Cw: 1,418.
Tags: Friends of lovers, codependency, emotional exhaustion, anguish.
Fem!reader × Gunner.
MY BOY
He ain't a man and sure as hell ain't honest.
You had always held the theory that Gunner was born with clenched fists and a furrowed brow, ready to fight the world before he even knew how to speak.
Your earliest memories with him are stained with dirt on your knees and the smell of rust from the park swings. If someone pushed him, you would stand in front of him, small but fierce, yelling until the other kids backed down. And if some bigger kid tried to mess with you, Gunner didn't yell; he simply threw himself at them with a blind fury that scared everyone except you. You looked out for each other. You were two halves of the same shield against the rest of the world.
For years, you were the only person on the planet who knew his soft side. The Gunner who would rest his head on your shoulder in silence and let you play with his hair when things at his house became unbearable.
𓆩𓆪
The streetlamp lights flickered with an electric buzz that had already become part of the background noise of your lives. Gunner’s beat-up car engine rattled softly as it cooled down under the night sky, but neither of you had any intention of getting off the hood.
You shared a pair of worn-out earphones. The cord hung between you, swaying slightly whenever either of you moved. You sat cross-legged with your back pressed against the windshield, feeling the cold metal of the car through your clothes, while Gunner loosely drummed his fingers on his knees to the beat of the music.
For a moment, everything felt the way it always did. The same boy you had shared scraped knees and whispered secrets with was sitting right next to you. But the atmosphere felt different tonight, charged with a strange tension between the two of you that made the air feel heavier. Every time your shoulders accidentally brushed, a sharp shiver ran down your spine.
Suddenly, the song changed on the player. Gunner stopped moving his fingers. He stayed still for a second and then turned to look at you.
In the dim light, his dark eyes shone with a new intensity, one you had never seen in all the years you had known each other. His brow wasn’t furrowed, and his fists weren’t clenched for a fight. He looked strangely helpless, almost exposed.
"Y/n," he said, and his voice sounded lower than usual, barely competing with the whisper of the music in your ear.
"What's wrong?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual, even though your heart had already begun to race in your chest.
Gunner reached out his hand and, with a slowness that didn't match his usual clumsiness, intertwined his fingers with yours. His palm was warm and a bit rough. He looked at your joined hands for a moment before locking his eyes onto yours again.
"I was thinking... that I don't know how to do this anymore," he confessed, letting out a short, nervous laugh that took you by surprise. "I don't remember what it's like to live without loving you. Not like this."
Your heart stopped for a millisecond. You knew exactly what he meant, because you had been carrying that same weight in your chest for months, holding back the urge to cross the invisible line separating you.
"Gunner..." you started to say, but he moved a little closer, closing the distance on the hood of the car until you could feel the heat radiating from him.
"I'm serious. I'm sick of pretending we're just the same old friends," he continued, his gaze dropping for a second to your lips before returning to your eyes with an almost desperate urgency. "You're the only person who matters to me, Y/n. The only one. If you're not here, I have nothing."
When his lips finally found yours, the outside world seemed to turn off completely. It was a slow kiss, clumsy at first from years of restraint, but it quickly filled with a deep sense of relief. It tasted like the night, like youth, and like a silent promise that, from that moment on, it would be the two of you against everything else. In that instant, with his hands cradling your face as if you were the most precious thing he had ever touched, you allowed yourself to believe that everything was going to be okay.
Your friends hugged you excitedly when they found out: "Finally, Y/n. He is crazy about you. You're the only person capable of calming him down. If anyone can make him grow up, it's you." And at first, everything seemed to prove them right.
The first few months were a perfect bubble. You remember whole afternoons driving aimlessly, singing songs at the top of your lungs with the windows down, or him taking you to your favorite fast-food place just because you had a bad day. Gunner looked at you as if you were the only bright thing in his dark world. He made you feel invincible; he made you believe that love truly had the power to change someone.
Until the small details started to ruin the view.
It was a transition so subtle that at first you blamed yourself for being "dramatic." It started with insignificant promises he forgot, calls he never returned, and that strange ability of his to camouflage the truth with a charming smile. Gunner was a pretty liar.
It all began one Friday afternoon at the movie theater. You had been planning the date all week. Gunner was holding the giant bucket of popcorn while you waited in the concession line, laughing at a joke you had told him. But when it was their turn, his attention completely drifted to the girl serving them.
It wasn't obvious, and that was the worst part. It was the way his voice dropped a tone, becoming huskier, more magnetic. It was the smirk he gave her while ordering the drinks, maintaining a steady, deliberate gaze that made the employee instantly blush as she handed him the change. Gunner even took an extra second to thank her, subtly brushing his fingers against hers as he took the cups.
You felt a cold knot in your stomach. You were right next to him, holding his arm, and to him, it felt like you had become invisible for a minute.
You didn't say anything in the hallway, but the tension walked with you. Once inside the theater, with the lights already low and the movie trailers flashing on the giant screen, you turned to him in the dim light.
"What was that out there?" you asked in a whisper, trying to keep your voice steady.
Gunner settled into his seat, turning to you with an expression of absolute confusion that almost looked genuine.
"What's that, beautiful?"
"With the popcorn girl," you snapped, looking him dead in the eye. "You were flirting with her right in front of my face, Gunner."
He let out a soft, low chuckle, as if you had said something cute, and shook his head while placing the drinks in the cup holders. "Flirting? Of course not, babe. I was just being nice," he said, and his voice sounded so damn sincere that for a split second you doubted your own eyes. "Come on, you know I only have eyes for you. Don't be silly."
Before you could argue back, before you could tell him you weren't crazy, Gunner leaned in toward you. He cut the physical distance and, with that innate ability he had to disarm you, gently took you by the back of the neck.
He left a slow, warm kiss on your cheek, right at the edge of your jawline, and then slid his lips down your neck in a soft caress that sent chills down your skin. The scent of his cologne flooded your senses. It was his way of fixing things: numbing your doubts with physical affection, using his charm as an eraser for his mistakes.
"I love you," he whispered in your ear, his warm breath brushing your skin before he went back to his seat and fixed his eyes on the screen, as if nothing had happened.
You froze in your seat as the movie music began to play. The warmth of his lips was still trapped on your skin, but for the first time, it didn't make you feel loved. It made you feel stupid.
You looked at his profile in the darkness of the theater, watching him eat popcorn with total peace of mind, and a bitter truth began to force its way into your mind: Gunner wasn't going to change. He was just learning how to lie better.
𓆩𓆪
The thick, hot air of the party clung to your skin, mixed with the thumping music that made the floor vibrate beneath your feet. Gunner had left you alone for a moment to go to the bathroom, warning you with his eyes not to move from the corner of the bar.
Not even two minutes had passed when a guy from school approached you. The conversation was casual, barely an exchange of words audible over the noise, but the situation changed when he, in an all-too-familiar gesture, reached out his arm and put a hand on your shoulder to lean in and speak into your ear.
You didn't have time to pull away. You didn't have time at all.
A shadow crossed the strobe light and, before you could process it, the guy went flying backward, crashing into a low table. Gunner had thrown himself onto him with animal fury, fists clenched and teeth gritted, landing a clean blow to his jaw. The crash of shattering glasses unleashed screams all around you. Gunner braced himself to strike again, his eyes completely wild.
"Gunner, stop! Enough!" you screamed, getting in the middle and pushing him back by his chest.
It was like flipping a switch. At the touch of your hands, the savage rigidity of his muscles yielded slightly. He looked at you, panting, and the haze of violence in his eyes cleared just enough for him to recognize you. Without waiting for the other guy's friends to react or for security to catch them, you grabbed his hand firmly and dragged him toward the exit, pushing your way through the stunned crowd.
The car ride was a dead silence, broken only by the sound of his heavy breathing and your hands gripping the steering wheel with anger. When you finally parked in front of your house, you turned off the engine and flooded the cabin with a suffocating stillness.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" you snapped, turning to face him in his seat. The adrenaline from the party had turned into pure frustration. "He was just talking to me. You can't go through life demolishing anyone who comes near me, Gunner! This is sick."
He didn't yell at you. Instead of defending himself or getting angry, he shrank into his seat, pulling his knees up to the dashboard.
"He was touching you," he muttered, and his voice, which ten minutes ago was a threat, now sounded broken, strangely small.
"It was a shoulder, Gunner! A damn shoulder! You embarrass me when you get like this, you scare me," you let out, your voice trembling with anger.
That was when you saw the glint of tears in his eyes. In the dim light of the car, tears began to stream down his cheeks, thick and fast, while his bottom lip trembled. He covered his face with his hands, letting out a muffled sob that filled the space between you.
"I'm sorry, seriously, I'm sorry..." he sobbed, sinking deeper into the seat, looking so helpless it was ridiculous after the scene at the party. "I just can't help it, Y/n. I feel like I'm going to lose you. Everyone wants to take away the only good thing I have. If you leave, I'll die, I swear. I don't know what to do with myself when you're not around."
You stood frozen, your words dying in your throat. You watched him cry with that childlike desperation, and the familiar weight settled back into your chest. He was an ugly crier, but a pretty liar; he was using his tears as a perfect shield so you would forget the blood on his knuckles and end up, once again, holding him to calm him down.
The anger burning in your chest evaporated in a second, replaced by that well-known wave of guilt he knew how to trigger so well. Seeing him like this, so broken and vulnerable in the passenger seat, completely dismantled your defenses.
You let out a long sigh and leaned toward him, closing the distance.
"Hey... look at me," you whispered, running a soft hand over his wet cheek to brush the hair away from his forehead.
Gunner lowered his hands slowly, revealing his reddened eyes shining with tears. He had the look of a little boy who had just been scolded for breaking his favorite toy, scared and desperately seeking your approval.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you," you said in a sweet voice, caressing his jaw with your thumb. "It's just that I get scared for you, Gunner. I don't want anything bad to happen to you. But I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm here. I'm always here."
Hearing your words, relief transformed his face. He leaned into your touch as if your hand were his only refuge in the world. He slid across the seat until he rested his head on your shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of your neck while his arms wrapped around your waist with an almost possessive strength.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, mommy," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin, seeking that absolute protection that only you gave him. "Don't leave me alone. Don't let them drive me crazy."
Feeling his warm breath against your neck and the weight of his body seeking you out softened you completely. In that moment, the toxicity of the party was forgotten. You let yourself be wrapped in the illusion that you were his salvation, his anchor. You hugged him back tightly, kissing the crown of his head and letting that sweet, bittersweet warmth fill your chest, convincing yourself once again that as long as he was in your arms, you could protect him from everything. Even from himself.
𓆩𓆪
The moonlight barely peeked through the slats of the blinds, drawing silver lines across the messy sheets of your bed. It was past midnight, and the silence of your room was broken only by the hiss of the alcohol-soaked cotton on Gunner's skin and the sound of his breathing, which was gradually calming down.
He had arrived an hour ago, tapping on your window with bloody knuckles and the same stray-dog look he used every time he destroyed something.
"I'm almost done," you murmured, concentrating on the cut on his lip. Your fingers moved with almost surgical precision, a routine you knew by heart.
"I missed you today," he said, his voice husky. He was staring at you with that total devotion that always managed to make you forget your anger. "Seriously. All day I was thinking about how I wanted to be here, with you. With no one else."
You gave him a soft smile, wanting to believe him. Wanting to convince yourself that the suspicions that had been lingering in your mind all week were just your own paranoia. You finished cleaning the wound, set the first-aid kit aside, and almost immediately, Gunner grabbed your waist to pull you toward him.
The mood changed in a second. The tension of the night turned into something thick, warm, and urgent. Gunner laid you back on the mattress, climbing on top of you while his hands searched for your skin underneath your t-shirt, desperate, seeking to erase the disaster of his day in your body. His lips moved down your jaw, kissing you with an intensity that left you breathless. You gave yourself to the moment, closing your eyes, seeking that connection that made you feel like everything was worth it.
He dug his hands into your hips, pulling you toward him as he let out a muffled groan against your ear. And then, just as clothes were starting to get in the way and the pace was quickening, the illusion shattered into a thousand pieces.
"Ah... Vanessa..."
The name floated in the bedroom air like a bucket of ice water.
You went completely rigid underneath him. Your eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling. It took Gunner a couple of seconds to realize you had stopped entirely, that your hands were no longer around his neck, but were pushing against his chest with a cold force.
"What?" your voice came out as barely a whisper, empty, devoid of any emotion.
Gunner froze over you. The dim light wasn't enough to hide how the color drained from his face and how his pupils dilated with panic.
"No... no, babe, wait," he stammered, pulling back a bit, his hands shaking. "It wasn't... I didn't mean to say that. I swear I don't know why I said that name. I was thinking about some stupid school thing, seriously, Y/n, look at me."
You sat up in bed, running a hand over your face as your stomach churned with disgust. The puzzle pieces clicked together all at once: the subtle lies, the glances you caught in passing, the gut feeling you always tried to suppress. He was a pretty liar.
"Get out, Gunner," you said, pointing at the window. Your voice was shaking, but not from sadness—from a dull, exhausted fury. "Get the hell out of my house."
Instead of moving, Gunner collapsed. He dropped to his knees on the floor right next to your bed, pressing his hands against your legs as tears began to stream from his eyes at an alarming rate. He started to cry desperately, sobbing so hard his shoulders shook.
"No, please, Y/n, don't do this to me!" he begged, his face drenched and his voice broken, playing the victim entirely. "It was a mistake, I swear on my life. I'm messed up in the head, you know how bad I've been these days. If you leave me now, you're going to destroy me. Don't leave me alone, I can't handle this."
You shifted on the bed to get away from his touch, feeling a mixture of pity and disgust. You stood up, determined to kick him out of your life that very night, tired of carrying the weight of his demons.
"I don't care anymore, Gunner. It's over. I'm not going to keep putting up with this. Leave."
But he didn't leave. Gunner stood up from the floor, his eyes wild with tears, intercepting you before you could reach the door. He grabbed your arms—not with violence, but with a possessive desperation that pinned you in place. He leaned in close, pressing his forehead against yours while his sobs brushed against your skin.
"If you walk out that door, Y/n... I swear I'll hurt myself," he whispered, and his voice no longer sounded broken, but carried a manipulative coldness that froze your blood. "I don't care what happens to me. I'll wreck the car or go find those guys from the pool hall to let them finish me off. You decide. If you leave, it's going to be your fault. Don't leave me alone."
You stood static in his arms, your breath shallow and your eyes fixed on the darkness of the room. The trap had closed perfectly around you. You looked at his face covered in tears and dried blood, feeling the last trace of illusion die inside you, leaving you only with a bittersweet, suffocating emptiness.
You knew it was a lie, you knew it was his worst manipulation, but the fear and the childhood chains were stronger. You didn't leave. You stayed right there, in silence, letting him hold you while he calmed down, trapped in a room that now felt like a prison, knowing you were condemned to stay there and take it.
