Every stolen touch, every whispered word—it feels too good to resist. Forbidden, dangerous, and intoxicating, being with him is wrong… but she can’t stay away.
“It’s my brother calling, Yan .” you whisper, staring at him. Regret curls in your chest, but your eyes… your eyes are soft, full of wonder. You know that if he finds out you’ve been dating, there’s no turning back.
Ony doesn’t respond. He just grabs your phone, pressing the red button without hesitation. His fingers slide under your chin, lifting your face as he pulls you closer, his cologne wrapping around you. His muscles feel heavy, solid—like you weigh nothing when he settles you into his lap on the bed.
“So… ignore ’em, ma,” he murmurs. He knows it bothers you, knows the situation between him and your brother has nothing to do with you. He hasn’t thrown it in your brother’s face, not really—because he actually loves you, and that’s something he’s not ready to give up.
You lower your head, eyes dropping to his chest, and he already knows what you’re thinking. His lips press together before he exhales, softer this time.
“Hey… look at me,” he says quietly, lifting your gaze to his. His eyes are dark, steady—like he’s told you this a hundred times, and still, it matters. “Listen to me.”
“This shit ain’t got nothing to do with you. I’d never put you in that,” he adds, his voice firm but gentle. He knows how you get—how you carry things that were never yours to hold.
“I know, baby… I just wish you two would get along.”
At that, he clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly. It started over something small—football, rival teams, stupid pride—but your brother took it further. Off the field. Into the streets. Something no one could stop once it turned into a war.
A war that won’t happen because of you.
Your brother knows you’ve been sneaking around. Not with who—and definitely not with the one person he’s been at odds with since freshman year of college.
“You know that ain’t ever happening,” Ony says, quieter now.
And you feel it too—that weight. If it never changes… how are you supposed to keep going? You had plans. Graduation coming up, your whole future laid out in front of you. You were supposed to transfer schools, and he was getting his master’s, stepping into his father’s law firm like everything was already written.
You never questioned it. You let him tell you everything would be okay—too scared to push, too scared of what might happen if you did. Because deep down, you know… one day, it might come to that.
You and him don’t argue. Not really. You feel things too deeply, and he knows that. So he makes it simple—if your heart ever feels heavy, he fixes it.
Now you’re laid against him, your face tucked into the crook of his neck, his hand cradling your jaw like something delicate. His other hand drifts slowly along your back, from the center of your spine down to your thighs, steady and soothing—enough to make your eyes grow heavy.
“And who you come over here looking all good for, huh?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of jealousy laced with teasing.
And despite everything… you feel yourself soften.
You’re softening your voice, too shy to even look him in his eye. “You, baby…” you smile, and he knows you’re smiling—your thighs tightening around his waist, and you feel your stomach twist like you just said something wrong.
“Mhm… okay,” he hums, giving a soft squeeze at the fat hanging from the pretty satin Juicy Couture nightset.
The silence hangs in the air—barely a millisecond, but it feels long, heavy. Like it’s something he knows you want, but of course… you wouldn’t say it.
His hands keep wandering. Wandering, until you’re scooting down on his waist, plopping right on his dick—the bulge his shorts just couldn’t hide, no matter how he adjusted it in his boxers.
He cracks a smirk. One of those smirks so obvious you can feel it without even looking.
Both his hands rest on your ass, fingers gripping the flesh just slightly—not too much, just enough to let you know he’s feeling whatever you’re feeling.
“All you have to do is ask, mama.”
Since the two of you started dating, he thought it was just that shy phase most women have—that eventually comes and goes. But you embodied it. Even after almost four years, you still couldn’t look him in the eyes without glancing away, burying your face into the nearest thing.
“Please…” you moan, sweetness warming your once-soft voice. Your hips lift as you tug at the waistband of your shorts and panties—and back then, when he took your virginity, he realized… that’s where your voice changed.
“That’s all you got for me? Come on, speak up,” he says, helping you peel them down, not wasting a second.
You don’t hesitate this time. “Please, daddy… need you.”
He doesn’t ask for more.
He shifts, moving you gently beneath him, his presence heavy and close. The room feels warm—shorts and panties lost somewhere under his grey comforter.
“Come on, get that pussy open for me.”
Your feet slip out from under the blanket, settling on his broad shoulders. Your scent fills the space between you—soft, sweet. Your pussy full, glistening. Pretty French toes he paid for, right where they need to be.
He loves watching you rush—eager to get him inside. Your fingers dip into the waistband of his shorts, tugging at them, and he laughs when you realize he tied them tighter today.
You only look up at him when he finally pulls the string, undoing them.
“S’not funny,” you pout, desperation slipping into your voice.
He can’t help it. Smacking your hands away, he takes over, tugging them down himself—right to his thighs. His dick slaps against his stomach, curving slightly upward, precum already leaking from the tip.
“You look so cute when you want something.”
Your hand comes to your lips, and you spit into it—like whatever he just said doesn’t even matter—before wrapping it around his tip, rubbing slowly.
He hates that. You like to rush, trying to get him inside, and he likes to take his time—likes to watch you beg for it through those pretty eyes. So when you pull away, waiting for him to angle himself and slip right in, he ignores you, leaning down to press his lips into the crook of your neck.
“Stop rushing me,” he whispers, his tone laced with both demand and something calming that makes you nod softly—like he’s in charge. And he is. He grabs his dick, tapping the head slowly against your clit.
Your breathing turns faulty with anticipation, like you’d do anything just to get him to stop teasing you. Your hips roll up to meet every slap, desperate.
“Yan… it’s been weeks. Don’t make me wait, baby, please… I’ll be so good, just let me feel you.”
He’s surprised when you gently grab him, guiding him right into you. His hips stutter when you take in his mushroom head, your pussy immediately tightening around him.
His gaze drops to the sight, and he could curse at how swollen and juicy you’ve gotten. “All this for daddy?” His teeth tug at his lip as he looks at those doe eyes framing his face.
Grabbing your ankle, he lifts it onto his shoulder, leaning into you as he slips deeper into that wet pussy. Your mouth falls open, soft and breathless. “Mhm… shit, yesss…”
He likes to go deep—make sure you’re satisfied with him. And you always are.
“All fucking creamy you must really miss me ?” he groans, dragging his hips out slowly—just until you look up at him and pull him back in, your hands rubbing over his chocolate abs.
“Love you so much, daddy…”
He was smooth with his words. Your friends never thought it would go anywhere—not because they didn’t like him, but because you barely gave him the time of day when you first met him, out of respect for your brother. Still, it didn’t take long before he found his way in, all charm and sweetness, easing himself into your life like he’d always belonged there.
“Daddy love his princess more “ he’s digging into you , his tip stabbing at the surface of your pussy , soft moans echoing off his thin apartment walls , like this would last all day .
He doesn’t care how much you push , how much you beg he’s giving you all of it , his hands pressing into the back of your thighs and his hips pull back and forth the sting when he slowly drags his fat dick from you and slam back in .
“gonna cum … “ you drag your sore legs apart staring down at the way you paint his dick white and your dick drunk mouth hung eyes fluttering softly and you feel the high snap in you , he’s cooing like he knew it was in you all along.
“That’s my girl , wasn’t so hard was it ?” His thumb plants on your swollen clit he doesn’t stop not with your thighs shaken not with your thighs closing around his hand .
“no more da- pleasee” he knows you , you enjoy the stimulation, and he’s not stopping not till he’s filling you up with his nut.
“come on princess , do that lil trick you real good at that “ he loves when you squirt , all over his waist , he loves that shit , so he keeps fucking you and rubbing your clit numb .
You can’t breath , running up the bed on your palms but he’s chasing you bending you right up against that teak headboard and it’s worst feeling him ram into your guts no remorse .
“oh my baby running … “he’s staring down at you like he’s hungry head falling every second but he doesn’t stop not when his ball tightening, and he’s cumming deep in you hips shuttering and he’s falling into your necks holding you still like he needs a breather .
You’re laying there hands wrapping his broad shoulders and holding him close too feel his warmth deeper and he’s dragging himself out slowly, “im sorry princess , you’re all swollen “ you hum kissing the side of his face , letting the silence fill the air .
The flash from your phone pulls you both out of that half-asleep haze. You reach for it blindly, still warm and heavy with sleep, but the moment your fingers wrap around it, that same tight knot from earlier settles right back in your chest.
|BigBro🩵: We sneaking around now ?
“Shit… I gotta get home,” he huffs, his face dropping into the crook of your neck for a second. There’s no argument this time—just a quiet sigh as he pushes himself up, dragging his pants back on. He glances around, spotting your panties tangled in the sheets, and reaches for them, untangling them from your shorts a small, reluctant smile.
“Let that sit,” he hums softly, leaning into you as he slowly pulls your panties back up your thighs. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, a quiet smile lingering against them. You laugh under your breath and push him away, shaking your head at him.
You jump up from bed , pulling a pair of black sweats from his dresser , You scramble to pull your clothes back on, fumbling with your shirt as a sudden, sharp knock rattles the door. Your stomach drops.
He stiffens beside you, every muscle coiled like a spring, eyes darkening. Another knock—louder, more urgent—sends a jolt of panic through you. You glance at him, breath hitching, and his jaw tightens
“The fuck…” he murmurs, voice low but firm. His hand brushes your arm in a fleeting reassurance, though you can feel the tension radiating off him. The knock comes again, this time paired with a muffled voice calling your name.
“Thalia get your ass out here !” the voice of your brother called from the other side of the apartment door .
Your pulse races. He moves closer, shielding you with his body, eyes scanning the door like he’s already weighing every option. Every second stretches too long. Why? Should you answer? Or is this the moment everything could unravel?
Ony swallowed his pride and approached the door ….
Sukuna sat back on his couch after getting your morning after pill from Walmart. Maybe his pull out game was weak You were sitting next to him with your new installed honey blonde wig with xl lashes that you could only afford from sleeping around and stripping. “Kuna I’m hungry up in this bitch you never got nun in this mother fuckin crib.” He let out scoff at your ghetto mouth, of course this bitch was hungry she don’t never not eat, he thought to himself.
“Hungry ass hoe. The fuck you wanna eat? I’ll pay since yo ass always thinking I’m using you for your Ebt.” You let out a loud Megan thee stallion “Ahhhh” sticking out your tongue. “I knew my nigga was finna finally spend sum money on me, and you know I’m getting a seafood boil.” He rolled his eyes as he started getting up off the couch. “You ain’t never want nothin cheap. You’ll get your seafood but I’m smoking a blunt, getting a retwist, and then I’ll go pick that expensive shi up. Best believe he getting sum pussy too
After Sukuna had finished taking care of his business, as promised he got your seafood boil and made sure to get the cheapest amount so he only had to pay 13 dollars. He made his way back to his crib with his fresh retwist, and of course he saw you drinking all the grape kool aid you got at Walmart. “Shawty yo food here, and after yo ass eat best get to eating this dick ya mean.” You rolled your eyes annoyed but not surprised by his demand of sex. “Whateva nigga just let me eat my seafood boil in peace and maybe tonight I’ll let you put it up my ass.”
Clark kent x absolute loser reader (totally not based on me ahaha). Basically Clark x someone who's socially anxious, not good with people, and who doesn't have a lot of friends. I dont know how good this is, i wrote it at 1:30 am, but I really need a Clark right now, I really need someone to love me right now and this is as close as I'm getting. I hope you guys enjoy this!!!
Look, you've accepted your life right now, which is the life of someone who basically has no real close friends. Who's kind of lonely all the time, but doesn't know how to fix it. Dating apps suck. And you're not very good at talking to people or hanging out with them. Meaner people call you a loser. You're not sure you disagree sometimes.
I mean you try. You bake stuff for the office, you can make small talk, and you can crack lukewarm jokes. But even then, the casualness of it all kills you a little. You'd love to have a best friend. A real friend. Someone who smiles when you walk into the room, and who you can have a conversation with that isnt 'hi, how are you, hows work?' You'd like a partner too. Someone to text goodnight and good morning to. Someone to hold. Someone to kiss. You wonder about kissing a lot. What's that one like? Does it feel like pressing your lips to your fingers while imagining the real thing? Or is it as magical as everything makes it seem?
Thats what you think about as you sit at your desk at the Daily planet, watching your coworkers sit and laugh and talk. How on earth do they do it? Is it a reporter thing? Maybe. You're a cartoonist. It doesn't involve a lot of talking to people, thankfully. But out of all your coworkers, you think Clark may secretly be your favorite. He's kind. Really kind. He always says hello to you and goodbye, and offers to get you a coffee when he's going out to get them for the others. It doesn't hurt that he's handsome. Broad shoulders that block out the sun when he's in front of your desk, dark, curly hair that you fantasize about running your fingers through, blue eyes always full of warmth, and a jawline that could cut steel. You stare at him more than you should.
Clark, on the other hand? Clark notices. He's always been observant. He can see the way your face falls a little when something you say gets ignored. He sees how you struggle with conversation. He laughs at your jokes just so he doesn't see the embarrassment on your face when they fall flat. He thinks you're the sweetest thing.
So he does his best to push through those walls. He takes the things you bake happily, and uses them as an excuse to talk to you, heart sinking at how surprised you seem at the fact that someone's actually interested in talking to you about something. He gets your number for work, originally, you're in the same group chat. But he takes advantage of it. He texts you almost every day, takes to bringing you a beverage of your choice along with his coffee to work. And slowly, you open up. He finds out the things you love. The things you're afraid of. The things that make that adorable nose of yours scrunch up in disgust. The deep stuff. And the shallow stuff. He learns everything. And he gives you pieces of himself too- eventually even the big ones. He'll never forget the way you stared the day he told you he was superman. The way you looked at him like he was still Clark- your Clark. And you just slowly, hesitantly said. "That... makes sense. You're the type of person to help people. You're good. Of course you're a superhero, Clark. It makes sense. It's who you've always been."
He falls in love that day. Eventually, he works up the courage to ask you on a date. An actual date. The cute thing is, you don't realize it's a date until the two of you are in the coffeeshop, and he tries to hold your hand, and you stare at him like a startled owl, before blurting out. "Wait, is this a date?" And he laughs, and he laughs, and he laughs. It takes him three dates to work up the courage to ask you if you'd let him kiss you, and when you nod eagerly, like you've been, *dying* to hear it, he grins, and kisses you so softly that it feels like starlight. You tell him you love him when he pulls back, and his smile is so bright it could power Metropolis. He says it back too, a million times, while peppering your face with kisses till you squeal laughing.
Clark sees you. He sees all the things you hate about yourself, and the things you love. He knows about the insecurity and the doubt, and the way you think of yourself. And he loves you with it. Not because of it, or in spite of it. He loves you with the things you don't love about yourself, because without them you wouldn't be you. You wouldn't be his person. He becomes the person who holds you at night, and holds your hand, and smiles like he's won the lottery whenever he sees you. He looks for you in crowds. You're the first person he'd text if he wanted to talk to someone. He just loves you so much, and wants to show that to you in every way he can.
A lot of people think you're a loser. You think you're a loser, a lot of the time, and Clark knows he can't fix that just by loving you. But he's going to spend the rest of his life loving you. That he knows for sure.
an. hey guys!!! i literally went beast mode on this fic… guess i missed writing for ony😝 anyway enjoy and happy valentine’s day 💋
cw. it’s a modern au! reader is romantically inexperienced! reader is kinda weird girl coded! reader is also lowkey a self insert gosh guys don’t jump me! don’t worry i tried to make it as broad as possible. some angst some fluff and some smut! ony is a soft dom! i don’t make the rules guys. riding! pinv of course. unprotected sex. creampie. a little bit of spit play. like literally only a little. ony is a freak. and obsessed with his girlfriend. reader is slightly insecure. reader calls ony papa/pa during sex also I didn't properly proofread so if there's mistakes please pretend you don't see it
All of your life you hated Valentine's Day. In elementary, you were rather quiet, shy and quite frankly, you were weird. You were just awkward and you couldn’t really fit in, relate to the other kids, or seem to grasp social cues like everyone else. So whenever your class had those cute little parties and everyone passed out those themed cards with a fun-sized treat, you always got the lamest card. For instance, in third grade a girl passed out barbie themed cards. While everyone got Barbie, Nikki, and Ken, you ended up with the Midge card. I mean, at eight and nine years old who the fuck liked midge? No one did. Not even yourself. So it really sucked when you came to the realization: you got everyone’s least favorite character, you were probably everyone’s least favorite classmate.
Then middle school came along. Probably the most brutal era. Despite the fact that by twelve years old you had managed to shed all the passiveness you once had as a child, your tween years still weren’t the kindest to you. Everyone is kinda awkward at that age. On top of that, it’s like everyone is discovering romance. When you look back at that era as an adult, it was far from romantic. Just hand holding and awkward hugs that would have everyone losing their minds. Still, at that very fragile turning point of your life you wanted it all so badly. You had friends now and when Valentine’s Day rolled around, they all got something from a boy. All except for you. Granted, your whole friend group bought gifts for the group. You got plenty of gifts but you still had the same feeling from elementary: The Least Favorite.
In high school, that feeling shifted. Maybe because unlike in elementary and middle school, romance actually meant something and it also didn’t start and stop on Valentine’s Day. There were school dances, and there was that crippling fear that if it didn’t happen for you now, it would never happen at all. You recall “The Shift”, it was your junior year and you were about sixteen. You had this friend who happened to be a boy. Not a big deal at all. He was kind and respectful and you both had a lot of common interests. It also helped that he was cute. That’s how the crush developed. You genuinely thought he also started to feel the same way. Lingering gazes, touches, smiles. It wasn’t just you that noticed. Your friends noticed, his friends noticed. They would even tease the both of you and jokingly, you’d both gag and act like it was the grossest idea ever. With this crush and the confidence your friends gave you, you decided on Valentine’s Day you would ask him to be your valentine. If no one would come to you then you’d just go to them. Fuck gender norms and whatnot. So that day, right before school actually started, You had bought him his favorite candies and some niche collectibles that he was into as a gift. You confessed your feelings and asked him to be your valentine. He laughed. He laughed right in your face. He laughed so hard it felt like you were missing the punchline to the greatest joke of all time. You remember what he had said. It was so hurtful you could never forget it.
“Sorry, [Y/N]. I’m not into girls like you. I’m not comfortable being friends if you have this crush on me. It’s weird. Not trying to be mean, I’m just telling you the truth,” It wasn’t just the heartbreak of being rejected. It wasn’t even the fact that you had lost him as a friend. It was the “I’m not into girls like you,” comment. What the hell did that even mean? Were you ugly? No, plenty of your friends thought you were pretty. Even strangers would give you random compliments in public. Plus, beauty is a social construct it always has been and you know that. So, no it couldn’t be that. Were you too weird? I mean, he was not Mr. Popular by any means. He also could be awkward and that’s why you guys were good friends. In those few minutes before the bell rang, you spiraled. You didn’t cry until you got home. Your mom had asked you what was wrong. Something about a mother’s instinct. They always know even when you try to hide it. You burst into tears and sobbed like a baby for hours. That Valentine’s day, the feeling from elementary and middle school shifted into something much uglier: The Unlovable.
In your adulthood, you kinda gave up. You didn’t look for love or attention from men. Occasionally, you had talking stages that went absolutely nowhere after the first date. Sometimes, they never even made it to the first date. College was horrid for this reason. It was like every man that approached you, played in your face. You felt maybe you should be grateful they even approached in the first place. Because these flings were always just flings and hookups, you had never been someone’s valentine. Your entire life you wore that title: Unlovable. You genuinely thought that you were just never gonna experience that feeling that everyone else felt. No cute dates. No random bouquets. No sweet kisses. It just wasn’t a part of your story.
Until Onyankopon came along. You met him at some campus function. You both happened to be standing next to each other when a fight broke out. It was straight chaos and security got involved. And at the exact same time you both muttered “This shit is so ghetto,” then, you both looked at each other in shock before full on belly laughing. You had never seen each other up until that point. Yet, you guys laughed as if you were life long friends.
“You looked at me like you didn’t say the same shit,” He chuckled. He was so sexy. Tall, tatted, and handsome. His hair was cut in a low taper and his waves rippled smoothly. He had the brightest smile. He seemed somehow gentle and rough all at once. Just off of aura alone. His voice was deep. Thick, sweet, and warm like a spoonful of honey down a sore throat. He soothed the ache. You didn’t know that after this little laugh, he would continue to remedy your sore heart.
“Mind you, you looked at me too. You not shit,” You had laughed softly as he smiled at you. You were weak in the knees. You had sparked up a conversation with him. He was easy to talk to. Very charming and naturally flirty. He asked for your number by the end of the event. Then, you both started talking. You were so paranoid. Waiting for the day he’d disappear. The day he’d realize he just wasn’t into you like that. The day when he’d find someone better, not so odd, inexperienced, bitter. That day never came. He’d ask you to be his girlfriend after six months of talking and really he had asked before then. Multiple times actually, but you kept telling him you weren’t ready. You were scared. You never had a boyfriend. What does being someone’s girlfriend even look like? Ony was more than patient with you. Once you were his girlfriend, the patience didn’t run out. When you got frustrated or upset about something and just didn’t have the capacity to explain what you felt and why you were feeling it, he’d wait. When you took a long time to get ready, he’d wait. When you told him you didn’t want to celebrate the first Valentine’s Day you guys were together, he waited.
Approaching a whole two years of being a couple, Onyankopon was not hearing your shit this Valentine’s Day. It was probably a month before, you both were cuddled up and he had absentmindedly asked you why you didn’t like Valentine’s Day. Which ended up in the longest vent session where you told him everything. You had said something so heartbreaking, Ony had to take a few deep breaths to not cry for his poor baby.
“I just thought you would eventually leave. I didn’t want my first Valentine’s day to be with someone who would realize that I’m unlovable,” You said that with a shrug, like it was inevitable. Ony had made up his mind. He was proving he wasn’t going anywhere and he was going to give you the best Valentine’s Day experience ever. You deserved it. After you had finally warmed up into being his, you became the love of his life. You were sweet to him, a great listener, and you just fit with him. Ony likes to think you were his missing rib. He was certain he was gonna marry you one day. You were it for him. Through and through.
That day finally approaches. You had spent the night at Ony’s apartment as per his request. You woke up to the soft sound of R&B playing from one of his speakers and you sigh. You’re not really a morning person but Onyankopon, dreadfully, is. He can wake up and be out of the bed in seconds, all happy and yapping your ear off while you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. You force yourself out of his bed and pad your way to his kitchen. You rub sleep out of your eyes while standing in the entryway to the kitchen. Ony is singing and dancing to “Nothing Even Matters” by Lauryn Hill and D’Angelo. You smile as you watch him. He’s shirtless, sweats hanging low on his hips, his back to you as he stands at the stove, swaying to the smooth, slow melody. His back muscles flex and stretch with every movement. Whatever he’s cooking smells good and his singing isn’t horrendous which means he’s locked in and definitely not goofing around. You stand there for maybe a good minute before he turns around. Your smile widens as he chuckles.
“Yo, Your little sneaky ass scared the fuck out of me,” He says, sauntering over to you to kiss all over your face. You giggle and wrap your arms around his waist. He goes to kiss your lips but you block him with your palm to his puckered lips. He pulls back with an offended frown.
“Ony, I have morning breath,” You mumble groggily, still smiling as he rolls his eyes.
“Girl, I’d wear your morning breath like cologne if I could,” He grins. You gag.
“You’re a fucking freak,” You scoff, face scrunching with disgust.
“Only for you, fat butt,” He retorts. You shove him off of you with a giggle. He laughs before quickly turning to look at the stove. “You about to make me burn breakfast,” He complains, you roll your eyes at his antics.
“Why are you making breakfast anyway? I could’ve made something or we could’ve ordered in-” He cuts you off without even looking at you.
“You questioning a nigga now?” He asks. Your eyes narrow at his back. He has effectively shut you up. It annoys you how he reminds you that you can trust him. It’s sort of dominant in the most quiet and gentle way. Because he’s right. You never question Onyankopon. Not because it’s some rule, but because everything he’s ever done for you has always been in your best interest. So you’re quiet for a few seconds. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I planned a whole day for us,” He says it so nonchalantly. It’s firm like you can’t argue against it. You have mixed feelings. You’re happy, you really are. It’s just that same feeling that has followed you around returns. You think of the worst possible outcome. A bad fight breaks out over a little disagreement, he gets you all the wrong gifts proving he absolutely knows nothing about you, or he takes you to dinner and flirts with the waitress. He notices your silence and looks back at you over his shoulder. He sees that blank stare you have when you start thinking too much and he grunts. Not annoyed with you. Never. But frustrated that you can’t enjoy this because of the bad encounters you’ve had with romance. “Cut that out. I got you. Go get ready so you can go get your nails done,” He says, stern and sweet all at once. You nod and you get ready for your day.
The entire day, Ony treats you like a princess. Spoiling more than he ever has before. You get your nails done while he goes to run “errands” as he called it. When he came back to pick you up, in the passenger seat sat a gorgeous arrangement of your favorite flowers. You frown and whine at how pretty it is and he smiles, satisfied with your reaction.
“Ony, these are so pretty!” You huff out picking up the rather large bouquet to carefully touch the soft petals. He hums.
“All your favorites, right? I didn’t miss any?” He questions and you quickly shake your head. You look at him and smile so brightly his heart skips several beats. “Good,” He mumbles, before having to look away. Seeing you so happy has his heart beating hard. Rattling his chest and making his ribs hurt. “Come on, our day ain’t over yet,” He chuckles softly. You eagerly get in his car. Any weariness you felt before completely fading away.
Ony took you to an aquarium, to dinner, then back to his apartment. The entire adventure was fun and chill, not overly fancy or extravagant, just as you liked. You gasp when his living room is decorated with balloons and heart shaped confetti and more gifts sit waiting for you to open. Everything is red and pink and covered in hearts. It's so cheesy but so sweet. This is just icing on the cake. Today was honestly perfect and Onyankopon did it all for you. Because he loves you. He knew all your favorite places and things. He knew all your quirks and insecurities. He knew your heart and soul. It overwhelmed you.
“Ony…” You whimper before turning to hug him tight and sob into his chest. He chuckles and a large hand cradles the back of your head as support and comfort.
“Baby, don’t cry. You didn’t even open the gifts yet,” He continues to chuckle, kissing the top of your head. You sniffle hard and pout up at him. His smile is as tender as his gaze.
“I feel so bad. I didn’t get you anything,” You say, wiping away your tears. Onyankopon laughs, deep and rich.
“That’s okay, mama. I wasn’t expecting anything. Didn't want anything either,” He says with a smile. You nod and chuckle.
“Next year,” You promise and his smile only gets wider as he nods in agreement.
-
After opening every single gift Ony got you, each gift something you love. The night gets quiet. A few sweet pecks turn into heated lingering kisses which lead straight to the bedroom. Clothes are shed away and you’re skin to skin, breaths mingling in hot heavy passion. Ony lays back and you don’t hesitate to climb on top. Your legs straddle his hips and you grind your soaked heat back and forth on his thick shaft. He lets out a deep groan, his large hands sliding up your soft skin before dragging back down to grip your hips. Your hands planted firmly on his chest you let out a whiney sound that makes his cock throb between your sticky folds.
“Fuck, you so wet, baby. That’s all for me?” He questions, slightly breathless. You nod eagerly, lost in the pleasurable drag of your clit against his hard length and he grunts. His hand comes down on your ass with a resounding smack. You yelp, hips stuttering. The sting has you whining and clenching around nothing. “You know better, use your words,” He tuts, as if disappointed. A pout pulls at your bottom lip.
“Yes, Ony! I’m all wet for you,” You whine, grinding down harder, soaking his dick in your slick arousal. He groans before pulling you into a deep kiss. His tongue swirling around yours. You lift your hips gently guiding his dick to line up with your eager slit. “Can I, pa?” You ask, plump lips barely pulling away from him. He nods.
“Yeah, lemme watch you take this dick,” He mumbles. You don’t hesitate to sink down on his large cock. You gasp at the stretch, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the initial stretch. “Fuck, so tight,” Ony hisses as you slowly sink down to the hilt. You whine, feeling so full, tears well in your eyes.
It’s only a few minutes later when you find a good rhythm that has you making the sweetest noises. You’re soaking wet and coating his dick in thick cream. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, he can’t help the praise and encouragement that tumbles from his lips. He only eggs you on, turning you on and driving you crazy. His hand comes up to cradle your face. His thumb rubs your bottom lip, you moan before sucking his thumb into your mouth.
“Shit, look at you. You're making such a mess on my dick. So good for me, pretty,” He sings your praises as you moan and whine around his thumb. He pulls his thumb out to rub at your swollen clit. You cry out completely folding from the pleasure. He uses his free hand to grip your ass cheek, to keep you bouncing on his length.
“Papa, fuck me!” You whine before kissing him filthily. Your brain is mush from the electric shocks of pleasure that travel up your spine. You can’t think straight. So you can’t stop yourself from pulling back from the kiss to purse your lips and spit in his mouth. The groan he lets out is pornographic. The freak that Onyankopon is, you're really not that surprised that he’s into it. You feel him twitch inside of your snug walls as he swallows. His grip on your ass is bordering on painful as he plants his feet on the mattress to snap his hips up in the most brutal thrusts that have you squealing.
“You so fucking nasty. Fucking love that shit. I fucking love you,” He grunts, every word punctuated by a punishing thrust. The sound of the headboard of his bed post slamming into the wall, the clap of wet skin on skin and your high pitched sounds of pleasure fill the room.
“I’m cumming, pa!” You moan, back arching, toes curling, and your eyes rolling back. You feel the coil in your lower stomach tighten, tighter and tighter. Until, it snaps. You orgasm so hard your vision whites out. Walls milking him so good he follows you right over the edge only a second later. Filling you up with his warm sticky seed with a strained groan
“Fuck,” He grunts. It takes a few seconds for you to come back to yourself and you both make eye contact and laugh. “I never want to hear you call me a freak again. Little freaky ass,” He laughs and you huff.
“Shut up, you're still a freak. You liked it,” You giggle.
“Damn right. I loved it,” He says with the proudest grin. You laugh, rolling your eyes at his antics.
Later that night, you both lay cuddled up in bed. All clean thanks to Ony insisting on taking a shower together. You lay on his chest listening to his heartbeat. The tip of his fingers run soothingly up and down your back.
“Thank you for today, Ony. I really enjoyed myself,” You say softly, pressing a kiss on his pec. He smiles softly.
“Anything for you, baby,” He says with such earnest warmth, it makes you melt.
“I love you, Ony,” You say softly.
“I love you too, [Y/N],” He mumbles, wrapping his thick muscled arm around you tighter. “And Happy Valentine’s Day,” he added. You smile to yourself. This Valentine’s day you wear a new title: Loved By Onyankopon.
this is my own original works do not copy or feed into ai
‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ you work at the convenience store and sukuna works at his family car workshop by its side, which means you guys acknowledge each other daily but never really talk. that is, until he notices you crying while sitting on the curb, capri sun gripped in your hands, and an unusual relationship blooms between you two.
contents. sukuna x fem reader! fluff • first times • awkward reader • sukuna is down bad but he won’t admit it • eventual smut • angst • hurt/comfort • eventual after high school -> adulthood timeskip in later chapters.
the summer had been creeping in quietly, the way it always did in this forgotten corner of the suburbs—longer evenings that stretched the daylight into golden haze, warm air thick with the faint, dusty tang of sun-baked asphalt and overgrown weeds pushing through sidewalk cracks. cicadas hummed earlier each day, their relentless drone seeping through open windows like a promise of heatwaves to come, a persistent soundtrack that seemed to accelerate time itself.
at school, faded graduation banners hung crookedly from the rusted gates, fluttering limply in the breeze like surrender flags. teachers had long stopped pretending anyone cared about final lessons; they just droned through attendance, their voices blending into the chatter of students scrolling phones and trading gossip about post-grad freedom, about escape, about everything waiting beyond these walls.
high school was ending.
and somehow, you were leaving it exactly the way you had entered it three years ago— invisible, adrift, alone, like a ghost who'd learned to walk through hallways without anyone to see.
your family's convenience store sat stubbornly on the corner like it always had, a little box squeezed between the narrow, pothole-riddled road and the low concrete bulk of the auto workshop next door.
it had been there before you were born, would probably be there long after you left— assuming you ever found a way out. its faded sign flickered intermittently, buzzing like a trapped fly against the glass, the letters worn thin by sun and neglect. inside, fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on scuffed linoleum floors sticky from spilled sodas, the kind of place people passed through but never stayed.
the bell above the door chimed every few minutes, a tinny jingle that marked the parade of regulars: weary construction workers grabbing packs of cigarettes and black coffee before dawn shifts, kids on bikes snatching candy bars with sticky fingers, tired mothers with overflowing baskets of instant noodles and cheap frozen meals, their faces etched with the same exhaustion you saw in the mirror.
after school, you worked the register; scanning barcodes with mechanical precision, stocking shelves with cans of off-brand soda and bags of chips that crunched under your fingers, wiping down sticky counters that never stayed clean. you smiled when you had to, a tight-lipped curve of your lips that never reached your eyes, because that's what kept the customers coming back, that's what kept the business running, that's what was expected. you had learned early that performance mattered more than feeling.
and every afternoon, like clockwork, the workshop next door roared to life, shattering the store's dull rhythm.
metal clanged sharply against metal— wrenches dropping, hoods slamming. engines revved with guttural growls that vibrated through the shared wall, sending faint tremors into the soda fridge, making the bottles inside clink against each other like nervous teeth. loud voices carried through the open garage doors, rough laughter and barked orders from the men who worked there, oil-stained shirts clinging to sweat-slicked backs.
the air outside grew heavy with the sharp bite of motor oil, rubber, and exhaust, mingling with the store's perpetual scent of stale air freshener and artificially flavored slushies. it was a smell you'd come to associate with late afternoons, with the dying sun, with the border between your world and theirs.
and him.
ryomen sukuna.
he worked there with his family— his older brother mostly, from what you'd overheard in passing, fragments of conversation that drifted through open doors like smoke— his presence as commanding as the rumble of an engine tearing through quiet streets.
grease was always smudged somewhere on him: black streaks across his knuckles, up his veined forearms that flexed when he hauled tires or torqued bolts, sometimes even a careless swipe along his sharp jawline, darkening the faint shadow of stubble there. he went to your school— same grade, same echoing hallways, same looming graduation— but your worlds never touched. they weren't even in the same universe.
he was a storm cloud moving through crowded corridors, students parting like the red sea: the quiet ones averted their eyes, whispering about fights he'd won or rumors of trouble with cops; the bold ones trailed him like moths, hoping for a scrap of his attention, a nod of acknowledgment, anything. sukuna never looked particularly interested in any of it. his steps were deliberate, shoulders broad under his worn black tees, pink hair tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed and couldn't be bothered to care, tattoos peeking from collars and cuffs— marks that screamed don't approach, don't ask, don't even think about it.
you had never spoken to him, didn’t even want to, although sometimes you were too curious for your own good. you just noticed him, couldn't help it, really. the way he owned every space he stepped into, like gravity bent around him, like the air itself made room. the effortless tilt of his head when he laughed at something crude, the rare flash of sharp teeth that could have been charming if it wasn't slightly terrifying. the way he moved— it was safer to watch from afar, hidden behind the register counter, invisible in plain sight.
sometimes he came into the store.
energy drinks, mostly— cans of monster sweating beads of condensation that left wet rings on the counter. once, a pack of spark plugs wrapped in plastic, the kind you'd seen a thousand times but couldn't name. another time, a box of bandages after what looked like a nasty cut on his hand, the skin around the wound angry and red, and you'd wondered briefly if it hurt, if he'd hissed when the antiseptic hit, if anyone had helped him clean it. you'd ring him up in silence, fingers flying over the keys, avoiding his gaze with the precision of long practice.
the total would flash on the screen: 4.50. 12.99. he'd slide crumpled bills across the counter or tap his chipped card, the screen lighting up green. you'd hand back change, quarters warm from your palm, a receipt fluttering down like a dead leaf. neither of you ever said anything beyond the price. a nod, at most. a grunt. that was the extent of your relationship, if it could even be called that: transactional, forgettable, the kind of interaction that left no trace.
until the day everything hit you at once, like a wave you didn't see coming, like drowning in slow motion.
it was after school, the last week before graduation ceremonies and that final, suffocating assembly where they'd call names alphabetically and you'd walk across a stage to shake hands with people who didn't know you existed.
the hallways buzzed with excitement— clusters of students swapping numbers, planning beach trips to the coast, wild house parties with contraband booze, university orientations in shiny brochures clutched like golden tickets. group photos snapped in the quad, laughter echoing as poses turned silly, arms around shoulders, heads tilted together.
promises flew: "text me all summer!" "we gotta do this again before college scatters us!" "i'll visit, i swear, don't cry!" you stood on the edges, backpack heavy on your shoulders, listening to it all with a hollow ache in your chest that had grown familiar enough to almost ignore.
nobody asked for your number and nobody snapped a picture with you and nobody said, "we should hang out before we all leave town."
you didn't even have anyone to say goodbye to. no yearbook scribbles, no tearful hugs, no shared inside jokes to carry into the unknown. when you'd checked your yearbook that morning— the one you'd paid for like everyone else— you'd found exactly three signatures. one from a teacher who'd written "keep up the good work!" in looping cursive. one from a girl in your english class who'd clearly mistaken you for someone else. and one that just said "have a good summer" in handwriting you didn't recognize. three. out of a class of four hundred.
the feeling clung to you like damp clothes after a rainstorm: heavy, embarrassing, stupidly raw. you tried to shake it off during your shift at the store. you restocked the fridge methodically, shoving bottles into neat rows until your fingers went numb from the cold, until the bones ached. you counted change with exaggerated focus, stacking coins into perfect towers, sliding bills into their slots with precision. you smiled at customers— a harried dad buying diapers, an old lady haggling over lottery tickets like her rent depended on it—your voice steady, automatic: "have a good one," "come again," "that'll be $4.87." the words meant nothing. they were sounds you made to fill space.
but when your shift finally ended and the sky bled into deep orange, painting the workshop's open bays in fiery light, painting the oil stains on the concrete gold, it all came crashing down. the weight of three empty years buckled your knees before you could even make it inside the house attached to the store's back, the small apartment where dinner waited and questions waited and life waited in its endless, grinding routine.
you sank onto the curb between the store and the workshop, back pressed against the rough, graffiti-scratched wall that separated your worlds. knees pulled tight to your chest, you clutched a cold capri sun pouch you'd grabbed from the fridge on impulse— straw still tucked in its side, condensation slicking your palms, the foil crinkling every time you shifted. the pavement bit into your thighs through thin jeans, but you didn't care. the cicadas screamed louder now, mocking you with their endless noise.
and you couldn’t help but cry.
quietly at first, hot tears slipping down your cheeks, blurring the cracks in the sidewalk into rivers, into oceans. you bit your lip, willing it to stop, willing yourself to be normal, to be fine, to be anything other than what you were. but the dam broke— ugly, wrenching sobs that made your shoulders heave, your breath hitch in sharp gasps that scraped your throat raw.
snot dripped, your face twisted in that childish way you hated, the kind of ugly crying no one should ever see, the kind that made you look as broken as you felt. you kept your head buried against your knees, hair curtaining your face, praying the evening shadows would swallow you whole and no one would notice.
unfortunately, the workshop next door was still open, floodlights spilling harsh white across the lot, illuminating everything you wanted hidden.
the sound of heavy footsteps crunched on gravel, stopping just a few feet away.
you froze, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you could feel it in your throat, in your temples, in the places where tears still tracked down your cheeks.
you didn't need to look up to know who it was. that presence—unmistakable, like a shift in air pressure—
"…you done?"
you swiped at your face frantically with your sleeve, mortified heat flooding your cheeks as you stared at a grease stain on the pavement, willing yourself to disappear. "i'm not crying."
a beat of silence passed, thick as the humid air, heavy as the weight in your chest.
"you're sitting on the curb holding a capri sun like it's life support," sukuna said, tone dry as the dust kicking up around his boots, flat as the concrete under you. "and you're crying. i saw.”
you squeezed the pouch harder, the plastic crinkling defensively under your grip, the straw digging into your palm. a weak defense. a pathetic one. "it's cold. helps."
you braced for him to laugh or walk away as he stared down at you— either would shatter you and confirm everything you already believed about yourself.
he didn't leave. his shadow loomed, broad and unmoving, blocking the last of the sun. that somehow made it worse, his silence pressing like a thumb on a bruise.
"did someone die?" he asked after a moment, tone completely serious, which only confused you more.
your breath stuttered. "…what? no. god, no."
"you got dumped?"
you shook your head, fresh tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, hot and unwanted. "i've never dated anyone."
"you fail something? exam? class?"
"…no. i passed everything."
he went quiet again, like he was cycling through a mental checklist and coming up empty, and you were a problem he couldn't quite solve. the distant rev of a test engine idled behind him, underscoring the awkward stretch with mechanical rhythm.
you sniffed hard, pressing your damp sleeve to your runny nose, feeling the fabric grow wet, the mess of yourself in every possible way. the words clawed their way out before you could swallow them back, desperate and unfiltered, torn from somewhere deep.
"high school's ending."
the cicadas filled the uncomfortable silence, relentless and indifferent.
"…and?" he prompted, voice even, but there was no judgment you could detect, just curiosity.
you stared at the ground, throat so tight it ached, pavement blurring anew. "and i didn't make any friends."
the confession hung there, small and pathetic in the open air, smaller than you'd imagined it would sound, more embarrassing out loud than it had been in your head.
"everyone's talking about summer plans," you continued, voice cracking like glass under pressure. "i just stood there, listening to it all week. three years of classes and lunch tables, and nobody even noticed i existed. i was just… there. like background noise. the one kid no one remembered."
you laughed weakly, a choked sound that hurt coming out, wiping your eyes again with a sleeve that was already soaked. "isn't that stupid?"
a long pause stretched, the workshop's clamor fading into white noise, the cicadas seeming to hold their breath.
you risked a glance up, peeking through damp lashes, through the blur of residual tears.
sukuna stood there, arms crossed over his grease-flecked chest, one boot tapping idly on the gravel. a fresh streak of black smeared his forearm, tattoos curling like angry serpents beneath, ink stark against skin. his expression was unreadable— crimson eyes narrowed slightly, assessing, like you were a busted carburetor he was figuring out and he was deciding whether you were worth the effort.
"so make one."
you blinked, brain short-circuiting, “…what?”
"a friend," he repeated, as if it were the simplest fix in the world, as obvious as changing a tire or filling a tank. "you said you don't have one. so make one."
your mouth opened, closed. opened again. "…that's not how that works. you can't just—people have groups already, histories. there's no time to—"
"seems like it is," he shot back, unfazed, cutting through your protest like it was nothing. "you're not dead. start talking."
you stared at him, puffy-eyed and stunned, capri sun forgotten and crushed flatter in your lap, foil crinkling with every small movement.
he stared back, eyebrow arching faintly, as if you were the one making this complicated. you were not? aside from being slightly more awkward than your average teenager, you were normal and perfect capable of being someone’s friend. although the last bit wasn’t proven yet.
the workshop buzzed on behind him— clangs and shouts, the hiss of an air compressor, the rumble of an engine turning over. the evening air hung warm and heavy, carrying faint diesel fumes and the distant smell of someone's dinner cooking. your face still throbbed, nose red, you were a mess, clutching that stupid pouch like a lifeline, like it could save you from drowning on dry land.
before you could talk yourself out of it— before sanity could kick in and remind you who you were talking to— the words tumbled free, reckless and raw, torn from somewhere you didn't know existed.
"…will you be my friend?"
the second they left your mouth, regret hit like a freight train. you wanted the earth to crack open and swallow you, the curb to dissolve, you wanted to disappear into the gravel. what was wrong with you? asking ryomen sukuna— the guy who radiated don't-fuck-with-me energy, the one everyone whispered about like he was a live wire, the one with rumors and a reputation that preceded him like a storm front— to be your friend. while sobbing like a loser and clutching a capri sun like a child.
silence stretched, eternally confusing. your stomach plummeted to your shoes, then through the pavement, then into some infinite void below.
he stared at you, crimson gaze piercing, face unreadable.
you stared back, horrified, heat crawling up your neck, burning your cheeks, making everything worse. "…i mean, you don't have to! forget i said that. i was just—emotional, stupid, i didn't mean—"
"sure."
"…what?"
"sure," he repeated, casual as asking for a pack of cigarettes, shifting his weight like this was no big deal.
you blinked at him, brain rebooting slowly, painfully. "that's… it?"
"what, you want a contract? pinky swear? engraved invitation?" a flicker of something crossed his face— amusement, maybe, or disbelief at your disbelief.
"no, i just—" you floundered, searching his face for the punchline. "why?"
he shrugged, broad shoulders rolling under his shirt, grease flaking off as he uncrossed his arms. "you're here every day. store's right next to the shop. i see you restocking, ringing up idiots, wiping down that counter. might as well make it official."
that… was his reasoning? proximity? convenience? you didn't know whether to laugh, cry again, or pinch yourself to wake up from whatever strange dream this was.
"…so we're friends now?" you asked in a small voice.
"guess so." a ghost of a smirk tugged his lip. “don’t make it weird.”
another pause settled, charged now, electric. he jerked his chin toward the mangled pouch in your hands. "you gonna drink that or just keep strangling it?"
you glanced down— forgotten, warped into a sad pancake, foil crinkled beyond repair. cheeks burning, you fumbled the straw in, stabbing until it punctured, and took a sip. artificial orange flooded your mouth, overly sweet and fizzy, tasting like childhood and sudden, dizzying relief, like something you hadn't known you needed.
sukuna watched for a beat, crimson eyes flicking over you, then he turned on his heel like he was heading back to the workshop's chaos, done with this strange interaction, finished with you.
panic flared hot in your chest— don't go, not yet, please not yet—
"wait."
he paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder, eyebrow quirking, waiting.
you swallowed, voice still small but gaining traction, finding strength you didn't know you had. "…friends hang out, right?"
"…yeah."
"so… do you want to hang out? sometime? i mean, if you're free after—"
he studied you for a long moment, the dying sun catching the pink in his hair, turning it fiery, turning it almost gold at the edges. you held out your capri sun toward him, a pathetic peace offering.
"…we can share this?”
he looked at the pouch, then at you, then back at the pouch.
"…that was just in your mouth."
"…i can get you another one."
he gave you a long-suffering look and sighed, running a grease-streaked hand through his hair, disrupting the already chaotic pink.
"…you're weird."
"…i am? well— kinda—"
"…and you cry on sidewalks."
"it was an accident!"
he stared at you one more second, crimson eyes unreadable, face giving nothing away. then jerked his chin toward the store.
"go get another one."
you blinked, confused, as if you weren’t the one offering a minute ago.
"…get what?"
"capri sun, loser," he said, like you were slow. "grape."
your heart stuttered, skipped, restarted.
"…that's a yes?"
he turned, already walking back toward the workshop, toward the noise and the grease and the life you'd watched from afar for so long. you scrambled to your feet, knees protesting, capri sun crushing further in your grip.
"wait—!"
he stopped, half-turning.
"…what."
you clutched the crushed pouch to your chest, feeling your heartbeat through the foil. "…hi. i'm—"
"i know," he cut in, flat and certain. "i read your nametag."
your mouth opened and closed uselessly. "…oh."
and then he walked back into the workshop, swallowed by the noise and by the world you'd never been part of.
you stood there on the curb, staring after him, watching the space where he'd been, feeling the evening air warm on your skin.
your eyes still stung and your face was still puffy and your life was still a mess, still uncertain, still terrifyingly empty in so many ways. but for the first time all day— you were smiling.
just before he disappeared completely, his voice carried back to you, low and steady,
"i get off at eight."
and just like that, your summer started. not with parties or plans or promises from ghosts. not with numbers in a yearbook or invitations to beaches or group chats you'd never be part of.
but with him, with the hum of cicadas and the promise of eight o'clock ticking closer, with the taste of artificial orange still sweet on your tongue and the weight of a crushed pouch in your hand.
Andrew “Pope” Cody x F! Brother’s Best Friend Reader
Summary: You’re best friends with Deran Cody, a surfer with big dreams. When he brings you to a party, you meet his brothers but don’t know about their criminal lifestyle. Andrew “Pope” Cody soon realizes you don’t belong in their dangerous world
THEN TIMELINE [Nine-year age gap (late teens / late 20s) — Andrew Cody x reader are NOT together in the “Then” timeline, substance and alcohol use, blood/injury/violence]
Part 1 THE CODY PARTY, 2008
Part 2 BEACH DAY, 2008
Part 3 ACCEPTANCE LETTER, 2008
Part 4 BLOODY, 2008
Part 5 PERPETRATORS, 2008
NOW TIMELINE [Age Gap (mid 20s / early 40s), swearing contains references to alcohol use, intoxication, harrassment]
18+ just how sugardaddy!benito can't get enough of you.
sugardaddy!benito will always ensure that all of your needs are fulfilled. from your soap to your clothes, from your top to the bottom. it’s just how it is, aside from the fact that he loves it when you beg for something, he also loves to spoil you down.
sugardaddy!benito will secretly check out all of your cart wishlist whenever you’re asleep. sometimes you purposefully put all of what you want inside the cart, and for the next two days, there will be tons of packages coming into your apartment. all his baby wants, his baby will get after all.
sugardaddy!benito who can’t see his girl whiny and needy. “mm? qué pasó? what happened, baby?” he will tilt his head, that knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “you want something from me?” he already knew the answer; he could read it by the way you look at him - but he wants to hear it solely from your mouth. when you finally squeak out a small “hold me, please?” he'll end up giving you the best and the nastiest fuck ever.
sugardaddy!benito is a muncher. he looooves to eat you out and making a mess out of your cunt, not mentioning the fact that he will constantly praise your pussy in every lick that he can get. “easy, hermosa. i'm all yours for the night.” he loves to see you squirm, being powerless under his tongue. he takes pride in that.
sugardaddy!benito sometimes has to force himself not to go rough on you. his cock is waaaay too big for your tight little cunt. at times he still needs constant adjusting to be inside you even though he has this feral need to pound inside you over and over. being with you teaches him a big amount of patience, and that also includes fifteen minutes worth of cockwarming before he thrusts into you mercilessly.
sugardaddy!benito is also a moaner, and he's not ashamed of that. on top of that, he's also a praiser; he will let you know whenever you make him good. “gooood fucking girl. haa- fuck, baby, me estás haciendo tan bien. takin' it so well f'me...” he will spit on your cunt, making it wetter than it was as he thrusts into you roughly. and fuck, you always make him good every single time.
sugardaddy!benito loooves to push your limits. he loves to overstimulate you. sometimes whenever he eats you out or fingers you, he’ll just keeps on going until you’re trying your best to breach away from his touch. “beni— ahn! s-stop, i j-just—” he’ll shut you off with a kiss, whispering “come on, sweet girl. be a good girl for papi, yeah?” to your ears as he’s holding you down so you can’t go anywhere. just a big meanie when it comes to pleasuring you. and it’s not like you hate it - he knows very well that you enjoy it.
sugardaddy!benito is so jealous whenever you’re around his friends. but at the same time he also loves to flaunt you to his people. you are his pride. one time his friend wants to meet you in person after they noticed that benito talks about you a lot. but he shuts them off immediately, telling them that you’re ‘busy’ and you cannot be contacted freely.
sugardaddy!benito who will fuck you in his studio to release his ‘pent-up stress’ after you did a shopping spree. but it’s just another reason to fuck you filthy - he’ll fuck you nasty against the wall and against the studio’s couch. when he noticed that he’s still recording, he’ll ask your permission whether your moans can be used in a sample or not. you allowed him, of course.
sugardaddy!benito who has a loooot of stamina that sometimes whenever you are tired from fucking, he’ll just go down on you and make your thighs tremble for the nth time. he loves to eat you out after all, licking your cunt clean turned to be some sort of therapy for him. “just stay still, mami. ‘m gonna do it for you, okay?” “look at you, cunt’s all glistening for me. let me fuck you stupid once more, mm?”
sugardaddy!benito who’s a big pervert for you. he’ll fuck you in every corner of his house, your apartment, and his studio and he will still think that it’s not enough. he’ll use toys on you just to see you squirm under him and hoooooly fuck he thinks that he can just cum whenever you went all teary-eyed, asking him to slow down - back arching and being all one trembling mess.
sugardaddy!benito who loves to kiss every inch of your body. like some sort of prayer. he will start from your forehead down to your ankle, like he’s saying some sort of greeting. he will whisper words to ease you down, telling how beautiful you are before he ravishes you like a godly fruit.
sugardaddy!benito who will always take care of you no matter what. your feelings are his number one urgency and your comfort is the most important thing in the world. at the end of the day, he will grovel for you. at the end of the day, you’re the one who’s putting the leash on his neck despite how soft you are. at the end of the day he knows that his love for you is bigger than all of his ambitions in the world.
pairing. depressed!suguru x reader (fanart by raonnni on twitter/tiktok)
synopsis. I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I’M NEVER LEAVING ‘CAUSE I’M MRS. SNOW ‘TIL DEATH WE’LL BE FREEZING . . . you haven’t seen your friend geto in weeks. you’ve texted and called to no avail. you’re really worried about him to say the least. when you finally knock on his door you’re met with a sight you’d always recognize that breaks your heart.
warnings/tags. please do not read if this any of this may trigger you. depression, suicidal tendencies, self isolation, hurt/comfort, reverse comfort, crying, reader has history of depression (but has mostly healed), reader is painfully hesitant & awkward but we adore her, heavy angst but lots of comfort to make up for it!! (wc 5.7k)
꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ i started writing this during a snowstorm so yes. happy birthday my pretty boy suguru who i love and adore. if you can relate to this fic i’m sending you the biggest and warmest hugs. remember you’re never truly alone in this big, beautiful world, even if you feel like you are. +side note this is basically a suguru version of blue christmas (and i might’ve made myself sob while writing again…)
you notice suguru recoil slowly.
at first, it’s nothing to worry about.
he’s always been inconsistent with texts—just like you. long stretches of silence were always followed by sudden paragraphs at three in the morning or hours-long conversations.
you’re used to it.
time seemed like it never existed for the two of you. so you don’t question it when your texts go unanswered the first time.
you tell yourself he must be busy.
when it happens again a few days later, you shrug it off again. you don’t want to be the kind of person who reads too much into things. you’ve worked really hard not to be that person anymore.
still, you find yourself opening your phone to his contact more often than usual. typing. deleting. then typing again.
hey —that’s too empty.
just checking in —sounds forced?
are you okay? —that’s too heavy. too direct. you don’t think you have the right to ask so bluntly.
though… you remember wishing someone had asked you that when you were in a not-so-good place.
you close your messages without sending anything. your chest tightens with anxiety—just a little—but you breathe through it like you’ve learned.
but then days pass. then a week. then another.
worry doesn’t hit all at once. it seeps in slowly, settling into your every thought. you catch yourself thinking about suguru at inconvenient times—standing in a line, brushing your teeth in the morning half conscious, lying awake at night unable to sleep.
every time your phone buzzes, your hope spikes in an embarrassing way.
it’s never him.
you tell yourself you’re projecting. you’ve been in that place where the world feels like too much—where even something as simple as responding to a text feels too daunting of a task.
you know what it’s like to vanish without meaning to and you guess knowing that should make this easier.
it doesn’t.
after a few more days of no contact, you finally try calling him… even though you despise phone calls. that says a lot.
the line rings and rings and rings…
you hang up before it goes to voicemail, heart pounding like you’ve done something wrong. your hands feel unsteady after, like they used to when you were younger and everything felt like too much. you hate that reaction. hate that it still lives in you somewhere.
you try to ignore it. but now? nowyou’re really worried about him. again, you try to find reason. he’ll probably reach out when he’s ready like he always does. again, you shouldn’t project.
but concern doesn’t disappear when you ask it to.
by the time you’re standing in front of his door your stomach hurts.
the walk to his apartment felt longer than it should have. every step felt like another chance to turn around.
you had excuses lined up and ready: he’ll be asleep. you’re overreacting. this is intrusive. it’ll be really awkward. you have nothing to say!
when you reach his door you’re still not sure what to say, even after you’ve gone over a billion different ways a conversation could go.
maybe he’s ghosting you because he doesn’t want to be friend anymore.
your fist hovers inches from the door and you exhale sharply.
you hesitate, because of course you do. your heart is beating too fast, your palms are sweaty, and your brain is cycling through worst case scenarios you don’t want to name.
but finally, you muster the courage to knock. you were here already. you couldn’t be that girl who wimped out of everything again.
the silence that follows is loud. and through it, the thought of leaving flashes through your mind so clearly it scares you.
you tried…that’s enough. time to go home.
however, something heavier roots you in place. you shouldn’t leave. couldn’t, actually. you needed to know your friend was okay.
so you knock again, a little firmer this time.
there’s movement inside. a pause. and then footsteps towards the door. you take a deep breath, preparing yourself.
the door opens just a crack.
geto’s face appears in the gap.
relief hits you first, sharp and dizzying. he’s here. he’s alive. your shoulders loosen before you can stop them.
then the rest registers.
geto’s eyes look tired in a way that isn’t just about the loss of sleep, dark bags making home under his eyes. his hair is messier than you’ve ever seen it. he’s always taken care of the luscious locks… but apparently not right now.
though, it’s the look on its face that really gets to you. it’s blank. not in his usual quiet or guarded way.
nothing in his expression even shifts when he sees you.
like a corpse.
“…oh,” geto says plainly, “hey.”
he utters the two words like they’re nothing. like this is just an ordinary day—like you haven’t been worried sick after being ignored by him for weeks.
at that exact moment, regret slams into you—sharp and shameful.
you should’ve checked on him sooner. you really shouldn’t have waited until time stretched on for too long.
“hi,” is all you finally manage to whisper back, even though you want to say so much more.
your throat tightens. you weren’t ready for how much it would hurt to see him like this.
there’s an awkward pause where neither of you move. you’re suddenly acutely aware of how long it’s been and how strange this must be for him. you don’t want to overwhelm him.
but you also don’t want to pretend everything’s fine.
“you… um… you haven’t been answering?” you try.
it comes out like a question instead of the statement you meant.
he looks away, jaw tightening. “yeah. sorry.”
that’s all he offers. no explanation.
it hurts.
you’ve been close with him for a few years. you thought maybe you’d earned enough trust for him to tell you when things were wrong.
but you know, even like this, that he must be hurting more than you are.
the door opens a little wider. not an invitation, exactly, but not dismissal either.
okay. well maybe your presence here was fine.
suguru’s apartment is dim, thin curtains drawn tight. the air feels stale. there are signs of life everywhere, but no signs of living.
there’s a high pile of dishes left in the sink and a crumpled blanket on the couch like it’s been slept in for weeks.
your chest aches.
you stand there, unsure where to put your hands, your eyes, your words.
this is the part you’re terrible at. you know you should reach out to him right now. you should say the right thing. maybe offer comfort without sounding rehearsed.
you don’t know how to do any of that.
but you do know why you came.
“um… i just wanted to check in on you… it’s been a few weeks,” you murmur softly. “i thought you left the country or something!”
shit.
you don’t even know where that last part came from—that thought had never crossed your mind until this minute.
maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut.
he doesn’t laugh or twitch like usual when you try to fill the awkward gaps with useless jokes. instead, suguru only nods like he’s tired.
“sorry. i’ve been…” there’s a pause like he doesn’t know what he’s been doing. “busy.”
you don’t believe him. you know he knows you don’t too.
“oh” is all you respond with.
you’re really fucking bad at this.
he opens the door wider after a moment, stepping aside like he’s giving in rather than inviting you in. you take that as permission, slipping past him with careful steps, like the wrong movement might snap the fragility.
the door shuts behind you.
the click of the lock makes your stomach twist.
you stand there, hands useless at your sides, not sure where you belong. you don't say anything, trying to steady your racing thoughts. neither does he.
the silence stretches.
it isn’t comfortable. it isn’t neutral. it’s just there, pressing in on you from all sides. suffocating. it floods the space where something should be said but isn’t.
geto moves first.
it’s subtle and something he doesn’t even realize he does. his shoulders sag and he drags a hand down his face like it takes effort to keep himself upright. he exhales emptily, then turns away from you without another word.
he crosses the room slowly, movements dulled, each step is heavier than the last. when he reaches his couch, he doesn’t even bother sitting properly.
he just…collapses into it, slumping forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed. it’s scarily as if he’s been holding himself together purely out of obligation. your heart clenches painfully in your chest.
you clearly recognize how he feels. you can recall the time you felt it.
that alone terrifies you even more.
you stay where you are for a second too long, watching him. the way his once shiny hair falls into his face, now dull and uncared for. he goes still once he’s there—like moving any more might be too much.
this wasn’t how you imagined him at all.
well, you don’t even know what you imagined. but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. not him looking so spent… so tired.
you take a few tentative steps closer, stopping a careful distance away. close enough to be present but still far enough in fear that you’ll overwhelm him.
another pause settles in.
you feel your heart pounding in your ears.
your brain starts shouting at you—don’t ask. don’t make it worse. don’t open a wound you can’t fix.
this is the part where you usually retreat. where you convince yourself silence is safer.
but you just can’t.
your fingers curl into the fabric of your sleeves.
“…suguru?” you say softly.
just his name. testing it. seeing if he’ll come back to shore or if you have to go back out into the deep to get him back.
he doesn’t respond. but his shoulders tense, just a fraction.
you swallow, throat feeling tight. this feels like stepping off a ledge.
after a long minute, you finally whisper it.
“are you okay?”
the words hang in the air.
for a moment, nothing happens. you almost think he didn’t hear you because of how quiet you spoke.
but then his shoulders are trembling.
just once at first—sharp, like he’s been jolted awake after a nightmare and his body reacted before he could stop it.
geto lets out a sound that’s quiet and broken. he brings his hands to his face like he’s embarrassed to be seen like this. like he can still fix it if he hides fast enough.
“…that’s a stupid question,” he mutters, lacking any conviction.
his voice is wrong.
your chest throbs again painfully. “i’m sorry. you don’t have to answer,” you say quickly. “i just—”
he inhales, shaky. then exhales, worse.
“i don’t know,” he says. the words crack halfway through. “i really don’t know.”
and that’s when something shatters.
his head drops into his hands. his elbows press harder into his knees like he’s folding in on himself. another breath stutters out of him, then another, each one rougher than the last.
it hits you in the chest like a brick.
he’s crying.
quiet. you’re only able to tell in the way his shoulders shake and he sniffles just one.
it’s the same exact way you’ve cried before.
he’s been holding it back for so long his body has forgotten how to let it out properly.
fear flares hot in your chest and you freeze in your spot. your first instinct is to do something. anything. but your body won’t cooperate.
you’ve been here before. you know how overwhelming the simple question felt when you were already falling apart. but maybe that’s why you asked it.
you’re rooted to the spot for a whole minute. it seems to stretch for an eternity.
suguru’s breathing hitches again. it’s small and barely there. a soft, broken sound that slips out of him like he didn’t mean for it to. and something in you breaks with it.
your eyes are burning before you can stop the reaction.
old memories rush in uninvited—the nights you spent staring at the ceiling, the times you wished someone would just stay and hug you without asking you to explain yourself.
you press your lips together, hard, but it doesn’t help much.
before you can overthink it—before fear can catch up and drag you back like a tide—you move.
it’s sudden and clumsy. unplanned and uncalled for. one second you’re frozen, the next you’re crossing the room in a few quick steps, heart pounding like you’ve made a terrible mistake you can’t undo.
there’s a brief pause and a moment where you hover, unsure, caught between wanting to help and being terrified of doing the wrong thing.
and then you’re sitting down beside him.
not touching him, just close enough that your knee almost brushes his and that he knows you’re there.
his shoulders tense and he turns his face away from you.
“sorry,” he mutters, voice thick. “you shouldn’t have to see this.”
your breath wobbles. before you can swallow the words back down, they slip out.
“hey,” you say, softly. shakier than you meant it to be. “please don’t say that. don’t apologize for anything. it’s okay.”
he stills.
your hands tremble slightly in your lap, but you keep them there, resisting the urge to grab onto him, to hug him and give him the comfort he deserves.
“it’s really okay,” you repeat. “you don’t have to stop. or… hide.”
your voice cracks on the last word.
you hate that it does, but you don’t take it back.
he lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts. it catches in his chest, stuttering on the way out.
and then suguru is crying harder.
not loudly still, just deeper.
something’s given way and he doesn’t know how to put it back together. his shoulders shake, uneven and exhausted, but he still won’t look at you. his blurry gaze stays fixed somewhere on the floor, jaw clenched like he’s bracing himself for impact.
your eyes sting at the sight and tears blur the edges of your vision. you blink a few times, trying to ground yourself. you don’t want to make this about you and you don’t want him to feel like he’s made you cry too on top of everything.
you swallow.
“you don’t have to be so strong anymore.” the words feel dangerous, but you say them anyway. “i know you’re tired.”
his breathing falters again.
he presses his lips together, like he’s trying to swallow the sound back down, as if crying is something he can still control if he tries hard enough. you know it’s not.
his shoulders curl inward further, his arms wrapping around himself, spine bending under a weight you can’t see but you can feel.
you shift on the couch a little. close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him. you stop there, giving him time. giving yourself time.
again, your hands twist in your lap.
you want to reach out so badly it almost hurts. the ache is as strong as a current.
so you give into it. for him.
“i know i’m not great at this,” you admit, eyes fixed on the floor just like his. “but i just…i really care about you. you shouldn’t suffer alone. you can share the burden…” you take a breathe, and then add, “if- if you want…”
the word sits heavy between you.
his crying doesn’t stop. but it softens, just a fraction, like the sharpest edges have dulled. he tilts his head slightly away, breath shuddering, and for a terrifying second you think he might pull back entirely.
but he doesn’t.
the question fall from your lips before you can stop it.
“do you want me to… to hug you?”
your heart starts racing, loud in your ears, every nerve suddenly awake. you shouldn’t have asked so bluntly. maybe you should’ve given him more time.
you brace yourself for him to shake his head—or pull away—or just close off completely.
he doesn’t respond for a long moment.
his breathing stays uneven, shoulders trembling with aftershocks. he keeps his face turned away from you, eyes fixed on nothing, lashes damp.
your stomach twists with the urge to take the words back, to apologize for overstepping.
you almost do.
but then suguru is nodding, it’s barely there. so small you almost miss it. but it’s unmistakable. he slowly lets his arms fall away from where they were tightly crossed in front of him.
“okay…”
you move slower, giving him space to change his mind. you move to sit closer. close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm.
you pause again—one last chance for him to pull away.
when he doesn’t? you lift your arms and wrap them around his side, gentle and loose enough he could slip out if he wanted to. your cheek hovers near his shoulder like you’re waiting for permission even now.
he stiffens for half a second.
and then he collapses into you.
it doesn’t happen all at once. he sinks into your arms like he’s falling into a sink hole. but really, he sinks as if his body has finally found a place to rest.
he turns his whole body toward you and his forehead presses into your shoulder. his breath hitches as another quiet sob slips out, finally audible. his hands curl into the sleeves of your hoodie, gripping like he’s afraid you’re gonna disappear.
your eyes burn harder but you swallow it down and you hold him just a little bit tighter.
“you’re okay. i’m not going anywhere,” you murmur hoarsely.
his breathing breaks again at that. it’s a quiet and broken sound muffled against your shoulder. he clings a little tighter, hands shaking.
time stretches strangely after that.
you don’t know how long you sit there—minutes, half an hour, maybe longer—him shaking softly, you holding on, bodies sore yet both of you breathing through it together.
neither of you move while suguru’s sobs ease into uneven breaths. he still doesn’t speak. you don’t need him to and he doesn’t have to. he just stays curled into you, exhausted down to the bone.
you know exactly how it feels so you let him.
you’re not sure when exhaustion pulls him into slumber… and you’re not sure when you fall after him.
⋆⁺₊❅。
suguru wakes in fragments.
first he feels the dull ache in his muscles. then, the faint warmth pressing against his chest. and finally, the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing.
for a moment, he’s still, letting it register. he doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes fully. the world is soft, somehow softer than he remembers it being in weeks.
his lashes stick slightly, damp and crusty from the tears he couldn’t stop. when he blinks, the motion is slow.
the swell of his eyes still aches, but gentler now, muted by exhaustion and the quiet presence of the girl he loves beside him.
he shifts just enough to glance at you without disturbing your sleep.
the edges of your face are softened in the dim light, strands of hair falling against your cheek. your eyes are closed, but there’s tension there too, small lines that tell him you’ve been holding yourself tight too.
something warms in his chest—a surge of affection so sudden it almost makes him startle.
he stays still, just watching you. memorizing the small things—the rise and fall of your shoulders with your breath, the slight twitch of your fingers, the soft crease at the corner of your brows.
and then, slowly, almost instinctively, you stir. your eyelids flutter and you shift slightly as if sensing him there.
suguru’s heart leaps.
you blink slowly, just as he had moments before. and when your gaze lands on him, he sees it—the soft worry still lingering in your eyes even though you’re disoriented from falling asleep without meaning to. he can visibly see the concern that still hasn’t faded from your expression.
he swallows, tense in a way that’s entirely different from before. no panic, no guilt, just a tight, affectionate awareness. his lips twitch into something like a small, quiet smile.
“hi,” he whispers, voice rough, almost reverent.
he doesn’t want to speak any louder. he shifts closer to your body. not by much, just enough to feel even more grounded in your warmth. for the first time in days, even weeks, he finally feels… lighter.
he rests his head a little more firmly against your shoulder, suddenly not so afraid to sink into you anymore.
he glances at you again, careful, taking in the way you blink the haze of sleep away from your sight. his chest aches in a way that’s soft, like it’s finally making room for something he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in a while.
“you stayed,” he murmurs, almost like a question.
you blink, still waking, your own chest tightening. “huh? of course i did… i wasn’t gonna leave you alone again…”
again.
he swallows. hard. his throat still feels raw. but he lets out a shaky breath. it feels like he’s letting some more weight slide off him, little by little.
there’s a quiet stretch of time where neither of you speak. there seems to be a lot of that. but this time it isn’t tense. it’s comfortable. his cheek rests against your shoulder. his eyes are still half lidded and tender.
your hand moves on its own, gently resting over his broad back, fingertips light and steady.
he inhales, slower this time. a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his lips. not everything has been magically fixed…but he can breathe easier now. he can live, not just exist.
and then, very slowly, you let the words slip out. not consciously, just a stream that feels like it’s been there, ready to come, and the presence of him makes it possible, “you know, i… uh, i wasn’t always okay either. before i met you, i had… lots of bad days. for longer than i care to remember.”
he shifts slightly, just enough to glance at you with that tender gaze. he doesn’t interrupt. he doesn’t even blink—he just lets you continue.
“i didn’t talk to anyone about it at first. i just… kept it all inside. i thought it would go away on its own.” your hands twitch against his back, almost subconsciously. “it didn’t. and it… it got worse before it got better.”
your voice drops a little. it’s distant, almost as if you’re remembering something far away. “um… something bad happened and eventually i started seeing a therapist. that… helped. not everything fixed overnight, not even close. but… it made it a lot better.”
you pause, hesitating, testing yourself.
then, softly, “so that’s why i know a little about feeling like you’re too far gone. or like nobody can ever understand,” you huff out a breath, “but… you’re not alone. if you ever want to talk about it— i mean, when you’re ready of course— you um… you can talk with me.”
the words linger.
for a moment, he doesn’t react at all. he stays leaned into you, breathing slow.
your heart starts to race again in the silence. you worry you said too much. worry you’ve made it about yourself and crossed some invisible line.
but in reality, he’s letting what you said settle somewhere deep before touching it.
his fingers move.
just slightly, curling into the fabric at your sleeve.
“…thank you,” he says.
you blink.
he doesn’t lift his head at first, still pressed against your shoulder. but then, slowly, he meets your eyes. puffy and vulnerable, they hold yours for a long moment.
something unspoken passes between you—relief, trust, and a fragile acknowledgment that you’re both still here.
and before he even realizes it, his arms are around you—a way to make sure you’re here and he’s here. and the world outside doesn’t matter for a second. his cheek presses lightly against yours and his hands rest on your back.
your body stiffens for a fraction, startled by the contact, even though you had been the one hugging him earlier, but you don’t pull away.
your hand instinctively rises, resting on his arm, fingertips light and steady, letting him feel your presence too.
he inhales, shaky, then slowly exhales, letting out another quiet breath he’s been holding in for days. the ache in his shoulders softens. his face buries into your neck, eyelashes against the skin. you feel the faintest tremor run through him—but it isn’t weight this time. it’s relief.
“thank you,” he repeats against you, voice almost inaudible, softer, but you hear it. “…for everything.”
you squeeze back gently. “you don’t have to thank me,” you murmur.
he lets the words sink in, letting himself relax a fraction more. he rests there, arms wrapped around you, feeling like he can finally exhale. in that quiet, tender space, he feels finally feels a little bit of peace.
you let yourself watch him for a while, just feeling the warmth of him, letting the quiet stretch out.
after a while, your eyes wander to the window behind his sheen curtains. the sky is darkening outside… and big, soft snowflakes are drifting down.
you gasp without meaning to in complete awe.
suguru peeks up at you in question.
“it’s snowing!”
he watches how your face lights up in that way it does when you’re giddy—and he can’t help the curve of a smile tugging at his lips.
“it is,” he murmurs, still looking at you.
you grab at his sleeve gently. “we should go outside! get some fresh air. it might… feel good,” you say softly, hopeful and excited, but still trying to be careful not to push.
he hesitates, blinking up at you. “outside?”
you finally look at him, reigning yourself back in, “yeah,” you murmur, “just for a little while? it’s so pretty. and it’ll be good to get some air too.”
he swallows, still leaning against you, and after a moment he gives a tentative nod. “okay then.”
you smile, relieved. he shifts off of you slowly, like he doesn’t want to, muscles stiff.
after getting into coats, both of you move towards the door. when it opens, the cold rushes in, sharp and crisp against your cheeks.
beautiful chunks of snow flutter down, big and soft and so so pure.
you tug on his hand with a giggle, pulling him outside completely. the snow lands onto suguru’s hair and yours—though it probably doesn’t look as good as it does on him as it does you.
he blinks as you tug on his hand, and for a moment his surprise turns into something soft and unguarded.
a small laugh escapes him.
it’s been days since he’s felt like this. weeks even.
light.
snow lands on his hair and shoulders and he grins without thinking, brushing them away with a quick shake of his head. your laughter carries him along, and he can’t help but mirror it.
“hey, careful!” he teases, voice rough but warm, nudging you gently as another flake lands on your nose. you giggle louder, swatting at it, and his chest aches pleasantly at the sight—at the way your eyes sparkle despite the cold, the way your smile makes the world feel so much lighter.
he squeezes your hand, tugging you toward him briefly, eyes bright, the tension long gone from his shoulders.
“this is nice,” he murmurs, and it isn’t just the snow. it’s everything—being outside, being here, being with you.
he tilts his face up, letting flakes land on his lashes, his lips curling into a soft, happy smile.
you squeal softly, tugging him along again, and he laughs, a little louder this time.
he lets himself move with you, the cold biting his cheeks, the snow crunching under his feet.
“look at it,” you whisper, eyes bright. and he does. he watches the snow swirl around, the flakes catching the dim lights of the street.
he’s happy. he really is.
he squeezes your hand again, tighter this time, shy but sure. “thanks for everything,” he says softly, full of warmth and something like awe.
he squeezes your hand again, tighter this time, shy but sure. “thanks for everything,” he says softly, the third time, full of warmth and something like awe.
you smile back, just as soft, and squeeze his hand back. both of you feel oh so warm despite the chill of winter.
you both keep walking, letting the snow fall over you, letting the cold sting your cheeks, letting the joy sink in.
the world feels impossibly big, impossibly soft, and impossibly alive.
when you round back the block and end up near his place again, neither of you slow down. if anything, your steps drag, reluctant, like the idea of going back inside would break whatever spell the snow has wrapped around you both.
the building looms quietly ahead, familiar and unthreatening now, but still… you don’t let go of his hand. he notices. doesn’t mention it. he kind of hopes you won’t either.
you stop in the middle of the sidewalk instead, breath puffing out in little clouds. you glance around, at the untouched snow piling up along the curb, smooth and perfect. an idea sparks.
“…this might be stupid,” you start, already half embarrassed, “but… we could make a snowman?” your voice lifts at the end hopeful. “i mean, since it’s sticking and we’re out here already!”
for a beat, he just stares at you.
then he lets out a laugh. something in his chest loosens even more.
“a snowman,” he repeats, amused, so achingly fond. “you’re serious.”
you shrug, ducking your head in embarrassment. “kind of. i mean, we don’t have to if you don’t want—”
“no,” he says quickly, smiling wider now. “no, i want to.”
the words come easier than he expects.
you light up instantly, clapping your gloved hands in quiet excitement. “okay! okay, good. um—where do we start?”
he crouches down without thinking, scooping up a handful of snow and packing it together between his palms. it’s cold enough to sting, but he barely notices.
“guess we start here,” he says, rolling it against the ground.
you kneel beside him, your shoulders brushing as you help. the snow sticks to your gloves, to your sleeves, to the hem of his coat.
the first snowman comes together slowly. suguru’s oddly focused, packing the base like it’s a serious task, while you smooth the middle and keep fixing the same dent over and over.
“it keeps leaning,” you whine.
he tilts his head, studying it. “maybe it just likes that side.”
you huff a laugh and smile at him, “you’re right.”
you find two sticks for arms and hand them to him. he sticks them in, then pauses.
“hmm…these look weird.”
you pout. “they’re fine.”
he shrugs. “okay okay. artistic choice.”
by the time you’re done, your fingers are numb and your cheeks hurt from smiling. you both step back to look at your snowman.
“i think he needs a friend…” you contemplate.
he nods without hesitation. “yeah. it’d feel rude not to give him one.
the second snowman ends up shorter and rounder. you laugh when the head almost slides off, steadying it with both hands.
“hold on—hold on—” you say, trying to fix it.
“i’ve got it,” he says, reaching in to help, your hands overlapping for a second before you both still.
you don’t pull away. neither does he.
you finish it together, brushing snow from each other’s sleeves without really thinking about it. when you’re done, the two snowmen stand side by side, uneven and kind of charming.
“they look like us!” you giggle without thinking.
“yeah,” he replies softly. “they do.”
snow keeps falling steadily. the world feels small and calm. you realize you’re standing closer to him than before.
he glances at you. you look up at the same time.
“cold?”
you grin knowingly. “just a little.”
he huffs softly, rubbing his bare hands together and looking at your gloved ones. “even though you’re the one that thought ahead?”
you look down at his hands—red at the knuckles, fingers stiff—and before you can overthink it, you reach out and grab them.
he startles slightly. “hey—”
“hold still,” you say, already cupping his hands between yours, gloves and all. “you’re freezing!”
you rub them together briskly, breath puffing out in little clouds as you focus way too hard on the task.
he watches you, eyes wide for half a second, then soft. a quiet laugh slips out of him, a little breathless. “you don’t have to do that.”
“i can’t let you get frostbite. besides… i wanted to.”
that seems to knock the air from his lungs just a bit.
his smile turns shy and giddy, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. he squeezes your hands gently, almost absentmindedly.
snow settles into his hair. onto your shoulders. neither of you lets go.
“mmh well… this is nice,” he murmurs.
you nod, cheeks suddenly warm despite the cold. “yeah. it is.”
there’s a pause that’s charged and soft all at once. you sway just slightly closer, still holding his hands, still warming them, until there’s barely any space left at all.
you don’t know who leans in first.
you only know that suddenly he’s close enough that you can feel his breath, and still, you want to be closer. as close as you can possibly get.
so you kiss.
it’s soft and surprising and immediately right. your hands slip from his fingers to his coat, his hands coming up to your waist like it’s always belonged there.
both of your lips are chapped, but it doesn’t really matter. his lips are warm despite the cold, and gosh, does it feel nice. the kiss lingers, unhurried, like neither of you wants to be the first to pull away.
you breathe him in and your chest feels too full all at once.
he exhales against your mouth, a quiet sound that almost feels like relief.
your forehead rests against his when you finally part, noses brushing. you keep your hands fisted in his coat like letting go might send him drifting away again.
for a second, he just looks at you.
really looks.
his eyes soften, something fragile flickering there, and his thumbs trace small, absent circles at your waist.
you break the spell first with an exhale. “woah…”
he smiles that smile you adore, still close, voice low and warm. “i hadn’t even realized how long i’ve been wanting to do that.”
you duck your head, smiling. “yeah… same.”
but then he’s tilting your head up and you’re kissing again.
this time it’s giddier, smiles breaking through, noses bumping as neither of you quite figures out how to stop. you pull back for half a second, just to laugh… and then you’re kissing again, closer, warmer, like neither of you wants to let the moment end.
snow keeps falling around you, the world hushed and glowing, the two uneven snowmen behind you slowly blurring together.
still, neither of you are in any hurry to go inside.
you’re glad he’s here with you.
masterlist
hi, my first reverse comfort fic so i hope this is okay🥹
i’m sorry for not writing an actual bday fic because i ran out of time and took too long to edit this…
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧ . Your life changed overnight, and now you find yourself taking care of a child you didn't want. Despite your insomnia and anxiety, you're unable to see a therapist or doctor to talk about what happened; you prefer to relax with weed in the evenings, when your baby is asleep. It's better than nothing. Healing isn't linear and isn't the same for everyone. That's what you tell yourself every Saturday when you get into Eren's car to buy what you need. Eren isn't stupid; he knows you're the kind of client who's running away from something. He avoids getting attached to broken people; they always bring trouble. But through a few glances and a few silences, over the months, perhaps the barrier between you has been lifted to give rise to a unique relationship, which heals you more than any therapy could.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 21.1k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, reader has curly hair, plug!eren, stoner!eren, a lotttt of weed, reader cries a lot #sorry, implied rape, sexual trauma, ptsd, depression, single!mother!reader, difficulty with motherhood, they are both traumatized, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, romance, falling in love, love, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tattoo!artist!eren, affectionate!eren, provider!eren, avoidant!eren, eren has a mustache and a goatee, tattooed!eren, fear of commitment, grief, friends with benefits, situationship, unconventional relationship, male friendships, intimacy, vulnerability, healing, therapy, pregnancy, wedding, smut, emotional sex, gentle sex, pet name (baby), dry humping, lots of kisses, cunnilingus, oral sex, fingering, standing sex, unprotected sex, sobs during sex, riding, cowgirl, hair pulling, angsty sex.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . anxious to post this, this is kinda niche… hope you like it... sorry for my long ass paragraphs!!!! i recommend listening to part 2 (on the run) by jay-z & beyoncé, blue by beyoncé, in the darkness by clara la san, cinderella by mac miller. happy reading <3 feedback, comments and reblogs are appreciated!!! pls support writers <3
౨ৎ one week with you ౨ৎ
Crying, crying, and more crying.
Sitting on the floor, staring at your kitchen cupboards, your back against the oven, you looked as if you were dead, your body still and your eyes vacant. But you were so alive, having given life just a week ago. It was strange how something as extraordinary as creating life was synonymous with death for you.
Crying, crying, and more crying.
Your daughter was crying so hard it was giving you a headache. Your gaze drifted down to the knife drawer. No. You weren't a murderer. But it was so tempting to imagine killing the source of your suffering and exhaustion.
You got up from the floor to open the drawer and take out the sharpest knife. With slow steps, you made your way to her bedroom where your daughter was struggling to sleep. As soon as the infant came into view, your hand holding the weapon trembled.
She had the same skin color as him. You could feel his hands on your body, taking away your control, your freedom, your voice. The thrusts that took more from you than they gave. Your chest tightened, and your stomach churned—your whole body reacted to the human consequence of that tragic night.
The baby's cries seemed to subside when she realized she wasn't alone anymore. As if an inexplicable bond connected you to that tiny being. Mother to child. If you could, you would sever the thread that entangled you.
When you gave birth, you thought you would feel that love all mothers talked about, that raw emotion that gripped the heart and delivered promises of protection. Yet you felt nothing. No hatred, no anger. Just an abyssal void. With empty eyes, you stared at the baby in your arms, wondering if you were lucky enough to have her die prematurely.
You pressed the tip of the knife into your daughter's belly, the chubby flesh creating a dip. She was so cute in her pink onesie, the scent of the special baby oil emanating from her making you sick. Becoming a mother meant sacrificing a part of your life for a vulnerable being who didn't know how to navigate the world without you, and you weren't sure you had the instruction manual to be the best guide.
You hadn't eaten or slept since her birth. What mother who couldn't take care of herself could possibly take care of her family?
The more you looked at her, the more hesitant your grip on the knife became. The more you focused on her toothless mouth, her tiny nose, and the few black hairs she had, the more you felt his weight on you. Your breathing quickened, the panic of being trapped beneath a man overwhelming you. You dropped the knife in her crib and rushed back to the kitchen, sitting on the floor with your arms around your knees as you rocked back and forth.
The crying started again, and you were about to lose it. She was too noisy, reminded you too much of him, gave you a stomachache, and then—it was your turn to cry. The bond between mother and daughter. What do you do in this kind of situation? When you had dreams, goals in life that were shattered by the arrival of a baby? When you were little and you cried, who did you run to for comfort?
Onyankopon. Your brother. Your best friend.
But it's been months since you last spoke, ever since you left college and distanced yourself from your family. He's still friends with the traitor. He doesn't know what happened. You took your phone out of your pocket and stared at Ony's number. He wasn't going to answer. You pressed the call button, waiting with your heart pounding for him to reply.
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚?” he awoke the call, his voice surprised.
You missed his voice, your heart felt lighter when you heard it.
“Hi Ony.”
“Why are you crying?” The bond between brother and sister. He knew just from your voice. He didn't ask why you hadn't spoken to him in so long, why you decided to go through your pregnancy alone. He just wants to know why his best friend is suffering.
“The baby.”
That’s all you tell him. He doesn’t need to know that you were contemplating killing your daughter, that you were depressed and suffering from panic attacks.
Ony sighed, empathy filling his voice.
“It must be hard being a single mother, I understand. Do you need money? Do you need anything? Tell me, I’ll give you anything you need.”
Your best friend.
“No. I…”
Your eyes rested on the knife drawer.
“I need something to relax me. Especially at night. She sleeps during the day, but at night she cries so much it makes me anxious.”.
“Why don’t you go see a doctor for anti-anxiety medication?”
You drew your lips into a thin line. You hadn't even been able to talk to your brother about your trauma, how were you doing talking to someone you barely knew?
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚?”
“I can't,” you whispered.
Ony remained silent on the other end of the phone line for a few seconds. There was so much he didn't know about you right now, so many questions. He felt like he'd lost his sister, and he was grateful that you were talking to him again even if you weren't giving him any answers.
“I have an idea, but I don't know if you'll like it. Smoke some weed. It might help you fall asleep.”
“Okay.”
“You changed,” he chuckled. It was true that you weren't the type of girl who did that kind of stuff. When you were in college, you were so focused on your studies that you never went to frat parties. Not because you were the "innocent good girl" type, but because you were ambitious. You dreamed of being a writer, and your creative writing major was the perfect degree for you. You loved spending hours analyzing texts, reading classics, and debating in class. Too bad now you couldn't write.
"I've lost myself."
"Don't say that. It's just weed, it's not a big deal. Everyone smokes weed."
"No, Ony. I've really lost myself. I'm this close to taking cocaine to feel better."
"Stay on the green side, never something artificial like coke, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. I don't know what you're going through, but know that I'm here when you're ready to talk."
Was it true? Would he really believe you if you told him?
"Thank you, Ony."
“I’m gonna send you a friend’s number. His shit is the best.”
A shiver ran down your spine. You hoped it wasn’t one of his friends you’d spent your teenage years and college years with. You received the screenshot of the guy’s contact and your body relaxed when you saw that the name “Eren” was unfamiliar.
𖥸
Ony had said that Eren often woke up late, so he would travel for any request in the middle of the night. Under the moonlight, you left your building wearing a vest that was becoming too small for you. Since you weren't eating, instead of losing weight, your body was storing every little thing you ingested. But you were too depressed to care about your appearance. A black car was parked in front of the building, its windows down, and music was playing. As you approached the vehicle, you recognized Future's voice and the song "PLUTOSKI." You crouched down in front of it, getting to the level of the window.
A man who looked to be about your age had his eyes glued to his phone. His mid-length brown hair framed his face, while his hand held a cigarette outside the car window. His black hoodie blended well with his tattooed skin; you could see ink designs on his neck and hands. His angular features, his mustache and goatee—he was a very masculine man.
“Hi,” you said shyly, resting your elbow on the windowsill. Alerted by your voice, he looked up. Emerald eyes met your brown ones, and you observed each other for a few seconds. Eren’s eyes narrowed on you, noticing that your eyes were puffy.
Ony had warned him that his sister would ask for his services, and he asked him to be gentle with you because motherhood was rough on you. Eren was used to having all sorts of different clients, so selling weed to a single mother wasn’t unfamiliar to him. He was already planning to make you an offer since you were his friend’s sister, but seeing your red eyes, he knew it would make you feel better. He turned down the music on his phone and leaned over to the passenger window.
“Yo.” He inclined his head. “You good?”
“Yeah, sorry. Rough day.” You tried to smile, but it came across as a grimace.
“It’s okay, come in.”
You opened the car door and sat in the passenger seat.
“What’s your budget?” You fidgeted your hands on your thighs, glancing at your building. You thought about your baby crying while you were outside with a drug dealer. What a terrible mother you were. The traitor had ruined your life and your child’s in his wake.
“I only have $30.”
He let out a low chuckle.
“You made me come all this way for $30?”
“Sorry.” You swallowed hard. “I haven’t had many tips at my job lately.”
He brought his cigarette to his mouth for a drag and exhaled.
“It’s all good. No need to explain.”
Eren didn’t care about his clients’ private lives, but you were his friend’s sister; he was at least going to treat you with respect and empathy.
“A bit more than half an eighth is enough for you?” He rummaged in his glove box for 2-gram bags of weed.
“I don’t know what that means.”
His lips curved into an amused smile.
“Your brother is a heavy user, though.”
You looked away; he was a stranger. He didn’t need to know that you had cut ties with your brother for months after your rape. Eren noticed your distant expression, but he didn’t press the issue. He checked his notifications on his phone to see where his clients needed him. It could take him 5 minutes to roll the blunts for you, since you were a beginner. In the dim light of the car, he looked even more attractive, and that made you sad. Sad because you wished you could have fun with a man like him, like you used to do in the rare moments when you weren't studying. Sad because he seemed friendly; you could at least joke with him, but the fact that he was so masculine scared you, reminding you of the traitor.
“It's a grinder,” he explained, showing the cylinder on the dashboard that he had taken out of its glove box. “You put the buds inside, and by twisting it, it makes little pieces. I can give it to you; I have loads at home.”
Your heart swelled at his gift, and you relaxed as you listened to him.
He showed you how to roll a blunt, depositing the greenery onto the paper.
“You need a filter, but a rolled-up piece of cardboard will do.” He showed you the small white piece and placed it inside the paper. He rolled it between his fingers and then brought it to his lips to lick the sticky part.
“Try it.” He handed you one of the small papers for blunts and cigarettes.
You managed to get a little greenery to fill the paper, but when you rolled the paper up to close the blunt, you dropped the filter in the car.
“Six out of ten. You're average,” he teased you, but his tone wasn't unkind.
You didn't know how, but spending time learning to roll had soothed the unease that consumed you and led you to open the knife drawer. When you gave him your money to pay, you were overcome with the need to stay longer. People were touch-starved, but you were deprived of attention. Like a desert explorer who had spent hours without water, you felt reborn to have a little social interaction after spending your pregnancy alone.
“Do you want to smoke with me?” you asked in a small voice as he started the car.
He paused. “Don’t you have a baby to take care of?”
“Right.”
You flinched and looked down. His gaze softened.
“Avoid showing that kind of expression to other dealers; some of them might take advantage of your distress,” he said, his voice serious.
“I know…”
“And don’t trust dealers who consume the merchandise reserved for their clients. These motherfuckers have no discipline and are probably stupid.”
“You don’t smoke?”
“Of course I do,” he chuckled. “Not just the weed for my clients.” He received a notification on his phone, and he glanced down. “I have other drops to make.”
You placed your hand on the car door handle, but he nudged you, offering his fist.
You bumped your fist with his, making a handshake that took you back to your college days with your brother's group of friends.
“Don't change your plug, I get jealous easily.” Your lips quirked up, and for the first time that evening, you had a semblance of a positive expression on your face.
“Don't worry, have a good night,” you got out of the car and walked to your building, your heart lighter than before.
Once home, you breastfed your daughter, your eyes devoid of emotion as you watched the baby in your arms. Your breasts had grown to accommodate the milk needed to nourish her, but your heart didn't have the space to accept it. You rocked her to sleep, and once she was asleep in her crib, you lay down on your bed to smoke the blunts you had rolled. After a few minutes, a state of bliss, free from doubts and anxieties, took hold of you, and you fell asleep, an image of Eren's hand tattoos as he showed you how to roll a joint in your mind.
𖥸
౨ৎ two months with you ౨ৎ
“Luther” by Kendrick Lamar and SZA played in the living room as Ony, Eren, Connie and Armin smoked together on the couch.
“I tell you the best movie director is Barry Jenkins,” Ony shook his head, his voice dismissive.
“You’re out of your mind,” Connie mumbled. “Have you seen ‘do the right thing’ by Spike Lee?”
“Eren tells this dumbass that Moonlight is the best movie ever made,” Ony nudged Eren, who was barely responsive. Head resting on the backseat, his eyes red-rimmed and half-lidded, he glanced at Ony with a frown.
“Fuck off, man. You know I don’t watch movies.”
“Are you even literate?” Connie chuckled.
Eren glared at him. “What's even the correlation between your question and the topic, dickhead?”
“Eren is more like a music nerd.” Armin said, passing the blunt to Connie. “If you guys had movies about music, he'd watch them.”
Ony side-eyesed Armin. “Here comes the bromance. Leave that dick out of your mouth, man.”
Eren's phone rang. He glanced at the notification. It was a message from you.
“The usual, please. I had a rough day. Can I keep you company while you do your drops?”
“Ony?” he asked.
Ony stopped bickering with Armin to focus on Eren. “Yeah?”
“Why is your sister so lonely?”
Ony scratched the back of his head, wincing. He was asking himself the same question. “She cut ties with everyone about a year ago, for no reason. She doesn't want to see me, but we talk from time to time.”
Eren's eyes narrowed. “And… You're okay with that? I mean, she has a baby. I've been providing for her for two months now, and every time I see her, she looks like she's been crying.”
“What do you think I am, Eren?” Ony's face hardened. “She is my best friend. I've tried to understand her, but try helping someone who's moving without giving their address to anyone. I'm just going to wait until she's ready to talk about it.”
“She seems to need someone to force their way in.”
“Why don't you want to be her friend?” Ony tried. “She has issues with her family. Maybe someone from the outside would help her.”
“Do I look like a good friend?” Eren sighed, leaned over to rest his elbows on his thighs. He stared at his sneakers. It wasn't that Eren lacked confidence; it was just that he'd never been good at emotional comfort. So trying to improve the mood of a depressed single mother was beyond his capabilities.
“You're a good friend, 'Ren,” Connie reassured him.
Eren rolled his eyes, not believing any of this.
“It's true,” Armin added.
“Oh, we know you like him, man,” Ony laughed quietly.
The boys' laughter filled the room as Eren remained silent, staring at your message.
Eren didn't like broken people. They destroyed everything in their path and were so needy that they stole other people's freedom. Eren needed to be in control of his life. It was thanks to this determination that he had saved his family and lifted them out of poverty. A lot of pressure on the shoulders of a little boy. He was devastated to lose his father, but now, as the only boy in the family, he had to find solutions quickly. He had started dealing drugs for a gang at 15. Being a low-ranking member of a criminal organization was tough because he was the one who had to do the risky work that no one else wanted. But he didn't care; his mother was no longer working due to grief-induced depression, and they had to find money.
He had done everything to ensure his family lacked nothing. He paid for his mother's therapy, paid for his sister Mikasa's ballet lessons, and supported her passion for gothic style. Eren was a fighter. So how could he help a woman who had nothing and couldn't even find the motivation to raise her child? What did he have to teach her?
“Anyway, I don't care about her. She’s your sister, not mine. I have nothing to gain by being her friend,” he lied, but he got up anyway and grabbed his car keys from the coffee table.
“Be gentle with her or I will kill you,” Ony warned him.
“You can’t even take care of her and you’re acting like you’re protecting her,” he sneered, shaking hands with all his best friends before leaving Ony’s home.
𖥸
“You good?” Eren asked, observing how puffy your eyes were.
Sitting in the passenger seat of his car, you stared at your trembling hands. “Yeah.”
“You don’t seem well.”
“Is this any different from usual?” you grumbled.
“Watch your tone.” Eren started the car and connected his phone via Bluetooth to play his playlist. Bodies by Drowing Pool played in the car, and you watched him curiously as the metal music enveloped you.
“I don’t understand your taste in music. Last Saturday it was rap, today it’s rock.”
“Nu metal, not rock,” he corrected with an amused smile. “I just like music. Why choose a genre when I can appreciate everyone’s art?”
“It’s been months since I listened to music. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be a fan of someone’s discography.”
“Why?” He turned the steering wheel with one hand while his other hand was outside the window, holding a cigarette.
You pressed your back against the seat, your gaze lost on the road. Eren was no longer a stranger. You had shared laughs and some eye contact. But he was your plug, not your friend. How could you talk to him about your trauma, your anxieties, your flashbacks, the fear of losing your brother if you confessed that one of his friends had raped you? He was a man. Men didn't care about women's suffering.
“I guess I can't connect with my emotions anymore. So I can't appreciate art.”
“Like depression?”
“Something like that…”
“When you have these kinds of problems, you always have to talk to someone, otherwise your loved ones will suffer with you.”
“The drug dealer is pro-therapy?”
He glanced sideways at you. “I said watch your tone.”
As usual when you talked with Eren, he managed to make you smile and lighten your heart. You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head as you watched him drive. When your eyes landed on Eren, you missed a part of yourself. The part that wasn't afraid of men. The part that flirted with them confidently. The part that knew how to hold a conversation without trauma dumping. Today, only the ashes of a shattered identity remained. Maybe if Eren were ugly, you'd be able to stop being nostalgic for your old self.
“Your hair's grown,” you said softly.
“Yeah, I know, I need to cut it.”
“Wait—No! You look good like that.”
“My bad, if my favorite depressed girl said I was looking good, I should trust her.”
Your quiet laugh filled the car.
Eren brought his cigarette to his lips to take a drag, and as he exhaled the smoke, he glanced at you. “You're pretty when you smile.”
“I'm ugly when I'm not smiling?”
“I swear I don't understand women.”
“Thank you, Eren, I was joking.”
A pleasant silence hung in the car. Eren stopped at various buildings to supply his clients with weed. He seemed so comfortable in his job that you wondered why he'd ended up doing this kind of work. He must be financially comfortable, much more so than with your job as a barmaid.
“Are you going to tell me about it or not?” His deep voice pulled you from your thoughts.
“Talk about what?”
“Why do you need to spend time with me? Why did you want to come with me to my drops? Why do you look like you’ve been crying every time you get in my car?”
You didn’t want to talk about that. He wouldn’t understand. No one would. Your pain was your best-kept secret. Suffering is precious. Especially when it shapes your identity. You wanted to be more than a rape victim, more than just the label of a woman whose “no” wasn’t heard, but it felt like your life had stopped that night. You didn’t recognize yourself anymore.
“I’ve lost myself,” you repeated what you’d told Ony two months earlier. Hoping he’d understand without asking too many questions.
“And why don’t you go to therapy to find yourself again?”
“They’ll never understand.” How could you explain that you had the option of an abortion but you were too depressed to even leave your house? People will laugh at you, tell you it was your choice, that you can't complain now.
“That's what my mother used to say before I forced her ass to see a therapist. Now, she's doing much better.”
“My problem isn't something that can be fixed with therapy; I need to go back in time and prevent the event from happening.”
“You're not special, you know.” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes serious. “Everyone lives—”
You shot him a cold glare. “You don't know anything about me, so shut up before you compare my traumas to someone else's.”
His jaw tightened. “I'm not your friend, so don't look at me like that before I put shady stuff in the shit you're buying from me.” He threw his cigarette out the window. He gestured with his fingers to indicate the space between you. “The distance between us, you're the one creating it. I could become your best friend in no time if you'd stop acting all mysterious.”
“Who said I wanted to be your friend?”
“You're literally beggin’ for my attention.”
It was awfully true. You had nothing to say against it, so you drew your lips into a thin line and stared at the road.
“You're not special either,” you finally said after a minute of silence. “I don't see anyone besides my daughter, so of course I'm going to get attached to the first person who speaks to me.”
Get attached to him? You'd lost your mind. Eren didn't do serious relationships. Imagine if he started a family with someone only to suddenly die like his father and leave his wife depressed? No, Eren wasn't going to repeat what had broken his family.
“That's your first mistake. Don't get attached to me.”
His voice was harsher than expected, but it was a defense mechanism.
Your heart sank. You didn't like his tone, what he was trying to say, and you felt stupid because he was just your plug, so why did it hurt so much to hear it? He drove silently to your building. Once there, he stopped the car and stood there without speaking for a few minutes. He glanced in your direction and his heart ached at your downcast expression. He had to make apologies. He wasn't a bad guy, just awkward with his emotions.
“Your brother wants me to take care of you. I'm not good at emotional support; I'm more efficient when it comes to making money. So sorry if I say the wrong things.”
His softer voice soothed the wound his words had created. You didn't reply until you opened the car door. He grabbed your arm before you could let go.
“Call me if you want to come with me on my drops.”
You paused. “So you can tell me I’m not special and that everyone has traumas?”
“Maybe if you talked to me more, I’d stop staying stupid shit like this.”
“So you admit it’s stupid.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I’m going to avoid talking to you since I’m not allowed to get attached to you.”
His grip on your arm tightened. “I can be a close friend, but don’t ask me to be more than that.”
“I never asked for more than that. I’m not ready for that either,” you whispered before getting out of the car and walking to your building.
For the first time, Eren didn’t leave immediately and stared thoughtfully at the ghostly image of your silhouette in the street.
𖥸
౨ৎ four months with you ౨ৎ
Rap blasting in his headphones, Eren focused on his workout on the gym's free weight machines, working his arms with precision, slowing down to feel the burn. Eren didn't have a massive body; he had a sleeper build. Looking at him, you'd think he was just thin, but once he was naked, the definition of his muscles was impressive. He was progressing toward a more muscular physique, like Ony, who was very muscular.
“Your ass is rounder than me, lucky bastard,” Ony nudged him as Eren got up from the weight machine to clean up where he'd sat. A soft chuckle escaped Eren's mouth.
“Stop looking at my ass and find yourself a woman.”
“I have plenty of women. You're the one who needs affection, ‘Ren.”
“I'm perfectly fine.”
“Why don't you sleep with my sister?”
Eren dropped his towel, which fell to the floor, and his eyes widened. “The fuck?”
“I admit that sounds weird.”
“It’s downright weird, man.”
“I meant, why don’t you try to have a relationship with her?”
Eren frowned. “Why the hell are you forcing me to be close to her?”
“You’re the only one she talks to regularly. She barely replies to my messages. I wish she had a friend or a boyfriend, I don’t care. Just someone to talk to.”
His frown deepened. “Isn’t it a little late to be worrying about this? She went through her pregnancy alone.”
“Ren, you don’t know my sister. She just shuts down even more when you force her to talk. I prefer to give her the space she needs. She’ll come see me whenever she wants. But that doesn’t stop me from trying to help her in my own way.”
Eren picked up his towel from the floor and headed towards the locker room, followed by Ony. “‘Ren, please.’”
“I don’t understand why it’s up to me to heal your sister. It’s not my role. I’m not a therapist.”
“Okay, man, I get that. But it’s almost her birthday, and aside from you and me, she doesn’t talk to anyone anymore.”
“Not even her parents?”
“They reacted badly when she dropped out of college.”
He undressed in one of the changing room stalls and continued talking to Ony.
“So your sister went through something pretty traumatic to drop out of college, stop talking to you, and choose to go through her pregnancy alone, and you think a drug dealer like me is the solution to your problems.”
“Everyone loves you, Eren.”
“And as it should be.” A quiet laugh escaped Ony’s mouth. They showered in silence in individual shower stalls, sharing a toning shower gel.
“What do you want to do for her birthday?” Eren asked, walking beside Ony as they left the gym after changing into clean clothes. “She doesn’t seem to be in the mood for parties. And she has a baby.”
“She told me she works at a bar. I wanted to surprise her by picking her up for drinks at my place with my friends. Just Connie and Armin, not my college friends. She’s been ignoring them for a year now.”
“I know where she works. She’s asked me to come over after her shift.”
Ony smiled. “You’re doing a good job, thank you.”
“Fuck you. It’s not like that.”
“It is like that. She told me that at least three times a week, she comes with you when you’re doing your drops.”
“She’s all alone,” Eren stated, as if that alone explained why he was spending so much time with you.
“Since when do you care about lonely women?”
“It’s hard not to sympathize with someone you see crying every week. It’s not that deep.”
Ony raised questions Eren didn’t want to think about. Everything was fine. He was just your friend, your plug, and you went with him to do his drops. Sometimes you laughed, sometimes you argued, but it always ended in softer voices. Although it was fragile, there was definitely a connection. But it was up to Eren to figure out if it meant more than that. The weeks flew by. He felt like ever since he met you, his whole life revolved around you. He looked forward to spending time with you—something he couldn’t explain himself. He cared. He really cared. And he didn’t even know when it had happened during those four months.
𖥸
“Is Ony’s sister hot?” Connie asked enthusiastically, but he calmed down immediately when his eyes met Eren’s cold glare. “What? I’m just asking—”
“You didn’t even bag Sasha, you want the unattainable,” Eren mocked him.
“Ouch.” Connie pretended to be heartbroken.
Sitting in Eren’s car, Connie in the front, Armin and Ony in the back, they waited for you to finish your shift.
“I’m going to put on some Sexy Redd to make her feel comfortable.” Connie connected his phone to the car to play “Mad at Me.” Eren pinched the bridge of his nose and changed the music to “Go Gina” by SZA.
“That’s not her kind of music, stop your bullshit.”
At that moment, you stepped out of the bar where you worked. Eren honked the horn, and you jumped. He almost felt guilty. Recognizing Eren's car, you approached cautiously, not understanding why he was there.
Eren rolled down the car window and poked his head out to talk to you.
“Happy birthday.”
“W-What?” you stammered, your eyes widening as you saw your brother in the car.
What day was it? Damn, that's right. It was your birthday. You'd completely forgotten.
But the real question was, why was Eren there for you?
“Bring your ass over here.” He gestured toward the backseat with his thumb.
“I can't…” You stared at the tiny space that remained in the backseat, between Ony and Armin. Just imagining yourself squeezed between men made your stomach churn.
“Why can't you?” Eren asked, his voice soft.
You struggled to verbalize your anguish, the words dying on your tongue. Eren stared at you for a few seconds before turning to Connie.
“Leave the car.”
“The fuck?!”.
Eren ignored him and turned to the backseat.
“Everyone out of the car, you’re going to take the subway.”
Disappointed exclamations echoed through the vehicle, but Eren didn’t care and insisted until all his friends left. Once the trio had walked away to catch the subway, he nodded for you to come to the passenger side. Once seated in the car, you cleared your throat.
“Thank you.”
Eren didn’t reply and started the car. He really cared and he hated it.
𖥸
Eren was late arriving at Ony's place because he had to pick up your daughter from daycare. While he was driving, he couldn't help but steal curious glances at the baby in your arms. He was itching to ask about the father, but he didn't say anything because something in his head told him that your child's father was probably the cause of all your problems. During the evening, something didn't sit right with him. It was your birthday, yet you remained silent. Connie was trying to make it fun by playing "guess the song" videos on the TV. He was making an effort because you were his best friend's sister. But you barely reacted. You didn't touch any of the food Armin had prepared on the coffee table. He'd seen you smile and laugh before; he knew you were capable of it.
Fuck, he couldn't even focus on anything else. You flooded his thoughts. Was the baby the problem? Were you having trouble getting out of "mom mode"? He was about to do something crazy. After spending the evening watching you while sitting on the couch smoking a blunt, he got up to sit next to you and nudged your arm.
“Give me the baby.”
You looked at him like he had multiple heads.
"Give me the baby," he repeated, his voice gruff, barely responsive because of the weed. "Go have fun with Connie."
"I don't want to have fun—"
"Too bad, I want you to."
He leaned over to wrap his arms around your daughter, and reluctantly you let him hold her. He struggled for a few moments to figure out how to wrap his arms around the baby, but once he was secure against her, he watched her in silence. She had large, curious brown eyes that seemed to react to every sudden movement, so he had to touch her gently. He raised one hand to rub his index finger against her cheek. She smiled, and Eren fought the urge not to smile too, faced with the bundle of tenderness in his arms.
He looked up, and as usual, his eyes always landed on the same person who had occupied his thoughts these past few months—you. You were playfully bickering with Connie because he was deliberately talking so you wouldn't hear the music playing to guess the name. You radiated so much energy; it was a joy to see. Eren tried not to think about the uncomfortable feeling that threatened to ruin the moment and overwhelm him. He knew he was doing something pretty special for a girl he didn't know well enough to do that.
But he felt like he knew you. He could tell when you were anxious, what might make you laugh, what might annoy you. He knew what creates a cute pout on your lips or a glare. He really cared. He hoped this day would be a good memory for you.
𖥸
౨ৎ six months with you ౨ৎ
The months flew by, and you needed to buy bigger clothes for your daughter. You worked harder and harder to cover your expenses, but the more exhausted you became, the harder it was to control your anxiety. Your fear of men was complex. Normally, you could never have had such a special relationship with Eren because he was a man. A very masculine man, at that. It was only because he was your plug that you had managed to overcome your fear.
But while you were working, it was difficult not to panic when older men hit on you. Your rape hadn't just destroyed your trust in your loved ones; it had also destroyed your trust in all of humanity. So any man could be a threat. You needed to improve your coping mechanisms because they weren't working anymore. Every time you took a step toward healing, you took twenty steps back.
Your birthday had been amazing. You hadn't laughed that much in a long time. But after that day, your daily grind had resumed with even more intensity. The baby's crying, the diaper changes, the breastfeeding. All that work for a baby you didn't even want.
“Hurry up, there are a lot of customers!!” your boss clapped his hands, and you rushed to grab the trays of beer and bring them to the order tables.
You had to pull yourself together. This month, you'd had six panic attacks in front of customers, and your boss had said you were fired the next time. You handed out beers to each table, forcing yourself to smile to get tips. But you were barely taking care of yourself these days; your clothes were simple and not the kind of revealing outfits men liked.
“Oh, huh! It's been a while.”
You froze at the voice beside you. When you slowly turned your head, your face crumpled as you saw the college friends you'd been running from for over a year because they were all friends with the traitor.
“Hi… I…” Your grip on the tray of empty glasses became increasingly hesitant as your hands trembled. Your mind flashed through images of the party where everything had gone wrong, and you could no longer focus on the real world.
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚! Order for table 5.”
You were unable to move, paralyzed. You could feel your hands on you, on your mouth, your weight pressing you against the mattress.
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, are you okay?”
You took a few steps, but your mind was still on that grim night. You didn't notice you bumped into a customer, glasses shattering on the floor. Your boss yelled at you, but you stared at the broken glass, a stark reminder of your current life.
𖥸
“If you want a car ride while you cry, I can do that if you want.” Eren offered in an unusually gentle voice.
He wasn't always sure how to handle the situation; usually, when you came to see him, you were done crying. But the second you sat down in the passenger seat that night, you burst into tears. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, letting you express your feelings uninterrupted.
“I'm so sorry.”
“I don't mind.”
“I feel like I'm a burden to everyone and worrying everyone for nothing. I always make the wrong choices. I can't stand ruining my life anymore.”
“You're doing your best—”
“Eren, I got fired today. I deliberately took a job at that bar because it was far from the university I was at,” you sniffled. “Now I have to find a job quickly—”
“How much money do you need?” He cut in. “How much and how long?”
You were frowned upon, confused, but thought quickly. “Eren, I don’t want to deal drugs!”
“The fuck are you talking about?” he chuckled darkly. “You’re too fragile to do that. I wanted to pay your bills.”
This time, you paused. “W-What?”
“It’s not a big deal.” He started the car and focused on the road as if he wasn’t saying crazy things.
“Did you snort cocaine?!”
His lips curved into an amused smile. “Nah, not into that. Only the greenery.”
“Eren—”
“You’re a depressed single mother and my friend’s sister. I’m not going to leave you in the lurch.”
The truth was, Eren didn’t know any other way. His entire adolescence had been put on hold to help his mother, so your situation mirrored his own childhood. You didn't argue about how well you could manage on your own because you knew it would be stupid to refuse such an offer. You lowered your head, swallowing hard.
“Thank you, but…”
“But what?” he sighed.
“I don't really understand the relationship we have.”
“Me neither.”
Neither of you spoke for a few moments before you brought up the subject of your job again.
“I want to work from home, I don't want to go out anymore.”
“Why?”
You couldn't tell him. You could only tell him that now that you'd run into his friends, there was a possibility of…
“I'm scared,” you said simply.
“Okay.” He tilted his head. “My mother had something similar when my father died. She wanted to stay constantly in the house that had sheltered her husband and was unable to leave it, even to go shopping. I was the one who did it.”
“It must have been a heavy responsibility to bear, no matter your age.”
His eyebrows knitted. He didn't like receiving pity.
“Sometimes our loved ones need us, and that's what community is all about.”
“Pro-therapy, pro-community, I think I've got the first ethical plug right here.”
“Don't mock me,” he side-eyed you.
“I'm just joking, ‘Ren.”
He liked the sound of his nickname on your tongue.
“What kind of job do you want back home?”
“I've always wanted to be a writer.” Your dreamy eyes stared at the road as he drove. “I've always preferred novels to movies. Every time I finished a good movie, I was sad that there weren't any novels adapted because I want to know what the characters are thinking. I feel like I'm part of the story. So, ever since I learned to hold a pencil, I've been writing stories. But since my depression, I haven't been able to write anymore.”
“Why don’t you write a memoir about your life as a mother with depression?”
You burst into incredulous laughter. “No one will want to read that.”
“I will.”
“Please. I’m not even thirty yet; I’m not going to write a memoir at my age.”
“Or write poetry if a novel is too difficult.”
“I only want to write about these sad subjects right now.”
“It’s okay. Sometimes that’s what you feel like doing.”
“Why do I get the impression you’re speaking as an artist?”
He turned his head to look at you, a deep crease between his eyes.
“What? A drug dealer isn’t allowed to be interested in art?”
“You know damn well I don’t judge you like that.”
“I hope so.” His features softened.
“What do you do outside of your job?”
“Gym and drawing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I always wanted to be a tattoo artist.”
Eren rarely talked about himself, so you enjoyed learning more about him; it was like a special gift he was giving you.
“And why don’t you pursue your dreams?”
“It’s hard to leave illegality when you get a taste of money.”
“You don’t pursue your dreams because you want money?” You repeated, judgment in your voice.
“I thought you wouldn’t judge me?” He smiled.
“It’s just that I’d kill to be in your situation. You have the ability to achieve your dream, but you’re holding yourself back for purely capitalist reasons.”
“Grow up poor and frustrated from having nothing, and you’ll see how hard it is to leave abundance once you’ve experienced it.”
“Right, I… I don’t know what it’s like… But Eren, one day, you’ll have to make this dream come true.”
“I will when you publish your first novel.”
You glared at him. “You’re not fair.”
“Never, never, baby.”
Your mouth opened slightly when he called you “baby” in his deep voice. You deliberately ignored the fluttering heat in your stomach.
Like every time you talked to Eren, you felt better. You weren’t so worried about the future anymore.
Was that really a good thing? Could you really trust this man? Hadn’t you forgotten how traumatized you were by the traitor’s betrayal? What if Eren was being nice to you on purpose, only to rape you when he got the chance, just like the traitor? Your heart pounding, you watched Eren drive, unsure whether to shield yourself from his kindness or welcome him with open arms.
𖥸
“Sorry about the mess,” you shyly apologized, letting Eren—who was carrying your grocery bags—go ahead.
“I don’t mind.” He shook his head, but surprise flashed across his face at the amount of plastic waste on the living room floor. “Well…”
“Yeah…” Ashamed, you stared at your shoes.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble cleaning?”
“Why would I tell you? You’re not going to help me clean up…”
“Of course I will, go and rest, I’ll take care of it.” He placed the shopping bags in the open-plan kitchen/living room.
You wanted to refuse, but you’d had another sleepless night because of your daughter’s crying. You desperately needed a nap—your eyes were so heavy. You lay down on the sofa and watched him pick up all the trash before drifting off to sleep. When you woke up, Eren was no longer in the living room, and he had put away the groceries he’d bought. You stretched and looked for him in the apartment. Thinking he’d left, you went to your daughter’s room, where she was crying. Eren was standing there, trying to rock her.
“She’s hungry,” you explained, taking him from your arms. You carried her to the living room and sat on the sofa while Eren was following you. You pulled your right breast out of your t-shirt to breastfeed the baby. The soft sucking sounds filled the room.
"Why are your eyes so empty when you look at your daughter?" He sat next to you.
His question unsettled you. You'd never noticed before.
"What do you mean?"
"Was the pregnancy planned?"
You tensed. Was this the moment to acknowledge the elephant in the room?
"Not really..."
"Do you love her?"
Eren wasn't trying to be mean or intrusive; he genuinely wanted to know about your relationship with your daughter.
“I… I'm just doing what I have to do as a mother to meet all her needs,” you managed to say, despite the slight tremor in your voice. You would never admit to him that you had considered killing her.
Eren's voice grew serious. “You take care of her physical needs, okay, but if you don't love her, she'll know it.”
“How is that supposed to help me?” you replied defensively.
“If you don't love her,” he stared at the infant in your arms, “you can give her to a family who will love her more than you do.”
You tightened your embrace around your baby. “I've thought about that. But I'm afraid I'll regret it. Even if I hate her now, maybe I'll love her later.”
You couldn't understand what you felt for this child. You hated her; she represented your trauma. Every time you saw her, you were reminded of your rape, but at the same time… There was a kind of protectiveness, hard to explain, that prevented you from abandoning this child. Because this baby was innocent and hadn't asked for any of this.
“So you admit you hate her.”
“Yeah.”
He let out a heavy breath. “I don't understand why you don't want to get help from a therapist. You don't have to go through this alone.”
You looked away, your face tense.
“Look at me,” Eren said softly, brushing a lock of curly locks away from your face.
“You can't understand.”
“I pay your bills, baby.”
“And what?” Your voice grew hoarse.
“It means that I’m part of your life, yes or no, so I have the capacity to understand what you’re feeling.”
“You’re the one who told me not to get attached to you, and now you want me to let you in more and more.”
“I said I would take care of you, not be your boyfriend.”
You looked up at him, your jaw clenched.
“You’re doing everything a boyfriend does.”
“Except for one thing.” His intense gaze landed on your parted lips before moving up to lock with yours. “I’ve been a good boy, right? I didn’t fuck with you when you were so needy and lonely.”
He couldn’t imagine how his words hurt you. He was talking crudely about intimacy between you, without knowing that it was your greatest fear right now. The truth was, Eren had never been in a serious relationship, so he didn't realize how harsh his words had been. That's how he talked to women he wanted to sleep with; he'd never really been with anyone he cared about before you.
“You're mean.” Your eyes stung. “Don't ever talk about me that way again.”
“I can't cuss with you, baby?” He cocked his head to one side. “Tell me what else I shouldn't do. There must be things I need to learn about you.”
He said “you,” but you both knew he meant “body.” He was flirting with you awkwardly, and you didn't know how to react. The way he spoke hurt, but you couldn't deny the effect his deep voice had on you, and the cologne enveloping you made you feel like you were bathing in his essence.
The situation was strange because you had one breast exposed, but his eyes weren't on it; they were fixed on your mouth.
“The fact that you didn't take advantage of my vulnerability is the bare minimum. Anyway, I would never have let you touch me.”
“Are you sure about that?” He moved even closer. “Maybe because you were so lonely, you asked me to keep your body warm.”
You focused on your baby so as not to meet his gaze and not to weaken under the pressure of the sensual atmosphere that had been created.
“Absolutely not.”
“I think you're mistaken.”
How could you tell him that you were terrified of intimacy without revealing your secret?
“I'm not that kind of girl, Eren.”
“I hope you'll show me what kind of girl you are one day.”
You sank back into the sofa, biting the inside of your cheek. Anxiety mixed with shyness, and you didn't know what to say.
“Since when do you see me like this?”
“Now. I'm an impulsive man.”
“I think you should find some women to have fun with. I don't want to be used.”
“Why do you have such a negative view of sex? I want to please you.”
The flashbacks flooded back. Your eyes watered. You were pathetic. You spent all your time crying and being a burden to Eren.
“Listen, Eren, it's very kind of you to do the grocery shopping and cleaning, but I'd like you to go home.”
“Did I make you uncomfortable?”
“No, it's just…” you sniffled.
Tell him. Tell Ony. File a complaint. Do something. Don't be pathetic.
“I think it would be better if we stopped talking.”
Eren flinched. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. Absolutely not.
“You’re tired, you should rest a little longer.” He patted your arm.
“No, Eren, I’m lucid. I bring you nothing. I give you nothing. I only take, take, and take. I’m not ready to heal, I’m not doing anything to get better, I’m only bringing you down. A friendship is supposed to be beneficial for both of us.”
“It is beneficial for me. I have fun when we talk. I love taking care of you. You’re my friend.”
“We aren’t friends, you want to fuck me.”
“Friends with benefits.”
“You’ll never have my benefits.”
His lips quirked up. “Don’t challenge me.”
“And in any case, our relationship isn’t healthy. You feel useful helping me because you have a savior complex.”
“That’s just how I was raised. I’m the man who takes care of his family, the man who provides, the man who protects. When my father died, the responsibility fell on me.”
“I’m not your family, Eren. And that’s a misogynistic way of thinking.”
“I know, but I don’t want to be cared for. I want to be useful to my loved ones. That’s how I operate.” He played with one of your curly locks.
“I want to love you too,” you whispered.
“I told you, ‘Don’t get attached to me.’ I don’t want your love.”
“So I should accept all your care without giving you anything in return?”
“Yeah, princess treatment. You don’t have to do anything.”
Your heart was pounding. You desperately wanted to believe it, but scenarios of him betraying you flooded your mind.
“I don't know, ‘Ren… I—”
“Just try it for a few months, and if you don't like it, I'm out of your life.”
Your daughter started coughing, showing she'd had enough milk, and you tucked your breast into your top.
“Okay.” You tried to smile.
“I'll try to find you a therapist who makes sessions at your place.” Eren stood up and put his hands in the pockets of his baggy navy jeans.
“I don't—”
“Shut your mouth.”
Your gazes challenged each other for a few seconds before you turned your head away, and Eren smirked.
“Have a good night,” he said before leaving the apartment.
What was this feeling of hope that all was not lost? Was this how you fall in love? But was it healthy? The relationship was so unbalanced. Did you have the right?
𖥸
౨ৎ eight months with you ౨ৎ
You and Eren had found a routine. Every Saturday, when Eren came to give you your weed, he'd run errands and clean while you took a nap. Every time you woke up, Eren had Neusa in his arms, and it gave you a strange feeling in your stomach. You avoided talking about the fact that he treated her like she was his daughter. The rest of the week, he made his drops, drew, and spent time with his friends. You texted a lot. You made an effort to ask as many questions as possible about Eren's life, since you were the center of your relationship with him. Eren had found a therapist who came every Wednesday for therapy sessions. Their name was Hange; they were a bit eccentric, but they didn't press the issue when you didn't want to talk about the root of your problems. The therapy focused on how to manage your anxiety.
There was so much to work on within yourself, but you weren't ready yet. Maybe you never will. Eren said it was okay if you never spoke, and you tried to believe him. You were brainstorming your novels when there was a knock at the door. You left your desk to open it and found Eren, his eyes red and his hands in his hoodie pockets. You might have thought he'd been smoking, but his eyes weren't half-closed, and the puffiness told you he'd been crying. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for him.
"Yo," he greeted you, his voice gruff.
"It's not Saturday." You let him into the apartment.
"Do I need a specific day to see my favorite girl?" Butterflies fluttered in your stomach the way he was referring to his favorite girl.
"Where is my second favorite girl?" He looked around the living room.
“She’s asleep, leave her alone. You carry her more than I do.”
He let out a quiet laugh, then flopped onto the couch, spreading his legs. He patted his thighs with a look that said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. You sat on your lap and he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth, then rested your head in the crook of your neck. A heavy breath escaped his mouth, as if he was holding back all his sorrows before crossing the threshold and could finally let them out.
“Why do you look like you’ve been crying?”
“Rough day,” he simply replied. You ran your hand through his hair, untangling a few strands, and he closed his eyes at your touch.
“I couldn’t go see my friends. The last time they saw me cry, I heard about it for years.”
Your body shook from your giggle, and he glared at you.
“So I figured I could go see the certified CEO of tears; at least you wouldn’t judge me.”
“It’s true that I cry a lot,” you admitted, your voice guilty.
“It means you have a lot of emotions to express, which is healthy. I feel a lot too, but it manifests in my anger. It’s no fun.”
You silently stroked his hair for a few moments before he spoke.
“It’s my dad’s birthday.”
Oh. Everything made sense.
You cupped his face in your hands to get a better look. With his bright eyes and sad expression, he looked like a little puppy deserving all the attention in the world.
“It’s ridiculous. I’m fine all year, and then there are days like this, when I feel like the world has collapsed.”
“Hange told me the body remembers the date of the trauma.”
“I’m not traumatized. You are.”
You pouted. “It sounds like you’re talking about an illness.”
“Yeah, so if you could avoid infecting me, thanks.”
You mock-punched him, and his lips curved into a small smile.
“You look pretty when you pout. I might intentionally reproduce that expression on your face in the future.”
“I thought I was prettier when I smiled.”
“You’re the prettiest anyway, no debate.”
He nuzzled your neck, inhaling your comforting scent.
“You want to talk about your father?”
“Nah.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just being with you makes me feel good.”
That was enough to soothe your worried heart. You stayed cuddling for a while before Neusa woke up crying. You flinched, her cries triggering you as always, but Eren kissed you on the temple.
“I’ll take care of it.”
He got up to go to Neusa's room, and you took the opportunity to change into your pajamas and turn off all the lights in the apartment. Sitting on your bed, you waited for Eren, rolling blunts. He finally knocked on the door, his hands in his jeans pockets, his gaze fixed on the floor; he almost looked shy.
"I'm sorry to ask, but can I sleep over tonight? I don't really want to be alone."
You patted the spot next to you without saying anything.
He sat up and looked at your blunts strangely.
"Why are they so fat?"
"It hit faster," you teased.
"Right, right, now you're an expert. Don't forget you always dropped the filter first."
You scoffed before giving him a blunt. With a lighter, he lit it and took a few drags before lying down to stare at the ceiling where the smoke from his mouth rose.
“Imagine you build a family with someone and then you die, and it’s your first child who has to deal with what you left behind. Everything you worked so hard for—gone.”
“I think I’ll be very sad but very proud of my child in the afterlife.”
A bitter smile formed on his lips.
“I doubt my father is proud of me. He was a doctor. Now I sell addictions to people.”
“I think the end justifies the means.”
“Me too.” He passed you the blunt so you could take a drag. “That’s why I can’t start a family.”
“Are you afraid of abandoning them when you die?”
“I guess so.”
“What if you die of old age? You’ll be able to see your grandchildren and everyone will be happy?”
“It’s precisely because I can’t choose that I prefer to avoid disaster.” He glanced at you. “And you, what’s your greatest fear?”
Being betrayed again. You looked away, your eyes shifting.
“Okay, okay.” He rolled his eyes, but there was no malice in his voice. “At least tell Hange.”
“No, I want to tell you, but…”
“But what?”
“Eren, if I told someone what happened, it would be admitting I’m an idiot.”
“Connie is an idiot, and he’s perfectly fine with it.”
“Not an idiot like him. An idiot like… a victim.”
His eyes narrowed. “And what’s so idiotic about being a victim?”
“There’s no value in being on the side of those who didn’t fight.”
He pulled your arm so you fell onto his chest. Your curly hair brushed against his face, and he gazed into your eyes.
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”
“Yeah?” you replied shyly.
“No matter what happened to you, you shouldn’t be ashamed or think you’re worthless just because you couldn’t defend yourself. Fight or flight response, Hange didn’t you talk about that?”
“Just because you explain it rationally doesn’t change how I feel.” Your upper lip quivered.
“Do you want to cry?”
“I’m not pathetic, stop seeing me like that.” Your eyes welled up in spite of yourself.
He cupped your face, pulling it close until your noses touched.
“Cry, I’ll drink them in.”
You chuckled, your shoulders shaking. “You’re so embarrassing, oh my god.”
A tear fell into the space between his nose and lips, and he stuck out his tongue to lick it. You stared at him, dumbfounded.
“See?”
“That was very corny, Eren. Totally unsexy.”
“Because you usually find me sexy?” Heat rushed to your cheeks, but you tried to keep a normal, unflustered expression.
“No.”
“Liar.”
He licked your lips. Your eyes widened, a heat crackling in your lower abdomen.
“Eren…”
“Hm?”
“You’re weird.”
“I want you.”
He looked into your eyes, deadass. This was the day you'd been dreading. The day he'd confess the desire between you, the day you'd be forced to refuse him because of your fears, even though you were dying to discover who he was in an intimate setting. If you'd known him for two years right away, you would have undressed for him in a single glance. But you weren't the same person you used to be. Or at least, that's what you thought.
"I already told you I wasn't that kind of girl."
"Just a kiss, baby. I've been a good boy lately."
You stared down at his plump lips, your mouth watering at the thought of kissing him passionately. What was stopping you? It was just a kiss. Nothing more. You didn't have to be afraid of Eren. You were safe. Your lips brushed for a few seconds before you pressed them against his. Just a kiss. He traced your upper lip with the edge of his tongue before slithering it into your mouth, sliding it onto yours. Just a kiss. He groaned into the kiss as your tongues tangled together. Just a kiss. So focused on feeling him make out with you, you forgot to breathe, so when he pulled away, you took a deep breath.
You looked at each other in silence for a moment, panting, before devouring each other's mouths again. His hands slipped under your t-shirt, caressing your sides, digging into the generous padding, kneading the pillowy flesh.
"So cute," he murmured against you. He liked having something to grab; he'd already noticed your ample curves before and was thrilled to finally be able to touch you. His rough hands on your soft skin made you shiver, and you missed what it felt like to be touched by someone. Missed what it felt like to be desired, to be seen as the most beautiful person on earth for a moment. Your brain on autopilot, your lips moved in sync, his tongue playing with yours as he gripped your thick waist.
Not satisfied with the position, he rolled you onto your back to lie on top of you, his right hand on the headboard, his left elbow beside your ear. He ground his hips against yours to make you feel his erection, the friction fanning a fire in the pit of your stomach. You were nothing but sweat, heat, and desire as you wrapped your legs around his waist and rocked your lower body against his. He pulled away to run hot, open-mouthed kisses over your skin, tickling you, and he smiled against your skin. The kiss had pressed a button in your brain, releasing fragments of your former self, a confident girl who knew how to enjoy herself with boys.
It wasn't until he pulled off your t-shirt, until the cold air hit your skin, that you snapped out of your trance, and your defenses reformed with lightning speed. As if regaining consciousness, your gaze lost its fiery glint, your body began to tremble, and you avoided his gaze, covering your chest with your hands. He lifted his head from your neck.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, “what’s bothering you?”
Your words died on your tongue. He tilted his head, his eyes gentle. He wanted to choose the right words. He had connected the dots, and he had a pretty good idea what had happened. You’d have to be blind not to understand.
“You know, can you tell me anything?”
You nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “
You know I would never hurt you?”
In the fog that was the inside of your head, Eren’s deep voice brought you back to reality. It grounded you.
You timidly raised your head toward him and nodded again. He pulled off your pajama shorts, taking your panties with them. He leaned down to trail kisses from your neck to your stomach, taking care to suck on your brown nipples, goosebumps erupting with every lick and press of his lips. Reaching your hips, he tried to spread your legs, but they were firmly closed.
“Please, baby, I will make you feel so good.” He kissed your thighs, waiting for you. You slowly opened your legs, Eren nibbled the inside of your thighs, and moved up to your tight heat to part your lips with his fingers. In front of your tender cunt, he was almost in love; she was so pretty, she needed his care.
His tongue caressed your wet folds, fanning the flames that threatened to consume your entire being. Placing your thighs on his shoulders for better positioning, he sank his tongue inside, twisting around at a slow pace, always gently, as if your most intimate parts were sacred. He collected your arousal in his mouth, his eyes rolling back with the sweet taste. There was something intimate about having your taste in his mouth, your scent enveloping his face.
You were so withdrawn, keeping your precious secrets hidden in your heart, safe from others. He wanted you to let go, to savor this moment without your inner demons making you doubt whether you deserved this pleasure or not. He pushed his tongue further, touching you in hidden recesses deep inside. You stared at the ceiling, your heart pounding. You were with a man, in your bed, doing things you never thought you'd do again because of your fears. Everything was okay; you could allow yourself to enjoy yourself. It was okay if your legs trembled; Eren seemed not to mind. You got this.
He explored every inch of your pussy, slurping the slick leaking from your slit. He knew he was good at this, but he didn't know if you liked what was happening because you were still. Often, eating out was a passionate act with the giver devouring his partner and the woman frantically rocking her hips in their face. But your body was inert; you made no sound. He pulled his mouth away from you to raise his head.
“You good?” he murmured.
You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him. “I can’t cum, Eren.”
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean you can’t cum?”
Everyone can cum, right? Why can’t you?
“I… Something happened.”
Her eyes saddened. “Baby, who hurt you so badly? There’s nothing you can do.”
The feeling of being a burden, a useless and broken woman, washed over you again. The urge to cry returned, but you were tired of being a crybaby. It was embarrassing. You wanted to be strong, someone Eren could be proud to have around, not the broken girl he helped because he’d been raised with a savior complex.
“I’m sorry, Eren, you can leave if—”
“Hell no.” The tips of her fingers teased your entrance. “It’s okay if you don’t reach your peak, we can still have a good time. The most important thing is to share something.”
This was a bit unfamiliar to Eren. When he slept with women, the goal was for both of them to orgasm, and then it was over. He'd never truly shared anything as intense as this, where he had to take care of someone and simply enjoy the moment without performing. Enjoy the present moment. He'd never really done that before. His life was a constant race for money; he didn't have time to rest. He plunged two fingers into your glistening flesh, the palms of his hands facing the ceiling so he could curl them inside and reach your sweet spot. You tensed at the sensation of a foreign object penetrating you, a flashback to when the traitor had thrust his fingers inside you, ignoring your distress and your "no."
Eren noticed your panicked eyes and slowed the pace of his thrusting. He lowered his head to slide his tongue over your clit, wrapping his lips around the sluice bud to suck it. A soft fire snaked through you, awakening every fiber of your being. You closed your eyes tightly, your body heating up. You arched your back, your breath becoming ragged at the divine sensation of his tongue on your sensitive flesh and his fingers pumping in and out of you. It wasn't pointless. Even if something inside you was broken, it wasn't useless. There was meaning in doing this.
“That's an expression I've never seen,” he whispered, his warm breath on your cunt, “what do I have to do to make you keep it forever?” The thrusts of his fingers became more intense, the squelch of pussy filling the room. A moan tore from your lips. “Tell me, baby. What's your favorite sex position?”
“Currently or when I was normal?”
“You’re normal to me. The best kind.”
“I think…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to remember a time when fear wasn’t your primary emotion. “I liked when my legs were on a man’s shoulders.” Eren pulled away from you and removed his t-shirt, revealing a body covered in black ink, the contours of his bulging muscles making your mouth water. The rest of his clothes fell to the floor, and once he stood naked before you, like a Greek god, you bent your knees and spread your legs a little wider. Eren followed your movement with his eyes, his lips curving into a smirk.
“You want me?” His voice dropped a few octaves, becoming husky.
How could you tell him you found him sexy with his burning green eyes contrasting with the darkness of his hair and neck tattoos? That he so masculine next to you that it made you long for a better relationship with your femininity? You stared at him, your gaze shy, hoping he would figure it out on his own. He grabbed one of your calves to pull your ass to the edge of the bed, then slid his hands down to your hips to lift your lower body, bringing it closer to his erection. Lying down, the position allowed you to glimpse his pink tip nudging your entrance, his imposing size, and your heart gripped with terror. What if Eren were to transform into a monster? Shatter your trust? Betray you? Fuck you without regard for your boundaries and fears? Ignore your "no" and your "stop"?
"I'm not him," he reassured you, feeling the tremors in your body. "You're safe and cared for. I'll stop if you're uncomfortable." He took your legs, placing your heels on his shoulders, and turned his head to kiss one of your calves. “Do you trust me?”
You wanted to say yes, that he was the only man who made your heart beat since your rape, but the words wouldn't come. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you rushed to dry them because you didn't want to be a crybaby.
“Stop that shit,” he gritted out, “you know you can cry with me. I won't judge.” He wanted to bend down to kiss you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, to make love to you missionary-style to reassure you, but he was afraid his weight on you would trigger you.
He didn't know what he was doing. He had never slept with a woman who had been raped. He had never been very gentle in bed, especially with one-night stands that didn't require emotional intimacy. But you, you needed all his attention and affection. He felt that if he held you wrong, you'd collapse, and in a way, he was waiting for you to do that so you'd see he was capable of catching you.
"Let it out," he continued, "if you can't enjoy sex, at least use this moment as an outlet." He placed his hand on one of your thick thighs pressed against his sculpted abdomen. "I'll start, is that okay with you, baby?"
Consent is sexy, consent is godly, so why do you feel miserable? Eren was definitely rough in bed. It suited his vibe. You didn't like him making an effort for you; it made you feel fragile when you wanted to be a strong woman. You gave him a slow nod. He moved his hips forward, burying the tip inside, cursing under his breath because you were so tight, he hadn't prepared you enough. He looked so beautiful like this, his gaze focused, brows furrowed, his body tense with the feeling that he couldn't go any deeper now. You wanted to devour him. He pulled out, a guilty expression on his face.
"I didn't do enough foreplay—"
"You can fuck me, Eren." You sniffled. "I want you."
"Promise me you won't tell this to another man." With the slow drag of his dick, he penetrated you, stretching you to his size. He closed his eyes and sighed at the sensation of the damp, tight heat enveloping him. “Keep saying shit like this. Just for me.”
As the roll of his hips fed into you, you whispered praise about him, how sexy you found him, how you wanted him to take you, how good it felt to feel him inside you. His ego swelled, and his lips quirked up, but he remained silent, flooded with your verbal desire. Tears streamed down your cheeks, flashbacks flooding your mind, but talking to him kept you grounded in the moment. He didn't tell you to stop crying, that you were ruining the mood, that you were weak. He accepted vulnerability, making it his own.
Every thrust of his hips filled you, spreading a warmth throughout your being that cradled you. The slick spilling from your cunt added a new sound atmosphere as the wet noises of your union filled the room. After a while, you were no longer able to speak, the hot coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter, like an insatiable hunger devouring your body. Your lips parted, you panted, your ample chest rising and falling, your breathy moans mingling with his groans. The green of his eyes was stormy with desire as he took of the sight of your sweaty body being taken by him. Everything was so right, everything was so good.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice rapsy.
“I can’t cum, it’s no use.”
“I don’t think I asked for your opinion. Touch yourself.”
Your hand, which was clinging to the sheets, descended to the feverish warmth of your inner thighs, so that your fingers made circles on your throbbing bud. His gaze darkened and he picked up the pace—his movements still gentle.
“Touch your chest.”
Your other hand began to knead one of your breasts. “L-Like this?”
He bit his lower lip, staring at you. The sight made his cock twitch inside you. “I’m going to finish soon if you keep teasing me like this.”
You chuckled. “I’m doing what you want me to do…”
“Don’t laugh at me before I fuck you like a slut.”
Fear flashed across your face and he smirked.
“Awwww,” he teased, “sorry, baby.”
You moved your foot to try and kick him in the face, but he kissed your toes. He angled his hips deeper, and a gasp escaped your mouth at how full of him you were. An electric urgency coursed beneath his skin, awakening every crease, every hollow, urging him to fuck you faster. “E-Eren, wait,” you breathed out as his thrusts quickened, your sobs intensifying.
“I’m not him,” he rasped, rocking his hips, his insides igniting with a gentle fire. “You feel it? How good I fill you? How good I fuck you? I can feel your pussy pulsing around me.”
“I’m scared…”
“Of what? Where’s the danger?”
“I don’t know,” you sobbed, “I don’t feel good.”
Eren stopped abruptly. He released your hips and looked at you with concern as you curled up on the bed, your hands covering your face. Everything wasn’t right, everything wasn’t good. Eren ran a hand through his hair. What should he do? Letting you cry because you needed to, or trying to comfort you? But what could he say to erase such a violent fear? He got dressed and left the room. From cleaning your place so often, he knew where most of your things were. He took out a glass, filled it with juice, grabbed a packet of candy, and went back into the bedroom. He sat down next to you and stroked your back.
“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed.
“I don’t see anyone offended in the room.”
He put the glass and candy on the floor before pulling you back close to his chest. His erection was aching, but reassuring you was more important. You were probably thinking you were a burden, a miserable woman. You needed to hear that you weren’t any of that. He kissed the top of your head.
“You’re not broken, just a bit damaged.”
“It’s been two years, and I’m still the same.”
“People suffer from their trauma for decades and decades, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. You’re at the very beginning of your healing.”
You sniffled, snuggling against his chest. “But I have a baby, I can’t continue to be such a mess.”
“You didn’t even want the baby, how do you expect to be okay?”
“I should have had an abortion,” you murmured.
He didn’t judge you; he took your pain and held it close. “You can still put her in an orphanage.”
“No.” You nuzzled his chest. “Imagine her being abused by a family…”
“You say you hate her, but you’re very protective.”
“I don’t want to talk about her. Just hold me.”
“Okay.”
In the following weeks, Eren slept with you every Saturday. It wasn’t easy. You had to find positions that wouldn't trigger you, and he had to manage to stay aroused even if you were crying against him. But he was making an effort for you; he knew you needed that space to express yourself. You didn't really talk about being a couple, even though your relationship was particularly ambiguous. Sleeping with Eren had unlocked something within you, and for the first time in your life, you had dared to talk to Hange about your rape. The healing process was only just beginning.
𖥸
౨ৎ ten months with you ౨ৎ
“What if he rapes me now that he has access to my body?” The tremor in your voice didn't go unnoticed. Hange adjusted her glasses and leaned over the table, crossing her arms, her eyes serious.
“What if everything happened and you'd met a charming man who loved you? Did you consider that possibility before you first thought of the catastrophe?”
“Eren doesn't love me. He's just used to taking care of his mother and sister, so he's incapable of leaving a woman alone in distress. He's got an ego. He likes to be in control of my life.”
“It's true that your relationship is unbalanced right now, but there's no guarantee that won't change with time.”
You looked down, sniffing. “I’d like to have a relationship with him once I’ve regained my personality. Once I have something to offer him. I’m just a shadow of my former self these days.”
The worst thing about trauma is that the day the incident happens, everything collapses for you, but the world keeps turning. You’ve lost a part of yourself, but it’s just another random Monday for everyone else. You continue to sink, but capitalist society wants you to remain productive; you don’t have time to wallow in self-pity. And God forbid, PTSD takes control of your entire personality; you’ll be seen as annoying.
“I’m trying to write right now, but I’m struggling. All the writing advice I get tells me it’s wrong to write trauma-defined characters and that they need to have a lovable side personality so the reader connects with them, but… What if the trauma makes you weak, miserable, detestable? The only times trauma completely transforms a person is often with the villains in fiction.” You raised your head, a passionate glint in your eyes like every time you talked about writing. “I want to write a character like me.”
Hange’s eyes softened. ‘L$D’ by A$AP ROCKY played in your kitchen, the dreamy soft song filling the room. Hange always played music to make her patients feel comfortable.
“Why don’t you write a memoir? Write everything you feel in a journal, and once you think you’ve made peace with your past, write a memoir.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever make peace with my past…”
“You never thought you’d sleep with a man again, but look at you now. Getting slutted out every week.”
Blood rushed to your cheeks as your flustered expression made Hange laugh.
The rest of the therapy session went smoothly. A few minutes after Hange left your apartment, Eren knocked on the door.
“Sup.” He was standing there, hands in the pockets of his baggy navy jeans, his bicep tattoos standing out even more against his white t-shirt. You’d let him kiss you against the door if you could.
“Hey,” you smiled softly. “You need something? It’s not Saturday.”
“I’ve been thinking about something. I think it would do you good to have some friends. You don’t see anyone all week except me, it’s not healthy.”
“But I’m afraid to leave the house…”
“That’s why I’ll come with you. You won’t be alone,” he promised, nodding his chin, “go get dressed and take Neusa with you.”
You went to do as he asked, ignoring the butterflies fluttering in your stomach and the fact that he wanted to improve your social life.
𖥸
Eren's car stopped in front of a mysterious building, its architecture modern and its windows large. Eren took Neusa in his arms and walked you to the entrance without giving you any information. Once inside, while Eren spoke to the receptionist, you observed the multitude of posters on the walls, and a flash of understanding crossed your face as you read their contents. It was an association for women who were victims of sexual abuse. All types of sexual abuse, whether incest, prostitution, or marital rape. The association opened its doors to any woman whose "no" had been ignored, to any woman who had been pressured into saying "yes," or to any woman who thought it was normal to sleep with someone older while still a minor.
You stared at Eren's back, biting your lower lip. What had you done to deserve this? All you did was cry and be needy. As if he could hear your thoughts, he turned around.
“They have support groups and a social media group for those who need to talk more. There’s one starting in five minutes in the door on the left. I’ll wait for you in the waiting room.”
“Eren, why are you doing all this? I’m not even—”
“Shut up, you’re going to ruin my mood.”
Eren ignored you and went to sit down and play with Neusa. There was something comical about watching this muscular, tattooed man play with a little baby. You could hear your daughter’s soft coos, and your heart swelled.
The support group session lasted a good hour. There were all kinds of women in a small group of 15. Prostitutes, teenagers, mothers. Some had completely fallen apart after their rape, just like you; some had become addicted to sex; others hadn't realized the gravity of the situation until years later; and still others had been abused at a young age and confused love with sex, especially when the perpetrator was a family member. You remained silent for the entire hour, but you listened attentively to what they said. Sometimes it resonated with your own feelings; sometimes you gained a new perspective on the trauma that you hadn't considered. It was comforting to be surrounded by people who admitted to being deeply affected by the same event as you.
You no longer felt weak or alone. These women were strong, and it would be foolish to exclude you, thinking you were the exception, the one who would never heal. Perhaps you will be left with lasting effects, but you will learn to live with them because everyone has a degree of resilience within them. You exchanged numbers with the other mothers; at least you'd get some parenting advice, and you could talk to them about your mixed feelings about your daughter. Eren looked up as you left the room.
“I thought you'd come back crying,” he teased, getting up from his chair to join you.
“I feel strangely good. It did me good.”
“Good.”
The car ride was quick, but instead of going to your apartment, it stopped at Ony's.
“Eren—”
“You need to make up with your brother.”
A shadow fell over your face.
“I don't want to talk to someone who's friends with my rapist.”
“But he doesn’t know anything, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. He can’t guess. He’s not with you as often as I am, so I figured out what happened.”
You stared silently at your daughter.
“Talk to him, please,” he insisted, “you’re doing everything right, things will start getting better for you, I promise.”
When Ony opened the door and saw you and Eren, with your daughter in your arms, his radiant smile made your heart ache.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Eren took Neusa and went into the house, leaving you alone with Ony. Ony closed the door and pressed his back against it, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.
“So…” he began.
“How’s it going with university?”
His eyes lit up.
“It’s so great, the master’s program is much more interesting than the bachelor’s. I love studying architecture so much that I think I’ll continue all the way to a doctorate.”
You gave him a small smile. Ony had always been a very intelligent and ambitious man. Ever since he was little, he’d always wanted to build houses; Lego was his favorite toy when he was a kid. So when, after finishing high school, he said he wanted to have his own architecture firm, everyone knew he was going to be successful.
“It makes me happy to see you thriving.”
“And you? Have you been writing your novels?”
You made a face. “I stopped writing after my pregnancy, but I’ve started again recently. I’m just afraid people won’t like them.”
“Why? You're talented, you've always written since you were little. I was so surprised when I found your Wattpad account when you were 13. You were freaky as hell on here.”
A quiet laugh escaped you. “Yeah, I know… It's just that I want to write about what happened to me, but I feel like all the writing advice tells me my way is wrong.”
“Who gives a fuck? It's your story, you know what you went through, so you write it however you want.”
Tell him.
“Ony, I…” Your throat tightened, the words stuck in your mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Are you still friends with… Floch?” Saying his name made you feel nauseous.
“Of course I am, he wants to do a PhD with me. It's cool to have a friend with the same ambitions as you.”
“R-Right…”
“Are you okay?” He placed a hand on your shoulder, worried by the tears welling in your eyes.
“Ony, Floch hurt me really badly… I… I would like you to stop talking to him.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “He hurt you?”
“He’s Neusa’s father.”
A deep crease formed between his eyebrows as he considered what you were trying to say before his face hardened.
“You… you slept together? And he didn’t take responsibility for the baby?”
“It’s so much worse than that, Ony. Don’t make me say it out loud.”
Fury ignited in his eyes as he realized what had happened.
“Fuck, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You spent your whole pregnancy alone with this on your mind, damn it!”
“I-It’s okay, Ony, it’s okay. I needed this time alone; I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about it.”
“No, this isn’t okay, you have to file a complaint! I’m going to kill him the moment I see him at college, I swear to God—”
“Ony, I’m the victim, so I get to decide what happens to my rape,” you cut in, your voice harsh, “I don’t want to go to the police, and I don’t want to cause any trouble. So you’re not going to do anything to him. I just want you to stop being his friend so I feel safe with you.”
His face softened, his gaze turned guilty. “Okay, sorry. You’re right, it’s your trauma. It’s just… It’s so unfair. I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight. He inhaled your scent, which he had missed during the months you had cut ties with him.
“I'm glad I sent Eren to be your friend; he brought my sister back to me.”
“Hm, we're more than friends…”
“No way, he loves you like that?”
“I don't think he really loves me—”
The door opened, the baby's cries interrupting your conversation.
“I think she's hungry,” Eren stated, rocking the baby in his arms.
“Okay, let's go home, then,” you suggested and glanced at Ony. “Don't you see me differently?”
He huffed. “The fuck you're talking about? It's not your fault. It's him I see differently now.” Ony kissed your cheeks goodbye before giving you one last hug. The care ride to your apartment was short, and after you breastfed your daughter, Eren rocked her to sleep.
Once you were alone, Eren lay down on your bed and sat you on his lap. His hands came to rest on your ass, and he kneaded your ample flesh, his eyes closed.
“Eren?”
“Hm?”
“What do you like about me?”
His eyes fluttered open. He stared at you, lingering on your pouty lips. “Everything.”
“I am more nothing than everything, Eren.”
“That’s not true.” He sat up on the bed and pulled you against his chest. “I love your smile. You never smile, so I go crazy when I manage to get a happy expression on your face. It’s like winning a gold medal. You’re a bit like a cat; it takes a long time for you to give your trust. It’s rewarding to be with you. I like working for your trust.”
His words sent a wave of heat through your entire body.
“Eren…”
“I love it when you talk to me about your novels. You have such a vivid imagination; I could listen to you for hours. I hope to read them someday.”
“I don’t know when I’ll finally finish my projects…”
“But you will, I’m sure of it.” His hands cupped your face, and he pressed his lips to yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. “I like being here for you. It makes me useful, I love taking care of you,” he whispered against you.
You flinched. “This isn’t healthy, Eren. A good relationship should be balanced; I should give you as much as you give me. This is toxic between us. It’s your ego wanting to be useful and control everything.”
His hands slipped under your t-shirt to caress your soft stomach, his erection hardening at the feel of your pillowy flesh that he loved to touch. “What if this is how our relationship should be? I’ll be the one who provides, and you just focus on healing.”
“It’s toxic—”
“Who gives a shit? Let’s be toxic together.” He lifted your t-shirt and you raised your arms for him to take it off. “Let’s be unconventional, let’s be abnormal.”
Thirty minutes later, the sound of your pants filled the room as you rode Eren on his lap, his hands gripping your ass as if it were his most precious possession. He ravished your mouth, making out with you passionately, his kisses desperate as he wanted you to accept the unbalanced nature of their relationship, to accept his care and his love language. Your eyes were closed, while his remained wide open, feverish, in love.
“Eren?”
“Hm?”
He tugged at your hair to make you lift your chin and traced his mouth down your neck, leaving a wet trail behind him. Your mind was in a daze, you were bathed in his affection, enveloped by him, his scent all around you. Like on a cloud, your heart swelled, almost bursting with the love you felt for him.
“I think I really love you,” you murmured.
His grip on your hair tightened, and he paused, his warm breath on your skin.
“Don't say stupid shit like this.”
“I know, we shouldn't, we aren't healthy, but—”
A heavy breath escaped his lips. “That's not the problem, baby. You know damn well what the real problem is.”
“Eren, you can't control death. It's not your fault if you die and your family is left without you.”
His hands gripped your hips, guiding you to ride him faster. A veil of shadow crossed his face.
“Shut up, you can't understand. You don't know me.”
“I can’t understand? I don’t know you?” You huffed. “That’s why you came to me when you were crying for your father?”
He stretched his back on the bed and pressed the heels of his feet into the floor to lift his hips and thrust harder into you. Your hands fell onto his shoulders as you bounced on his dick, the ball of heat in your belly threatening to explode at any moment.
“Don’t talk about that when I fuck you,” he muttered.
“So when are we going to talk about this?”
“When I’m ready, for fuck’s sake. I’ve been patient with you, right? Are you the only one allowed to be traumatized or what?” he snarled, pounding into you. You wanted to contradict him, tell him you understood his pain, but you wanted him all to yourself so badly that you were frustrated with the situation, but the pleasure took over. Your pants turned into breathy moans as he rutted into your pulsing hole. He made you ride him, making your whole body jiggle, making you feel alive and so turned on. His eyes half-lidded, his mouth watered at the sight of your tits bouncing around.
You tried to cover your mouth to avoid waking your daughter, but he yanked your arm away and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing your sweaty chest against his. He shivered at your whines next to his ears, his ragged breathing beside you making your cunt clench. Bending his knees, he raised his hips even higher so his downward strokes would deepen, hitting your spongy spot inside you. The embers in the hollow of your body ignited, awakening all your senses, every inch of skin.
“E-Eren, I think I'm gonna….” Your mouth agape, waves of pleasure rising from your core and stretching through your body, making you tremble as your drenched heat tightened around Eren.
“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered in your ear as his thumb slipped between your thighs to slide onto your clit. “Give me that shit.”
The combination of his finger on your throbbing bud and his deep voice in your ears made your eyes roll back as you let yourself succumb to the ecstasy that was washing over you. Eren hissed, your cunt spasming around him, biting his lower lip to keep from coming inside you just yet. Once you came down from your high, breathless, you looked at Eren, shocked. He smirked, an arrogant glint in his eye.
“I-I came!”
“Damn, this dick is really that good.”
“Eren!”
He resumed the rhythm of his thrusts, slower now.
“I think it’s because you weren’t thinking about your rape. You were so busy trying to change my mind that your body gave out.”
Your eyes watered, moved by the progress you had made.
He chuckled. “Crybaby.” He pressed his lips against yours.
He continued making love to you, hoping you would forget the little argument you'd had, focusing on how good he was in bed with you.
𖥸
౨ৎ one year with you ౨ৎ
“Papa?” Eren was giving Neusa a bath when she uttered her first word. It wasn’t a word for her mother, but a word for him. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. He tried to ignore how his heart swelled with affection, how much he wanted those words to hold him in his heart for the rest of his life.
“Y-Yes?”
Neusa smiled and raised her arms to hug him, a joyful glint in her brown eyes. He leaned into the tub to give her what she wanted, even though she wet his t-shirt. She snuggled against him, her chubby body contrasting with the hardness of his muscles, but it was mostly his scent that made her want to be close to him. His hands trembled behind her back; he didn’t know what to do with the emotions fluttering like butterflies within him.
She thought he was her father. Was he ready for this? Damn it, what the hell was he doing taking care of a baby that wasn't even his? He finished bathing and dressing Neusa in silence, his mind racing. He put her in the playpen he'd bought for her and slipped on his shoes. He had to get out of here as fast as he could. He was just doing stupid things, things he'd sworn he'd never do. Before leaving the apartment, he glanced at you sleeping on the sofa. Was this love? Something that confronted your fears and made you miserable for someone? He didn't need that, damn it.
He drove like a maniac, frustrated by all the people in front of him who were preventing him from quickly meeting up with his friends. Once he arrived at Ony's, when he opened the door, Eren barely greeted him and entered the house. In the living room, Connie was playing Final Fantasy VII on the PS4, being Cloud Strife while Armin studied his biology. Eren slumped on the sofa and leaned over to rummage through the coffee table drawers for the weed Ony always kept there.
“Ren, you’re not at home, you could at least say hello, you asshole,” Ony muttered, giving Eren a light tap on the head.
“Fuck off, I’m in a bad mood.”
“That single mother pussy is no longer good?” Connie teased.
“Say one more thing like that about her, and I’ll fuck Sasha and send you the video.”
“You’ll never do that, you’re too in love with that other depressive.”
“Yeah, that’s the fucking problem,” Eren muttered. Armin glanced at Connie as if to say, "Stop, this seems serious," and Connie rolled his eyes.
"What happened with my sister?" Ony sat down next to Eren.
"You're going to laugh at me."
"Is this any different from usual?" Connie chuckled.
Armin threw a pillow at his face. "You can speak to us, we're your best friends," he reassured him in a soft voice.
"Dickrider," Connie huffed.
Eren took a drag on his blunt and exhaled the smoke, leaning back against the sofa.
"I think I'm in love and it's scaring the shit out of me."
"Awwwww," Connie cooed.
"Finally," Ony shook his head, "I knew your avoidant ass would fall in love one day."
Eren glared at his friends. "You don't even understand the problem, you idiots. I can't. I really can't."
"Don't ever think of leaving my sister, it will destroy her."
Eren looked away.
"Eren." Ony's gaze hardened. "Don't even think about it."
"His daughter takes me for her father. I have reached my limit."
"And whose fault is that?" Connie sneered. "You always take care of his baby like it's your own."
Armin, who had been silently observing the situation, dropped his biology textbooks and cleared his throat.
"Is it because of your father, Eren?"
"What else do you think it's because of, you moron?" Eren shot daggers at Armin.
“That’s not how you deal with your dickrider, Eren,” Connie joked.
“I don’t know why I came to see you, you’re useless. I’m getting out of here.” Eren got up from the couch, but Ony grabbed his arm.
“Man, you need us. Stop your bullshit.”
Eren stared at the wall without looking at his friend, his jaw clenched. Of course he needed them, but how could he express the fear he felt? He felt like he was becoming that lost teenager again, forced to take on the role of father in his family. A pressure that wouldn’t leave him, and one he didn’t want to intensify. The vivid memory of having to be more authoritative with his sister and being his mother's emotional support when he was only 15 brought tears to his eyes, and he lowered his head to avoid Ony noticing, but it was too late because Ony stroked his back.
“Connie, turn off the PS4,” Ony ordered.
“Damn, I was gonna see Tifa.” Connie turned off the game console and focused on Eren, whose gaze was shifty. “You know what you need? A good car ride while you trauma dump your miserable life.”
“My life isn’t miserable,” Eren said defensively.
“You’re literally a drug dealer, man.”
“I bet your girl buys it from me.”
“Okay, that’s enough. Everyone out,” Ony commanded. The group of men left the house and gathered in Eren’s car. It was Connie driving, and Eren pressed his temple against the passenger window. He watched the scenery go by, while his friends put on their favorite music in the car.
He was thinking about you. You had made so much progress. You smiled much more, didn't cry during sex anymore, went out to run errands, and had even made friends at the association. He hadn't forgotten the time you asked him not to come over one Saturday because you were going out to a bar with your friends. He was so proud of you. What would happen if he drifted away from you? You'd find a man who didn't have to do all the work Eren had done to be by your side. It would be so easy for him. Neusa would forget Eren quickly, and you would be a happy family. Everything would be right, everything would be good. He felt like throwing up just thinking about it. Eren was selfish. He wanted you all to himself, like that PnB Rock song.
“What if I take the plunge?” Eren began, his voice unsure. “I mean… I’m more likely to end up in prison than to die suddenly like my father, right?”
“Yeah, your destiny is prison.”
Eren shot a cold glare at Connie.
“If your father had died of a hereditary disease, your fear would be valid. But it’s just your trauma talking because there’s no guarantee you’ll have the same life as your father,” Armin argued, which soothed Eren’s fears.
“I think you should go to therapy,” Ony suggested. “Imagine if you run away at every baby milestone, you’ll traumatize her.”
He had forced his mother to talk to someone so much that he had forgotten he, too, was affected by his father’s death. Eren’s phone rang in his pocket. It was you.
‘You didn’t close the baby playpen, she was playing with knives!!’
His fingers slid across the keypad.
'Since when have you been worried about her?'
'That's not the point. You'd make a terrible father.'
The amused smile he'd been wearing vanished.
'Don't say stuff like that ever again.'
He ignored your other messages and put his phone back in his pocket.
“We can go home,” he announced.
Armin had a bad feeling. “What are you going to do?”
“What I'm the best at.”
𖥸
Eren ignored you for three weeks. No calls, no messages, no visits. Nothing. It broke your heart, and you struggled to imagine your story was over.
“You’re way too pretty to be crying over that bastard.” Ymir grabbed your phone, which you were staring at, stupidly waiting for a notification from Eren.
“Don’t call him that, he’s—”
“He’s an asshole, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚,” Historia cut in, and you knew when she used cuss words, she meant it. Ymir and Historia were both women in the association. After a lot of abuse from men, when they found each other, it felt like destiny.
“You know what you need? What do we do when we need a break, Historia?”
Historia blushed, playing with her blonde hair as she tried to form her answer. “You sleep with someone.”
“Hell no,” you protested, but Ymir pushed you into the bar against your will.
“You already have the outfit for it,” Historia argued, following you.
“Thanks for making me wear this dress,” you grumbled, smoothing the creased fabric of the red mini-dress that was attracting the attention of every man in the bar. “You know very well that this isn’t like me.”
“Yes, when you’re sober.” Ymir smiled wickedly.
You looked up in exasperation, deciding you would just go along with it for the night, to take your mind off things. The rest of the night passed in a daze as the alcohol transformed you into this sociable, smiling woman. You met a man, Jean, who made you laugh while Eren made you cry, so it was only natural that you brought him home, encouraged by Ymir's thumbs-up. You didn't even remember his hands on your body or his mouth on your skin. The only thing on your mind when you woke up was that Eren still hadn't contacted you.
𖥸
౨ৎ one year and three months with you౨ৎ
“After spending your childhood shouldering responsibilities that weren’t suited to your age, you avoid any situation that demands too much of you?” Eren’s therapist still had that cold, nonchalant voice as he spoke truths Eren wasn’t ready to accept. Mr. Ackerman was a pain in the ass.
“That’s not what I said,” Eren muttered, glaring at him.
“What have you done these past few weeks to confirm something else?”
“We don’t care about that.”
“Ah.” Levi’s lips quirked up (but never more than that). “So you want me to be a hypocrite, Yeager?”
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re weak. Very weak. Weaker than her. She didn’t run away from you when she was scared.”
Eren's heart tightened painfully, and he jumped up from his chair, his eyes blazing fury.
"Fuck you." Eren stormed out of the therapist's office.
"See you next Wednesday," Levi managed to say before Eren slammed the door.
Once outside, Eren frantically searched for a cigarette and cursed under his breath, realizing he was out. He bought some at a nearby tobacco shop before the pack slipped from his hands as his eyes fell on you, just a few meters away. Dressed in a floral dress with ruffles, you radiated light, the sun's rays illuminating your hair and brown eyes. You were leaving the convenience store with shopping bags while a man with chestnut hair held Neusa. He said something that made you laugh, and Eren felt like committing a terrorist act. His feet walked on their own toward you as his hand crushed the pack of cigarettes.
“What the hell are you doing?”
You stopped dead in your tracks, your smile fading before the angry man in front of you.
“Eren?”
“I work on myself, and what are you doing? Sleeping with the whole town?”
“Papa!” Neusa reached out toward Eren, a confused glint in her eyes, as if she remembered him and no longer wanted the man holding her.
You flinched. “Don’t talk like that in front of my child.”
“Don’t bring strangers around in front of my daughter, then.”
“Your daughter?!” you repeated, incredulous.
“Yeah, my daughter,” he replied, his voice harsh.
“Is he Neusa’s father?” Jean asked, a superior look on his face because he was the one you had chosen at that moment.
You tightened the straps on your bags. “You could say that.”
“Give me that fucking baby,” Eren ordered Jean, who was staring at him in surprise.
Eren didn't wait and basically yanked Neusa away from him before driving off with her. You rushed after him, yelling, leaving a sheepish Jean behind.
“You can't come back into my life after ignoring me for three months!”
“Put your ass in the car and shut the fuck up.”
Eren sat Neusa in the child seat in the back seat, and your heart swelled at the fact that he hadn't thrown her out. Maybe he'd planned to come back all along?
You put the groceries in his trunk and ignored the voice in your head telling you that you had no backbone. You sat on the passenger side and while he drove, you refused to look at him.
“You give your body to any idiot who gives you attention now?”
“You quickly forget how you got me into your bed.”
“I worked for that. He doesn’t even know your deepest wound.”
“It felt good to spend time with him,” you confessed sincerely. “I didn’t constantly feel weak and miserable like I did with you. I finally felt like something, like I was more than just a raped girl.”
Eren stared at the road, his eyes dark and his grip on the steering wheel tight. He didn’t like that conversation at all.
“What does that even mean?”
“Nothing, just that life is still worth living when you’re not here.”
Why did it hurt him so much that you weren’t broken by his absence? He wanted to be indispensable to those close to him. That was the purpose of his existence.
“I guess it’s good that you’re not depressed anymore,” he grumbled.
“You… guess?”
“Do you want me to be honest for a moment?” He glanced at you, his gaze hard. “I wanted you to be at your lowest point when I came back.”
You blinked several times, no emotion on your face because you knew very well what kind of man Eren was.
“I wanted to start taking care of you again, to be indispensable to you, and it would flatter my ego to be the reason you were still standing,” he continued. “But I forgot that the woman I fell in love with is stronger than me. You find light in the darkest corners and you always get back up from the hardest blows, while I'm a coward who can't face my feelings.”
Neusa chirped, raising her arms, clearly very happy to see Eren again. You were very happy to see him too; you had missed him. His words healed a part of you, and you nibbled at the inside of your cheek.
“I’m glad you admit your mistakes, but that won’t undo the damage you’ve done. Just because I was with another man doesn’t mean I didn’t suffer.”
Eren remained silent the entire way home. He was helping you put away the groceries, and his heart tightened when he realized Neusa could walk now. He’d missed her first steps. She stayed close to Eren, hugging his calf and looking up at him with a radiant smile. He stroked her curly hair, touched by her. He grabbed a trash bag and threw all of Jean’s things that were lying around on the couch, and you rolled your eyes but said nothing. Jean was kind, but the love of your life was Eren. The one who was there for you through your worst moments, no matter how unhealthy your relationship was.
Once you were seated on the couch, Neusa playing with Eren’s sneaker laces, he broke the silence. “I’m going to buy you a house.”
Your lips parted in surprise. “What?”
“Neusa needs a garden to play in.”
“We aren’t a couple, Eren. You rejected me when—”
His jaw clenched. “That was months ago. I started therapy two months ago. I’ve made some progress on that.”
“Eren, you don’t become a new person in two months of therapy—”
“I love you.”
“No, you don’t!” you protested. “You just want to save a broken girl.”
“What can I do to prove it to you?”
“Be there for me even when I’m doing well. Don’t disappear when I’m doing better.”
“I promise you I will always be there for you.”
“I want action, Eren.”
“I want to buy a whole fucking house for you.”
You stood up from the couch, smoothing out your dress.
“We’ll see once I get there.”
Eren was truly your lapdog. He thought he was in control, but it was you. His dick hardened at the thought. He really met his match.
𖥸
౨ৎ one year and six months with you ౨ৎ
Eren had stopped dealing drugs. He had chosen to pursue his greatest ambition: to become a tattoo artist. As an apprentice in a tattoo parlor, he was slowly getting used to earning a normal salary, not the astronomical sums he'd made before when he was operating illegally. He was driven by the desire to realize his dream, but above all, he had changed careers to be a good father to Neusa. His greatest fear was abandoning his family. What would he do if he ended up in prison and you were left alone with Neusa? He couldn't bear to get out of prison and see you with someone else.
“Papa!” Neusa cried happily when she saw Eren come home from work. She ran to his feet and held out her arms for him to hug her. Eren smiled and bent down to pick up his daughter—yes, his—and kissed her cheek.
“Where is Mama?” Neusa pointed toward the bathroom. He took a few steps to the room. He frowned as he tried to open the door, then knocked. Sniffles came from inside.
“You good?”
You opened the door slowly, looking at your feet. His eyes narrowed on your trembling hand holding a positive pregnancy test. Eren had used a good portion of his savings to buy a house in the countryside. The cottage was surrounded by a large garden, whose abundant flowers bloomed in the spring. Neusa loved tending the flowers with her mother; there was love throughout the house. And a lot of love between you and Eren. You hadn't talked about being a couple yet; you still needed time to fully trust Eren after he abandoned you for three months. Since he'd started therapy with Levi, he'd been more honest about his feelings. You were a somewhat unconventional couple, but it worked for you.
You were on the birth control pill, but there were always mistakes.
“You know you can have an abortion, I don't mind,” he whispered, wiping away your tears.
“No, I want the baby. I want a baby born of love.”
His eyes softened. “Then, why are you crying?”
“I had memories of my pregnancy when I was alone.”
“That's in the past now. You're not defined by that.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead. “We're going to build a good family together, right?”
You nodded, sniffing. You stared down at the pregnancy test.
Maybe there was light even in the darkest path.
𖥸
౨ৎ four years and six months with you ౨ৎ
“Mommy doesn’t love me,” Neusa stated, as Eren helped her get dressed for school. He froze, his hands resting on her tiny shoulders.
“Don’t say things like that, sweetheart.”
“But it’s true.” Her sparkling brown eyes watered. “She prefers Naya to me. She’s always hugging and kissing her, never me.”
Eren was at a loss for words because he couldn’t argue with the truth. How could he explain to a four-year-old that her mother saw her rapist when she looked at her? How could he explain that she preferred the baby she had with the man she loved? He walked her to school, then came home. Once he got back, you were making yourself a coffee in the kitchen. Your face lit up when you saw Eren. “I finally finished my novel yesterday; it's 120,000 words. I think it'll take me about three months to see my second draft. I'm so happy.”
“Cool,” Eren muttered, his jaw tense.
Your smile faded at his serious tone.
“Are you okay…?”
“We need to talk about something.”
How could he tell you that you weren't a good mother? How could he tell you that you were hurting your daughter without making you feel guilty about something that wasn't your fault?
“Neusa thinks you don't love her,” he began. “She's noticed that you're more affectionate with her little sister.”
You drew a thin line from your lips. The conversation made you feel uncomfortable, and you avoided Eren's gaze.
“Look at me when I'm talking to you.”
You looked up. “I… She ruined my life, Eren.”
“Floch ruined it,” he corrected. “She’s innocent. It’s not her fault. You…” He took a deep breath before saying what he was about to say. “You can’t blame your trauma when you now have responsibilities. You should have had an abortion if you didn’t want her.”
Your coffee cup slipped from your hands and crashed to the floor.
“Are you serious?” you asked, hurt in your voice. “You know damn well I was too depressed to even leave my house at that time.”
“I know, I—”
“You don’t know anything!” you shouted, your voice breaking. “I should have gone to a gynecologist after the incident because I had vaginal lesions! I didn’t do anything! I was unable to leave my house!”
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚… I'm just saying—”
“Yes, I don't love her! So what?!” you yelled. “She looks just like him.”
His heart ached because it was his own daughter you were talking about.
“Talk about her with respect, please.”
“She's mine, Eren. I don't know who you think you are.”
“Oh,” he moved closer to you, “so I'm not her father anymore when it suits you?”
You locked your gaze with him. “Yes—”
“You know what I think?” he cut in, lowering his head toward you. “I think you love her.”
“I-I don’t, Eren.”
“You love her. That’s why you never wanted to give her up. You had every opportunity to place her in an orphanage, but you never did. I even remember you saying you were afraid she’d be abused in another family. You’re afraid to admit it to yourself because loving her means accepting a part of your rapist.”
You pushed Eren away violently, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him. Tears welled up in your brown eyes, and in that moment you looked so much like your daughter that it hurt him to see you two so far apart.
“That’s not true.”
“If you can’t love her for herself, love her for me.” He kissed away your tears. “Floch isn’t here anymore, it’s just us. You’re so strong, you know that? I know you can do it.”
“But I have flashbacks when I look at her…”
“It’s because of your PTSD. Maybe Hange isn’t effective enough. We need to find a therapist who specializes in trauma.”
“I don’t want to tell a stranger what happened again.”
“Or…” He stroked your cheeks. “We’ll do Yeager-style therapy.”
You chuckled, sniffing. “What’s this nonsense you’re spouting now?”
“You learn to love your daughter by getting to know her. You spend time with her, you play games with her. You try to create a bond that goes beyond the fact that she’s a rape baby.”
“I don’t think I can—”
“You will.” He kissed you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You will do it because you want a happy family. Loving her will never be loving Floch, baby. Loving her will always be between you and me.” He hugged your trembling body, promising you sunny days and calm nights, assuring you that everything would be okay.
𖥸
In the following months, Eren bought a multitude of games for you to play with children and adults so you could spend time with Neusa. During this time, you realized you knew nothing about your daughter. She was a cheerful girl, well-behaved, and very advanced for her age. Her favorite colors were purple and burgundy because her favorite Winx was Stormy. She loved to draw, just like Eren, especially the flowers around your house. Everyone at school liked her. So why was it so hard for you to love her? You forced yourself to remember that she was Eren's child. You had to get Floch out of your mind. That was the only way you could feel any affection for her.
The more weeks passed, the more you found similarities between her and Eren. Her habit of having her hot chocolate in the morning while Eren drank his coffee, the fact that she preferred baggy clothes to girly outfits, her stubborn personality that held onto an idea once she was convinced of something—just like Eren. She was his daughter. It had taken you a while to see it, but now it was clear. Neusa was thrilled to spend so much time with her mother and never again complained about not being loved enough. A happy family.
But something was missing for Eren to be completely happy. He proposed to you one day while your daughters were playing in a park. He thought it would be more symbolic in a natural setting, while you smiled at your children, rather than some cliché dinner at a restaurant. He let you choose the wedding decorations but made you hurry because he was waiting for the chance to call you his wife like never before. Neusa was overjoyed; she thought she'd transform into a princess once the wedding took place. In her childlike mind, you were the queen and Eren the king.
In a way, it was true. You had created a kingdom together. A happy family. Nothing could tear you apart now.
𖥸
౨ৎ a life with you ౨ৎ
‘Who wants that perfect love story anyway, anyway?
Cliché, cliché, cliché, cliché
Who wants that hero love that saves the day anyway?
Cliché, cliché, cliché, cliché
What about the bad guy goes good, yeah?
An innocent love I'm misunderstood, yeah?
Black hour glass, our glass
Toast to clichés in a dark past
Toast to clichés in a dark past’
Accompanied by Beyoncé's voice, your father held your arm as you walked toward the man who would be your husband in a few minutes.
Eren almost never cried, only for his father. So you didn't expect to see a tearful gaze when you looked up at him.
A gentle look on your face, you smiled at him.
“You're the crybaby now.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled, his eyes filled with so much love.
Normally, he would have made a lewd comment about your outfit, saying he couldn't wait to take your dress off tonight, but he was so awestruck by your beauty that nothing came out. He could only admire you.
When it was time to exchange your wedding vows, Connie giggled at how sappy his friend sounded before Ony stepped on his foot to silence him.
“This ceremony should have taken place at least 3 months earlier. But some asshole preferred to run away than be there for the woman he loved.” He locked his gaze with yours. “From now on, that's it, no more bullshit. I won't be scared anymore. I want your heart, your soul, your pain, to make it mine. I want you to be able to look into my eyes one day if you ever wonder what love is. I don't care if I sound arrogant, but love will always start with me. I will be your beginning and your end. And in the middle, there will be our daughters. A happy family, that's what I always promised you, and I intend to keep my word.”
You tried to hold back your tears but it was difficult.
“You told me one day we were toxic, that I didn't love you. Is that still how you see us? When I come home from work and you're asleep, when I'm making your favorite meal, you don't feel my love? What about when you talk to me about your novels and I can't get enough of hearing you say the same thing over and over? What about when I quit my fucking job for you? If I have to set myself on fire to prove I love you, I will. Don't tempt me, you've never seen a guy madly in love in action.”
Laughter rippled through the reception room.
“So… I don't know how to end this.” He took your hands in his. “I just want to know I'm ready. Ready to be the best husband you've ever seen, ready to be an even better father. Ready to fight against all of my fears and yours, and I guarantee I'll come out on top.” He lowered his head to kiss your knuckles.
“The kiss comes later, Eren,” Connie shouted.
Eren turned his head to glare at his friend.
“It’s my wedding, and I’ve decided I’ll kiss her now.”
Before you could react, he grabbed your waist and crushed his lips against yours. You smiled against him, returning his kiss.
Lulled by the applause and the cheers of your daughters, you thought about what he had said.
a/n hi i have explanation as to why i was gone for so long please don’t sue me. i wrote this after watching saltburn and watching 2037633 felix edits. but i honestly forgot how to write so im getting back into it. don’t judge :P
summary it’s 2006 and you’re an american who recently decided to study overseas in england at oxford and there’s one person who just won’t leave you alone
pairings felix catton x american!reader
warnings smut, orgasm control, begging, foul language, creampie/breeding, overstimulation, slight choking, oral sex, not proofread, smoking cigarettes(not reader), unprotected sex, fluff, angst, name calling, daddy kink, praise, 18+ MINORS DNI
chips or crisps?
“can i just get a vodka martini?” you ask the bartender. he nods and quickly scurries off to make your drink.
england is not what you expect it to me. it’s nice. nicer than america in your opinion but the people were something.
one person you just couldn’t shake stood in all his glory across the pub. “he’s gorgeous right?” a redheaded girl says as she walks from his direction towards you.
“uh no not really” you lie. no one in their right mind could think that felix catton was unattractive. he’s 6’5, has a gorgeous smile, and a very very hot body. the only thing about him that bothered you was how he teased you. m
you didn’t know if it was because you liked him or what. “no one thinks felix is unattractive. felix doesn’t even think felix is unattractive.” the redhead continues saying.
“um do i know you?” you ask as the bartender slides your drink across the bar and you had him 4 pounds. “oou an american. i’m annabel” she says.
“hm.” you say and turn to look in felix’s direction again. hes now looking over at the bar where you and annabel are. first hes staring at annabel and then his eyes wander over to you; catching your gaze. you quickly look away not wanting to hold eye contact but for some reason your eyes wander right back to him.
he’s now smiling at you goofily because you got caught staring.
you roll your eyes and turn back facing the bar. annabel walks away after getting her drinks and now you’re officially by yourself again.
just the way you liked it.
you finish off your drink and quickly get a new one.
times passes and more people start filing into the pub; which calls for more drinks. “chips or crisps?” you hear next to you and you already know who it is.
“what do you want felix?” you groan and throw your head back.
the way your mouth is open and your neck is exposed makes felix feel a way inside. “is it chips or crisps?”
“felix i swear-“ you begin but he cuts you off. “you swear what love?” he begins and you finally look at him, “you’re you’re slap me? you’ve done that before.”
“what is your fascination with me?” you snap and he looks so amused.
“that,” he says a points at me, “what you just did is my fascination with you love.” furrowing your eyebrows he continues, “the way i get you all riled up without even touching you.” he says and his mouth is next to your ear at the point.
the smell of bourbon wraps around your head and into your nose. “you’re drunk.” you say and he chuckles.
“i’m not. lighten up y/n, you know i like teasing you.”
you can’t really tell if he’s lying so you just stop talking hoping he goes away after he gets his drinks.
newsflash: he doesn’t.
“y/n?” he says.
“what could you want now felix?”
“talk to me, love.”
“don’t call me that.. and no.”
“you just spoke to me.”
you don’t speak this time and he chuckles, “this little game we’re playing,” he begins and gestures between the two of you,” is lovely.” his accent warms you inside.
“i’m leaving.” you groan and push off your chair. you quickly gather your purse and coat before walking out; all while not even glancing at felix.
the cold england air hits you like a truck as you step outside. “it’s awfully cold.” felix says.
you jump at the unexpected sound of his voice. “felix what the hell are you doing?”
“don’t be foolish y/n. it’s 10 at night. i’m walking you back to your dorm.”
“i don’t need you to walk me back.” you say and he shrugs, “i didn’t ask you that did i?”
“whatever.” you begin walking and you can hear felix walking behind you.
after about 5 minutes of walking he finally speaks, “so y/n why don’t you like me?”
you ignore him but he won’t take that for an answer, “y/n answer the bloody question.”
you still don’t answer.
“for fucks sake,m y/n.” he says and he sounds upset. “whatever.” is all you hear before a hand wraps around your wrist pulling you between a small alley.
“felix let go.” you groan in annoyance that he won’t just leave you alone. but behind your little act, you want him to bother you; in more ways than others.
“stop acting like i don’t exist.” he begins as he gets close to your ear, “stop acting like i don’t have an effect on you.”
“you don’t.” you whisper and that pisses him off more.
“y/n,” he scoffs and you feel yourself beginning to get wet,”you act the way you do because you know, everything i do makes you feel good.”
if only he knew how true that statement was.
you shake your head, looking up at him. “listen, im not like every other girl who bows down to you. you can’t think i’m just gonna give out.”
“and why wouldn’t you love? i see the effect i have on you. i try to be so nice to you love.. and you push me away.” he begins as his hand slides into your mini skirt. “i bet you’re soaking for me.”
you refuse to make eye contact so you look down at his chest. “look at me love.” you shake your head now causing him to grab you by your jaw. “i said look at me.”
you whimper quietly at the feeling of his hand now touching the wet spot of your panties. felix’s eyes soften at your sound, “do i make you this wet love?”
after a few seconds, you finally give into all the feelings. so you nod your head but this doesn’t satisfy him, “words.”
“yes.”
“good girl. now,” he begins before pulling his hands out of your panties; causing you to whimper again at the lost of touch, “let’s go to my dorm. i’m not taking you in a bloody alley, darling.”
with that, he grabs your hand and begins walking quickly in the direction of the dorms. you can’t help but notice how big his hand is compared to yours.. and how long his legs are. one of his steps is 3 of yours.
after another 30 seconds of walking he stops. “you walk awfully slow love.”
“well sorry i’m not-“ you begin but yelp as your feet leave the ground and felix throws you over his shoulder. “felix put me down!” you groan.
“darling we are like 3 minutes away. just let me carry you.” he says and smacks your butt. the stinging feeling after keeps you quiet.
those three minutes pass so quickly you don’t even realize he’s walked the stair of his dorm and is now unlocking the door.
slowly, felix sets you down and points to the bed. “take your skirt off.”
you hum in response before pulling your skirt down. he’s watching you intently with his arms crossed. his button up shirt is unbuttoned halfway down; revealing his sculpted chest.
“now your,” he begins and points at your panties. as you slide them off the moon shines on your glistening folds and a low groan comes out of him.
as you discard of you panties, felix walks over and stands between your legs. “look at me.” you do as he says, “is this what you want?”
felix begins squatting down slowly. “do you want to be mine y/n?” he ask when he’s parellel with your pussy. his hot breath sends shivers up your spine. “hm y/n? answer me love.”
his hands wrap around your thighs. “yes felix.. that’s what i want.” you moan out as he begins kissing your inner thigh.
“well before we start.. call me daddy.” he lips your pussy in between words, “and you only cum when i say so. understood?”
you whimper lightly, “yes daddy.”
you’d never called a guy daddy before but it got you off more than you expected.
“well then,” with that felix’s mouth attacks your folds and clit causing your back to arch in pleasure.
your hands find his hair as he continues licking up and down your slit; ever so often he’ll hum and the feeling it gives almost pushes you over the edge.
“can i cum please daddy?” you ask and he hums something that sounds like a no. “please, please i want to cum.”
the begging and humming goes on for another minute or so until felix stops. “what happened?” you ask breathlessly.
“you tasted delicious darling, but i don’t want you to cum until i’m in you.”
he quickly pecks you on the lips before rolling you onto your stomach. you can’t see what he’s doing but his shadow cast on the wall as he stands.
you hear his belt being undone and soon his hand cupping your ass. “god, you’re perfect darling” he groans as his hand slides down; his accent is music to your ears.
“thank you..” you moan as he moves his dick between your wet folds. “thank you what?”
his hand wraps around your throat, “say it y/n.” the way your name rolls off his lips makes you feel so good. “thank you daddy.”
“good girl.” with that he slides in. you couldn’t see how big it was but you could definitely feel it. you moan in pleasurable pain as he stretches you.
doggystyle wasn’t always your first choice of positions because after a lot bit it was too much. every thrust would hit your cervix and begin hurting but with felix: it felt good.
“so- damned- tight.” he says and thrust harder in between words. you dig your face into the comforter moaning.
his hand snakes around your body to the front and begins rubbing your clit in small agonizingly pleasing circles. “felix-“
a sharp smack hits your ass, “that’s not my name y/n.”his hips continue to smack into you as he fucks you senselessly. “what’s my name?”
“fuck i need to cum.” you moan and he smacks your ass again, before grabbing you by the neck and pulling you up towards his chest continuing to fuck you. the new position caused him to hit your g spot in more ways than before. “what’s my name?” he ask through gritted teeth.
you’d never felt this kind of pleasure with anyone before. “can i please cum, daddy?”
“that’s what i like to hear.. but no.” his hand continues massage your swollen bud as he breathes heavily on your neck; fucking you maliciously. “god, do you feel god. all wet for me.. letting me fuck you to no avail like daddys slut.”
“please can i come daddy? please.. you feel so good.” you moan,
he pushes you back onto the bed, holding your by the neck; keeping you in place. “please daddy can i cum?” the feeling of release deepens so much and you can’t take it.
“i can’t take it.” you say through pleasured cries. the way he rubs your clit and hits your g spot repeatedly overstimulates you.
“yes you can and you will y/n.” he begins, “you’re mine now. all mine. no one could fuck you like i do. don’t you agree?”
you nod while whimpering out hushed “yes daddy”’s
“good. do you want to cum?”
“yes, yes please.”
“beg. and make sure it’s loud. i want everyone in this dorm to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock.”
“please daddy. please can i come? i want to make you feel good.” you plead and you have to admit: you can be louder.
“that’s not loud enough darling.” he says and stops rubbing your clit. the lost of friction causes you to whimper. “louder.”
“please daddy. i need to come. please, i can’t take it anymore.” you grab the sheets of his bed and grip them tight as an anchor as he fucks you.
“louder y/n, you’re almost there.” he groans. you can tell he’s getting close as well. his grip on your hips has tightened and you can feel his shaft pulsing slightly against your walls.
his fingers touch your clit again and you moan loudly, “oh my gosh, can i please cum daddy? you feel so good in me. i want to cum all on your dick.”
this time you’re so loud he’s even threatened to cover your mouth. “cum love. milk my cock like i know you’ve wanted too since we met”
at the sound of his permission, you release your orgasm. white flashes take over your vision as you release what felix has took his time to build up.
he continues to fuck you through your orgasm causing more pleasure. moaning loudly, you arch your back towards him. “holy hell, you’re so tight around me.”
he groans and pushes your hips into the bed. his thrust begin to slow and become sputtered movements. “you were made for me y/n.. so perfect.” he groans as releases hot white spurts that coat your walls.
the way he talks to you turns you on even more as you come down from your high. he continues to fuck you slowly as his cum drips out of you and onto your clit.
“fuck y/n..” he moans softly as he pulls out slowly. you continue laying down trying to catch your breath as he stands.
you hear things being more behind you but you’re too weak to turn your head and look. after a few seconds, you feel felix straddling you. “roll over.”
you do as he says to reveal he’s holding a cloth. “open your legs for me..”
slowly, you open your legs to reveal your swollen sex. “you did so good love.”
felix squats lowly and begins wiping you up. “thank you.”
smiling at you he continues,”but you know.. you never answered my question.”
