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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year ago

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Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew.

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to.

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate.

That was where his troubles began.

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours.

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?”

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade.

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair.

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.”

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either.

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole.

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked, groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile.

“Depends. Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip.

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal.

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth.

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?”

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.”

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.”

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?”

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.”

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.”

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.”

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance.

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type.

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive.

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up.

Fucking disgusting.

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world?

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man.

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes.

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing.

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements.

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers.

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety.

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time.

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did.

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked.

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.”

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave.

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew.

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.”

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.”

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.”

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.”

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.”

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.”

“Like me.”

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.”

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.”

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.”

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.”

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.”

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen.

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?”

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived.

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside.

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts.

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines.

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this?

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass.

He should leave.

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home.

He should leave.

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day.

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one.

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open.

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about.

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.”

No, it couldn’t be anyone else.

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was.

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch.

“J-Joel?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks.

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you.

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one.

“Touch me!”

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you.

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?”

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.”

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to.

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time.

“Any man?”

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure.

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage.

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest.

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire.

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way.

“Please… I don’t– what was that?”

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore.

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.”

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!”

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you.

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree.

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward.

“Joel…”

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed.

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties.

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you.

“Be a good girl from now.”

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller age gap #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #all that i've inflicted on the world

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rensukepie · 1 month ago

Note

Heyy!!! Are you taking writing requests? If you are, can you please write about Sae catching his virgin girlfriend masterbating while moaning his name? :3 I cannot get this thought out of my head and I love your posts so yeah :) Thank you <333

#.༊*·˚— “caught you.” —༊* i. s

༊ contains + warnings : virgin!reader, boyfriend!sae, masturbating mention, oral(f!receiving), n!pple play, pet names (pretty girl, sweet girl, baby, etc), lmk if i need to add any warnings!

༊ synopsis : when your boyfriend catches you pleasuring yourself, he just wants to guide you through, especially since you’re a virgin.

༊ authors note : thank you so much for this request anon! i’ve actually thought about this a few times and wanted to write it, but i always would forget about it… i need more requests about sae inside of my inbox

3 new messages from : pretty girl

saeeeee

what time are you gonna come home?

miss you baby :((

he thought that the messages that you just sent to him were cute, but at the same time, he thought it was kind of weird, especially because of the fact that you don’t ask him this question often. maybe you were planning something out for him?

2 new messages from : sae <3

it’s gonna take a while but soon baby i promise

miss you too, baby. this meeting is so boring

great. that gave you enough time for what you wanted and needed to do.

you don’t know what it is, but lately, sae has been making feel so hot and bothered! he makes the place between your thighs feel wet for him even though he isn’t even doing anything! all you want is for that feeling to go away… how is he making you feel this way if you’re a virgin? you just have so many questions…

༊*·˚—

“m—mmf! s—sae… ohh…” you whimpered out loud, as you had asked sae earlier what time he’d be coming home from his boring meeting beforehand, your tiny fingers rubbing at your now wet cunt and clit, pretending that your fingers were sae’s instead.

but what you didn’t know was that his meeting ended a lot faster than usual, his car parking in the driveway before unlocking the door, which you surprisingly didn’t hear.

as he’s walking towards the door of the bedroom, he hears whimpering and moaning coming from it, peaking from the door since it was open slightly.

“b—baby… need you… so bad…a—ahh….” you mewl sweetly not knowing he was behind the door, his cock slowly getting hard in his pants as he watched you. “saeeeee… wan’to cum…”

he decides to go into the room quietly, opening the door as your eyes are closed and everything around you is out of your head, only focusing on the way your fingers pump in and out of you.

you don’t notice him still, but he’s staring right at you as you continue to ramble incoherent sentences about him, until he decides to speak up.

“need me that bad, huh?” he says, breaking his silence, making you jump out of your bed and hide your body underneath the covers.

“oh c’mon, sweet girl, don’t get all shy with me now..” he says to tease you. “you weren’t shy when you were touching yourself earlier, so why now?”

“i—i don’t know…” you whimper, feeling embarrassed that he had just caught you. “m’sorry…”

“it’s okay, pretty girl..” he coos, his large, soft hands running back and forth onto your sides underneath the covers as he hovers over you. “m’here now, right?” he murmurs as he slowly takes the covers off of you, your wet slit on display for his eyes.

“mm.. your pussy’so pretty… you’ve been so rough on her, baby…“ he says as he kisses your cunt before giving kitten licks at it, his tongue licking at the right places as he explores your body and what you like.

“s—sae… too much…” you mewl, grabbing his pinkish-red hair softly as he continues to pleasure you with his tongue.

“learning so much about you today…” he coos into your pussy as he continues to give attention to your needy slit. “like how you get wet so easily when i give your pussy the slightest attention..” he laughs. “its fucking cute..”

“sae… hic—stop bein’ s’mean… hmff…” you squeal at him. you hate how right he is, you really do get wet easily, and its all just from his actions alone.

“sorry, sweet girl. couldn’t help it, you’re too pretty right now..” he whispers as he pulls away from your glistening pussy for a little bit. “ever had a finger in here?” he says as his thumb circles the hard bud on your chest, waiting for your reply.

“o—only my own… why?..” you say softly, confused on why he pulled away from you to ask such a question. you aren’t confused for long before he continues his movements, his fingers joining his wet tongue as he inserts them inside of you. “s—sae… haah—..”

“feels good doesn’t it?” he murmurs, but you cant hear it as your mind starts to go cloudy due to the stimulation of his fingers and tongue combined—its all too much on your virgin body.

and it’s especially too much on your body because it hasn’t even been a couple of minutes since sae put his fingers inside of you, but you feel as if you need to cum already. your body feels as if it’s lighting on fire and your sensitive cunt is twitching against his fingers.

“saeee… i—“

“yeah? youre gonna cum, hm? i can feel you clenching my fingers, baby..” he groans near your ear as you feel your orgasm rushing over your body quickly.

…

after you both get done cleaning yourselves up, you both go to bed, kissing each other and saying sweet words to each other.

he doesn’t say it with words since he’s bad with them, but sae really does love you.

#blue lock #bllk #bllk smut #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock smut #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x reader smut #sae itoshi x reader smut #sae itoshi smut #blue lock itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi #sae smut #sae itoshi x reader #bllk sae #blue lock sae #❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ made by rensukepie

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bernardsbendystraws · 2 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲 — 𝐂.𝐒.

SUMMARY ʚɞ Chris thinks you’re just a dream.

CW ʚɞ Fluff, kissing, touching, established relationship.

PAIRING ʚɞ Bubble .ᐟ Reader x Chris Sturniolo

A/N: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. New layout! Please read the copyright notice! This is just a lil fic for my babies bc I really wanted to use the top right pic since I had to take I down the first time. Fuck off tryna be weird. I’m having fun and vibing and I refuse to let anyone ruin that!

With love and big tits, Rose ➜ au masterlist

“Pretty,” you coo, petting Chris’ face while cupping his jaw.

He’s staring up at you with contentment, with pure and utter joy. His flushed cheeks are warm, his hands clamping around your waist, keeping you perched in his lap as the light breeze flows by.

The grass shutters with each puff of wind. Flowers and branches rustle, the sound adorned by light chirping from a blue bird singing in the air.

Chris puckers his lips, closing his eyes as he waits for you to kiss him. The second your lips land on his, he can’t help but smile against you, letting a hum of joy vibrate between the sweet affection.

“Hm, thank you, Bubs. Fuckin’ love kissin’ you,” he says, his eyes slowly blinking at you as you rummage your hands through his hair.

You nod firmly, leaning down and planting a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, laughing as it scrunches. “Mhm, ‘course. I love it too,” you remark, your voice flowing like a soft, gentle melody.

Chris stares into your eyes, almost as if he’s searching for something. The slight crinkle of your brow makes him smile sheepishly. “Sorry, just… can’t believe you’re mine.”

Your eyes soften as you tilt your head to the side, analyzing his doe eyes as he beams with love radiating out of every pore of his body. “You’re so sweet,” you sigh, bringing your hands to the tops of his shoulders as you try to get up.

Chris is not pleased. His hands react before his mind, tugging you even closer than before, dragging you plush against his front.

You huff, the air coming out in short breaths as you feel his heart thump against your own chest.

“Don’t leave. Just… just wanna hold you, Bubs—wanna hold my girl.”

You bite on your inner cheek, nodding as you relax in his grip, the feeling of his arms collapsing around you making your heart beat slower, your breaths calming as you let yourself feel safe in his hold.

He just wants to hold you.

He just wants to make sure that this dream is real.

A/N: I literally love them so much. You can’t tell me this isn’t how Chris would be with his girl IRL. He’s so cutie 🩵🫧

Comment if you wanna be on the taglist. Lmk any thots, questions, comments, or concerns. Hope you’re having the best day today and I really appreciate any and all support and love.

Interacting has always been something super important to me, hence why I try to reply to every single comment and such. Having my inbox off is helping me feel a lot better so I really appreciate all the patience and kindness.

I’ve turned non-anon asks back on, but I still might not be yapping until I feel 100% ready to.

This is a really long end note, but I’m really grateful for everyone that specifically comes onto my account, wanting to talk about my work or just making me smile in general.

I love you 💕

With love and big tits, Rose 🌹

#bbs.bubble.fics #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo au #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo headcanon #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo headcannons #sturniolo headcanon #sturniolo imagine

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unintentionalseductress · 9 months ago

Text

Key:

🌟 Xavier ❄️ Zayne 🖌️ Rafayel 🐦‍⬛ Sylus 🍎Caleb 🦄 Multicharacter

Headcanons:

Best Friend! Zayne ❄️

Bodyguard HC 🦄

Caleb and Praise 🍎

Dancers of the Air 🦄

Dating an Older Woman

Flowers For You 🦄

Hades & Persephone 🐦‍⬛

Hot Hunter 🦄

How They Position Their Fingers 🦄

Noise Levels 🦄

Number of Kids 🦄

Pain Tolerance 🦄

Plus Size Reader 🦄

Poly 🦄

Reactions to reader saying she hasn't shaved down there🦄

Riding Caleb's Face 🍎

Someone You Loved 🦄

Spicy Secrets 🦄

Sylus is a switch ��‍⬛

Telling them to ditch the condom 🦄

Their nicknames for you 🦄

Unconventional Romp Spots 🦄

Underweight Reader 🦄

Voyeur!Sylus 🐦‍⬛

Oneshots:

A Tight Spot 🐦‍⬛ An unexpected kink.

Bunny Breeding 🌟 Come here little bunny it's time to be bred.

Check Please! 🐦‍⬛ While trying to avoid the disappointment of the current dating pool you almost end up offending your blind date.

Colonel Caleb... 🍎 Remember whose mercy you're at.

Dairy Queen ❄️🍎 You love being their cow.

Fresh Cream 🐦‍⬛ Another unexpected kink.

Halloween Makeup 🌟 Putting makeup while on his lap leads to other things.

Hold Me Tenderly 🍎 You are woken from a nightmare and forced to face some uncomfortable truths.

How To Court A Dragon 🐦‍⬛ You unintentionally became his mate. Of course, you have some questions.

It's The Thought That Counts 🌟 A kinky Christmas present leads to more hot sexiness.

Just The Tip ❄️ Why do you make it so hard for him to praise you?

Let Me Take Care Of It 🍎 Gege will always help you.

My Beloved Boys ❄️🍎 Nostalgia hits hard as you remember a beautiful summer of the past.

Of Swords And Shovels 🐦‍⬛ Luke and Kieran inadvertently overhear you and Sylus having a heart-to-heart.

Paintbrush Lesson 🖌️ Rafayel teaches art in an interesting way.

Playing House 🍎 Won't you be with me forever?

Poison Flower ❄️ Dawnbreaker knows you're not really his.

Prescription for Pleasure ❄️ The doctor will see you now.

Promised Sands 🖌️ Faced with an unwanted arranged marriage, you pray for freedom.

Razor's Caress ❄️ Hair removal can be tough, good thing he's there.

Spring Break 🍎 The real reason you ask him to come home.

Study Session 🍎 Were you really going to make him wait while you read?

The Spaces In Between ❄️ Having two of him is such a blessing.

Touch Me, Touch You 🍎 What's the point in having fun if you're not as well?

Uncoded ❄️ Life as a background NPC kinda sucks.

Vanilla Twilight 🍎 Who else would you go to prom with?

When The Snow Melts ❄️ Back in his arms, a lifetime later.

Landscape Screenshots:

Absolute Zeal❄️

Night of Secrecy 🐦‍⬛

Misty Silhouette 🌟

Homecoming Wings I 🍎

Exclusive Aftertaste 🍎

Rain's Embrace 🍎

Intertidal Zone 🖌️

Where Hearts Live🐦‍⬛

Floating Floraletter 🍎

Fragrant Possession ❄️

Moodboards:

Sylus Rafayel Zayne Xavier Caleb

Random:

Eternal Attachment Birthday ❄️ Gojo and Sylus Absolute Zeal Rant ❄️ Homecoming Wings Rant 🍎 Gege Rant 🍎

Upcoming/Requests:

Headcanons

Jealous/angry/rough sex (combining 2 inbox requests, jealous Sylus and rough sex, multicharacter

Oneshots

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maidragoste · 2 months ago

Text

Someone has to take care of you

Ex Husband!Cregan Stark x Reader

pt 2

I have to confess I'm nervous because this is my first time writing for Cregan. I actually started writing this in a different way and deleted everything and rewrote it.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. If you do, please don't forget to like, leave a comment, and reblog because that always motivates me to keep writing 🥰💖💖

If you have any ideas, questions or headcanons you want to share, my inbox is always open 🤗💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I wish you a good read!

You felt like your head was going to explode and someone ringing your doorbell didn't help.

“Just a minute,” you tried to shout, instantly regretting it because of the pain in your throat. After taking care of whoever was at the door, you would drink some water and try to go back to sleep until it was time to pick up Rickon from kindergarten.

The headache definitely kept you from thinking clearly, because normally you would have looked through the peephole before opening the door.

“Cregan? What are you doing here?” you asked, confused. You were sure your fever hadn't risen enough for you to be hallucinating about your ex husband, so there must be a reason why he was here instead of his home in the North.

“Rickon told me you were sick,” he said, looking at you intently and you regretted not having tried to get ready a little before leaving but you had woken up startled by the sound of the doorbell. You must look like a mess.

With you and Rickon living in King's Landing and Cregan living in the North. Your son couldn't see Cregan all the time, so instead you called each other every day. Rickon probably told him you were sick last night while you were cooking dinner.

“You took a plane and came here just because I'm sick?” you asked, still not believing it.

“Yeah, someone has to take care of you,” he said as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and your silly heart raced. It wasn't fair. How were you supposed to get over him when he did things like this and always looked at you with warm eyes?

“I’m sure I can survive a cold on my own,” you said, but you still moved away from the door to let him in. You only did it because it would be rude of you to refuse his help when he took the time to come all the way here, and because Rickon would be happy to see his father, not because you wanted to spend time with Cregan.

“I know, but you don’t have to do it alone,” he declared, noticing how nervous you were getting because your eyes instantly flicked away from him, so he quickly changed the subject. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, all I've done since I dropped Rickon off at kindergarten is sleep,” you admitted, somewhat embarrassed, but you were so tired you hadn't felt like cooking anything.

“I brought some things to make you soup,” he said, making you notice the grocery bag in his right hand and his duffle bag hanging over his shoulder.

And that was how you ended up sitting watching Cregan cook for you—of course, you had offered to help him but he refused and sent you to rest until the food was ready and this time it was your turn to refuse because you didn’t want to leave him alone—while you two talked like old times. The conversation flowed naturally—the only interruptions were when Cregan reminded you to drink water—you talked about work, Rickon’s latest adventures—how he tried to steal the neighbor’s dog and you died of embarrassment—and you were telling him about how your family and your group of friends were doing.

Of course, for a moment you couldn't help thinking it was just like a normal day as if you two were still married until you remembered that before, you could hug him from behind, and he'd always turn around and kiss you before continuing to cook. But now you didn't have the right to touch or kiss him.

Taglist: @jasminecosmic99 @thorins-queen-of-erebor @bleepeats-15 @hotdhoe @ethereal-athalia @seleniumforest @omnjc @lunar-munchkin @beefbaby25 @olivkaoke @manarahehehe @mxrtiaxv

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

@chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @ajordan2020 @iloveallmyboys @sweethoneyblossom1 @fudge13 @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @snowprincesa1

@joyouart @rosey1981 @alastorhazbin @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @partypoison00 @labellapeaky @rebelliuna @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @thegirlnextdoorssister @angeliod @snh96 @aleemendoza2425-blog @natashaobo @watercolorskyy @nyenye @savagemickey03 @kishie8

hotd masterlist

#ex husband!cregan #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan fanfiction #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd modern au #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon x reader

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hederasgarden · 10 months ago

Text

Like Oil and Water

Summary: Your office power struggle with Scott comes to a head. Paring: Scott (Twisters) x F!Scientist!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Enemies to lovers trope, PIV sex, fingering, and dirty talk. Slight angst. A/N: The story is based on this ask I received. I know there are like…five Scott fans out there besides me so I hope y’all like this. I have no explanation for this fic except I’m horny for Scott. I had an alternative ending to this story but whoops feelings crept in. Thank you to @ryebecca, @whatblogisthis216 and @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over. The snazzy summary is courtesy of @writercole.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

“I’m never picking up your coffee order again,” Javi swears, handing the Starbucks cup to you. “Whatever happened to coffee with a little bit of cream?”

“Capitalism,” you reply, taking a sip. It wasn’t exactly how you liked it, missing that deep caramel flavor, but you appreciate Javi’s effort. “Thanks again.”

He nods, drinking from his cup as you make your way down to the labs, discussing the results from the latest test.

“We will need to adjust the relays, but other than that, I think we’re in good shape,” you tell him. “I’ll let the techs know we need those changes made this week.”

“Sounds good. I gotta make a quick call, but I’ll join you after,” Javi promises, disappearing into his office while you make your way down the hall.

You hear the low timber of Scott's voice before you spot him in conversation with one of the female techs. You loathe to admit it but he looks good, his tanned forearms on display with the sleeves of his white company shirt rolled up. The baseball cap tucked into his back pocket and dusty boots let you know he probably came straight from the field.

"We need to fix the relays. They failed the test. Again. That's unacceptable," he begins, gearing up for another one of his infamous lectures. "Back when I was at MIT, this type of calibration was the first thing we were taught."

Scott may have been one of the smartest guys on Javi’s team but he was also a smug asshole. From the moment you met him, he irritated you, reminding you of every man who thought he was smarter and better than you just because of his gender. Everyone expected engineers to be difficult to work with, but Scott took it to another level. Who could blame you for taking him down a peg or two when you had the chance?

"So you went to MIT. Big whoop," you begin, delighted to see Scott tense up at the sound of your voice. When he turns to face you, the tech is quick to scurry away. "Call me when you have a PhD from a real school, like Caltech, Scotty."

He hates it when you call him that but today it's your jab about MIT that strikes a nerve. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he exhales harshly. God, that angry look in his eye really did something for you. Too bad his looks couldn’t make up for how much of a dick he could be.

Scott practically spits your first name out, stepping into your space to loom over you. His broad shoulders and muscular build block your view of the lab. You tilt your head to look at him, fighting the urge to smile. "You really should address me as ‘doctor,’" you calmly remind him, tapping your name badge.

You arch a brow, waiting for his response but his mouth snaps shut, attention moving to something behind you.

It’s Javi.

"Come on guys," he sighs. "Play nice."

You glance over your shoulder, smiling sweetly. "I'm always nice.”

"Why are you even in the labs today?" Scott questions, glancing down at your heels.

You smooth a hand down your dress and smile. "I'm the Vice President of R&D for Storm Par. These are my labs. I belong here.”

"Dressed like that?" He scoffs.

"What, you don't like it?" You ask, turning in a slow circle.

"We had a meeting with some new investors," Javi supplies, trying to cut off the start of another fight between the two of you.

Scott turns away and you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. He still hasn’t forgiven you for talking Javi out of letting his uncle invest in the company. It would have been easy money but you never liked the business plan. It was best to stick with government grants and investors without any personal connections.

Javi touches your arm. “Come on, we gotta finish that grant.”

You hum in agreement, trailing behind him to the doorway. Pausing, you glance back and catch Scott watching you, his lips pressed into a thin line. With a grin, you wiggle your fingers at him, amused to see the furrow in his brow deepen even further.

The rest of your day is blessedly Scott-free and you spend your time buried in meetings and wading through needlessly complicated grant submissions. Javi employed some of the smartest people you’ve ever had the privilege of working with but they were terrible when it came to making the science digestible to investors. You sigh, rubbing your temples. It was going to be a long night.

You work uninterrupted, buried in the complexities of the grant, until Scott storms into your office, slamming the door behind him. “Did you tell the techs they could go home early?” he demands.

“Please, do come in,” you deadpan, setting aside the papers you’re holding.

“Did you send them home?” He repeats, rounding your desk and invading your personal space. At his side, his hands are clenched into fists, the veins in his neck standing out.

“I did.” You rise to your full height but even in heels, he dwarfs you.

“That wasn’t your call.”

“You do remember my job title, right?”

“I’m VP of Operations,” he reminds you. “I say when they go home, especially when we’re on a deadline.”

“They report to me, and you’ve had them working long hours,” you fire back.

He shakes his head, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, as he gives you an unimpressed look. “You’re too soft on them. I told Javi you weren’t right for this job. This isn’t academia. We work hard here.”

You bristle at his words, clenching your fist so tightly that your nails dig into the soft skin of your palm. He has no idea what it took for you to get here, the challenges you faced, or the men like him you had to prove yourself to.

“Go fuck yourself, Scott.”

You glare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. You wait, ready for whatever asshole comment is sure to come but he just stares at you. Then, to your surprise, his gaze drops to your mouth. You freeze, electricity zipping up your spine when you realize you’re close enough for your chest to brush his as you exhale. Looking back, you won't remember the impulse that led you to tilt your head and press your lips to his, only that you did.

The kiss only lasts a second before you pull away, heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, neither of you moves, but then suddenly he surges forward, his large hand grasping the side of your face. His lips crash into yours roughly. A hand at your hip urges you back until you bump your desk but he doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragged you on top of it. He presses in close, eating up what little space remains. You groan, grasping at his shirt as you push your hips into his.

“Fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours as his warm breath fans across your face. For one terrible second, you think he might stop or say something stupid to ruin the moment but then he’s kissing you again. He forces a hand between your bodies and roughly pulls your underwear aside so his fingers can drag through your folds. You’d be shocked by how fast it’s all happening but any higher thought fizzles out once his thumb circles your clit and his tongue breaks the seam of your lips to taste you.

You’re breathless when he pulls away, back arching in response to his talented fingers. Through your lashes you see him smirk down at you. “No smart comebacks now?” He questions.

Before you can retort he adds a second finger. You moan, rolling your hips to seek more of him. “Knew you’d be fucking greedy,” he whispers.

He watches you fuck yourself on his hand with a hungry glint in his eyes until your pace slows. He glanced at your face. You rise up on your elbows, brow raised. “Am I going to do all the work here?”

“Shut up,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers.

A witty comeback is on the tip of your tongue but it dies when Scott brings his fingers to his mouth. He stares down at you while he sucks them clean, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your stomach clenches hard at the sight.

“That’s better,” he comments, unbuckling his belt. “Nice and quiet.”

He takes a condom from his wallet and rolls it on his thick length. If there was ever a time to stop, it’s now. You look at Scott, his dark gaze swimming with desire and push the thought away, rising up to kiss him. The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance and you lift your hips. You relish the way he looks, dark hair curling over his sweaty forehead and his body straining for you. Knowing you’ve done this to him sends a rush of want through you.

Scott pushes inside slowly, hissing as your wet heat envelopes him until he’s halfway in and then he snaps his hips forward unexpectedly. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush. He falls forward and the weight of him is electrifying. You’d be embarrassed at the desperate little sounds his mouth swallows up if he didn’t feel so damn good.

He fucks with an intense kind of precision you’ve seen him bring to his work, reaching deep inside you to hit all the right places. You bury your fingers in his dark hair and pull, eliciting a needy moan from the irritatingly talented man above you.

“You gonna come for me?” He asks, breathless.

A desperate little, please, slips past your lips without your permission, spurring him on. He hooks a hand under your knee and forces your leg into your chest as he keeps up his frantic pace. The new angle takes him even deeper and pleasure ripples through your stomach. He feels unbelievably good and you practically sob when he pulls back and rises to his full height, afraid he’s going to stop. But he doesn’t, grasping your hips with both hands and forcing you to meet his thrusts.

You’re tantalizing close and, without thinking, you reach down to help yourself along but Scott is quick to slap your hand away, replacing it with his own.

“That’s mine,” he growls, the rough pad of his thumb catching on the sensitive skin. He watches with rapt attention as his cock and fingers work in tandem to drive you over the edge. You come with his name on your lips.

“Fuck, just like that,” he gasps.

Before you can recover your breath, he leans down and kisses you, his weight pressing you into the desk as his hips move relentlessly. Then he shoves himself deep inside and stills, groaning. Your ears ring and your body buzzes with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. The two of you stay like that, intertwined and panting until, finally, Scott moves.

Cool air rushes between your bodies and you stare up at him. You can see him thinking in real time, his clever gaze searching your face as he continues to process what happened. What could either of you possibly say after this? Nothing good you realize.

“Don’t,” you whisper, finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t ruin it.”

Scott closes his eyes and swallows hard. Then he's moving, slipping out of you with a grunt. He turns away from you, redressing. The clink of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet office. Pressing your fingers to your swollen lips, you take a moment to let yourself feel everything before pushing it aside and standing on unsteady legs.

You fix your appearance the best you can and busy yourself with shuffling the mess of papers strewn everywhere. It might be cowardly, but you keep your gaze fixed on your desk when you hear the door creak open. You wait, the minutes dragging by until you know it’s safe to look up, only to find Scott still there.

He lingers in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you.

Then you blink and he’s gone.

♡

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#scott #twisters #twisters fic #twisters fanfic #scott twisters #scott x reader #scott x you #scott miller x reader #scott miller x you

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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.

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 4 months ago

Note

i’m obsessed with your declan fics! can we get one where the reader has to calm him down? it would be even more fun if they were mad/annoyed at each other but he can’t help but seek her out when he needs comfort 👀

Paradoxical.

you currently can’t stand the sight of each other. and yet, in this moment… yours is the only face he wants to see.

declan o’hara x female reader (nickname - lucky.)

warnings - smut. cursing. angst. unspecified age gap. yeeeeeearning.

word count - 4.6k

authors note - she’s back 💋. loooved this request, so thank you so much to whoever sent it!! i’m still on my rivals shit, so please join me in this never ending journey. never getting over this man <3

masterlist. inbox.

“How are you doing?”

You snuggle further into the pillows on the bed, popping another strawberry in your mouth to avoid the question.

“Lucky.”

“Hmm?”

“I asked how you are.”

“M’fine,” you answer as you chew, praying the subject gets changed. She clearly doesn’t believe you, so you sigh and look at her pointedly. “I’m being serious. I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“Taggie.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What? No! I’d never think that.”

“Then why are you treating me like I’m oblivious? I can see that you’re not fine, but you keep lying to my face.”

Taking a deep breath, you exhale in resignation.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re caught in the middle of all of this, Tag.”

“I’m not-”

“You are. He’s your dad, I’m your friend. You are quite literally the middle man here.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she counters, perching on the edge of her bed. “If I have to be the peacekeeper, I will be.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

“I know, but these things happen. I just… if I knew what had happened, I could try and fix it.”

“You can’t fix this, Tag. I promise you, you can’t.”

She’s quiet for a moment, tracing the patterns on your socks as she thinks.

“What happened, Lucky? I swear that whatever it is, I won’t judge you. I just want to know how it all went so… wrong. One minute the two of you were the best of friends, and the next minute you’re packing up your office and leaving without so much as an explanation.”

“It’s complicated,” you murmur.

“So complicated that you had to quit your job?”

“Yes.”

“He’s never going to find a better assistant than you, you know. Never. He doesn’t even want to look for one, says he’d rather do all the work himself.”

“Well that’s stupid of him. He can’t do all that stuff himself.”

“Exactly. He’s willing to put himself through all of that stress so as not to replace you.”

“That’s his foolish choice, Tag.”

She sighs in frustration, leaning back against the footboard of the bed.

“Did he upset you? Did he say something stupid? You know what he’s like, he often doesn’t think before he speaks. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation here.”

“It wasn’t him, it was me. I quit by my own volition. He didn’t upset me, he didn’t offend me… I just had to do the right thing, which was to leave. I know you’re trying to help, Tag, but you can’t. Not with this.”

Taggie finally realises that she’s fighting a losing battle, choosing instead to shuffle over so she’s all cosy in the pillows next to you.

“I won’t tell him you were here,” she whispers, bumping your shoulder with hers.

“Thank you. I’m sorry you’re caught up in the middle of all of this.”

“I don’t mind, honestly. I just wish there was something I could do.”

“Give it some time. It’s meant to heal all wounds, after all.”

She chuckles, resting her head against yours affectionately.

“Will you help me make some raspberry tarts? I need at least forty of them, and I could do with an extra pair of hands.”

“Of course I will. But if your dad comes home, I’m sprinting out the back door.”

“Alright,” she laughs, shaking her head. “I’ll help with your escape, if need be.”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You’re tempted to smash your head into the bar top.

You’ve been debating the pros and cons of it for the last forty five minutes, actually.

The gala is bustling, bodies packed into the beautiful ballroom with barely an inch between them. Everyone has a drink in hand, the light from the chandelier glinting off of the champagne and whiskey poured into crystal glasses.

You’d said yes to the event when you were still Declan’s assistant - assuming that you’d go together, just like always. And now, here you are, standing on opposite ends of the room and avoiding each other like your lives depend on it.

A cool hand finds your waist, spiced aftershave hitting your senses and letting you know who it is before they even have to speak.

“Hello, darling.”

“Hi, Rupert.”

He spins you around gracefully, smiling at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“You look ravishing, as always.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself, you know. You scrub up quite nicely.”

“Oh stop, I’ll start blushing.”

You can’t help but laugh, accepting his arm as he offers it out to you.

“Come on darling, let’s socialise a bit. You can’t stand in the corner forever.”

“I can.”

“Not on my watch.”

He’s dragging you across the floor before you can process what’s happening, people passing by you in blurs of colour and sparkles.

“Dance with me.”

“Is this fun for you? Torturing me?”

“Oh, immensely,” he grins, hands finding your hips.

You reluctantly wrap your arms around his neck, looking at him with a quirked brow.

“Don’t you have a thousand other women you could be dancing with, Rupert?”

He spins you playfully, laughing as you shriek.

“I do, but none of them are nearly as beautiful as you.”

“Oh god,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Does that line usually work?”

“Never on women as smart as you,” he chuckles, swaying you gently.

You stare at him carefully for a moment, realising you know him too well when you instantly see through his carefree facade.

“Ask it, then.”

“Hmm?”

“I know that’s what this is. You’re going to get me all soft and relaxed and tipsy, and then you’ll ask me about Declan. You might as well just cut to the chase, Rupert.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re much too intelligent to think that I believe that.”

His eyes don’t leave yours as he tilts his head, getting a good look at you and your unwavering expression.

“Fine, you stubborn woman. Fine. I wanted to ask you about Declan at some point tonight. But only from a place of care and concern, not because I’m going to try to wrangle the two of you back together or anything.”

“Subtlety has never been your strong suit.”

“Forgive me for being confused, alright? You were joined at the hip, and all of a sudden you can’t stand the sight of each other. It’s just so unlike the two of you.”

You sigh deeply, dropping your head forward so it rests on his chest. Rupert’s arms tighten around you, silently letting you know he’s got your back.

“It’s complicated,” you explain, muffled by the material of the man’s shirt. “Stupidly complicated.”

“So complicated that it can never, ever be repaired? I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Blimey,” he half gasps, the sound vibrating through the both of you. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day, you bastard.”

Rupert laughs so loudly that people turn their heads to see why, the cadence of it completely infectious. Declan watches from across the room, unable to help himself from at least glancing at the two of you together so cosily.

“He’s currently watching you like some sort of bird of prey,” he informs, tilting your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes. “Whatever it was that happened, it hasn’t erased the fact that he cares about you. A lot. And I know for a fact you care about him.”

“Of course I do.”

“There we go then. Surely it’s nothing that can’t be solved with a bit of good old fashioned communication.”

“You’re a terrible communicator,” you argue.

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head as you both sway to the music once again.

“If I had a pound for every time that applied to you, Rupert, I’d be a fucking millionaire.”

He twirls you outwards quickly, watching as the skirt of your dress billows with the breeze of the action.

“And if I had a pound for every time Declan has pretended to stare interestedly around the room this evening just so he has an excuse to look at you, I’d be a millionaire too.”

You ignore the way your heartbeat picks up at his words, choosing instead to focus on the steady rhythm of the music from the piano that fills the space.

“Maybe he’s looking at you.”

“No, Lucky. He’s always looking at you.”

You sigh in resignation, fingers fiddling with Rupert’s collar as you straighten out his tie.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to respond to that.”

“You’re practically his right arm. This separation, whatever its cause, is doing both of you more harm than good. I don’t want to push you darling, because that isn’t fair - but just think about everything I’ve said, alright?”

He stares at you expectantly, brows raised in questioning.

“Alright.”

The grin on his face is almost blinding, beaming out in all directions.

“Now, you look too beautiful to stand on the fringes. I will dance with you all night if I have to, if it means showing off this stunning dress of yours.”

“So charming,” you smile, shaking your head. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse, isn’t it?”

“You’d be stupid to,” he winks, still grinning like the devil.

You let him lead you further into the middle of the dance floor, chuckling as he spins you as you go. Your hand has just slipped into Rupert’s once more when you’re both startled by a crash coming from the other side of the room.

The two of you whip your heads around towards the source of the commotion, to see two men in undoubtedly expensive suits brawling with each other. One of them is throwing punches while the other can do nothing but take them, merciless at his opponents hands. Some people are shouting and screaming, trying to physically separate them, while others turn a complete blind eye to the ruckus.

“Fuck,” Rupert mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the scene.

You’re about to ask what the hell he’s doing when you’re pushed forwards and given a clearer view of what’s in front of you, understanding Rupert’s panic immediately.

Ginger is on the floor. Declan is standing above him with bloody knuckles.

“Fuck,” you repeat.

You want to run in the other direction, desperate to not be involved with the drama. And then you look at Declan - the way he’s falling apart at the seams, nerves ruined and adrenaline rushing through his veins, clearly on the edge of something awful… and all of a sudden you’re walking towards the brawl, logic be damned.

There’s so much noise surrounding you that you can’t hear yourself think. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and your heart pounding against your ribcage in your sudden determination to get to the Irishman.

You’re yelling his name without even realising you’re doing it, shouting at the top of your lungs to fight over the commotion.

“Declan! Oh for fuck sake… Declan!”

Your voice somehow breaks through the noise like a sirens call, the familiar melody of it finding his ears like his favourite song. His eyes finally meet yours, and the rest of the room melts away.

You have a conversation without saying anything, so many words exchanged in such a short amount of time. The two of you have always been good at this - communicating in your own language, silently and easily.

You grab his injured hand and intertwine your fingers with his, pulling him away from the scene of the crime with determination. You cast a look back to Ginger, who remains on the floor with blood dripping from his nose, before dragging Declan through the crowd and towards the front door of the huge Manor House. You can hear Rupert trying to mitigate the situation as you leave, using his charm as he does best.

You make your way outside, yanking the man behind you in your path without so much of a glance backwards. You trudge through the gardens in your heels, ignoring the way the dewy grass brushes across the tops of your feet occasionally. Finally, after walking for what feels like hours but was actually mere minutes, you come across a bench, sheltered by an old stone wall and neatly trimmed hedges.

You shove him to sit down, still refusing to look him in the eye. Neither of you say anything, the evening breeze and two sets of lungs heaving all that can be heard.

“What happened?” you whisper eventually, reluctant to disturb the peace. “Who started it?”

Declan looks surprised that you’re speaking to him, failing to hide the shock on his face.

“Will ya sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

“You’re not the boss of me anymore, remember?” you half joke, sitting down anyway.

“Funny,” he says, completely deadpan. He looks at you carefully for a long moment, before continuing. “It was Ginger, obviously. I wouldn’t waste my time with him otherwise.”

“What did he say?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me.”

“Well it shouldn’t.”

“Right.”

You stare at your shoes, wondering why you even bothered to rescue him back in the ballroom.

“Fuck this, then,” you mutter as you stand up to leave.

A hand wraps around your wrist as quick as a flash, pulling you back to sit down where you were.

“No. You don’t get to just walk away from me, not again.”

“Tell me what Ginger said.”

“Tell me why you quit workin’ for me.”

“I already did.”

“Liar. You gave me a poor excuse that’s absolute bollocks. I don’t believe it for a second.”

“That’s your problem, then.”

“Yes, it is.”

You stare at him, completely exasperated by the events of the last hour.

“You can’t just punch people at galas, Declan. It’s a bad look for you, for Venturer, and for every member of staff that relies on you.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

He scrubs his hand over his face, clearly frustrated with both you and the situation at hand.

“He made some horrible comment about you. I fell right into his trap too, like a bull and a fuckin’ red scarf.”

“What did he say?”

He hesitates for a moment.

“Just… something crude about you sleepin’ with me to get to where you are. Called me a cradle snatcher, too.”

“You can’t be a cradle snatcher if I’m a grown woman.”

“Exactly. And it’s not true, anyway. We all know that.”

“So why did you hit him, then? If we all know it’s not true?”

Declan sighs, fatigue painting the sound.

“Because no one gets to speak about you like that with no consequence. And because I was angry.”

“At me.”

“At you. Yes.”

You fiddle with your fingers, entirely unprepared for the fact that you’re about to have the one conversation you’ve been completely avoiding.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” you begin. “I’m sorry that it’s come to this.”

“Then what did you mean to happen, Lucky? Did you think that you could just up and quit with absolutely no warning, without a problem? That I’d just let you walk out? Did ya think I’d help you pack your things?”

“Obviously not,” you whisper. “I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not. Which is why I know that you thought about that decision long and hard. And that’s what I can’t seem to wrap my head around.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

He looks at you with pleading eyes, clearly desperate to resolve the issues between you.

“Please, Lucky.”

His voice is cracking just like his heart, breaking down the middle to allow all of his emotions to spill out onto the grass. You’ve never heard him sound like this. You hate it.

“I had to, Declan. For both of our sakes.”

“For fuck sake, can you cut it out?” he snaps, volume raising.

“Cut what out?”

“Speaking in these fucking riddles! I can’t even pretend that I have any idea what you’re talkin’ about. Please, whatever it is, however terrible you think it is… I just need you to say it. We’ll deal with the consequences. But I can’t keep goin’ around in circles, dancing around the subject constantly.”

You take a deep breath, bottom lip wobbling as you will yourself not to cry. You’re well and truly at the end of your tether, unsure of how much more you can take - or how much you want to. Deciding to throw caution into the wind, you exhale carefully before turning to face the man next to you.

“You’ll hate me. When I tell you.”

“I could never hate you. Never, Lucky.”

You get lost in your own head for a moment, staring off into space as you debate the best way to go about this. A large hand finds its way into your knee, comforting and grounding. His thumb rubs patterns into your skin where the slit of your dress is, warming you up from the outside in.

“I thought about it for a long time,” you begin. “A long time. Because being your assistant is the best job I have ever had, or will ever have. It was a dream, Declan. Even when we had a tough day, or week, or month, I always knew we’d be okay.”

He nods, his full attention on you.

“We were comfortable, me and you. Maybe a little too comfortable for a boss and his assistant, but in a good way, I think. I was settled, with you.”

He squeezes your thigh, urging you to continue.

“But then, I think we got too settled. People started to notice - which doesn’t matter, but they did nonetheless. I was sleeping over at your house, staying awake with you until the early hours, attending galas and events as your date. And I wasn’t sure what it was - the thing that was bothering me - until one day, it clicked.”

“Lucky…” he whispers, desperate for you to spit it out.

“I’m in love with you.”

The two of you sit the silence for a moment, listening to the breeze softly whip around you.

“That’s what clicked. And that’s why I quit. Because it felt like a conflict of interest, like a… betrayal.”

“A betrayal?”

“Yes. Like I was taking advantage, or something. And I didn’t think it was fair, for you, having me pining over you at work. I didn’t want you to feel pity for me, if you noticed eventually - I hated the idea of being treated differently by you, all through fault of my own. So I quit to get ahead of it.”

“Are ya done?”

“I, uh… yes?”

“Great.”

Declan surges forward, smashing his lips to yours with the most passion than you’ve ever experienced in your life. One of his hands tangles in your hair as the other cradles your face, pulling you as close as he physically can. His tongue slips into your mouth cheekily, allowing you to taste whiskey, cigarettes and the cool night air. Eventually, when you both need to breathe, he pulls away reluctantly, resting his forehead on yours.

“Did you do that to make me shut up?” you murmur, fighting to keep the smile off your face.

“Yes and no.”

He’s grinning like the devil, chuckling as the palms of his hands find your cheeks.

“Yes and no?”

“Yes and no. I took the action needed to stop you rambling. But I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time.”

“… What?”

“Why do you think we got so comfortable, Lucky? It works two ways. You were just the only one brave enough to make a change - even if it was the completely wrong thing to do.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

“The opposite,” he laughs. “I can’t remember when it happened. I woke up one day and I just knew. And I knew that you’d never feel the same way, but I love being around you so much that I was willing to make that sacrifice. So I was a coward, and I stayed silent.”

“We’ve made this complicated. Too complicated.”

“Much too complicated.”

“But… it is. You were my boss, and you’re older than me, and I’m good friends with Taggie now, and-”

Declan kisses you again, sweeter this time.

“We can figure it out, Lucky. You know we can.”

“Maybe,” you whisper.

“And I want you to come back to work.”

“Declan-”

“I’m serious. I cannot cope without you. I will never find an assistant as good as you, and quite frankly, I don’t want to. I want you. No one else.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a conflict of interest, like I said earlier.”

“But it isn’t. Not anymore. Before all of this, we were two people in love working together. And when you come back, we’ll be two people in love working together.”

You can’t find it in you to argue, realising that he’s actually making a good point. If anything, it should be easier now that you’ve both communicated your feelings - no more skeletons in the closet.

“Tell me you don’t miss it,” he provokes. “Tell me you’re not even remotely tempted to come back.”

“I can’t.”

“Exactly.”

You take a deep breath, moving the hair away from his eyes tenderly.

“I’ll think about it, alright? I’ll have a think when I go home.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He smiles like the cat that’s got the cream, entirely too satisfied with the outcome of this conversation.

“I know we’re in uncharted territory here, Lucky. But we can figure it out. You know we can.”

“I know. It’ll be hard, but… I know.”

You lean up to kiss him softly, sighing as your eyes drift closed. He winds a hand around the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as he pulls you closer, trying to plaster every inch of his body to yours.

You lose yourself in everything Declan - the way he tastes, the way he smells, the way he feels underneath your fingertips. You want to strip him bare right here and memorise every curve of his muscles, every line in his skin, every mark on his face.

His hand slips further and further up the slit of your dress, gripping at your thigh as if he’s worried you’ll slip away. You’re half in his lap, draped over him on the bench as he still pulls you impossibly closer.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he whispers against your throat. “Every. Single. Night.”

He kisses his way along your neck, revelling in the way you squirm at the feeling of his moustache on your skin. You grab fistfuls of his white shirt, crumpling it in your hands to try and give yourself some sort of anchor.

When Declan’s fingertips slip into your underwear, all you can do is sigh, resigned to the fact that you’d let him do absolutely anything he wanted in this current moment.

“We’re in public,” you protest weakly, both of you knowing you don’t want him to stop.

“We’re at the bottom of the garden, surrounded by three hedges and a wall. If anyone sees, that’s their fault.”

You drop your head forward onto his shoulder, parting your legs to give him a better angle. He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels just how aroused you are, practically vibrating with want.

“Are ya this wet f’me?”

You nod against his shirt, not trusting your voice.

“Oh, sweetheart. Well I can’t leave you like this, can I? That’d be cruel.”

He pulls your underwear to the side fully so he can slip a finger into you with ease, both of you groaning at the sensation. Sliding a second one in, you hold onto him for dear life, panting like you’ve run a marathon.

“Please,” you whisper. “Declan, please.”

“I’ll do anything to hear you say my name like that again, Lucky. Anything in the world.”

“Declan.”

He sets a steady pace, crooking his fingers as he goes to make sure you see stars. Your eyes are rolling back, lip caught between your teeth to stifle any sounds that threaten to escape.

“God, I wish I could hear how pretty you sound,” he groans, looking at you intently. “You can make as much noise as you want when I take you home. Promise.”

You whimper softly, bucking your hips up to meet his rhythm. The bench is cold underneath you, the air turning chilly, but neither of you pay any mind to it. You’re too far gone to care.

You grab Declan’s other hand and stick two of his fingers in your mouth, laving your tongue around them to keep you quiet. He moans at the sight, all deep and rumbled, the sound reverberating through both of you.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

All you can do is look at him with big, bright eyes, pleading with him silently to finish the job at hand.

“You want me to make you come, sweetheart? That it?”

When you nod, he picks up the pace of his fingers, thumb pressing circles into your clit.

“Have ya thought about this? In bed, alone, getting yourself off in the dark?”

You whine at his words, nodding your head in answer.

“That’s a good girl. Come for me, sweetheart. Come for me and I’ll take you home and fuck you properly, yeah?”

You see stars as you climax, gripping onto his shirt and his hand for dear life. He works you through it, murmuring filthy promises into your ear as he does it.

Lifting his fingers from between your thighs, he pops them straight into his mouth, both of you groaning in unison.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against your lips, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Perfect girl.”

You shuffle sideways so you’re pressed into Declan’s side, two strong arms encircling you immediately.

“Thank you.”

“For the orgasm?”

“Yes and no,” you laugh. “For listening to me. I’ve been going insane trying to think about what I’d say to you if I got the chance to explain myself, but no words seemed to suffice.”

“I just wish you’d talked to me sooner, sweetheart. I’ve been going insane trying to get through life without you. Not to mention that office is chaos.”

You laugh gently, cuddling into him and his warmth.

“I’ll fix it on Monday.”

“Yeah? For definite?” he asks, hope colouring his voice.

“Yeah. Like I said - best job I’ve ever had.”

“You’ve just made me the happiest man alive, sweetheart.”

You grin as you lean in to press a kiss to his lips, all soft and sugary sweet.

“Besides. Someone’s going to have to sort out the inevitable mess that’ll follow you hitting Ginger at a charity gala.”

“Ah, I forgot about that,” he laughs, planting a kiss into your hair. “What would I do without ya, hmm?”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you smile, resting your head onto his shoulder. “Never again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You sit on the bench for a little while longer, both of you looking up at the stars that paint the sky in a canopy above your heads. You’re quite convinced you could stay like this forever, just the two of you in your own little universe.

There’s paperwork to be done, meetings to be had, deals to be made. But all of that can wait.

Right now, it’s just you and Declan.

The way it should be.

reblogs are gold dust, lovers!! reblog and circulate your favourite fics, and your writers will create more. simple. <3

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