Bucky was there to hold you regardless, smiling at the fact that his touch could calm you down and that it would be over soon - and then he’d spend entire days making up for everything that fell short because of that viscous degree.

please take care of yourself, just like Bucky would during an exhausting time like this 💛

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@almosttoopizza @sociallyimpairedme @royalwritersoftheuniverses @i-l-y-3000 @mrsgweasley @prettylittlepluviophile @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 7 @wintermischief @supersecretblogformytreasures @broadwaybabe18 @fridayiaminlove @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @justafangir1 @simpxinnie @bisexual-buckyfan @blackhawkfanatic @augustbucky @kandis-mom @harleycao @ashhsage @hhiggs @scott-loki-barnes @gabshouse @i-spy-1812 @barnes1031 @am-3-thyst @awkotaco24 @star-buck-barnes @armystay89 @missaprilt23 @rexit-mo @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @winchestert101 @circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv @mcu21lover19 @pigeonmama @wilsons-striped-ties @caplanbuckybarnes @rosecentury @somnorvos @looking1016 @beansprout713

191 notes · View notes

artvscvntymullet · 10 days ago

Text

ONE LAST TIME - WILLNE

content warnings : conflict, mention of burnout, argument and alcohol cosumption

word count : 2300 words

A/N : this was in drafts for a long..long time and so i've tried my best to tweak, but it may need to undergo more editing (when i can be bothered) hope you enjoy !

masterlist here !!

You weren’t supposed to be home for another hour.

The hallway was too quiet, but not in the comforting way. There was no music playing, no stream highlights echoing from his office, no Will humming under his breath in the kitchen, just still.

You slip your shoes off. Your keys barely make a sound when they hit the bowl by the door.

Then you hear them, muffled voices — low. Will's voice, thick and hoarse around the edges. “—I dunno anymore, mate. It’s constant. Feels like I can’t even breathe without screwin’ somethin’ up.”

James answers, quieter, an answer you can’t make out.

You stop at the edge of the living room doorway. Your fingertips graze the frame, your stomach sinking.

Will’s slouched on the couch, hoodie half-off his shoulder, bottle of whisky hanging loose from his hand, the cap abandoned on the coffee table. His cheeks are red - not drunk, not yet, but flushed in that way he gets when he's trying not to cry.

James sits perched on the edge of the chair across from him, he's sober, still.

You speak before you think. “Wow.”

Will flinches and the bottle tips slightly, but he catches it clumsily before it spills.

James jolts upright. “Shit Y/N I didn’t know you were—”

“Do you mind, James?” you cut in, not looking at him. “This isn’t on you.”

James grabs his jacket without a word and you hear the door shut behind him. It clicks like punctuation.

Will stands slowly, stiff as if he’s been there for hours. “I didn’t mean for you to see it like this.”

You blink. “Like what? You talking shit about me to James? Or you drinking your way out of another bad week?”

He winces, “That’s not fair.”

“No?” You take a step into the room. “I heard you. You said I’m always there, like I'm some kind of - I don't know? An obligation, or dare I say it, a burden? Do you even begin to understand how that makes me feel Will?.”

His jaw clenches. He doesn’t say anything. His thumb brushes along the label on the bottle, like he’s trying to peel it off.

“I’ve been walking on eggshells around you for months, Will. I let the moods slide and the silent days and the convenient excuses. Because I knew you were tired, and I understood work has been brutal but I begged you to take a break. I thought, fucking hell, I actually thought you’d come back to me when you caught your breath.”

He looks up at you for the first time, and he really looks, like your voice just reached him for the first time. His eyes are glassy, the bags under them are deep.

“You think I don’t see how hard you’ve been trying to hold it together?” Your voice shakes now, heat rising in your chest. “I see it, I’ve always seen it. But somewhere in all that holding on, you let me go, you've let us go.”

He moves forward, slow and unsure, bottle still clutched like a shield. “It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me how it is, Will. Tell me why the second you hit your breaking point, you turned to James and a bottle instead of coming to me.”

His grip tightens around the glass.

“I needed to switch off,” he says, voice low, accent thicker from exhaustion. “Just for one night. Just to feel like I wasn’t bein’ judged.”

You inhale sharply. “You think I judge you?”

“No - fuck, no, not like that.” He rakes both hands through his dark mullet, bottle clinking against the table as he sets it down. “It’s just, when I’m around you, I don’t wanna be a mess. You’re the only good thing I’ve got. I'm scared that if you see me like this, you’ll leave.”

Your chest caves in and you fold your arms tight across it, just to keep from shaking.

“I saw you like this, and I stayed. Over and over, Will, but you never let yourself open up, despite my efforts, and you know I would've helped you, and listened to you. You know I'd do anything for you.”

He turns his back to you, and runs a hand down his face, sobering up. “I know.”

“You said I don’t understand.” Your voice is quieter now. “But I do. I understand more than you think. I’ve been loving a version of you who never has time, who is now a hollow man who can’t meet my eyes. Who needs me, but never wants me.”

His face twists like it physically hurts to hear you.

You don’t stop, you can't stop. Every bit of upset, and disappointment, and longing is rearing it's ugly head and you cannot stop, the feelings have been supressed for too long. “I sit next to you on the couch and feel alone. I lie in bed beside you and feel cold. I kiss you and wonder if it’s just muscle memory now.”

Will takes a shaky breath. “Don’t say that.”

Tears burn your eyes, unrelenting. “Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?”

His fists curl at his sides. “Because I never wanted to make you feel like that. Because I still love you, even if I’m shit at showing it.”

“But love isn’t supposed to hurt like this, Will.”

He steps toward you, close now - closer than he’s been in weeks. His hand hovers like he wants to reach for your cheek but doesn’t dare. “Please don’t give up on me, I need you.”

You breathe in. It catches halfway down your lungs.

“I've put my all in and only received 50%, I love you but we can't go on like this,” you whisper. “I just didn’t want to admit it.”

The silence between you is unbearable. His chest rises and falls too fast, while your fingers twitch at your sides, desperate to touch something — him, the couch, the air, anything to anchor you.

His voice cracks. “Just one more kiss. Please. Just if this is it.”

You nod once and he kisses you like he’s trying to memorise it - like maybe if he presses hard enough, you’ll stay. His hands slide into your hair, gentle and frantic. Your fingers fist in his hoodie, he tastes of whisky and grief.

When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours. “Don’t go,” he whispers, his eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill

You press your lips to his one last time, soft and final.

Then you step back, grab your bag and open the door - tears bubbling over and falling down your cheek.

And you leave, you don't slam the door - you don’t need to.

Door clicks shut, quiet follows like a ghost.

She didn’t slam it. Thought she might, thought she should’ve. Who knows? It might’ve made this easier if there’d been shouting, or thrown keys, or something. But nothing apart from that soft, final click.

That’s worse, that means it’s real.

Will stands in the middle of the room, hoodie half-off, hair a mess from pulling at it. He looks around like maybe she’s still here, like maybe this was some dream, but the apartment’s empty.

It still smells of her favourite perfume, still has her hoodie hanging off the back of the dining chair.

He almost says her name, just to break the silence. Instead, he slumps down, hard, on the edge of the sofa like someone’s knocked the wind out of him. Hands on his knees, breathing like it hurts - and it does.

The bottle’s still on the table. He pushes it away with the back of his hand, he doesn’t want it now, he never really did.

What a way to end it, hey? One night, one bottle, one shitty, pressure-choked spiral, and he couldn’t even keep it between the two of them. He had to run his mouth like she wasn’t everything he’d ever wanted.

She walked in and looked at him like he was a stranger. He didn’t recognise himself either.

She stood there with her voice breaking and her arms crossed like if she didn’t hold herself together, she’d shatter. Told him she felt alone, unwanted. Every word hit like a punch to the ribs because she was right.

He'd been spiralling for months. Tired, worn, snapping under lights and cameras and fake laughs.

But she’d never once asked him to perform, at least not with her. She never asked him to be anything but present. And still — he shut her out.

Not because he didn’t love her. Because he did, so much it was now suffocating him. Because when he looked at her, he saw something good, something whole, and he didn’t know how to hold it without fucking it up.

So he avoided it and buried it, pretended he had time to fix it later.

Later came and she was gone.

Will scrubs his hands over his face. His palms are shaking. He lets out a breath that turns into something cracked and sharp. Sits back, stares at the ceiling.

She kissed him like she already knew it was goodbye, while he kissed her like maybe he could make her stay. How could he be so blind to the feelings of the only woman he's ever loved? How could he have missed so many signs? He didn't. They were just easier to ignore.

His throat tightens. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and lets his head drop into his hands. Fingers press into his scalp like pressure might undo regret - like maybe if he pushes hard enough, he’ll stop replaying her voice over and over.

“I gave you everything.”

He doesn’t cry. Not right away, he sits there, still, stiff, silent. Then his shoulders start to shake, and it all crashes in.

#uk youtubers #will lenney #willne #willne x reader #willne angst #will lenney x reader #angst

106 notes · View notes

ilovetoxicfictionalmen · 7 months ago

Text

ELECTRIC STORM

KINKTOBER DAY 20 - MARVEL AU WITH VICTOR VON DOOM

Pairing.| Cillian!Victor Von Doom x storm!fem!reader

Summary.| Victor has great plans for you, that's why you're locked up in his home in Lavertia.

Warnings.| Dubcon, noncon, abduction, probable stockholm syndrome, forced infidelity, restraints, p in v.

Word count.| 2.9k

Notes.| I was too hyped up that Cillian would be announced as Doom. So happy kinktober my lovely people.

The breaths that left your lips were shallow. It felt exhausting to keep your eyes even open, your hands rubbed over the metal rings on your wrists, the small green lights teased you. In a frustrated act, you tugged on the metal again, pointless as usual.

The large double hung windows taunted you, freedom was right there. Sure, you could break the window, but you were three stories up, no clear access to a ledge in sight. Without your powers, you’d fall to your death, you felt so weak, so vulnerable, defenseless. Your hands tugged on the shirt you wore, his cologne coated in the fabric continued to pester you.

As you stared aimlessing into the wide green estate in the midst of Lavertia, your eyes widened as you saw a car appear in sight. It grew larger as it flew down the gravel driveway, your chest expanded with alarm, your captor had finally returned. You jumped to your feet, eyes bounced around the lavish old fashioned bedroom. There was nothing in sight to use in offense, a mere book would do nothing.

After some time, the sounds of heavy, slow footsteps appeared, you panicked and scanned your eyes from the bed to the closet, you chose the closet. The door quietly shut as you balled yourself up in the corner, you slowed your breathing.

To anguish you, the door creaked open loudly, your heart pounded like you were on illicit drugs, mind raced in every single direction. But on the outside, you remained calm, content, controlled. The sounds of thumping on the great vibrations, his shadow grew larger underneath the cracks.

“My dear… How amusing of you to hide, are we playing a game of cat and mouse?” he toyed, but his voice sounded different this time, he sounded mechanical.

The natural light shined on you as he stood there, tall and proud in another expensive dark suit freshly pressed. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, an iron mask covered his face. It was intimidating, the shape of the metal, his blue eyes continued to beam into your soul. His salt and pepper hair poked out from behind. You gulped harshly as you covered your bare legs, you could just feel his eyes linger over your soft skin.

“Do you like my mask?” he chuckled.

It was hard to pinpoint his exact reaction when you didn’t reply. But he always hated it when you ignored him, even the slightest when you replay your memories in the laboratory. His arm extended out, hand pointed out to you. You scoffed in disgust and looked away from him immaturely.

“I offered you my hand many years ago, to which you rudely declined, you’d be asinine to decline again” he almost spat out.

Underneath the mask, his expression soured at the memory of asking you to be his. Surrendering, you reached out for him, he lifted you to your feet. He tutted at you as he inspected the red marks around your wrists. Slowly, you’re guided into the middle of the room, you feel like you’re walking on eggshells, your eyes peel at the open exit. You were always more athletic than him, the arrogance bubbled in your blood. The hatred for him pushed you to the edge.

When you yanked your hand free, Victor mentally rolled his eyes, you dashed to the door. With a clench of his fist, he shot his hand towards the ground. The metal around your wrists pulled you to the floor, your knees scraped on the carpet. You huffed out in defeat, Victor stood behind you with his hands on his hips.

“Come here” he commanded.

Slumping your shoulders forward, you rose to your feet and approached him with your head down stubbornly. His hands connected around your back as he looked down to you, almost in pity. Eventually, you looked up at him, your eyes were always beautiful when they glistered in the light. The mask was making you anxious, he felt monstrous, what happened to the man you once knew?

Slowly, you reached up to his mask and pulled it off, surprisingly he allowed it. The mask thudded on the carpet. His bright eyes glared down at you. That sharp jawline of his could almost cut something. Your eyes fixed onto his small scar across his chin. He hissed instantly and turned his face to the side. It took you a moment to even realize how close the two of you were, your fronts pressed together, his breathing fanned over your skin, hands locked around your back.

“Victor…” you mumbled out, your hands wrapped around his forearms as you tried to gently tug his paws away from you.

“I still need you…” Victor confessed softly. “Your powers would be a great benefit to me, to my plans. I don’t want to force you into anything, but I will if I must” he continued on.

You snarled at his comment, he holds you hostage and somehow believes that you’d give into him? He seemed to be acting stupidly now. In an act of anger, you shoved him off of you, he chuckled lightly as he stepped back towards you. You took another step back just as quick.

“Reed will find me!” You proclaimed.

His face scrunched at that comment, Richards. You all believed him to be dead after your unsuccessful mission. Correction, you left him for dead in outer space. There was no search mission for him, no what if thought. He knew that Richard hoped the blast had annihilated him. But you should never wish bad upon someone, because now Victor has evolved into an unstoppable force.

“How would you react if I told you that I’ve already killed him?” Victor grinned as he backed you up into a corner.

“I’d call you a liar” you huffed, he was inches away from you.

“Well, I suppose that idea will just have to play on your mind” Victor smiled smugly as he tapped your forehead.

Your body slumped against the wall, you were vulnerable, right where he wanted you. As his soft fingertips rested under your chin, he tilted your head up to him. For longer than needed, you stare into one another's eyes. He only wanted to anger you, get your flame blazing for his own personal enjoyment.

“I was always so fond of you” Victor brought up, his eyes blink slowly.

You think back to when you were his assistant. Fond was an understatement, he was struck by your beauty, intelligence, kindness, your complete aura. Now, he didn’t believe in destiny, but it felt like you were formulated to be with one another. Victor always gave you subtle hints, which you always flirted back with. To say that you took advantage of his kindness was undeniable. He took you to the most lavish venues and events that any girl would dream of. But never did he kiss you, because you were both professional, and he was a gentleman. So, when the announcement of your relationship with Richard came to light, Victor could kill.

“There was a time where I’d do almost anything for you, my dear” he sighed, his lips drawn closer to yours. His digits slowly stroked your heated cheeks, he could feel your body tremble, hear your heart race. “Play your cards wisely, and I still might worship you” he hinted with a mischief grin, his lips tormenting yours as they lightly brushed against one another.

The friction sparked over your nerves, you blinked hard as you felt your stomach twist blissfully. No, you loved Reed. This was all due to psychological factors, he had held you here for weeks, you depended on him completely with these stupid cuffs around your wrists. This was all another manipulation tactic of his.

“I don’t want you” you answered, emotionlessly. “I love Reed” you shot viciously.

“Richards is dead, my dear” Victor exhaled, a small look of pity.

“You’re lying” you muttered, your palms pressed against his chest but he remained still.

“Okay, you’re right, I am lying” Victor avowed swiftly.

You blinked at his easy submission. This was a rumbling cloud over your mind, he was toying with you, reverse psychology. But then that would be too easy, fuck, you felt your thighs squeeze together as he devoured you with his eyes.

“Enough” you whined softly.

Victor exhaled and snaked his arms around you, he inhaled your scent mixed with his, he wanted to eat you alive. You whimpered out, his touch felt too warm, too comforting, you wanted to mold your body against his. Where had your dignity vanished? You just wished you could disappear right now.

He kissed your collarbone, you grumbled out, your palms on his shoulders but you didn’t seem to try to push him off. The trail of kisses softly climbed up to your neck.

“Why did you never give us a chance?” Victor whispered as he kissed your neck.

You bit onto your lips, grateful that he couldn’t see you. His kisses traveled up to your jawline, you felt his hands rub over your shoulders, you exhaled softly.

“Because I never wanted you” you answered, your voice dripping with deception. Victor’s grin at you was threatening, you felt your shoulders cower.

Of course you always had a crush on him, he was your mentor, you spent so much time together. But Victor was drenched in pride, arrogance and ego. He was a perfectionist, it was so draining being around him. He made you feel like an idiot, ruined your esteem and broke your happiness at times. He didn’t care about you, he never did, he desired the idea of you.

“Your body is telling me something different” Victor laughed, his eyes low.

You looked down at your hips flexed forward, rubbing against his hips in a pathetic needy manner. You cursed underneath your breath. When you hinge your hips back, Victor forced them back against his growing erection. You whimpered out as Victor kissed the corner of your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Victor asked gently.

“No” you said firmly.

“I won’t tell anyone” he assured.

“Let me go Victor” you whimpered.

“Stop playing hard to get, I can bend you in whatever position I wish” he winked.

That comment was empathized by your arms involuntarily raising, you hissed at the movements of the cuffs, they rested right around his neck. Have you seriously given up this easily? But then yet again, how else were you meant to react, he could do whatever he wanted with you. You oughta be grateful that he is asking you for permission.

You voluntarily tilted your head up, his palm rested behind your neck as he nuzzled the tip of his nose against yours. The kiss was jolting, all of your nerves sparked up as his tongue slithered into your warm mouth. You tightened your hold around him as his silver tongue explored every inch of your moistness. Victor would pull back every once in a while, desiring to admire your pure beauty.

“I want to fuck you” Victor pronounced, his voice full of lust, eyes dripping of desire.

“No” you choked, images of Reed flashed behind your eyelids.

Victor exhaled as he stroked your flustered cheek. You gasped as he pressed the sides of your faces together, his mouth rested by your ear.

“You’re not in a position of power, my dear” he whispered.

Your eyes swelled up, face tensed and throat tightened. It was true, you had no moves to make, he had already won the game. It was either surrender or be ruined.

“Tell me he’s not dead” you whispered, eyes closed as you tried to steady your breathing.

Victor was quiet, his fingers massaging your scalp as he stared aimlessly at the wall.

“He isn’t dead, perfectly healthy actually, still searching the ends of the earth for you” he obeyed your request.

It was like two identical copies of a painting, you could never tell the difference between truth and deception. Letting it all go, you breathed out, your neck craned back as you looked him in the eyes. You pressed your lips against his, his hands slipped to your hips as he guided you both to the bed.

“Victor…” you whispered as he laid you on the bed. “And Johnny?” you blinked back your tears.

“Still as irritating as ever” he assured.

The shirt rode to your hips, your thighs pressed together as you stared at him in a teasing manner. Victor stared emotionlessly as he slid off his jacket and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He’d waited for felt like an eternity for this moment, he wasn’t going to rush anything. You gulped at how defined his chest was, even though he was older, he still kept himself in shape.

As he mounted you, your legs wrapped around his waist, your skin rubbed against the texture of his pants. Purposely, he unbuttoned your shirt at a slow pace, the grin grew with each section of skin coming into sight. He kneaded your breasts gently through your cream bra, he hummed to himself as you moaned softly.

“Such a perfect body” Victor complimented as he helped you slip off your shirt.

You rolled your eyes, yet couldn’t help but to feel a wave of validation, that phrase, coming from all people, you were sure if it was a lie he’d have a soured expression from it. Victor kissed your flesh, you almost thought you could finally fall into a blissful sleep, his touch was that soothing. Yet every time you felt your eyelids grow heavy, he’d touch you in an electrifying way that would snap open your eyes.

You were certain his fingertips had little sparks of electricity shooting deep into your canal. As you moaned out shamefully, his digits pumped into your sweet tunnel, his mouth hung open as he watched you whimper in pleasure underneath him. Right when you were ready to explode into sorring flames, his fingers withdrew from your dripping hole.

Victor grunted out as he undid his fly, you gulped as he pulled out his throbbing cock. He stroked himself a couple of times as he stood on his knees and shuffled his clothes down. When he was completely bare, he crawled over you and lined himself up.

You winced as he pushed the tip of it, his cock was as hard as steel. He gave you a reassuring kiss as he continued to fill you. As your legs squeezed his waist, Victor grunted by your ear. Every new inch of his rod sent a blissful shock through your throbbing walls.

“Fuck, we really are designed for each other…” Victor groaned out as his balls finally rested against your entrance.

“No we’re not” you choked out.

The fullness inside of you tormented you. But his words were right, you felt like your canal was made precisely for his cock, his girth stretched your walls at the perfect extent, his tip seemed to delight your spongy spot in ways you didn’t know were possible. This was too much, he was too fucking good and he hadn’t even tried to fuck you good, he was going to have you desperate for his cock in no time.

“Just hurry up” you huffed out.

“Not having fun?” Victor cocked a brow at you, his hips snapped into you.

“I’m! I’m giving myself to you! Just hurry up before I scream!” you threatened, agitation washing over you. You were so pissed with yourself, your body had betrayed you.

“Oh yes, you will be screaming a lot, I promise you that” Victor grinned as his pace quickened, you moaned out sharply as his length sparked through your bundle of nerves.

“Get off me Victor!” you demanded, the last inch of dignity you had left in you refused to die off.

As you tried to shove him off of you, Victor's eyes snapped up and your wrists flung above your head. You screamed, a mixture of frustration, hatred and ecstasy echoed throughout the room. You squirmed your body around, but he held your thighs, his nails dug into your skin as he pistoned his hips against you.

“I’m gonna have you begging me to stop, gonna fuck your cunt until you pass out from euphoric exhaustion! You’ll fall asleep, dreaming of me still inside of you” Victor assured, his jaw clenched as his dark hair sweated.

Your eyes rolled back, his game was out of this world. This felt like an electric storm of sexual satisfaction, your mind was melting to mush. Quickly, you gave up your defense as you slumped into the bed. As Victor’s thrusts turned vicious, your climax carelessly walked across the tightrope above sexual indulgence. A vein was popping out of his forward, his mind completely focused on making you orgasm painfully. All of the metal items in the room began to shake, it felt like your world was falling apart.

You cried out in pure pleasure as your (first of many) climax rolled over your body, every inch of you trembled as the vibrations coursed through you. You swore you felt a storm erupt under your skin. Victor groaned out as your slippery walls pulsed around him, he was almost certain he’d finish too. He didn’t even give you a break, he continued to snap his cock in and out of you as you brokenly begged for mercy.

“Don’t worry, I have great plans for us my dear! I strongly believe your whole perspective on our future will change after this” Victor smiled devilishly at you as his fingers rubbed over your clit.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #smut #dark smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy kinktober #kinktober 2024 #cillian murphy marvel #victor von doom #dr doom #victor von doom x reader #dr doom x reader #cillian murphy mcu #kinktober

159 notes · View notes