nics recs woah!

halo everynyan

[rienrec]

this for all my recs ^^ so my main blog (@arienic) doesn’t get cluttered lolll enjoysies!

for context, writers: im 18+ and i go by she/her pronouns

LEGEND

🪷 — fluff

🪻— hurt/comfort

🥀 — angst

BatFamily (DC)

Jason Todd

Dead Poets Society

Knox Overstreet

Harry Potter

Regulus Black

Grishaverse

Nikolai Lantsov

Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars)

Leon Kennedy (Resident Evil)

[notahorseindisguise]

pisses me off that gender is just pattern recognition thats been drilled into us since birth. why didnt they teach us something important instead like which snakes are venomous

[notahorseindisguise]

the fact that im supposedly wble to tell if someones a girl or boy by one glance but i have to google is a spider can kill me is so incredibly shortsighted

[ladymargarine]

Hot take the fandom might kill me for, but I genuinely miss (and kind of prefer) the non voice acted period of MCD. Obviously, I would never trade any of the lovely voice actors who do voice the current characters, but there was a visual novel quality to the non voiced stuff that I really miss. Aph would make little comments while she was reading out the dialogue options that really made it feel like we were in her head making the decisions with her instead of a real time conversation taking place. I also feel like the emotional moments kind of felt more evocative when Jess was interpreting them— she knew when exactly the kind of tone the moment needed and allowed the characters to sort go in more interesting directions.

[ladymargarine]

I also feel like the characters stayed more consistent when when it wasn’t voice acted. There’s a noticeable shift that happened with Garroth and Laurence’s characters after voice acting was added in MCD. I feel like the natural timbre of Andy’s voice and the kind of sultry affect Sebastian puts on, kind of made the characters lean into the characterization the fandom usually put on Laurence and Garroth (flirty and Reserved) and some of the nuances of Laurence’s insecurity and Garroth’s authoritativeness get kind of lost in production.

Note: I don’t blame any of the voice actors for this at all. Characters branch out naturally under different artists and creatives

[rienrec]

hi!! i really need help finding a top gun x reader fic pls ive been scrolling for like an hour now trying to just find it. dont know if it was a multiple part thing

i can’t remb if it was jake or bradley x reader specifically (i feel like it was jake) but iirc the reader worked at the hard deck and had an abusive/toxic ex, and at some point the ex and his friends go to the hard deck and she gets defended by the daggers? like i think maybe it was coyote and jake specifically who go and deal with them

at some point also the love interest offers to go with the reader to her house because she’s scared that her ex will show up again + i think the love interest goes and replaces her door locks just in case?

if someone ever knows what specific fic is, please do lmk! thank you so much

[maxi-ride]

It won’t let me reply to the post itself, but this?

Post by @aimlessrambling · 1 image

💬 187  🔁 1463  ❤️ 10168 · Who Did This To You? (Hangman) · Pairing: Hangman x Female!Reader (no use of y/n) Word Count: 10.2k because I hav

[rienrec]

YES THANK U!!!!! u are a lifesaver that’s exactly the fic 🥲❤️

[tw1sters]

Flight Risk // masterlist

⤷ Ex-Situationship!Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader

Two years should have been enough for you to move on from a heartbreaking situationship. However, Jake’s return to North Island proves that time doesn’t necessarily heal all wounds.

A one-shot with additional cuts from his perspective. Stories can be read as standalones!

↤ Main Masterlist

Flight Risk — 15.1K [!!]

Two years should have been enough for you to move on from a heartbreaking situationship. However, Jake’s return to North Island proves that time doesn’t necessarily heal all wounds.

Additional Cuts

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys — 2K

Jake Seresin has pushed through the worst of war, but nothing can compare to the fear of you saying I love you. So he runs.

Grounded in the Afterburn — 1.8K

Jake Seresin buries himself in work—until a stitched red heart and a conversation with his father force him to confront the love he’s been too scared to claim.

Strangers Again — 1.8K

Returning to North Island is one thing. Seeing you at the Hard Deck is another. This may be the toughest thing Jake's had to do yet.

Here Comes the Sun — 2.6K

The morning after is never easy, especially not when Jake wakes up alone. Not when you can't even look at him.

More Than Time — 1.8K

Attending Javy's wedding has Jake thinking about his future with you — and how beautiful you would look in white.

── .✦ lace dividers by @/chrisssiren 

[seresinhangmanjake]

Forgetting

Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: Jake forgets to pick you up at the airport because of his ex, and for the first time, you think maybe you and Jake aren't mean to be.

Notes/Warnings: Angst, but ends fluffy. Fighting. Cursing. This was a request that I said I'd have done in a couple days and it took me a week and a half. Sorry about that. Also, please be gentle. I haven't written for Jake in what feels like a millennium.

Words: 2700

Jake Seresin Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

As much as it would kill you to know that he could be hurt, you hope he’s hurt. You hope he’s on his way to the hospital to receive life-saving treatment because if he’s not hurt, if he’s not receiving life-saving treatment, then he simply forgot about you. And that makes your heart want to claw its way out of your chest and scamper across the floor until it’s well out of your range to catch it. 

Your call goes to voicemail for the fourth time. You send your twelfth text: I hope you’re ok. I landed an hour ago. Please call me. Nothing different than the eleven other messages that have gone unanswered. Forty-five more minutes pass of you sitting on a bench by the airport exit before you finally surrender your last shred of hope and call Bradley to come save you. 

Within the hour, you’re sighing in relief, the sight of a friendly face almost bringing you to tears. He approaches you with open arms and you fall right into the embrace, comforted by the hug that should be in your boyfriend’s arms, and the warmth that should be from your boyfriend’s body, and the forehead kiss that should be from your boyfriend’s lips. 

“Please tell me he’s ok,” you say against your friend’s chest. 

A heavy palm rubs up and down your back. “No one could get ahold of him.”

Your head jerks back so you can meet his eyes. “Oh my god!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.”

“How can you say that? He was supposed to be here and he’s not and–” You pause when Bradley looks away from you, and a hefty stone settles in your gut. You know your friend well. He’s a good man, honest but sensitive, and when that honestly meets that sensitivity, it results in his inability to look someone in the eye if he thinks the truth might hurt them. You’ve seen it a hundred times, but never with you. 

Your posture wavers with your lengthy exhale. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Another great thing about Bradley: he doesn’t make you play any games. You don’t have to jump through hoops. You don’t have to ask the right questions in the right way in order to get what you need out of him, unlike many men, your boyfriend included, who recently has found ways to skitter around telling the full truth. 

“Javy said he saw him a couple of hours ago,” Bradley says.

Your back teeth clench. Your mind shoots to one conclusion. “With her?” you ask. Bradley’s eyes drift from yours again and you nod, a tear at the ready to leak down your cheek. “He forgot about me because he’s with her.”

“We don’t know that for sure, and–”

Your hand scrubbing down your face cuts him off. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose before you suck in your whimper and say, “Rooster, why did he even ask me to come here?”

“Because he…I mean, we thought he–”

“You thought he gave a fuck about me.”

“He does,” Bradley says, stressing his words in an attempt to reassure you. “He never shuts up about you.”

“Sure,” you say. “He gives so much of a fuck that he forgot about me to be with his ex. How can you explain that?”

Rooster sighs. His hands slip into his jeans pockets just to have something to do with them. “I can’t.”

“Exactly.” 

No one can explain it. Not you, not Bradley, not Jake. Everyone you know back home would be telling you to run for the hills right now. They were already wary of this ‘Navy guy’ that they’d only met twice around the holidays, who lives a decent distance away from your entire life and who constantly requests that you be the one to hop on a plane rather than the other way around. 

For the duration of your time together, you’ve been understanding of that sacrifice. You know his schedule doesn’t allow impromptu trips out of state, but that hasn’t made it any less exhausting for you. And maybe that’s a sign. Another sign. A nail in the coffin. Maybe you and Jake aren’t meant to be. And why would you be? You met him on a brief vacation to visit a friend who doesn’t even live in the same town anymore, and somehow, during those few days, he convinced you to take a chance on him. So you took the leap. But being that bold doesn’t guarantee you won’t fall flat on your face, and you think that’s exactly what’s happening. You’ve tripped over a guy only to realize he doesn’t care about you to the same degree that you care about him. 

However, you’re not the type to avoid confrontation. If Jake Seresin is going to mistreat you because of his ex, then he is going to do it to your face. He’s going to look you in the eye when he shows himself to be the liar he is. It may hurt more to go to him rather than get on the next plane home without so much as taking in a breath of fresh Californian air, but you’re too upset to let that thought fully develop, and a moment later, Rooster is following your stomps out the door. 

—

You find him at the Hard Deck, standing at a hightop with a beer glass in his hand that clinks against the one in his ex’s before he takes a sip. Bradley’s comforting hand lands on your back in solidarity. You only met him because of Jake, but the two of you bonded despite their differences, and having him by your side now makes him nothing short of a life-saver. 

He helps guide you through the crowd to the table, and when Jake spots you, he chokes around the liquid going down his throat. His blown-out emerald eyes rival saucers and his mouth gapes like a fish, but then his stare flicks to Bradley, and those eyes shrink into narrow slits. His face heats to a boiling red. 

“What the fuck!” Jake snaps, shocking the composure right out of his ex’s poised stance. Bar patrons close by turn their heads but quickly return to their own conversations. Jake steps away from the table, coming to a halt in front of you and his squadmate. “What the hell is this?”

You figured he’d be bothered if you showed up with Bradley in tow. And good, that’s what you feel he deserves. Jake’s been wary of the other Dagger’s closeness to you for a while, and even though you know—as does Bradley—that it’s an asinine concern, you have no problem using it against him now. But still, the intensity of his reaction manages to surprise you. You didn’t think he would be this angered by the sight of you with another man that it would have him overlooking his mistake of forgetting you.

Your arms cross. “This is your girlfriend and the guy who saved her when her damn boyfriend left her stranded at the airport.”

“Excuse me?”

Jake’s ex’s prying gaze tugs at your attention, but when you glance over his shoulder to catch her in the act, she quickly looks away—just more proof that whatever the fuck she’s doing with your boyfriend is something to be ashamed of. 

Bradley’s saying something. You can’t quite hear him over the anger-induced fuzzing in your ears, but you’re pretty sure it’s a scolding based on the twisting of Jake’s features as he shoots back his own words of aggression. And then your hand is in his and you’re being pulled through the bar, out the back door, and onto the deck where the only intrusive sound is the lapping of waves on the shore. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. 

You scoff to mask the heartbreak that comes with that question. “Because you asked me to be here.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he says. 

“It’s Thursday, Jake.”

“No, it’s—” he freezes, and you don’t know if he’s tipsy or stupid, but it takes him a minute to come to the same conclusion: it is indeed Thursday. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Your lower back meets the edge of the railing, and you sigh, thankfully keeping in the tears. “What are you doing with her?”

“What the fuck are you doing with Rooster?” he returns much more forcefully. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called, I texted, I left voicemails,” you tell him, “But clearly, she was more important.”

Jake’s hands pat down his pockets, mouth setting in a frown when he can’t find his phone.

“Don’t bother. Phone or no phone, you forgot about me because of her. Last time I was here, you were late for one of our dates because of her. You spent fifty percent of our time together stepping away to take her phone calls,” you say, trying and failing to avoid the bitter taste on your tongue. “Just fuck her, Jake, if you haven’t already. I only came here to tell you that she can have you.”

You’ve never seen him fall apart the way he does. You’ve never seen the blood drain from his cocky face. You’ve never seen his features break and crack and contort into the vision of pure devastation as they do. His parted mouth must’ve gone dry because his next words come out slightly hoarse.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “Why…Why would you–” He swallows. A wrinkle forms between his brows and he shakes his head. “You love me. You didn’t mean to say that.”

You do love him—terribly so—but you’re willing to be one of those people who won’t view love as enough if it also means laying you out as a fool. “Jake–”

“Take it back,” he says. His steps are quick, and then you’re trapped where you stand, his hands on either side of your body, gripping the rail. Eyes drill into yours, and for a second, you feel a pang of guilt. “Please, baby, take it back. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And I mean less.”

“No!” he says. “That’s not true. You’re everything, ok? You mean everything to me. She was just helping me, that’s all.”

“Helping you,” you mimic with a roll of your eyes. “Helping you what? Get off?”

With a little whine, Jake’s head drops between his shoulders, his blond hair brushing your collarbone. “Please. Please quit saying things like that.” His hands slide closer to your body and land on your hips. You don’t push him away—you can't—and his touch softens you ever so slightly.

“Then tell me the truth,” you say. “Right now. I’m giving you one shot.”

His head snaps up. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, ironically searching for your honesty, as if you’re the liar on trial here. 

“It was a surprise,” he tells you. “She’s a realtor now, and for the last few months she’s been helping me find a new place, one that’s bigger than what I’ve got because I was going to ask you to move in with me.” Your heartbeat stutters. A layer of goosebumps coats your arms. When you don’t respond, he continues, “I hate missing you. I hate how unfair it is that you’re always the one to come here because I can’t fly out at the drop of a hat. I know it’s a big step, but I figured if I had a place, I could show you how great things could be. That’s why she and I came here. We were celebrating because I’m signing on a house first thing tomorrow,” he says. “Well, that’s why I’m celebrating, anyway. She’s probably celebrating because she just made a decent commission.”

It’s almost unfair how that new information doesn’t make you feel any less of a fool. Had he told you that under any other circumstances, you’d be leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve been deprived of him for years, repeating ‘yes’ over and over between those kisses, but you can’t. You can’t because his explanation doesn’t fix everything. 

“That still doesn’t change that it’s Thursday, not Wednesday,” you say.

“I know, baby. That’s my fault. I was so excited, and I was thinking how perfect the timing was that I would be able to pick you up tomorrow and drive you by the house now that it’s officially mine, but I fucked it up.”

Jake’s thumbs press into your hips, and you’re instantly reminded of each moment in your relationship when you’ve felt that same light pressure on your skin. A gentle claiming. The same pressure you felt when you agreed to be his girlfriend. The same pressure you feel whenever you’re in bed together. 

You sense eyes on you other than your boyfriend’s, and when you turn your head, you find his ex staring right at you, an expression on her face that you wish you could say wasn’t one of distress, but it is. And worse, it’s obviously not distress for herself, but for Jake, as if she’s hoping she wasn’t just a contributor to a bomb dropping on his life. 

Jake’s busy staring at you despite your averted gaze, and in a monotone voice, you say, “She feels bad.”

He doesn’t follow your eyes. “Because she knows I’ve been doing this all for you.”

You blink. Your hand runs down your face before sifting through the strands of your hair. “You really want me to live with you?”

“Of course I do,” he tells you. He’s shaking his head, but you know it’s because he thinks any idea that he wouldn’t want you to be blasphemous. His hand cups your chin. “I love you.”

With a sigh, you push aside the rollercoaster of emotions, the misunderstandings that lead to frustration and hurt, and look him directly in the eye. And where moments ago you thought you saw lies, you see honestly. Where you thought you saw betrayal, you see love. 

“Can I see it?”

—

It’s small—a two-bedroom with a little driveway, the shingle siding painted a blue-gray shade that is more blue than gray; bundles of flowers bloom in the boxes under the windows; a bay window protrudes from the side of the structure facing the beach. And it’s perfect.

You can imagine building a life here. You can picture a dog that you’ll have to build a fence for and children years later that will have you reinforcing the fence because they’ll probably be like their father, and Jake didn’t choose to be a pilot because of his lack of adventurous nature. You look at this house and you can see the core of a family. A house that, no matter how far you go for Jake’s job, will always be home base.

Jake is leaning around you so you can both watch the house from the passenger seat window. “I’d offer to show you around, but I don’t get the keys until morning.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him. “I don’t need to see inside.”

When you say that, he falls back into his seat. The back of his head presses against the headrest. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel with his sigh of defeat. “You don’t like it.”

Shifting your body to face him, you say, “Jake, I love it.”

Just like that, his eyes brighten like a pouting child who was just offered a lollipop, and you can’t help but chuckle. You can’t help but forget everything that happened earlier in the night, all of it seeming so insignificant now, even though you know it’s not, and you both know that if he ever makes the same mistake again, he’ll have hell to pay. But something tells you that won’t be a problem. 

“Enough to live with me?” he asks.

You nod. “Enough to live with you.”

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments make my entire world, so if you liked it, let me know? Thanks :)

[rienrec]

update: found it! thank u sm everyone

hi!! i really need help finding a top gun x reader fic pls ive been scrolling for like an hour now trying to just find it. dont know if it was a multiple part thing

i can’t remb if it was jake or bradley x reader specifically (i feel like it was jake) but iirc the reader worked at the hard deck and had an abusive/toxic ex, and at some point the ex and his friends go to the hard deck and she gets defended by the daggers? like i think maybe it was coyote and jake specifically who go and deal with them

at some point also the love interest offers to go with the reader to her house because she’s scared that her ex will show up again + i think the love interest goes and replaces her door locks just in case?

if someone ever knows what specific fic is, please do lmk! thank you so much

[nikoco11]

vy tail explorations … it’s comforting to hold, especially when she misses family

[souumameia]

Floyd Lettuce

[ladymargarine]

Jessica’s newer projects might have better production and voice acting, but they’ll never be able to replicate season 1 of MCD’s magic. There’s just something about it that none of the other MCD seasons could capture. You could really feel that aphmau was living in phoenix drop and was in community with the people who lived there. Like maybe it’s just my nostalgia that’s making me think this, but everyone just felt so alive.

There were just so many human moments and interactions that made phoenix drop feel like an actual place. In the early episodes aphmau decided to string fairy lights in the plaza then after a few dozen episodes we see Donna and Logan’s wedding take place there. We see the villagers hold baby showers and congratulate aphmau on her new son, gifting her gifts and moving into her home to better support her when she travels. We see aphmau build houses with Brendan, and after a few adventures where aph meets and aids a bunch of strangers, they move into her village to see what the fuss is about.

It really did shock me at 11 when Katelyn told aphmau that her village was becoming a threat to o’khasis due to sheer power she was accruing with every person that moved there, because that’s not what I thought that was about at all. I just thought that people were simply moved by aphmau’s kindness and wanted to be near her. The concept that Phoenix drop was becoming something powerful because of the goodwill that aphmau spread around came up so organically I genuinely do still genuinely get emotional about it.

[conleches]

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

body language masterlist

a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

550 words to say instead of fuckin said

638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

some more body language help 

[bellero]

REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER

[sylvia-plaths-fig-pie]

Don't Take the Girl ★ Jake Seresin x Reader

based on this post by @galaxy-of-stories

based on the song don't take the girl by Tim McGraw

I. The Creek Behind the Seresin Place

You were eight years old the summer your family moved in next door to the Seresins, out where the Texas roads turned to gravel and the land went flat and gold in every direction, and you were nine the first time Jake Seresin told you, in no uncertain terms, that you could not come fishing with him.

"It's a boys' thing," he said, with all the authority a nine-year-old could muster, hauling his tackle box down the porch steps like it weighed as much as he did. "My daddy's taking me to the creek. You'll just scare the fish off, crying and carrying on."

"I don't cry."

"You cried when Bobby Duncan pushed you off the tire swing."

"That's because it hurt, Jake."

He'd rolled his eyes in that particular way he had, the one that made you want to shove him straight into the nearest ditch, and gone on ahead without you — but you were a stubborn kid, stubborn enough to trail along at a distance through the scrub grass anyway, close enough to keep the creek in sight, because if Jake Seresin got to go on an adventure, you were not about to be left sitting on your own porch all afternoon.

It went fine, for a while. His daddy set up two lines and dozed off in a lawn chair the way grown men did on hot afternoons, and Jake stood out on the flat rock at the edge of the deep pool, showing off, casting his line further than he had any real skill to justify, and you sat in the grass twenty feet off pretending you weren't watching.

You never did find out exactly how you ended up in the water. One second you were standing at the edge trying to see what he'd caught, and the next the bank gave way beneath your sneakers and the creek swallowed you whole, cold and fast and a great deal deeper than it had looked from dry land. You went under once, twice, water in your mouth and your ears roaring, and you would tell people for years afterward that you didn't remember being scared so much as you remembered being surprised, like your body hadn't caught up yet to how much trouble it was in.

What you did remember, clear as anything, was Jake.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't call for his daddy, didn't stop to think about it — just went in after you, fully clothed, fishing rod abandoned on the rock, and got a fistful of your shirt and hauled you both toward the bank with more strength than his skinny nine-year-old arms had any business having. His daddy was already up out of the lawn chair and running by the time they broke the surface, wading in the last few feet to help haul you both up onto the grass, and you would swear afterward that you heard him mutter something under his breath the whole way in, quick and low and half a prayer — don't take her, don't you dare take her, not this one, not today — like the thought of losing the girl next door was one his own heart couldn't survive either.

"I told you," Jake said, when it was just the two of you again, sitting soaked and shivering in the shade while his daddy went to fetch dry towels, "it's a boys' thing. You could've drowned."

"You went in after me."

"'Course I did." He said it like it was the most obvious fact in the world, like there had never been another option on the table. "Wasn't gonna just let you drown, was I. Wasn't gonna be the one who let 'em take you."

You didn't know, at nine years old, what it meant that he'd said it that plainly, that certainly, like the idea of a world without you in it wasn't one he was willing to entertain even for a second. You just knew you stopped being scared of him teasing you after that, and he stopped telling you that fishing was a boys' thing, and by the end of that summer he was hauling you down to the creek right alongside him, tackle box and all, without a single complaint.

II. The Night of the Homecoming Dance

You were sixteen the year Jake Seresin got his driver's license and his ego at roughly the same time, and the two of you had spent the years between the creek and that fall doing what small-town kids did — growing up alongside each other so gradually you barely noticed it happening, right up until the night of the homecoming dance, when you noticed it all at once.

He picked you up in his daddy's truck, hair combed for once in his life, wearing a button-down that still had the fold creases in it from the store, and stood on your porch looking so nervous you almost laughed.

"You look nice," he said, too fast, like he'd rehearsed it.

"You look like you ironed that shirt with your hands."

"I did iron it with my hands. Didn't know we had an actual iron."

You laughed properly then, and something in his shoulders eased, and the two of you drove to the dance with the windows down and the radio too loud, and it was, for a while, exactly like every other night the two of you had spent together — easy, familiar, comfortable as an old pair of boots.

It stopped being comfortable somewhere around the third song, when he pulled you out onto the floor and put his hands, careful and a little stiff, at your waist, and you realized you'd never actually been held by Jake Seresin before. Pulled out of creeks, teased mercilessly, driven around back roads at speeds his daddy would've killed him for — but never just held, quiet, close, his chin nearly resting against your hair.

"You're awful quiet," he said.

"So are you."

"I'm concentrating. Don't want to step on your feet in front of the whole school."

"Since when do you care what the whole school thinks?"

"Since it's you I'd be stepping on." He said it lightly, but his hands had tightened just slightly at your waist, and when you tipped your head back to look at him he wasn't wearing the easy, cocky grin he wore for everyone else — he was looking at you like he was working up to something and hadn't quite found the nerve.

"Jake."

"Yeah?"

"You're doing the thing where you almost say something and then don't."

"Been doing that all night, have I."

"Every year, actually. I've just started noticing."

That got a real laugh out of him, startled and a little embarrassed, and he ducked his head, and when he looked back up some of the nerves had settled into something steadier. "Fine," he said. "Since you noticed. I like you. Have for a while, if I'm honest, longer than I've had the guts to say so. Figured I'd tell you before some other fool at this dance beat me to it."

"That's the least smooth I've ever heard you sound."

"I'm aware. Give me a break, I've never done this before."

You didn't make him wait long for an answer. You'd known, somewhere under the teasing and the creek water and a decade of growing up two houses apart, that this particular night was always going to arrive eventually — and when it did, standing on a school gymnasium floor under sagging paper streamers, you kissed Jake Seresin for the first time and felt him go still with surprise before he properly, thoroughly kissed you back.

"Well," he said, a little dazed, when you finally broke apart. "Wish I'd said something years ago."

"You had years. You spent them telling me fishing was a boys' thing."

"I was nine. Cut me some slack."

You were still riding the high of it an hour later, windows down again, radio low this time instead of loud, taking the long way home because neither of you wanted the night to end yet — until Jake pulled into the gas station off Route 9 for coffee neither of you needed, just an excuse to keep the night going a little longer.

The man came in about two minutes after you did. You noticed him before Jake did — the way he stood too long by the door, the way his hand stayed jammed in his jacket pocket like it was holding something he didn't want seen — and you'd barely opened your mouth to say something when he crossed to the counter, pulled a gun on the kid working the register, and told everyone in the store to get down, right now, hands where he could see them.

Jake put himself between you and the man before you'd even finished processing what was happening. Didn't think about it, the same way he hadn't thought twice at the edge of that creek years earlier — just moved, quiet and immediate, angling his body so that whatever came next would have to go through him first.

"Easy," Jake said, low, hands raised, voice steadier than you had any right to expect from a boy still wearing his homecoming button-down. "Nobody's gotta get hurt here. Take whatever you want out of the register. Take my wallet, take the truck keys, they're right here—" He was already working his keys out of his pocket, sliding them slowly across the linoleum. "Whatever you need. Just — that's it. That's all there is to take."

The man's eyes flicked to you, crouched behind Jake's shoulder, and something in his expression shifted, calculating, and Jake's whole body went rigid in a way you'd never seen from him before, not even the day he'd hauled you dripping out of that creek.

"Hey." Jake's voice dropped even lower, every ounce of his usual cockiness stripped clean out of it, replaced by something plain and urgent and entirely sincere. "Whatever you're here for, it's not her. You can have everything else in this store twice over. Take the money, take the truck, take anything you want — just don't take the girl. Please. Don't take her."

Whether it was the money, or the keys, or something in the flat, unflinching way Jake said it like he meant to make good on every word behind it — the man grabbed the cash from the drawer, snatched the keys off the floor, and was gone into the dark before the door had even finished swinging shut behind him.

For a long moment afterward, nobody in the store moved. Then Jake turned, dropped to his knees in front of you right there on the gas station floor, and pulled you into him so hard you felt the shake in his hands through your whole body.

"You're alright," he said, again and again, like he was convincing himself as much as you. "You're alright, you're alright."

"Jake, I'm fine—"

"I know. I know you are." He pulled back just far enough to look at you, and his eyes were wet in a way he'd have been embarrassed by on any other night. "Just needed to hear myself say it a few times."

You reached up and steadied his jaw with both hands, the way you had a hundred times since you were kids, and felt him lean into it, breathing like he'd just come up for air.

"You offered him the truck," you said, half a laugh, half something closer to tears. "Your daddy's truck. Same night you finally told me how you felt. Some homecoming."

"Would've handed over anything in the world," he said, quiet, rough. "Long as it wasn't you. Told myself that at a creek when we were kids. Wasn't lying then. Sure as hell wasn't lying tonight. Don't take the girl — that's the only rule I've got, and I'll say it to anybody who asks."

III. The Waiting Room

The years after that went the way years tend to go — fast, in the way you only notice looking backward. Jake left for the Navy the way you'd always half known he would, chasing something in the sky he'd been chasing since he was a boy standing at the edge of a creek daring the world to keep up with him, and you built a life that bent itself, without much resentment, around deployments and distance and the particular ache of loving someone whose job occasionally required him to be unreachable at thirty thousand feet. You married him in a small church outside the town you'd both grown up in, and Bradley stood up as his best man and made a toast that was somehow both filthy and moving, and life, for a long while, was as good as either of you had any right to expect.

It was supposed to be a normal delivery. That was the thing you kept turning over, afterward — every appointment had gone fine, every scan, every checkup, right up until the moment it very suddenly wasn't fine at all, and the calm hospital room turned into a blur of raised voices and moving bodies and someone telling Jake, very firmly, that he needed to step outside now, sir, right now.

He did not, by his own later admission, handle the waiting room well.

He didn't sit. Couldn't. He paced the length of it in his flight suit — he'd come straight from the base, hadn't even had time to change — boots scuffing the same stretch of tile over and over, jaw locked, hands shoved deep in his pockets like it was the only way to keep them from shaking. Every time the door opened he was halfway across the room before he registered it wasn't for him.

He wasn't a praying man, as a rule. Hadn't been to church regular since he was a boy, hadn't found much use for it out on the flight line where the only thing that saved you was your own hands and your training and a healthy dose of luck. But standing in that hallway, staring at a closed door he had no clearance to walk through, he found himself doing it anyway, low and rough under his breath, over and over, the same handful of words.

Take me instead, if somebody's got to go. Take whatever this costs out of me. Just don't take the girl. Please. Don't take her.

He didn't know how long he stood there. Time did something strange in hospital hallways, stretched and compressed in ways that made no sense afterward. He thought about the creek. He thought about a gas station off Route 9 and a night he'd once thought was the scariest of his life, back before he knew what real fear cost. He thought that if the universe was going to keep asking him to make the same choice over and over, it could at least have the decency to let the answer stay the same every time.

Don't take the girl. Take me, if somebody's got to go. Just not her.

The door opened.

He was across the hallway before it had swung halfway, already searching the nurse's face for whatever verdict she was carrying, braced for the worst the way you brace for turbulence you can see coming — and then she smiled, tired and warm, and said the words he would replay for the rest of his life like a mission debrief he never wanted to forget a single detail of.

"She's asking for you. Both of them are just fine."

He didn't remember crossing the room. He remembered the door, and then he remembered you — exhausted, pale, smiling at him like he'd hung the moon, a small, furious, red-faced bundle held against your chest — and he remembered crossing to you in three strides and dropping to his knees at the side of the bed like his legs simply couldn't hold him up any longer, one hand finding yours, the other coming to rest, feather-light, like he was afraid he'd break something, against the baby's tiny fist.

"Hey, flyboy," you said, voice cracked and hoarse and utterly delighted. "You look terrible."

"Feel terrible. Best terrible of my whole life." His voice wasn't steady, and he didn't try to make it be. He pressed his forehead to your hand, to the baby's fist, breathing like a man who'd just pulled out of a dive he genuinely hadn't been sure he'd survive. "I thought — for a minute there, I thought—"

"I know." You freed your hand just enough to card your fingers through his hair, the same gesture you'd been doing since you were kids and he'd come up from that creek soaked through and shaking, and it steadied him now the same way it had then. "I'm here. We're both here."

"Yeah." He let out a breath that seemed to come from somewhere very deep, pressing one more kiss to your knuckles, then to your temple, then finally — carefully, like he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed — to the crown of the baby's head. "You're here."

He stayed on his knees at that bedside a long while, not saying much else, just holding on — to your hand, to a story that had started at the edge of a creek and very nearly ended in a hospital hallway, and to the two people in the room he had, in the end, never once considered a world without.

"Guess this makes three times now," you murmured eventually, half-asleep, teasing even through the exhaustion. "The creek. The gas station. Now this. You've spent our whole life telling somebody or something not to take me."

"And I'd say it a fourth time, a hundredth time, if it came to that." He pressed his lips once more to your hand, quiet, certain, the same nine-year-old conviction still sitting under every word. "Don't take the girl. Simplest thing I've ever known to be true. Just glad I get to keep saying it instead of meaning it."

★・・・・・・★

a/n: its been a while since i listened to the song to i had it on in the background while writing, country music is like the one thing i think that makes me yearn that i was a small town southern american girl like i love the accent ngl (and cowboys lol) (then i remember its america lol but allas)

[moonstruckme]

may i humbly request our lovely steddie with a carsick reader on a roadtrip. i imagine it’s eddies poor driving that sparks it and i could so picture steve and eddie bickering about it but still being very sweet to reader until she feels better

ily feel free to change what you want or not write it at all! thank you either way <3

Thanks for requesting <3

cw: nausea

poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 771 words

Steve is on to you. Glancing at you at first in his visor mirror and then by turning around in his seat, an uneasy set to his brows. You try to focus on the A/C blowing on your knees via the small plastic vent. 

Eddie swerves into the next lane, and your throat tightens. 

“Hey,” Steve says to him, agitated, “take it easy.” 

“What?” 

“You’re driving like you’re trying to kill us.” 

“If I was trying to kill you, I’d have done it back in Iowa.” Eddie gives Steve’s leg a jostle, firm but fond. “And if you’re gonna be a backseat driver, I’ll put you in the backseat.” 

You aren’t looking, but he must be too distracted to notice the car in front of you slowing until it’s close. Your body rocks forward as he puts on the brakes. 

“I’m gonna open my window,” you say weakly. The windows in the front seat of Eddie’s van have hand cranks, but yours in the back only has a latching mechanism that allows it to open barely an inch. It’s enough for a concentrated stream of wind to hit your face if you lean your head against the glass. 

“Baby, on the highway?” Eddie asks over the whistling of air. 

“You’re making her sick,” Steve accuses. 

“I am not.” Eddie glances back at you. “Am I making you sick?” 

“No,” you mumble. 

“Stop driving like a lunatic.” The range between the glare Steve pins Eddie with and the soft look he gives you is impressive. “Hey, try to look out the front window if you can, okay? Do you wanna switch seats?” 

“That’s okay.” You breathe in, focussing on the fresh air hitting your face. “I’m good.” 

“Is it the heat? Are you hot?” 

“She’s always hot,” says Eddie, earning him a shove. “Hey! No attacking the driver.” 

Steve frowns at you. “Do you want to stop? We can pull over for a while.” 

You shake your head, stopping when your nausea worsens. “It’ll pass.” 

“Okay. Look out the front window, honey.” 

You do. Eddie’s eyes continually dart to you in the rear view mirror. You meet them once, and he pouts. 

“You want some of my coke?” he offers. “It’s, uh, kind of warm, but…” 

“I’m okay.” You offer a wan smile. “Thanks.” 

Steve turns around again. “Are you sure you don’t want to pull over? We could use a stop anyway.” 

You lean into the wind blasting through your window, breathing deeply. “I’m fine.” 

Five minutes later finds you sitting on the curb of a gas station with your head to your knees. 

Eddie lifts your hair. The sun beating down on your neck is worth it for the cooling power of the breeze. He’s asked how you’re feeling about every ten seconds since you exited the highway. You’ve stopped answering in anything but hums and grunts. 

The crisp sound of a soda can opening is about the best thing you’ve heard all day. 

“Here.” Steve sits on your other side. “See if this helps.” 

Beads of condensation roll off the can of ginger ale, wetting both Steve’s palm and yours when you take it. You tilt your chin up to take a sharp, fizzy sip. 

Eddie grins when you exhale. 

“Good stuff, huh?” he asks hopefully. 

“It helps,” you agree. 

“I think we should wait a while before getting back on the road,” says Steve. “But when we do, I’m driving.” 

“Uh.” Eddie’s eyebrows raise. “No, you are not.” 

Steve gives him an unamused look. He mimics Eddie’s intonation. “Yeah, I am.” 

“No! It’s Eddie’s Van Halen. Eddie drives.” 

“Oh, grow up. We were going to have to switch out at some point between here and California.” 

“I don’t know what you were thinking, but I have a twelve-pack of Jolts in the back. I can go all night.” 

“Perfect, that sounds super safe. It was your driving that got her carsick in the first place.” 

Something dangerously close to contrition flashes across Eddie’s expression as he looks to you. 

You give him a sorry smile. “I’m feeling a lot better now.” 

His mouth tilts. “Yeah? Glad to hear it, beautiful. Hey, maybe when we hit the road again we can try something new. Obviously you’re a better candidate for the passenger seat than Stevie here, so you can play DJ.” He waggles his eyebrows. “We have an array of music in Eddie’s Van Halen, with vocal accompaniment by yours truly.” 

Steve huffs, an eye roll in audible form. 

Before they can start bickering again, you say, “Yeah, sure. A distraction might help.”  

Eddie grins. “That’s my girl.”

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I didn’t know you wrote for Carmy, he’s my FAV! Could I trouble you for a slightly angsty sic fic where read is sick? Ty!

For sure! Thanks for requesting babe <3

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 797 words

You're asleep when Carmy comes into the office. The kitchen has quieted to just the hum of the refrigerator, everyone else gone home. Your cheek smushes against your arm where it's laid across the desk.

Despite the din you must have slept through all night, something about the sound of Carmy taking off his apron rouses you. You sniff discontentedly, your eyes opening in stages, bleary and then turning sad fast, a pinch in Carmy's gut.

"Hey." He crosses his arms, surveying you.

"Hey," you say back. And if your cracked lips and general dishevelment weren't enough to solidify his impression of you, your voice would do it. "Is it…are we closed?"

Carmy chews the inside of his cheek. "Yeah."

Maybe it's a good thing you fell asleep, so you didn't come out of the office to find him during service. It was a little mean, telling you to sit here and wait for him while knowing he wouldn't come until the night was over, but if Carmy told you he was sending you home you'd have gone in a huff, and he didn't want you going by yourself. You're too sick to stand up for long, much less take the L all the way to your place.

Carmy wants to take you back to his, where he can keep an eye on you. Make you soup or something.

He asked you to wait so that he could see you home himself. Mean, but not without cause. Intent counts for something, right?

You've figured him out now, anyway. Your brow scrunches into a frown. "I thought you were gonna come get me."

"I am getting you."

"I mean earlier. I could've worn a mask or something."

Carmy scoffs before he can stop it. You both know a mask isn't enough to keep food safe from germs even in a pinch, but beyond the fact that Carmy wasn't going to let you contaminate his kitchen he also wasn't going to let you run yourself into the ground trying to work while you're sick.

"We don't have to talk about this right now," he says.

"I could've helped," you insist.

"Not really." He doesn't sugarcoat it. He sees that you know it, too, in the awful way guilt twinges in your brow. "And you didn't have to. Ebra was fine taking over your station."

"You didn't need to stretch Ebra when I was just sitting around in here."

"You shouldn't have fucking been here in the first place—" Carmy's voice rises, and he catches himself, biting his cheek hard. "Sorry. I'm sorry, but you know you shouldn't have."

If anything, you look guiltier. "I tried to—"

"I know, I know." Jess was supposed to cover for you tonight. You texted Carmy yesterday, let him know that you weren't feeling well and wouldn't be in tonight. He was going to stop by tomorrow morning to bring you groceries and sudafed and shit. But when Jess pulled out at the last minute, you didn't tell Carmy about that. You just showed up, and he was as surprised to see you as you were to be benched upon arrival.

He hates that he's created this environment where people are so reckless with themselves. He tries hard to correct it. Maybe Carmy can admit privately that he tries his hardest with you.

"Look," he breathes out, slotting his hand along your face to hold your cheek. You're as warm as he thought. "You can't see yourself right now, but you look fucking miserable."

Some of the guilt in you fizzles. "You're not very good at flirting," you say without bite.

"I know. But it's true. Just come home with me, okay?"

"I take it back." You blink slowly. "That was really good flirting."

As you consider the offer, you really begin to look like you might fall asleep. Carmy thinks he might get his way if he just has to carry you home. "I have sudafed," he adds to sweeten the deal.

You sniff as though reminded of how sorely you need it. "I don't want to get you sick."

"I'll be fine."

"You're not reassuring me, Carmen."

"What can I do to reassure you?"

You think about it. "If I get you sick, you can't work, either."

Carmy sucks his teeth. "Okay."

"Really?" You look surprised for a second, but then your eyes narrow. "Are you lying?"

"You'll come with me if I agree?" he asks, exasperated, like he doesn't love you so much it makes him want to tear his hair out.

"…Yeah. If you really mean it."

"Then I really mean it." Carmy buries a kiss in your hair, reveling in how quickly you soften again. He scrubs his hand up and down your back. "C'mon, let's go home."

[knarchive]

Himeko Nova

[froggibus]

— HEAD

Pairing: Carlos Oliveira x gn! reader

Summary: during an argument with Carlos, you flinch

Word Count: 1.1k

Content/CW -> gn! reader, arguing, comfort

— requested as part of my neglect week event

froggi yaps -> my first time writing carlos & this prompt was so good i couldn't ignore it :p honestly im not a huge fan of how the argument dialogue turned out in this but also i just cannot imagine carlos blowing up on his partner, i feel like he's more of the type to storm out and go hit the gym :,) -> title stolen from the song 'HEAD' by devon again, go listen <3

Carlos has never considered himself a ‘soft’ man. Umbrella saw to that. They weren’t looking for soft men—a soft man wouldn’t have survived the childhood he did, and wouldn't have been able to complete the work he’d done for Umbrella.

Still, he tries for you. He swallows back the fear and pain and rage that grows in the pit of his stomach like a cancer, forces himself to stop and think before he does anything because he knows while he may not be soft, that doesn’t mean you aren’t.

It’s been harder lately with the news of more Umbrella shenanigans. The first time he’d seen it on the news, his fist had curled around the remote, fingers working quickly to switch the channel back to something he could actually stomach.

It didn’t work. 

He feels it bubbling under his skin long before it comes to the surface. He tries his best to fight it, to breathe through it the way he taught himself a long time ago. He goes to the gym more, throws himself into his work, distances himself from you.

He’s a ghost in his own home, fleeing rooms as fast as you can enter them, squirming away whenever you cuddle up to him. He misses you, yearns for your warmth and yet, he can’t bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Not like this, not when he feels like he can burst at any moment.

It all comes to a head when you manage to catch him off guard in the kitchen.

He hasn’t been sleeping well lately, plagued by nightmares of horrors he’ll never let you know about. He’s off his game, too tired to sweep the corners of the house for any signs of your presence like he usually does.

“Carlos?” The usual sweetness in your tone has been drained away. “Why are you avoiding me?” He blinks, swallowing hard. He didn’t think, didn’t consider for a moment that you might catch on to what he’s been doing. His stomach twists in knots.

“I’m not—” He sighs, tugging at the loose strands of hair that hang in his face. “I’ve been busy.”

You shake your head, lips forming in a hard line the way they do whenever you’re upset with him. “No you’re not.”

He goes quiet, casting his gaze downwards. He’s speechless, at a loss for words for once in his life. Usually, he’d be able to talk you down, say just the right things to calm your nerves, be the perfect partner that he needs to be. 

You take a step towards him, unaware that you’ve boxed yourself in between his body and the kitchen counters. “Talk to me. Why are you avoiding me?”

He clenches and unclenches his fist, breathing through the moment. “I just need space.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that?”

It’s the way your voice catches on the words that really twists the knife in his stomach. The way your eyes are shining, your lips trembling in frustration. Carlos knows what this is, sees through it in a way no one else can. You’re not sad, you’re angry. 

He knows he should back off. He knows he should grumble out an apology and go hit the gym, burn off the adrenaline spiking in his veins. But Carlos Oliveira has never been one to back down from a fight.

“Do I have to tell you everything?”

“Excuse me?”

He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Do I have to tell you everything?” He repeats himself, taking a step towards you.

You shuffle backwards in response, trying to add distance between the two of you when all you’ve wanted for days is to close it.

“You don’t get to do this,” he says, coming another step closer. “You don’t get to corner me and—and force me into some touchy-feely conversation.”

“I-I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.”

You back up even more, your palms brushing the corner of the counter. Trapped. You find yourself feeling akin to a cornered animal, with all of the fear and none of the ferality. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, breath leaving your body. Carlos has never—would never—hurt you, but you’ve also never seen him lose his composure quite like this. 

“I know you’re upset, but this—” He brings his hand up to gesture for emphasis and you flinch.

Carlos freezes, the words dying on his tongue. The world stops spinning, time stops ticking, he swears his heart stops beating. The anger dies, red hot rage going cold as winter.

Your eyes are glassy, hands clenched on the counter behind you so tightly that your fingertips burn. Carlos lets his eyes flutter closed, as if between one blink and the next, this will all go away. It doesn’t.

“Sweetheart, I—”

I what? He’s not sure what to even say anymore, what could possibly make this better. He would never hurt you, he knows that, but clearly you don’t. He suddenly finds himself wishing that the ground will open up and swallow him whole.

“It’s fine.”

Carlos falls to his knees in front of you and even the hard linoleum floors don’t hurt as much as the sight of you flinching at him.

He’s slow to reach out to you, to press a gentle hand on either side of your thighs. You don’t flinch this time, don’t even react to his movements, but the damage is done.

“It’s not fine.” He shakes his head, resting his forehead against the plush of your thighs. “Sweetheart, I would never hurt you. Ever.”

“I know, I just—” A stray tear slips from the corner of your eye. Your lip trembles. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your knee. “I’m so sorry.”

You rest a hand on the top of his head, cautious and slow, like you’re petting a wild animal. Carlos pulls away ever so slightly, looking up at you from where he’s claimed his place on the floor.

“I’m sorry, I love you so much, sweetheart.” He shakes his head, “I never should have—fuck, I’m so sorry.”

You brush a stray strand away from his face, “it’s—” “It’s not okay. Don’t let me feel okay about this.”

“Carlos…”

“No, baby.” 

“Get up off the floor.”

He obliges, rising to his feet in front of you. Despite your height difference, despite the width of his shoulders and the flex of his biceps, he’s never seemed smaller than he does right now.

“I know you would never hurt me,” you say quietly, snaking your hands over his shoulders. He tenses beneath your touch.

“But you—”

“Had a normal human reaction to someone standing very close to me and raising their hand. That’s all.”

He relaxes ever so slightly. “I love you.”

You draw him in, pulling his head to yours until he’s close enough to brush your lips over his. It’s soft and full of the warmth you’ve lacked these days, Carlos’s hands finding your hips and tugging you tighter against him.

You rest your head against his chest, “I love you too.” 

resident evil masterlist | navigation

thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

[iheartyuyu]

you met sukuna at the first year of university.

first day, first lecture, actually. he stepped in late, and the only empty seat left was beside you. you both stared at the professor in pure, utterly confused silence, question marks probably floating on top of your heads as you tried to gather anything. after five minutes, you simply turned and asked him to let you pass so you could leave.

he grabbed his stuff, joining you. he asked if you wanted to grab coffee, and that’s how it all started.

three years later, you were the untouchable sukuna ryomen’s girlfriend. your relationship was private, no one knew any details (it wasn’t like anyone would dare to ask sukuna, especially with the way his resting face was a terrifying glare to everyone else) and you two preferred it that way.

no one knew the details. no one knew how sukuna was deeply and utterly smitten— the scowling, terrifying, muscular 6’4 man turning immediately into lovesick puppy for you. clingy, needy, obsessed, your guard dog of a boyfriend never ever let you doubt his love. he always made it clear, whether it was his arm’s wrapped around you every chance he got, or him spamming your phone whenever you weren’t around, using any excuse to talk to you, or the way he dropped everything for you, making it clear you were his first priority, or the way he listened intensely to every word that left your mouth and noticed everything about you— which showed when he referenced your words from months ago, or bought you gifts you didn’t even mention, or could tell you weren’t okay from a single glance.

it really was not a lie that sukuna ryomen loved you. he knew it. you knew it. his frat knew it. everyone that really knew sukuna knew he loved you.

which was why the break up broke you.

that night didn’t even seem real. he had ignored you for a total of three days, replying to your texts dryly, which was already odd. then, he showed to to your place in the middle of the night, jaw clenched, eye bags dark, like he hasn’t slept in days. he didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain— simply told you he was tired, that he couldn’t do this anymore, and walked away.

like he didn’t just ruin you. like you two weren’t discussing your shared future a few days ago. like you two hadn’t already agreed what stupid fucking roses you wanted at your wedding. like he hasn’t kissed you so softly just a few days ago, murmuring soft pleads for you to never leave him.

to make it worse, he didn’t disappear after. he attended your shared lectures as usual— sitting behind you, always behind you, like he needed to keep you in his vision. he left your notifications on, which you knew because he remained the first to view every story until you blocked him. he kept going to your favorite cafe beside campus (he didn’t even like their coffee) at the exact same time you always did, his sad eyes set on you, buying a single water bottle each time, until you stopped going. you even had to stop going to the library late at night, because he would always be there, blank notebooks open as he pathetically pretended to focus when his eyes wouldn’t leave you alone. even late at night, when you would scroll through your chats, you would see his bubble. tying. erasing. there.

it was worse, because it was obvious that he still loved you.

it made you want to scream, really. it would have been better if he just… pretended you didn’t exist. ignored you. blocked you first. flirted with girls in your vision. did anything to make you feel like he didn’t care anymore. like he didn’t give a fuck, so you could move on. so you wouldn’t get the stupid urge to show up to his place and ask him what the fuck his issue was. so you could hate him.

but again, unfortunately for you, sukuna was never good at hiding his love for you.

it was going to be okay, though. because sukuna already broke it up, and moving on was clearly the only good solution. it wasn’t like he will ever come back, anywa—

bzzz.

dilf420: bro. ur fucking bf is sulking and ruining my party. can you come pick his drunk ass up. ill pay u.

you blinked once at the notification, then twice, then immediately opened it. you really should have blocked the whole frat.

you: broke up. no longer my bf. also, ur broke.

toji replied immediately.

dilf420: idc that u two broke up he’s drunk and blabbering about missing his fucking wife come pick his ass up

you stared at the dm blankly, eyes staring at the words like it would disappear if you blinked.

his fucking wife.

your throat felt dry. heart physically hurting, like someone’s fingers were digging into the muscle and squeezing it the way sukuna used to squeeze your fingers before kissing each knuckle. it hurt, so much, your vision slowly blurring the longer you stared at the three words.

on the other side of the phone, sukuna was pressed against toji, shoving his face into the cracked screen, face flushed from the alcohol, lips almost pouting, hair messy from running his hands through it so many times. “is she answerin’?” he muttered, voice slurred. “my pretty wife, is she comin’?”

toji sighed. “nah, man. she left me on read. you’re so fucked.”

sukuna groaned, stumbling slightly before he was leaning on the wall, eyes shut in pure devastation. “she hates me. what if she doesn’t wanna get back?”

“…you showed up at three in the morning and broke up with her without giving her a reason, bro. on gojo’s soul, she does not want to get back.”

it was silent for a few seconds before a quiet sniffle echoed in the room, and toji’s head snapped to the untouchable, scary figure sliding down the wall, face buried into his hands, shoulders trembling. toji’s eyes widened briefly, but sukuna grunted, the sound shaky. “not a fucking word.”

the next monday, you were still recovering from toji’s dm as you slid into your morning, 8:30 am lecture. you were half-asleep, buried in sweatpants and a hoodie, hood up in an attempt to hide from the world. your eyes were drooping sleepily, head slowly slipping from where your head rested on your palm, the tip of your pen slowly seeping ink into the paper.

someone slides beside you, and you freeze. you knew that cologne. you bought that cologne.

you didn’t move a muscle, shoulders tense, eyes suddenly focused as they stared ahead. you could feel his gaze, his thigh pressing against yours in the annoyingly small seats. you could feel the heat from his skin, even from the thick fabric of your sweatpants.

…what the fuck was he doing?

your jaw clenched, before you took a quiet deep breath, convincing yourself he must have not looked properly when picking a seat. it takes a few minutes, but you’re finally able to focus back on your professor again, ignoring the way you could feel his gaze shifting to you ever few seconds.

“…i’m sorry.”

you sucked in a sharp, annoyed breath, gaze still ahead, fingers tightening around the pen in your grasp, eyes unamused. he slowly placed a cup on your desk— your favorite coffee, from your favorite cafe. you froze, and you could see him wincing from your peripheral vision.

“…give me a chance explain, please?”

you carefully pushed yourself up, grabbing your bag and notebook, and silently stepped out of the hall. outside, toji was standing, a sigh on his lips as he caught up with you despite how you only spared him an annoyed glare.

“he loves you, you know that.” toji murmured. “give him a chance to explain.”

“no.” you muttered. “he’s a coward who left me without an explanation. now he wants to give me one?”

toji grimaced. “that wasn’t his brightest moments, but… come on, he’s your sukuna.”

“he made it clear he’s not.”

that night, you were dragged to one of their parties, curtesy of gojo begging you to show with tears and snot running down his face, using a lame excuse about how everyone in the frat misses you. you didn’t buy it, but you had to stop the embarrassingly loud bawling boy on your doorstep.

now, you sat in their kitchen, perched on the counter, an overly sweet drink between your fingers, and a staring ex-boyfriend on the other side.

sukuna was sulking.

eyes set on you, lips pursed, arms crossed— he ignored everyone who stared at him just so he could keep his eyes on you. geto and nanami sighed as they passed, geto offering him a bottle casually, and sukuna grabbed it, eyes still on you before he tilted his head back and drowned half the bottle down, only stopping when nanami pulled it back while snapping about expensive liquor.

the thing about sukuna? he was a lightweight, and an emotional drunk. that usually manifested in a shorter temper when he wasn’t with you, and him being unbelievably clingy with you, and now, a few hours after gulping random drinks down?

it manifested in him dragging himself to stand in front of you, lips wobbling and eyes tearful, looking like a kicked puppy instead of the frat bro everyone was terrified off. “baby…”

you hated how your own heart clenched, fingers digging into your palm to prevent yourself from cooing at him and tugging him into your hold safely. you only narrowed your eyes at him, and his eyes glossed even more. he opened his mouth, probably to beg, only to halt dangerously.

you, unfortunately, knew him too well. you let out a loud groan, quickly jumping off and dragging him to an empty bathroom upstairs, shutting the door just in time for him to drop to his knees and empty his stomach out into the toilet. he let out a choked sob between retches, and you sighed, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, a hand slowly rubbing his back. “dumbass.”

“i miss you so much,” he immediately whimpered, eyes shut painfully. “i miss you so, so, much. please, angel, forgive me, please— i want you back, i need you back, ‘m a stupid son of a bitch for every breaking it off, i need you in my life, please—“

he was interrupted with another gag, and you sighed, resuming to rub his back as he continued, your own vision blurry, heart shattering at the broken sob he let out once he was done.

“breathe.” you murmured softly. “come on, kuna, breathe for me. you can do that, yeah?”

“no,” he choked out. “i can’t— can’t even breathe without you, baby. please, please, forgive me for being a dumb idiot, i need my wife back, please—“

“if you breathe now, and we can talk tomorrow.”

it was almost humorous how he immediately straightened up, red, watery eyes wide, nose red and cheeks flushed from the alcohol. you sighed, reaching over to wipe his tears away, and he let out a pathetic whine, immediately leaning into your touch. you finally helped him up, forcing him to brush his teeth before you opened the door, quietly leading him into his room.

inside, he immediately flopped into bed, tired, sad eyes staring up at you. “you’ll… talk to me, right? please, baby?”

“tomorrow,” you murmured, throwing him a pair of shorts. “just sleep now, okay?”

he nodded frantically, eyes shutting quickly, obediently.

no one would believe this was the version of sukuna ryomen you knew— now when everyone else got the loud, short-tempered, rude, asshole version of him. you stared at him softly, watching his breathe even out, eyes fluttering shut, before you sighed softly, and stepped out of his room.

the next morning, you woke up to sukuna in front of your door, hair messy and eyes exhausted, yet holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and your favorite coffee, the other messily trying to adjust his shirt to look more presentable. the second you opened your door, eyes sleepy and hair messily, lips pulled into a frown, he froze.

red eyes widened softly before his body relaxed, eyes softening, and breathed out slowly. “…hi.”

you reluctantly opened the door wider, letting him in. he stepped in, 6’4 solid figure suddenly seeming small, gently setting the items down, hands that are used to throwing punches leaning down to carefully adjust a delicate petal before he straightened up, eyes falling back on you, so full of unsaid emotions that they were already glossing over.

after a few seconds, he swallowed harshly, throat bobbing before he took a step closer. “i missed you.”

you frowned, eyes narrowing. “why did you break up, sukuna?”

“please,” he choked out the second the name escaped your lips, eyes wide in pure devastation. “please, angel. ryo, kuna, baby, pretty boy— anything but that.”

your frown deepened. he let out a defeated, shaky breath, and stepped even closer. “i broke it because i was a fucking idiot. i… i never loved someone so much, angel, i never cared about someone so much. you made me the happiest person alive, and… i knew you deserved better.”

you froze. he sniffled, taking another step closer, eyes desperately and voice breaking. “angel, i… i’m a selfish, possessive asshole, and you deserve someone perfect. i was so scared that you’ll wake up one day and end it, so i… just did.”

your vision clouded with tears, and he dropped to his knees, eyes wet with unshed tears. “i was a stupid, fucking idiot. i should have stayed, talked to you, got the reassurance i know my angel would give me, but i didn’t want to be selfish… i thought i was doing what’s best for you…”

he let his head drop, face falling to press against your abdomen, a loud, pained whimper escaping him. “turns out i was a fucking idiot for ever considering letting you go. i… i have been miserable, angel, bawled my fucking eyes out an embarrassing amount of times. i miss you so much, baby, i can’t— i can’t live with you. i can’t sleep, eat, breathe,” he gasped, hands trembling as they slowly reached to hold into your waist, and let out a louder sob once his fingers touched your body, tears soaking your shirt. “i need you in my life, angel. please, i can’t live without you. my heart only exists to beat for you. i was a fucking moron to ever think about letting you go. you deserve so much better— and i promise, ‘ll be better. i’ll be a better boyfriend, a better partner, a better everything— just, give me a chance,”

you sniffled. the second you did, his head snapped up, eyes wide and tearful and horrified, and he immediately shot to his feet, ignoring his own soaked face as gentle fingers slowly cupped your cheek, wiping your tears away. “please don’t cry, i can’t handle you being upset, please—“

“you idiot.” you finally whispered. he froze, eyes wide and pained, and you only stepped closer, letting your head drop into his chest. his arms immediately wrapped around you, pulling you until no space existed between you both. “are you stupid?”

“i am. i’m sorry, baby,” he whispered back. “i’m so sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m—“

“shut up.” you croaked out. “you’re an idiot. i love you as you are, you asshole.”

“i know, baby. i’m sorry.” he buried his face into your neck, his tears damping your shirt once more. “i’m never leaving you again, angel. not even physically— i’ll be so clingy you’ll get sick of me. i can’t live without you, i’m sorry, i’m sorry.”

you let him hold you, eyes shut tiredly. “…idiot.”

he let out a sharp laugh, holding you even tighter, pressing wet kisses all over your face until a smile broke on your pretty lips, and you could physically feel him finally breathing normally, still pressing kisses to your face, gentle and needy and desperate. “i know, angel. only an idiot would ever walk away from you. never, ever again. i love you. never, ever again. i’ll marry you, my love. never leaving you again.”

a/n i hate tumblr i had to write this three times </3 anyways hi ^^ still obsessed w these headers…