#doomed waltz | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saetoru · 1 year ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses.

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy.

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly.

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials.

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has.

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed.

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer.

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal.

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party?

i can be ur escort ;)

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you.

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before.

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes.

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself?

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy.

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly.

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway.

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy.

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are.

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood.

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can.

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams.

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird.

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room.

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact.

but not so bad.

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.”

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

#teepods.writings #fics.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you

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madaqueue · 27 days ago

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A HEAD HELD HIGH IS SURE TO FALL

every night, the king of curses repeats the same routine - waltzing through the halls, often covered in blood (of course not his own - never his own; after all, he was the king for a reason), choosing from one of his many concubines, and storming into his chambers. every night, the screams echoed through the empty temple; every morning, the girl he bedded was gone. you figured you'd take your chances when you ventured onto his estate, following the promise of comfort and lavishness. but when he chooses you, you can't help but dread the unknown fate waiting on the other side.

pairing: trueform!sukuna x f!reader

themes/content: dark content (dubcon). smut. blood, mention of death and murder, biting/bruising, degradation (slut, whore, cocksleeve), he slaps your ass, fingering, dumbification, double penetration, sukuna is real freaky nasty mean. 18+, MDNI (wk: 4.1k)

a/n: licking the blood off his face or whatever

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At first, you think the girls must have been happy. They were chosen by the King of Curses, after all. They wore their heads high, pride settling on their shoulders as they waltzed after him to his chambers.

At first, the others ignored the screams. Perhaps it was pleasure twisted into pain, they tried to reason. When the girls never came back the next day, the others wanted to assume the best. Perhaps he so cherished their time together that he decided to free them from the temple, relinquishing the bindings of their agreement to stay.

But you have grown to learn otherwise.

Because you know Ryomen Sukuna is not a kind man. He would never spare a victim for the sake of sympathy; it wouldn’t be particularly fitting for a king, after all. It took work to claw his way to the top, and despite how easy it may seem to overlook the mountain of corpses he stands upon, you’ve never quite gotten over the feeling that he’s glaring down at you.

Now, when heavy footsteps echo down the hall, the air runs cold. You line up next to the others, eyes trained downward, only catching glimpses of the dried blood staining the edges of his robes.

When he points at one of the girls next to you, her body seems to collapse: it’s giving up - her fate has been sealed. Now, the obligation hangs heavy, a collar tightened around her throat, chains clattering as she walks to her doom.

There’s silence for a moment before the rest of you uncomfortably rise and return to whatever tasks filled the time. You were all so numb to death by now it didn’t even linger in your thoughts for more than a moment, a brief flash of decay. You honestly don’t think you even remember the name of the girl who had just been chosen, not that it mattered anyways. Nobody would be speaking it again.

Painting is what you find yourself returning to. It’s what originally drew you to Sukuna’s temple on that wretched summer’s day, after all. You had been searching for materials in the woods, new flowers to use as dyes to craft with, when something flashed across your vision: a girl, in the brightest white dress you’d ever seen. She giggled, her skin glowing under the sun as she hummed to herself.

You found yourself following her. Nobody lived in these woods, at least not that you had ever seen. Anyone you happened to encounter was usually clad in leather or metal, weapons strapped to their sides, hunting for survival.

But not her.

She looked perfectly defenseless, beautifully vulnerable. She didn’t even turn around as you slowly approached her, not a single survival instinct left. What comforts made her so willing to forego protection?

“Excuse me,” you called, reaching an arm out as though to prove she was, in fact, real. When your hand made contact with her warm skin, she didn’t even flinch.

“Oh!” she laughed. “I didn’t see you there. Are you lost?” She was even more stunning up close.

“N-no,” your voice cracked in awe. “I just…do you live out here?”

Her gaze softened as she smiled. “Oh, yes. I live in the temple, I was just out for a walk.”

“Your temple…?”

“Well, it’s not my temple, I suppose,” and that gorgeous laugh returned. “It belongs to Lord Sukuna.”

The title felt familiar in your head, a name covered in cobwebs and dust, one you only remembered hearing in the dark. “And he allows you to stay there?”

“Yes! He allows all of us to stay there, and he takes such lovely care of us, too. We have the most delicious meals, the most comfortable beds, any whim we could possibly think up is catered to in an instant.”

Something in her words made your muscles ache - you had surely been walking for miles by now, a layer of dirt coating your skin. Your stomach churned in hunger, not having eaten in possibly days, unable to consistently afford even the bare minimum. Sometimes the shop owners in town took pity on you, but sometimes they cast you away with a cruel glare. There was a flash of jealousy inside you - what had she done to deserve these luxuries? Just as the thought found its way to your tongue, she continued.

“Would you like to come see it?”

Glancing down at your calloused and stained hands, you wondered how soft hers felt. You wondered if she smelled like flowers. You wondered if you could, too.

“Yes,” you mumbled.

It took so few words to convince you - looking back on it, you wonder if she was even trying to convince you at all. She hadn’t oversold the reality, per se. You wonder if you could go back to that moment, if there’s anything you could have said to prevent yourself from joining her.

You brush the thought aside with a sigh. It doesn’t matter now, after all - you willingly walked yourself to a promised paradise, and now have come to resent it. In spite of its comforts, in spite of its safety, you’ve never felt more vulnerable.

At least you can paint here.

Resting your elbows against the wooden window frame, you paint scenes of places far from this cage, places you can now only imagine. Perhaps if you can create them on paper, your mind could one day venture there, too.

Sukuna’s servant, Uraume, the one you always see quietly bustling about, does have a talent for finding the most beautiful pigments. You wonder where they collect them from, how expensive they are. You almost laugh at the thought of Sukuna paying for something like this, and you wonder if he knows where his wealth gets spent. The laugh dies in your throat as you realize that he likely has never had to actually purchase anything in his life. His currency is fear.

And yet, you can’t find it in yourself to care. Today, a beautiful fall landscape uncovers itself from your brushes. Deep browns and oranges cascade across the canvas. But there’s a sour taste lingering in your mouth as you work - it’s all dead. Every fallen leaf, every cracked branch is dead. That’s all things seem to be anymore.

With a huff, you let your momentary frustration get the better of you, splattering the carefully collected red paint across your masterpiece, a bloodied smear across your work. At least now it looks alive.

The next day is the same.

Sukuna enters.

You all line up.

Your knees hurt from kneeling on the stone floor.

He walks down the line (you wonder how many there are here, now - you’d think the numbers would be dwindling after the near daily executions, but they seem to remain steady, always replenished with some new bright-eyed girl who thinks she’s found her salvation, only to learn it’s her damnation).

But today, you can’t bring yourself to lower your head.

You know you ought to - the other girls taught you during your first week here. Apparently, in the past, he had simply killed those who refused to bow for him outright, not even bothering to torture them first.

But today, you just can’t. Perhaps being killed would be more merciful than this hellish purgatory you’ve found yourself in. At the very least, you’ll die with your head held high.

Footsteps stop in front of you.

“Oh? What’s this?”

A shiver runs up your spine. You’ve barely heard him speak in all your time here, you realize. When he chooses to, it’s exclusively been to bark orders at Uraume or scream at those who come to worship him. But this is different. He seems almost…excited.

“You know, it’s impolite not to bow.” And he has to be fucking with you, because you swear you hear him practically giggle out the words.

“I am aware, my Lord.” The words taste bitter as you spit them out, but you don’t make any action to move. Instead, your gaze rises to meet his, and your heart stutters. Ruby eyes stare back at you, masked by matching blood splattered across his skin. He looks nothing short of godly - perhaps that’s why so many willingly worship him.

And then, the god before you laughs.

“Come with me,” he beckons before turning away.

The girls around you can’t hold back their quiet gasps as you slowly rise to your feet.

He’s going to kill you.

As you follow behind him, the words sink into your stomach.

He’s going to kill you.

Each step down the path makes your heart beat in turn.

He’s going to kill you.

Rounding an unfamiliar corner, you nearly careen into him as he suddenly stops before two large wooden doors. They’re intricately carved, a level of detail you wouldn’t have expected for a place dedicated to killing. And yet, they’re utterly beautiful.

“In,” he growls when you fail to move.

You nervously shuffle past him before heavy footsteps follow you inside. Your gaze wanders over his chambers, the maroon bedding mirroring blood, the dark wood posts caging it in. Everything about it feels oppressive, sucking the air from your lungs like smoke; and yet, it doesn’t seem fitting for a place of sacrifice.

“Derobe and get on the bed.”

He’s shuffling around behind you, not even looking your way as he maneuvers through the space.

Hesitantly, you do as you're told, draping your robes over the headboard before laying down. The comforter is soft beneath your skin, cool to the touch. Perhaps silk? Some luxury you’ve never been afforded, surely.

The entire room seems to shift under the magnitude of his presence as he walks towards you. His own robes are now banished to some corner of the room, skin sparkling under the flickering candlelight from the chandelier above. Two pairs of arms cross as he glances at you, and he hides his smirk with a scoff. “What’s this? I didn’t tell you to lay down - we aren’t here to make love, I’m here to fuck you.”

Your cheeks flush as you grit your teeth. He didn’t give you clear instructions, how the hell were you supposed to know what to do? The movement of your body as you adjust onto your hands and knees hopefully hides the way your eyes roll.

But Sukuna did not grow to be this powerful by being inattentive.

“Oh?” And there’s that same chuckle again. “For someone who’s about to be killed, you’re awfully presumptive.”

“My sincerest apologies, Lord Sukuna,” you manage to spit (the sincerity is lost from the words).

Everything becomes warm as he looms over you, hot skin pressing against yours. He smells like blood and smoke and violence, something in it making your legs tremble. He’s almost terrifying up close; he’s almost beautiful.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

His face is right next to yours now. You shake your head.

“You’re here to entertain me.”

When you don’t respond further, a large palm digs into your scalp, grabbing you by your hair to force your attention to his. Unenthusiastic eyes meet flaming ones.

“Okay?” You shouldn’t be speaking to him like this, you know you shouldn’t be speaking to him like this. He’s going to kill you. But maybe that’s the problem - when you know you’re going to die, there’s nothing left to lose. You were always taught to never corner a wounded animal. “Get it over with, then. Go on, entertain yourself.”

He smirks. You don’t stop.

“Fuck me, hurt me, do whatever the hell you want to me, but don’t expect me to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness. And certainly don’t expect me to plead for your mercy.”

If he was any closer, you’d flinch from the sheer volume of his laugh. Tears nearly prick at the corners of his eyes as his entire body shakes with utter glee. “Oh, my, I outdid myself with you, didn’t I?” he muses.

Finally, it’s your turn to be silent.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

A snarky remark sits on the tip of your tongue, but it’s held back by the cold grip of shock. For once, you’re speechless.

“I chose you,” he leans forward, close enough to catch the lingering flecks of blood across his skin, “because the stubborn ones are the most fun to break.”

The silk bedding is much less soft when your face is shoved into it. The firm hand on the back of your head pushes you forward, threatening to shred the remaining semblance of your dignity as you fall. It’s rough, the way he throws you down like nothing more than a doll, one he’s grown tired of playing with.

Scrambling to find him in your vision again, you feel him before you see him - four of those same giant palms resting on your hips.

He’s going to kill you.

When you expect pain, anything else is a pleasant surprise. Especially, it would seem, two fingers trailing between your legs.

“Are you always this pathetic?” he asks.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re fucking wet.” He’s not wrong, unfortunately, you know he’s not wrong, you can feel it in the way he circles his calloused digits over your clit. “Is me being cruel truly that appealing?”

Just as your lips part to retort, to spit back the poison he’s feeding you, the sound twists into a smokey moan as he slides into you.

“Hah. Thought so, fucking whore.”

He’s killed before. You’ve never seen it, but you’ve heard the screams, of course. He’s probably choked and stabbed more people than you have even known in your limited lifespan. Of course the hands of a killer would be powerful, but you never imagined they’d stretch you out quite like this. Perhaps the damage brought by them is transferred to your body with each curl towards your core, each rough motion pulling your muscles towards an uninviting goal.

But that means you can use that violence. You can contain it, redirect it, control it.

“I’m not a whore.”

“Oh? So sure?”

And then he’s pressing harder. Muscles start contracting, your legs start shaking.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

With white knuckles, you veer yourself away from the edge at the last moment.

Sukuna, of course, feels it.

“Don’t want to cum, little one?” His mock affection is almost sickeningly sweet on his tongue as he giggles. “So be it. Only making things harder for yourself.”

Those same calloused fingers are ripped from your cunt. Finally, you can take in a full breath.

Your lungs stop halfway through expanding when something else suddenly fills you.

A scream threatens to tear from your throat as the tip of his cock enters into you. Teeth bite into the flesh of your arm to stifle the sound, your eyes screwed shut. Everything goes red, the burning flames inside your chest igniting.

Behind you, Sukuna laughs.

“What’s the matter? Can’t handle it, hm?”

There are marks on your skin from where your canines dug into it. You shake your head. “I-I can handle it.”

“Good.”

His hips pull back before slamming into you. Then it’s hands, everywhere - groping your chest, your ass, your hips, your stomach. Every part of you feels his palms, his flesh fighting with the air to contain your body.

Rough, unapologetic thrusts shake your frame. The muscles in your back strain to keep you upright, willing yourself to not collapse into the mattress beneath you, knowing that falling into the silk sheets holds the same fate as a grave.

One of his lower hands smacks your ass, the plump flesh rippling before long fingernails dig into it. “Perfect fuckin’ body,” Sukuna grumbles from behind you - if you were in any other setting, you would almost blush at the praise.

But now, all you can do is choke back a moan in response.

His movements are fast, but steady, you realize. The fog of your thoughts begins to clear, your clarity returning.

You can do this.

The ruby comforter folds in your grasp as you pull your palms into fists. Legs steady, arms ready.

The next time his cock bullies into you, you meet his thrusts. When he reaches deeper, it almost feels good.

So, you keep moving your hips in pace, pushing them flush against his pelvis each time. God, it feels fucking devine.

That breathy chuckle echoes behind you, one that never bodes well.

“Aw, does that feel good?” he coos, saccharine words dripping red from his lips.

You’re almost too gone to miss the sarcasm. “Y-yes.”

“Desperate little thing, you want more?”

Nails almost pierce the skin of your hips. You nod.

“Now, now, that’s no way to speak to me. Use your words.”

“Please,” you whine - you shouldn’t be doing this, you know you shouldn’t - “more, Lord S’kuna.”

You dug your grave, and the air of his laugh is enough to blow you forward into it.

One hand trails from your waist down to your ass, massaging it softly - the thunder before lightning. In an instant, sharp teeth bite into your skin. Hard.

You cry out, but he just giggles, the mouth that had formed on his palm gone in an instant.

Distracted by the sudden pain, your senses are too preoccupied to notice the way he continues his path down, until you feel something cold. Sukuna’s spit lands on your puckered hole, his thumb rubbing around the rim.

He’s going to fucking kill you.

Just as your lips part to protest, one thick finger pushes past the first ring of muscles inside you. Then two.

The moment you finally feel yourself beginning to relax, he pulls his hand away. It’s just as quickly replaced with something much, much bigger. The tip of his second cock is sticky with precum as it rests against your skin.

You knew Sukuna was not a patient man, but you had hoped he’d be gracious with you now.

The blood speckling his skin reminds you how foolish those hopes had been.

With one hand gripping his base, he slowly presses into you. On instinct, you attempt to squirm away, but his remaining arms wrap firmly around your torso, holding you in place.

“Wai-aah,” the sound garbles as you bite into your forearm, this time hard enough to pierce flesh. Your blood blends into the bedding.

Eyes screwed shut, you can’t see the sinister smirk painting his features, all four eyes fixed on where the two of you are connected.

“C’mon now,” he huffs, “a good little whore like you can take it, can’t you?”

A whine escapes your throat in denial, but it sounds more like an affirmation as it hits the air. Especially with the way your knees begin to buckle.

You feel every vein and ridge of his cocks as he slides out of you.

You feel nothing but ecstasy when he thrusts back in.

Everything is hot, your skin on fire. Shaky breaths rattle in your chest, shallow puffs of air through parted lips.

It’s too much, every muscle in your body held taught. The slick sound of his cocks pumping in and out of you fills the room, fills your mind.

And you can’t even think, can barely breathe, anymore. Your eyes roll back, tongue lolling from your mouth as you desperately pant.

“See, doesn’t it feel good to be my little cocksleeve?” he purrs from behind you - he’s not even out of breath despite the way his abs clench with each thrust. “Fuckin’ cunt was made for this.”

And something switches off in your brain, because there’s no other reasonable explanation for the words tumbling from your bruised and bitten lips. “F-feels good.”

He’s nothing short of shocked by your admission - but then again, he did set out with the goal of breaking you. A giddy smile blooms on his lips.

“Aw, what’s this? Already fucked dumb?” A rough palm gropes at your tits.

And a part of you knows you’re above this.

But that part went up in flames the moment Sukuna’s thick cocks ripped you apart, tearing you open and putting you back together in a shape of his liking.

“Mmhm,” you can barely nod, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth, but you’re in utterly no position to wipe it away, your hands preoccupied with gripping the bed sheets below, the fabric twisting between your fingers.

“So it’s true then - you’re just a fucking slut, hm?”

You’re better than this.

You’re smart. Determined. Strong.

“I’m - nnng - m’your slut.”

Pride tingles his nerves, fingers digging into your skin, sharpened nails leaving marks on your waist. With one deep thrust, you feel him in your throat and your vision is blurry and your muscles give out.

But Sukuna is always stronger.

Four arms hold your limp body as he continues fucking into you. Truly nothing more than a cocksleeve the way he’s using you, so small in his grasp, so powerless. And yet, your thighs are sticky and slick from just how wet you are.

Teeth prick at your back, your shoulders, your neck. Marked in bites and bruises, you’ve become his canvas, stained with his claim on you. Reds and pinks and purples bloom beneath your skin, painted in sharp canines and pointed nails. A signature left along your hips, up your spine - his.

Broken whines of his name get forced from your lungs with each thrust, the only sound besides his heavy balls slapping against your skin.

That fire begins to burn brighter in your core. You want to call it resentment, but you aren’t that naive, not anymore.

“Heh, is my little whore gonna cum from being used like this?”

At least his smirk is outside the realm of your perception, the only thing you feel being the ravenous push and pull of his cocks inside you, the tightness and burning pleasure they bring each time his tip pokes deeper and deeper.

You want to shake your head, you want to deny him, deny the effect he has on you.

But all you get out is a weak cry of “please,” before your skin erupts in flames. Your cunt spasms around him, everything going red.

He pumps into you six more times before both of his cocks twitch in unison, unloading sticky ropes impossibly deep into your aching holes. He growls as he does, muscles rippling under the strain of his conquest.

When he releases you, your body collapses onto the damp sheets below. Cheek squished into the maroon, it all bleeds into itself, until you can’t tell where the bed ends and Sukuna begins. It’s only when you feel it shift from the lack of his weight that you know he’s gone.

Everything hurts. Everything is too hot. Everything feels so fucking good.

You should feel shame, you think - you should hate yourself for the way he used you, broke you. He tore your strength away with bloodied teeth until you were weak and limp. Maybe it’s the slow pulsing that lingers between your legs, but you can’t bring yourself to resent it - it was a battle well fought (and victory takes many forms, after all).

But the thing is, you are strong.

With a muffled groan, you shift your weight closer to the edge, the remnants of Sukuna’s claim lingering on your body in scratches and bruises, burning desire.

“You may collect your things, someone will be in-”

When his gaze falls upon you, he freezes where he stands in the corner of his chambers, robe half-draped over his broad shoulders.

You’re wobbly as you stand, cum leaking down your thighs, ruffled hair and unfocused eyes, but he recognizes something in them, a fire he would call strength.

And Sukuna smiles. Not the condescending smirk of a man pitying his captive, but one of respect. He crosses two pairs of arms over his chest.

“What’s this?” he mutters to himself. “Well then, Uraume will be in to help you bathe.”

“Bathe?” You use all the remaining air in your chest to keep your voice from sounding weak. “Before you kill me?”

There’s that giggle again, but the sharpness to it has dulled slightly, in a way you would hesitantly call fondness. “Oh, I won’t be killing you.” Turning, he brushes the thought away with a wave of his hand. “You’ve proven yourself to be quite entertaining, and I’d be a fool to discard such a fun little whore.” But there’s no bite to the words as he says it.

Your legs feel steadier as you stand.

“I expect to see you in my chambers tomorrow, understood?”

Crimson irises catch the flickering candlelight.

You refuse to bow.

Sharpened teeth poke between a smirk.

“Of course, Lord Sukuna.”

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year ago

Note

Your stories have definitely scratched that Astarion itch that I've had since I started the game!

One thing that's diffently not sat right with me at the end of the game, is how tav and the gang don't run after astarion after he loses his immunity to the sun. I would imagine that if the player character was romantically involved with the guy they would atleast try to shield or comfort the poor guy. A short drabble on that would be awesome!

That's so sad, I heard that's what happens 😭😭 I'm in act 3 and haven't had to see it for myself yet so yes, let's do some preemptive therapy there! And just warning since I haven't beaten the game yet I'm sure this will be inaccurate as fuck, but also with spoilers somehow ~

It was an exhilarating feeling, to win against all odds. One that Astarion had never been confident he would experience. It felt good, final. The official beginning of his new free life, even if it was bittersweet.

This was the bitter part, the end of his illithid protection. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and the burn was already starting. He was being an idiot, standing there with the rest of you like he belonged, waiting for the last possible second before he had to scuttle down in the darkness. But he wanted to see this out. Hadn't he earned that right?

According to the laws of reality, no. No he hadn't, because you had barely opened your mouth before the pain started to overwhelm him. The others would be able to hear it, the sickening sound of his skin crackling.

He was out of time. But before he could make a break for it, you happened. Astarion had been a little preoccupied with his impending doom to pay close attention to what you had been mumbling. But then sudden blackness was blanketing above your heads, opaque enough to make it as dark as night.

Astarion's eyes widened as the pain subsided, surprised beyond belief.

You were looking at him with concern in your eyes, gesturing to the think cloud of darkness above your head, "Will this be dark enough? Can it still get through?"

Astarion stared at you, momentarily confused on why you would do something like that. Before he remembered, oh. Yes. The extended care for his well-being was probably included in the whole love thing. Of course. Obviously.

That was definitely going to take some getting used to.

But the reasoning didn't stop an idiotic smile from blooming on his face.

You grinned back at him, somehow still managing to read his mind even without the tadpoles, "Did you really think I would forget about you?"

He had, but through no fault of your own. One of these days he was going to actually remember that he was worth the effort to keep alive.

"Thank you darling," Astarion said, ignoring the quested as he waltzed up to you. He grabbed your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss, "Just what would I do without you?"

"Speaking of," You turned to the Emperor, a question in your eyes as you vaguely waved upward, "Is there anything we can do about this particular problem?"

"The astral tadpole is still-"

"I'll pass on that, thank you very much," Astarion interrupted, cringing at the very thought of willingly letting another worm into his brain, "But I appreciate the thought."

There were worse things than living his life in darkness. And Astarion was counting becoming a mind flayer in the top three.

He watched, participated even in everyone's final goodbyes, always eyeing you at of the corner of his eye. It's not that he thought you would leave after you both declared your eternal love for each other, but... the two of you hadn't exactly talked about the specifics of the future either.

But that didn't stop you from leaving together. Astarion hadn't expected you to keep the dark cloud above his head as you walked the streets, startling nearly every passerby. But hells, the heroes of Baldur's gate had earned the right to a little strangeness.

You both had decided on going to the nearest, most windowless inn that you could find. Astarion wanted nothing more than to scrub the brain viscera from his skin and sleep for three days. Preferably with you in his arms.

But before all that... he had to know something.

The question was out of him as soon as you both were behind closed doors, "So what happens next to the great hero of Baldur's Gate? I'm sure you have something in mind."

He was just praying those future plans still involved him.

You blinked at him, head cocked like he was asking a silly question, "We go and find you a cure so you can walk in the sun again of course. What else would we do?"

That took Astarion aback, "I-Do you think that's really possible?"

"Well," You started, counting off on your fingers, "We know that illithid powers can do it. As well as devil contacts and ritualistic demon sacrifices. If that's all possible then that means there has to be something else on the other end of the spectrum, right?"

Astarion didn't exactly share your blind confidence. But you did have a point. The two of you had managed so many impossible feats in such a short amount of time. What was one more?

"I suppose there's a chance," Astarion said, hope fluttering in his chest with every word, "And if there is a chance no matter how small, I'm going to take it. But..."

He didn't want to ask, but he needed to know, "Are you sure this is what you want? I would... understand if you wanted to go your own way."

In all honesty, Astarion would not understand. He'd be absolutely furious. Especially after everything you'd been through. This was more of a confirmation for his waning self-confidence than anything else, versus a sincere to desire to let you go your own way. He had no intention of letting you go, not if he could help it.

But his near certainty in your feelings was the only thing that gave him the confidence to ask the question in the first place. And you did not disappoint.

"No, this is what I want," You insisted, reaching out to take his hand in yours, "You're what I want."

That was exactly what Astarion needed to hear. He used your joined hands to tug you closer, face to face.

"Good, because as selfless as I am, I really did not want to let you go," Astarion smiled, leaning in to lightly press a kiss to your lips, "I hope you realize that my love has made me a tad bit obsessed with you my dear."

"I'm sure it's no worse than me," You sighed, resting your forehead against his own, "You've really ruined me for anyone else haven't you?"

Astarion grinned, leaning in for another kiss. He had every intention of making it stay that way, for as long as you would have him.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #long fic #asks #im feeling these asks #a mix of real dialouge and orginial #i make them so touchy feely #i feel like he kind of would be #but i dont blame the game guess that would be so much to animate oh my god

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aereasrage · 4 months ago

Text

Notes on The Favorite pt. 2

summary: as requested, i elaborate on the relationship between daemon, rhaenyra and alicent’s daughter!reader (but mostly rhaenyra and reader sorry😭) (links: part 1 /part 2/part 3 /part 4/ part 5/ notes 1)

cw: rhaenyra kinda preys on your mommy issues, manipulation, mentions of parent/child incest (but nothing actually occurs), platonic yandere, some…interesting undertones between these two sisters.

Rhaenyra was occupied with her own matters and her own miseries, too much so to truly be invested in the rearing of her youngest sister. She'd never spoken to the girl alone but she knew her eldest was fond of her. That was why she offered a betrothal in the first place, when she was shot down, she felt for her son but reconciled herself easily to the fact that having a relationship with her sister was simply never to be. Alicent guarded you like a hound and if not her, then Aemond. It was abundantly clear that her being around you would only be another point of contention in an already volatile family. After the night at Driftmark, she accepted that there were to be no mended fences and she, who had already been suffering the fallout for years, retreated back into minding her own children. The distance was final and irreparable.

She viewed Jace's obsession with you as a youthful infatuation which would fade with time as he realized the position they were all in. She was mistaken. Jace, at a tourney for your birthday, nearly killed himself trying to crown you Queen of Love and Beauty. And the boy didn't even have shame about it, he seemed proud when she confronted him. He was languishing in bed, bandaged and delirious, he could only grin when she spoke of you. She could not get through to him for the first time.

Daemon, in turn, went to Baela about the matter thinking that surely his daughter would have something to say about her betrothed's behavior. A wish to break from this betrothal in the face of such insult. Mayhaps, even, a wish for him to be thrown from his horse sometime. But what he found was not his daughter scorned but a steadfast image of her mother, her eyes betraying a certain thrill. "He has not insulted me, father. He is taken with another, but I have been taken before, mayhaps just as much." He hadn't known how to respond to such a revelation. Oh, the curse of having a daughter who was just like her mother. He'd never know how to be a father to her. He should have advised her then but all he could do was be somewhat…pleasantly surprised by the depth of his daughter's similarity. She had gained so many wants and nuances right under his nose and he'd not known until then. She’d developed a fervor toward something that she wished for.

So, they left it be and watched with a precognition of doom when you married Aegon, your mother having to hold your hand as you said your vows. She waltzed you away from the feast and Daemon noticed that you were nodding on your feet from one cup of wine but thought little of it until the queen did not return to the event to continue entertaining congratulations. Jace was sullen and Rhaenyra was in his ear, trying to cheer him, not having noticed the state you were in. Later, the two would compare what they’d seen and heard. Daemon would crassly, half jokingly suggest something between you and Alicent. Rhaenyra would propose that her son might have already had you and your mother, though remaining silent, sought irrefutable proof of your duty to Aegon so as to be certain of the cleanliness of all their reputations. Though, that never accounted for why she didn’t wed her eldest daughter to her eldest son. It was distasteful for you to be wed to him, Rhaenyra thought and it made something in her feel uneasy.

And when the first dark haired child was born, there was no surprise in it happening (mayhaps there was actually even a bit of relief) but rather how casually it was handled. Daemon and Rhaenyra surely had eyes just as well as Alicent but there seemed to be no commotion about the fact that her grandchild was surely sired by Jace. Rhaenyra didn’t have any desire to stir trouble but Daemon surely did and he made jokes whenever the family was gathered in one place. “My grandnephew bears such a resemblance to my other grandnephew, it seems my brother’s blood runs strongly,” he’d said smugly to Alicent as he came upon the three of you in the garden. He couldn’t help himself, the jokes were not toothless but he wasn’t serious about brooking any trouble. He even found you worthy of some credit given how firmly you seemed to have planted everyone’s heads up your arse.

The couple found it eerie how your mother was always hovering over you, Daemon would have liked to know how you got out from under her long enough to fuck his stepson. Rhaenyra had heard she’d even been in your chambers during your first night with Aegon. And it seemed her madness translated to the rest of the family. The image of piety all day long, your siblings always calling after you, always wrapped up in you so much so that they seemed not to even realize how their nephews and niece so resembled a certain prince outside of them. Not even your lord husband seemed to care or notice that all your children took after Jace, it was peculiar. The oddest part about it was that it felt sincere for most of them, when Alicent had told her that the children looked the way they did because of whatever nonsense she spouted, Rhaenyra truly thought she seemed as though she believed it herself. That was what frustrated and baffled her more than anything. She loved the girl so much she’d even gone blind.

In a way, it was perhaps a good thing for her cause that all Aegon’s heirs were sired by her son, although it made clear an upsetting double standard. If you’d been so endeared by her son, to some degree, you’d have no choice but to have sympathy to their cause. They could make something of that. And perhaps both of them would find out why their children were so enamored with you.

When she was finally able to separate you from Jace, she had you in her chambers, staring at you like a hawk, circling around your form. She didn’t intend to give you hell or be a nightmare of a goodmother but it was life and death, she wanted to know who you would be loyal to. If she’d have to keep you as a prisoner or a sister. You didn’t shrink under her gaze yet. You were always somewhat intrigued by your big sister. Such attention was paid her, such fuss. Her arrival in each room was like an event unto itself. Whispers carried on the wind about her. Your mother talked about her all the time. Maybe it was part of the reason you had your children the way you did, to pull some of your family’s focus back to yourself. She was your mother more than she was Rhaenyra’s enemy, after all. You envied Rhaenyra, you admired her. You were kin to her and so unlike her at the same time.

“I have always wondered how your mother had the audacity to ignore how much your children resemble mine,” She murmured, her eyes wide, pupils dilated and dark as she stared at you. She remembered also how her own children had been treated and that brought a flare of anger she was quick to quell. “They say the red keep is in a frenzy because of your absence. Do you long to return?”

Yes…and no. It was complicated. “I long to stay wherever we are safest.”

She smiled to herself, mirthlessly. “You would be safest a year in the past. Answer me this…you wear our colors, you have had my son’s children, but would you put an oath to me? Over your lord husband? Do you have that much love of my son if not of me?”

She startled you by taking your hands in her own, you hadn’t been anticipating her to touch you. You had never been so close to her, now that you thought of it. It felt like a domineering gesture, as though asserting that she could do anything to you. “I expect that I won’t have to keep you here as a hostage,” she murmured, catching your gaze. “Am I right in assuming?”

“I do love your son…” you hesitated, trying to think of some sly thing to say. You were trying to ride the fence as long as you could and she had cut through to ask you directly your position. She was full of hateful memories of the red keep when she looked at you, barely contained and her patience worn very thin. She had in her hands a potential tool and she wanted to be certain of what using it would entail. You didn’t know her well enough to be certain she wouldn’t harm you if she didn’t have the heart to hurt your children, you needed to tread lightly. “As I love the rest of my family.”

“Does your husband know his children don’t carry a drop of his blood?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” you admitted easily, it had been nothing to lie to Aegon. He was happier for it and what did it matter when it was you he loved and wanted rather than babes who need care they cannot return to him? “I’m not faithful to my husband in that way, I admit. And if this war comes to have his head, then I can only pray for him. It is his war to fight and win or to fight and lose. But I ask that you spare my mother and sister their fates, then you will have all my loyalty rather.”

Rhaenyra deliberated for a moment, letting go of your hands abruptly and stepping away from you a few paces as her eyes surveyed you closely from top to bottom. “If I have my way, they’ll not need to be harmed,” she said, finally. “There will be more bloodshed if you seek to betray me than if you do nothing. I can promise it.”

You, the very jewel that the rest of her family sought to keep away from her, in her grasp finally and looking at her as though she were about to eat you. She hadn’t known she wanted this but somewhere deep inside, now that she had you alone, she felt a certain modicum of satisfaction. You were…delicate, frightened, perhaps more willing to obey than she’d thought previously. A conquering desire overtook her caution and anger. Pull you away from your mother and your other siblings…what could she turn you into? Her own? …yes, mayhaps the endeavor of it would please her.

She hovered ever closer and reached out, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers. She’d wanted to see how you’d react to a softer touch, a more intimate, motherly gesture. She’d wanted to know how to felt to do so as well. Your breath hitched at the semblance of touch which reminded you so much of your mother. You hadn’t meant to lean into it but it was reflex and a need for a mother who was not there with you. More disconcerting was the fact that your sister smiled softly at your reaction. “Give me your word and I’ll give you mine,” she commanded but in a softer tone she reserved for her own children.

She had you in her grasp. She was beginning to understand why your mother had held so fast to you. You nodded, struck dumb by intimidation and mild admiration, “I swear I would never betray you. On their lives.”

She smiled softly and you couldn’t keep yourself from feeling a strange sort of pride at her approval. She was to you what you were to your lady in waiting at the red keep, the one who adored your every movement simply because you were the princess and she couldn’t believe she was in your presence, at King’s Landing. This was your illustrious elder sister and to be near her…was it the fact that your father favored her so much that made you feel as though her presence were greater than it was? Was it all the whispers? Either way, you had a latent desire for her smile, for her to look at you and speak to you.

“No undue harm will come to Alicent or Helaena, I will not harm them so long as they stay only as figures of this war.” Her words were careful, sly, even but even that much assurance made you sigh in relief. “You’ll stay with me, with us, until the war has reached an end.”

She liked that idea more than she should. Liked the thought of her half-sister, apple of her stepmother’s eye trailing her skirts more than she should. She enjoyed the thought of having you.

#hotd x reader #alicent hightower x reader #platonic yandere x reader #jacaerys x reader #rhaenyra x reader

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beom1e · 4 months ago

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jerk! giving up

between a friend from college coming to visit and the common occurrence of yeonjun putting his relationship before your friendship, the last thing you need is beomgyu waiting to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong. but despite his need to fight with you on everything, his actions show a completely different side of him. a side that cares for you.

pairing choi beomgyu x fem! reader

genre humour, angst, fluff, guitarist! beomgyu

warning cursing, alcohol, hangover, nausea, jealousy

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you fixed your hair in the mirror, trying to find the perfect balance between messy and neat. the door into the bathroom on beomgyu’s side pushed open, and you cursed under your breath as he stepped into the room. you straightened up and looked at him expectantly, waiting for his harsh words or at the very least a complaint. he stayed silent.

his eyes trailed across your figure. you were dressed in a way he’d never seen you dress before, and you were wearing a much more mature style of makeup. you were looking at him through narrowed eyes beneath a sultry smokey-eye, and your lips were painted a seductive red. he swallowed thickly and averted his gaze towards the linoleum floor.

‘why are you staring at me?’ you rolled your eyes and turned back to the mirror to dab at your lipstick.

‘you look ridiculous,’ he lied. ‘where are you going?’

‘a friend of mine from school is coming to visit,’ you explained. ‘we’re going to hit the club and then she’s going to crash here for the night. so, please, knock before you barge in like you just did.’

‘is that really a good idea?’ he raised a brow.

‘what, clubbing?’ you scoffed. ‘okay, grandpa.’

‘drowning your sorrows with alcohol,’ he stated. ‘it’s only your fault that yeonjun made a move on that music store girl. you should have been clear about your feelings.’

‘stay out of it,’ you sighed, looking down at your hands that were gripping firmly onto the sink’s edge. ‘why are you even talking to me? we’re not friends.’

‘and whose fault is that?’ he shot back. you groaned with frustration as you headed back into your bedroom. ‘you’re the one always pushing me away.’

‘huh?’ you spun on your heel to face him. he’d stopped under your doorway. ‘because there was no reason for you to act like such a dick the other day. one second you’re this guy who went to college but loved music more than his degree, the next you’re an insufferable piece of shit who would do anything to piss me off. and you had the audacity to come knocking on my bedroom door as if that’d solve anything.’

‘i’ll leave,’ he rolled his eyes. still, he felt guilt consume him and this sense of doom as he wondered if you’d ever speak to him again. ‘and i’ll use taehyun’s bathroom.’

why did he care? he wanted to rip his hair out of his scalp at the mere thought that he’d grown to care for you.

he was a better person than you knew. he loved those closest to him intensely. he was the best at giving advice and thought of music as a healthy escape. he’d taken great care when editing the songs you’d originally wrote, always turning to the rest of the band for confirmation that it wouldn’t bother you before the music was officially released. yet, somehow, you had this idea in your head that he’d waltzed into the space you left behind and hated you for even existing. that wasn’t the case, you’d just failed to make an initial connection.

still, something had changed.

he could only ever think of you as the girl who showed up out of the blue and claimed that he’d stolen her life. the girl who went out of her way to push him to the limits. but now, you were this girl chasing a life you didn’t want and leaving behind a dream too far out of reach. the girl who lost her hometown, her friends, her music, her childhood sweetheart, and now her second chance at having it all again.

if he could, he would be hitting his head against the wall and praying for the return of the surface-level impression he used to have of you. but he recalled the way you rushed to wipe away your tears and the cracking of your voice. he thought about it a lot. he thought about you a lot. he always had, honestly. despite the jealousy, he’d always wondered about this ray of sunshine his friends had always described. he wanted to meet the genius behind the lyrics. he wanted to make you proud. and then he began to think about you after your first meeting, and where he went wrong. he tried to ignore it and blame it on your childish feud, but no one else thinks so often of a girl they claim to dislike.

he closed your bedroom door with a huff.

you headed towards your bedside table and dug your hand into the bag of gummy worms kai had bought for you the other day. as your teeth pulled back against the gummy treat, your phone began to ring. it was yeonjun. you stared at the screen and waited for his contact photo to disappear. a scanned photograph of your childhood selves sharing an electric guitar at the music store you had once loved so dearly. you really had to get around to changing it, probably to a selfie taken right from his instagram.

the room fell silent after the ringtone stopped. and then your phone began to ring and buzz with text messages from your best friend. you squealed excitedly and jumped up from the bed, knocking the pack of gummy worms to the ground.

taehyun stopped in his tracks as you pulled open your bedroom door. you sent him a smile as you skipped down the hallway and headed for the staircase. as your feet met the final step, you heard her voice as she was escorted into the seating area by soobin. you rushed towards them with another excited squeal, causing soobin to jump and yelp.

‘y/n!’ she called as she ran towards you. your arms wrapped around one another out of instinct, and she began to jump up and down with you in her arms. she leaned in closer and lowered her voice. ‘why didn’t you warn me about how rich they all are? i would have tried harder with my appearance.’

‘oh, please,’ you rolled your eyes and looped your arm through hers. ‘come on, i’ll show you to my room. oh, and i share a bathroom with this really annoying guy but he promised to not use it while you’re here.’

‘really annoying guy?’ she turned her head towards you and raised a brow. ‘you mean beomgyu?’

‘precisely,’ you nodded shortly.

‘yeonjun is calling you again,’ your best friend spoke before continuing to sip from her straw. your gaze cast down towards your phone before you shrugged. ‘what’s up with you two?’

‘literally nothing, as always,’ you sighed. ‘he met this girl and the rest is history. i refuse to entertain him any longer.’

‘you’re giving up on him?’ she raised a brow, shock evident in her expression. for as long as she had known you, yeonjun seemed to be the only guy you’d ever truly wanted.

‘he’s not the only guy in the world,’ you rolled your eyes and picked up your glass. you stirred the icy liquid with your straw as you stared at the base of the glass. ‘i’ve dated other guys and had no issue before. i think i only wanted him because he was like this connection to my childhood, and being here just makes me nostalgic. but i’m not a child anymore. i mean, look around, there’s a hundred guys in here alone.’

‘just don’t do anything stupid,’ she warned as she finished her drink. ‘and don’t go home with any of them. how on earth would i find that awkwardly hidden mansion all on my own?’

you laughed audibly. it felt good to see her again. she was a reminder of the life you had now, after spending too much time in a world you no longer belonged in. the five boys were just a friend group of yours, nothing more. you didn’t live here anymore, you didn’t make music, you weren’t going to fit perfectly back into their lives. you had a career to chase and a group of wonderful people in another city. you had past loves, mistakes, memories, favourite spots, records of your time at college. what did you have here besides a lost dream?

‘should we dance?’ you smiled as you set your glass down.

‘obviously,’ she pulled herself up and threw her bag over her shoulder.

you grabbed the remainder of your things and abandoned the table you had been sitting at for over an hour now. your friend reached for your hand and began to pull you through the centre of the crowd. to her, it was just a bunch of strangers together in one room. to you, it was the people you had sat beside at a desk during your school years, still waiting around in this town for something great to happen to them. hopelessly holding onto the love they have for their hometown, and not the desire to move onto bigger things.

you would have been the same, had you been given the chance. to sit and wait around for your music career to take off, and never receive a full education. your parents wanted more for you. still, you wondered if things would have went your way had you stayed. would you been as successful as beomgyu is now?

the most popular songs of the week played through the speakers, regularly being mixed together in order to create a messy transition. it was exactly what you’d expect from the sole club in your town. you still managed to enjoy yourself.

you weren’t sure how long you’d been there, dancing and singing along to the songs that you actually knew. not that it mattered, you had nowhere to be and nobody waiting on you.

beomgyu could have told you. he’d been watching you for the past hour, refusing any offers to dance as he leaned back in his position on the couch. conversation fell short in front of him, and he’d been working on the same drink for as long as you’d been dancing. something about the way you moved was purely mesmerising. there was yet another side of you that he might’ve missed had he stayed cemented in his opinion of you. as your eyes landed on him, he dropped his gaze to his glass sitting on the table in front of him.

‘unbelievable,’ you sighed, and grabbed your friend’s arm in order to switch places with her. ‘beomgyu is here.’

she made a move to look past you, her eyes landing on him instantaneously. her mouth fell agape as she turned her attention back to you.

‘that’s beomgyu?’ she smirked. ‘he’s hot! why are you wasting your time whining about how annoying he is? have him!’

‘have him?’ you brought up your index finger and pretended to gag. ‘i’d rather have a shark bite off each of my limbs.’

‘god, you’re so dramatic,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘he’s literally cute, successful, and rich. and you share a bathroom with him! he’s literally right in front of you.’

‘okay, and?’ you shook your head. ‘sometimes there’s a door right in front of me, doesn’t mean i should go and bang my head against it. same experience, honestly.’

‘somebody needs another drink,’ she rolled her eyes and stepped away from you.

almost as if you could sense him coming, you spun around with your arms folded and found yourself glaring up at beomgyu. he held his hands up in defence and wordlessly slipped past you.

‘what are you doing here?’ you called out to him, making him pause and turn back to you.

‘i was having fun with my friends,’ he started. ‘but now it seems like i’m about to have my night ruined by you.’

‘that’s rich,’ you clicked your tongue. ‘is sitting there staring me down really your idea of fun?’

‘i wasn’t staring you down,’ he narrowed his eyes. ‘and what do you know about fun? aren’t you here just to forget about your feelings for yeonjun?’

‘shut up,’ you waved him off and followed in the path your friend had taken only minutes ago. ‘it has nothing to do with you. like i said, just stay out of it.’

‘you know what your issue is?’ he followed behind you, a sly smirk on his lips. ‘you bite the bait far too easily.’

‘you know what your issue is?’ you aggressively poked at his chest, taking a step toward him. ‘that little taste of fame gave you some sort of god complex, and now you think you’re above me because you played some guitar and slightly changed my sentence structure. everywhere i go, you’re waiting there ready to knock me down even when i feel like i’m on my last legs. you’re a jerk, beomgyu. a first-class asshole unable to have a little bit of respect for anyone but himself. you’re so far out of touch, and you don’t even realise it.’

‘and what are you?’ he retaliated, feeling his heart ache beneath his ribcage. ‘besides a girl so set on making me miserable? everything is just a competition to you. we wouldn’t even be having this fight if you were able to be in my presence without looking for a place to start. and i’m sorry that you gave up on your dreams to go to university, but you can’t continue to punish me for doing the opposite.’

‘just stay away from me,’

‘gladly,’

how could the day possibly go worse?

after drinking too far past your limits, you would have collapsed if not for beomgyu keeping you upright. he carried your drunken self out of the club and got the three of you into an uber. and then it was up to him to get you up the staircase and down the hall into your bedroom. recalling it all the moment you woke up, you’d thrown your pillow against the wall connected to your shared bathroom out of both anger and humiliation. your best friend groaned and begged you to shut up whilst the headache came on.

you felt as if you might die all the way over to the shower. and on the floor of the shower, because standing made you feel as if you were about to puke. and when you brushed your teeth, the mint flavour was nauseating to say the least.

but none of that mattered when you managed you bring yourself downstairs for something to eat. and there stood yeonjun, the girl from the music store, and the sound of their laughter as they bonded over the simple action of making an omelette. you turned with the intention to retreat, bumping into your friend who forcefully shoved you forward.

‘you hungry?’ yeonjun spoke, leaning back against the counter. ‘’gyu told me what happened.’

‘oh, yippee,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘i’m not hungry.’

‘she is,’ your friend interrupted, nudging you with her elbow. ‘thanks for the offer, yeonjun, but my uber is here.’

‘you’re leaving?’ you turned to face her with hurt in your expression. ‘already?’

‘i’m sorry,’ she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a hug. ‘i’ll text you when i get back.’

‘oh, okay,’ you frowned as she pulled away.

‘it was nice meeting you all,’ she waved as she stepped towards the door out of the room and into the entrance hall. ‘and tell beomgyu thanks from me.’

she left you there, and the energy of the room seemed to drop. you cleared your throat and turned towards the seating area where taehyun was sitting and scrolling on his phone.

‘are you busy today, y/n?’ the girl spoke. you stopped in your tracks, locking eyes with taehyun who seemed to display his concern. ‘me and ‘jun are going out for dinner later. thought you might need a little bit of a pick-me-up.’

it would have rude to decline her invitation, so you went. unwillingly so. just you, her, and yeonjun for the entire day.

she remained attached to him for the entire time. she gripped onto his bicep and bounced as she spoke, a kind smile on her lips. it infuriated you, and knowing that she wasn’t intending to hurt you just infuriated you further. you didn’t want to be so angry with her or yeonjun. but he was your yeonjun, until he suddenly wasn’t. and seeing him fall for somebody else made you feel sick to your stomach.

arriving home was a blessing. if you ignored the fact that she was going to be staying over. in his room, in his bed.

beomgyu knew exactly what to expect. he pushed open your bedroom door and softly closed it behind himself. you hardly had the energy to fight with him, only lifting your gaze momentarily to check who it was coming to disturb your peace. he was fiddling with a pick between his fingers and leaning against your bedroom door. his heart ached once more when you looked up at him with sadness in your gaze.

‘i know you don’t want to see me,’ he shrugged. ‘whether it be because of the argument we had last night, or the fact that i was the one who had to deal with the state you got yourself into. but our rooms are very close, and i can’t just sit there listening to you sob by yourself.’

‘i don’t want to talk about it,’ you sniffled and dropped your legs to lay out in front of you. ‘but thanks for getting me home safe last night.’

‘we don’t have to talk about it,’ he awkwardly chewed the inside of his cheek as you continued to stare up at him.

‘you can sit down,’ you laughed shortly and patted the space beside you on the bed.

beomgyu sunk into the mattress at your side. you watched him as he fiddled with a loose thread on his jeans.

‘can i just clear some things up here?’ he avoided your eyes, but caught sight of your short nod. ‘first of all, i don’t hate you. nor do i intend to hurt you every time we bump into each other. it actually pains me to know that’s how you feel. and i don’t have a god complex, i just started giving you the same energy that you gave me, and i didn’t know how to stop.’

‘so it’s all my fault?’ you rolled your eyes.

‘will you cry again if i say that it is?’ he smiled slightly, trying to lighten the heavy air that surrounded you both.

‘you’re the worst,’ you sniffled once more and began wiping at your tears with the sleeve of your hoodie. ‘but thank you trying to explain, i guess.’

‘i’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘sometimes i overstep, i know. i was having too much fun getting a reaction out of you. but i can see that you don’t need that right now.’

‘don’t you dare bring up yeonjun again,’ you rolled your eyes, suppressing your smile.

‘is he not the reason behind your current state?’ he pushed.

‘still not talking about it,’ you sighed, and pulled your knees back against your chest once more. ‘i’m sorry for being a bitch to you all of the time, too. i do always seem to bite.’

‘can i ask you a personal question?’ he tilted his head to the side as he looked down at you.

‘go ahead,’ you shrugged.

‘why did you move away?’ he looked over your features to make sure he hadn’t made you uncomfortable. ‘i mean, there’s a university here. i would know, i went to it.’

‘my parents wanted me to be away from the distraction of the band,’ she frowned. ‘they said i wouldn’t do well if i was too busy playing around with my guitar. so they bought a house far from here and took me with them.’

‘that sucks,’ beomgyu nodded to himself as an agreement. ‘do you still play?’

‘no,’ you huffed. ‘my guitar’s currently collecting dust in an unpacked box at my parents’ place. it’s been there since the end of my first year, when i stopped coming here so often.’

‘do you regret it?’

‘getting an education?’

‘giving up on music,’

‘i miss the people i shared that hobby with more than the hobby itself,’ you began to fiddle with the fabric of your pyjama pants. ‘this band used to be my whole world. and yeonjun was the one who told me that going to college was for the best. i was naive to think they’d wait for me to return.’

‘it wasn’t planned,’ he made sure to look into your eyes. ‘me, joining the band. i bumped into yeonjun at the reopening of the music store and we talked about guitars for a while. after a few months of friendship, we started playing together. it was all supposed to be experimental.’

‘oh, how humble,’ you laughed. ‘i like your songs. they have nothing on my own, of course, but…’

‘i actually really loved your original songs,’ he smiled, staring down at his hands. ‘i felt bad changing them, but they all told me you wouldn’t mind if it was for the sake of the band. oh how wrong they were.’

‘you guys made me look like a ghostwriter,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘i don’t even have a mention on your socials.’

‘take it up with kai,’ he held his hands out in defence, shrugging. ‘i don’t even have the passwords.’

the two of you laughed in sync, eyes locked. your laugh faded into an appreciative smile, and beomgyu bit down into his tongue before he could tell you how pretty your smile was.

beomgyu couldn’t think of anything worse to be doing with his spare time. and not because you were directly involved, but because he’d already been sitting for far too long under the fluorescent lights of the changing rooms.

you’d step out, and taehyun would go over to observe. he gave you his honest opinion and the two of you discussed each of the dresses in heavy detail. meanwhile, beomgyu sat scrolling on his phone. occasionally, taehyun would snap at him to pay attention. and then minutes later, he would go straight back to staring aimlessly at the screen in a doom-scroll.

he was halfway to announcing his need to grab a drink due to the hot weather, when you stepped out in this dark blue dress that had him stumbling over his words before he could even speak them. his gaze darted back down to the floor as he cleared his throat, but you didn’t miss the look in his eyes. you felt your cheeks burn as you smoothed down the fabric and turned to face taehyun.

he began his rant of how this dress was the right one, as your attention shifted to the boy staring hard at his phone.

beomgyu looked so attractive in that moment. his legs spread out as an armrest for his forearms, the phone between his hands and his head dipped forward. but not too forward, as his features were still visible. the sleeves of his light grey hoodie had been rolled up, and his brown hair was attractively messy. with the recent events that had occurred, you began to wonder if he found you attractive. he’d stared you down enough times over the past week to suggest it.

and you wondered if you found him attractive in return.

you smiled to yourself as you nodded in agreement with taehyun, deciding that you’d finally found a dress for graduation. whether it had been for beomgyu’s gaze or taehyun gushing about how perfect it was didn’t matter.

sitting back against your headboard, you tossed your phone down onto the bed and dropped your head into the hands. a deep sigh left your lips as images of beomgyu clouded your thoughts.

following the purchase of your dress, the three of you grabbed a soft pretzel and a refreshing soda before walking aimlessly around the mall. at every joke cracked by taehyun, you found yourself holding back a laugh in favour of hearing beomgyu’s deep chuckle. your eyes seemed to block out the third-wheel standing between you, expression curious as you looked over beomgyu’s figure over and over again.

his hair was falling perfectly over his forehead, and his black headphones wrapped around his neck were the ideal contrast to his light hoodie. every time he ran his fingers through his brown hair, you felt yourself growing giddy.

all of a sudden, you were crushing on beomgyu.

maybe it was due to the passionate nature of your relationship, or maybe it was due to the softness in his gaze you only recently had the pleasure of experiencing. whatever it was, your friend had been right in her words. you lived mere metres away from him, your bedrooms connected by a singular bathroom. he played the guitar, sang, and was a talented composer. not to mention he was attractive, and there was no denying it. and his attentions remained solely on you. there was nobody else.

well, nobody other than yeonjun, but that was a hopeless feat.

time had already been wasted. you weren’t sure of the future, and you had wasted the perfect opportunity of beomgyu and his closeness. you groaned as you fell back against your bed.

you buried your face into your pillow and screamed into its material, willing the plaguing thoughts of beomgyu to disappear. but they wouldn’t, and a part of you didn’t want them to. a part of you wanted to steep in the feeling of a fresh crush, smiling to yourself as you thought of his voice and his smile and his hair and the fact that he was only metres away from you at all times.

but then you remembered that you were supposed to hate him. he got on your nerves, he overstepped, he spoke in a way that intended to knock you down a few pegs.

but the look in his eyes as you stepped out in that dress…

you pulled yourself up out of bed, feeling a headache coming on from all of the conflicting thoughts. your hand clutched the side of your head as you pulled open your bedroom door and headed down the corridor. the lights were off downstairs, it being late by now, except for the dimmed lights left on in the kitchen as they always were.

as you pulled open the fridge, you jumped at the sound of someone placing a glass down beside you.

‘sorry,’ beomgyu laughed shortly. ‘i thought you knew i was down here.’

‘evidently not,’ you grabbed a water bottle and closed the fridge softly. ‘what are you doing still up?’

‘i’m always up late,’ he shrugged, leaning back against the counter. ‘my schedule is messed up. the downside of not having a real job. why are you up?’

‘headache,’ you frowned. ‘i’ve got a lot on my mind.’

‘like what?’ he tilted his head in question, feeling bold. maybe it was the outfit you were wearing, being a t-shirt and some bed shorts he struggled to keep his eyes off. ‘your mind’s far too pretty to be full of worries.’

‘are you flirting with me?’ you raised a brow.

‘depends,’ he shrugged nonchalantly. ‘do you want me to flirt with you?’

‘uh…’ you avoided his burning gaze. ‘are you feeling okay? you didn’t hit your head on a cabinet or anything, did you?’

‘is that your way of flirting?’ he narrowed his eyes. ‘at least you think i’m tall.’

‘you’re acting weird,’ your response only received a shrug.

‘am i acting weird or are you oblivious?’

‘oblivious to what?’

‘nevermind,’ he pushed up away from the counter and began to walk away. ‘goodnight, y/n.’

‘you’re leaving?’ you set down the still unopened bottle of water and felt your expression drop with disappointment.

‘yeah, you’re not playing along,’ he sighed. ‘you’re no fun.’

‘i am fun,’ you shot back. ‘you just… caught me off guard.’

‘why?’ he raised a brow. ‘because you didn’t realise there’s other aspects of my personality besides being a jerk.’

‘because i wasn’t expecting you to be so bold,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘but hey, at least you admitted to being a jerk. self-awareness sure is sexy.’

‘oh so you think i’m sexy?’ he teased, leaning his head against the archway.

‘i think you need to go lie down,’ you narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

‘will you lie down with me?’ a smirk broke out across his features.

‘oh, as if,’ you scoffed. ‘i’m going to bed now.’

you stepped past beomgyu, turning your head back to see his gaze was indeed following after you. as you headed for your room, you tried to shake off the thoughts and the conversation you just shared. it was like you were in some sort of alternate reality all of a sudden, one where there hadn’t been weeks of mutual dislike passed between the two of you.

a sigh left your lips as you closed the door behind yourself. the headache remained, perhaps even stronger now.

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taglist @fairyofshampgyu @woncheecks @shycreationdreamland @wonioml @baekberrie @strawbrinkofdeath @bangchansbae @wccycc @hyehae @lixpixstix @hyewka @notevenheretbh1 @whippedforbeomgyu @flowerbe0m @boba-beom @gravytr4in @carengene @banggyu0308 @lexawoah13 @st4rhwa @gyulight @isascat @jung1w0n @chocorenchin @i9chae @garbageandhot @2dalso @dewybae @sanasour @binluvsu @nhularin @naoristerling

#tomorrow x together #txt #txt x reader #txt x y/n #txt x you #txt x moa #choi beomgyu #beomgyu #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu angst #choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu angst

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themeraldee · 9 days ago

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Can I get a wholesome little thingy of homie comforting his s/o that's like depressed what would he do? And give them snuggles? And although of course s/o giving homie headpats and caresses are top tier this time I want him to have to give headpats. Not because I'm depressed rn or anything (yes it is)

~1k | Homelander x gn!Reader | Established Relationship. Dealing with depression. Homelander's POV. Fluff. Just fluff really.

Something feels off when Homelander enters his penthouse. While he used to welcome the quiet of his home after he came back from events, this has recently changed. Ever since you’ve become a part of his life, any second spent without you feels like something’s missing. So it’s definitely out of order to get the same empty feeling when he's home. Usually you greet him with open arms or at least a ‘Welcome home’ shouted from another room.

“Babe?” Homelander calls out into the penthouse, the questioning tone reverberating through the open plan of his home. He knows you’re here. His question acts more as a reset, giving you a chance to play your role.

At your lack of response he quickly scans the room, seeing you in the bedroom. Very much awake but hidden under the sheets. So why wouldn’t you react to his presence? Shouldn’t that be something you look forward to?

You always do.

His mind runs at a hundred miles a minute. Even with the overwhelming positive effect you’ve had on his life it’s easy to fall into insecurity and despair, worrying about the worst possible outcome.

Homelander stops himself from rushing into the bedroom. But the slow one step at a time sinks the weight in his gut lower and lower. The anxiety of something being wrong has thrown him off-kilter. He doesn’t really know how to approach you when you’re distant like this.

So his over the top bravado will have to do.

“Heyyyy there sleepy head! You know it’s waaayyy too late for a lie in, don't you think?” He waltzes into the bedroom, hands on his hips, acting as if he was addressing a crowd. His voice is loud and clear, carrying a jovial tone that sounds a little too insincere even to his ears.

He doubles down anyway. “If I knew you were planning to spend the entire day in bed I would’ve never left.” But, you don’t respond. He can hear your heartbeat, the slight rustle of the sheets and even the thud and glide of your finger scrolling down your phone screen.

When the silence gets too awkward for him to bear he peels the blanket from over your head, revealing you down to your waist. Immediately you squirm at the light coming from the outside after having your den of doom broken into.

Over the time that your love has blossomed into a relationship he’s gotten used to receiving comfort from you. You were there to listen to his countless rants and concerns. From the simple work related complaints to the horrors plaguing his nightmares.

He should be able to do the same for you, right?

“Hmm… I’m just resting.” You sound dejected, empty.

He swallows at the sound of you being so different. You’re missing the light that usually fills out the dark space in him. Homelander doesn’t know how to approach you. When’s the last time he’s had to comfort anyone? Truly comfort someone. Has anyone ever asked or even trusted him to be there for them?

Whether you’ve asked or not, he needs to be there for you.

It’s the least you deserve.

“Yeah right.”

He unzips his boots, setting them neatly next to each other before sliding under the sheets right behind you. He hooks his arm over you, pulling your back into his chest. And although you’re not reciprocal to his affection like you usually would be, the warmth he feels is enough to ease the anxiety in his gut.

He wedges his head in between your head and shoulder, watching with you as you mindlessly scroll through social media.

“How long have you been doom scrolling now?” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head lightly against your shoulder.

“I don’t know. A while I guess.” While you squirm in his hold your tone is still just as impenetrable.

“You’re not even looking at the screen!” When you don’t even react he frowns. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” He plucks your phone from your hands, turning and placing it on the bedside table away from you. He acts as a barrier between it and you, giving you no chance of getting it back. He rolls over back to you, greeted with the sight of you facing him.

Instantly he pulls you into him, both arms tightly around you with heavy comfort. It’s what he would’ve wanted in times of despair. It’s what you do when he seeks comfort. The whole body embrace where all he can focus on is you. It always grounds him.

He hopes it has a similar effect on you.

“What’s wrong?” He says. This time in a soft, low voice. No longer trying to put on a show. He’s meant to be there for you, not for a crowd.

“I don’t really know how to talk about it… Or if I even want to…” While you don’t sound like yourself, part of him is glad to hear your sadness. It’s better than the dejected empty voice. The closer you are to revealing your true sorrows the closer he is to getting you to feel better.

“Okay. You can… I don’t know, at least try to tell me something about what’s going on. Orrr, I will be reciting all of the amendments to the Constitution of the United States.” He’s gambling with the teasing tone of his voice but it pays off when you groan and giggle.

“Oh god no, not again!”

“Welp, it’s your choice.” By now he can’t stop the smile from spreading across his lips. He gives you a soft squeeze.

“Alright, I can try.” You concede with a calm defeat.

“Good. That’s a start.” He kisses the top of your head, still holding and caressing you.

But most importantly, actually listening to you.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander fic):

@rafecamsgirlll @hom3landr @mrsdesade @littlegaaby @jokesonyoupup

@nommingonfood @infinetlyforgotten @nervoussystemss

#I'm sorry this is late anon!#I hope you feel better 🩷 and if you don't I hope this brings some comfort #I've had a terrible day and I needed something to get my mind off things. This little ficlet helped. I hope it helps some of you.#Although my misery isn't mainly due to the election results I still weep for my american friends and followers #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #the boys fanfiction #homelander fluff #homelander x gn!reader

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artsycrapfromsai · 1 year ago

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5 Times Amaryllis and Percival held hands

🌸 1. When she accidentally stabbed him in the shoulder, and grabbed his hand so she could tend to his wound. (Back when they were initially enemies. He thought she was just getting revenge for his previous actions, until she showed it truly was an accident that she wished to fix.)

🌸 2. When they shared a waltz. (Won in a bet- where Amaryllis had to impress Percival in a spar to win.)

🌸 3. When she playfully grabbed his hand, the day they spent time together. (he pulled away initially, but dropped his hand back into place for her to grab.)

🌸 4. When he was given memories, from another him from a doomed timeline, and his brain was processing them and rebooting. (She was tasked with giving him the memories, and was worried that they would change him- that he would forget her or view her differently... She held his hand for both their comforts. He let her.)

🌸 5. When they talked in his room, after he cooked a lavish dinner for her return home. (She reached for his hand, and he didn't pull away. They fell asleep like that. Her sleeping in his space, and him falling asleep next to her, were huge shows of trust and care.)

They've been through a lot and went from enemies to lovers. i love their relationship so much, its very precious to me 💕💕💕🥺

#amaryllis #percival silverchaser #brightmaid #unicorn oc #unicorns #dnd #dungeons and dragons #original characters #ocs #my art #blood tw #a little

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dangermousie · 10 months ago

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The fact that dramas not only have a whole category of "came to fuck them over, stayed to fuck them" romance but there are enough of them to have subcategories like:

The person I love is supposed to end the world, let's hope it goes out with a bang. Ours.

See Till the End of the Moon, Legend of Fuyao, Ever Night, Shine or Go Crazy, Kingdom of the Wind

They are a literal devil but everyone has their issues, don't they?

See Doom at Your Service, TTEOTM, The Legends, Love Between Fairy and Devil, Chong Zi, Journey of Flower, Scarlet Heart Ryeo, Legend of Zu, Ice Fantasy

Yeah, they killed (or hurt) my family but I can make a new one with them and that's a fair trade

See Empress Ki, Moon in the Day, The Wolf, Captivating the King, Goodbye My Princess, Siege in Fog, Royal Nirvana, The King's Woman, A Love to Kill, Whisper, Hotel King, Prosecutor Princess, Gaksital, Secret, Cruel City, Queen Love and War, Giant, Bloody Heart

I want vengeance on their family - by being an in law from hell!

See Beyond the Clouds, Queen of the Game, Love Song for Illusion, The Princess' Man, Innocent Man, Green Rose, Spring Waltz

He's the villain with corpse decor but it's good he's got hobbies, I guess

See My Villain Husband, Different Princess, Is Xianzun Whitewashed Today, The Romance of Tiger and Rose, upcoming Yong Ye Xing He and Offering Fish to Master, Legend of Condor Heroes (secondary OTP), Love for Immortality, Word of Honor

I came to rob them of their goods but robbing them of their heart is way better

See Robber, My Journey to You, That Winter the Wind Blows, Baker King, Call It Love

They killed ME before, but eh, let bygones be bygones

A lot of the ones above (Xianzun, Tiger/Rose, Different Princess) qualify but also Love and Redemption...(ETA Bulgasal as reminded by @crookedfandomquill)

A lot of them fit more than one category, too...

God, we are so blessed! :P

#cdrama #kdrama

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rallentando1011 · 6 months ago

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empathetic (emphasis on pathetic)

Hamato Donatello did not frequently feel fondness. Nor attraction. Nor much of anything, for that matter.

Feelings were like syrup: superficially sweet yet so easy to boil over, develop a sludgy, sticky mess of. Texturally, they were a resounding no.

And so he avoided them, ignored them at all costs, swept them under the rug then proceeded to incinerate said proverbial rug.

It worked like a charm, time and time and time again without fail.

Until it didn’t.

Somehow, this weird, warm, fuzzy sensation managed to infiltrate his nigh impenetrable defenses and make a muddle of things and his mind, i.e. he was struck by the L-word, i.e. he met you.

So quickly had the almighty fortress of his emotional front crumbled upon your arrival, so quickly had his resolve instinctively melted, so quickly had he caved.

It was terrifying.

He’d never quite seen the appeal in confiding in others. Sure, he had his brothers, father, April, but they were different, steadfast, reliable, family.

Letting new people into your life and mind and feelings was too vulnerable, too complicated, too messy.

Emotions: fickle, fleeting, forlorn, unlike the reliable cogs and circuits and familiarity of his lab and normal life. An anomaly in themselves.

It certainly was not intentional, letting you into his life, his lab, his affection; it was more of you simply waltzing in and staking claim and refusing not to occupy his thoughts at each and every waking hour.

The realization of the existence of his ill-fated infatuation dawned upon him nary a few months following your introduction as he recognized the textbook signs of it.

Feeling comfortable, at ease with you, longing to message and text and talk to you, experiencing restlessness nightly at the thought of you - he was certifiably done for.

If his fancies were unrequited, it may have been easier; just confess to the hopeless romanticism, get utterly rejected, accept the futility of love and how it was doomed from the start, go back to being your companion.

But no, you just had to complicate things further.

Your reciprocated affections, your incessant presence at his side, an accidental I love you or two - it was unbearable.

So he ditched it. Ditched you. Poured himself into his work and holed himself up in the lab.

Was it the coward’s way out: leaning into the easiest option without consideration for the alternative of not being an emotional recluse? Certainly.

Would that hinder him from doing so in the slightest?

Negatory.

He would rather get the situation dealt with earlier on than encourage the muck of emotions between you two to grow, fester, rot.

No chance he’d ever given for a relationship resulted in anything but failure, pain, anger - giving it another shot could only end in a repeat.

So maybe it was for the best that he pushed you away; better to focus on something sturdy, tangible, real rather than whatever blend of oxytocin and endorphins and serotonin and dopamine was convincing your mind that you loved him.

Those hormones, and consequently those feelings, would fade with time.

You’d get over it.

And he would too.

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

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☄. *. ⋆ ┄ We Fight to Make Up

summary: after a run-in with your ex, steve's anger gets the best of him. sometimes you think he picks a fight just for the make up sex. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader word count: 7.6k warnings: smut, steve calls himself daddy once, briefly mentioned breeding kink, a touch of angst, insecure!steve, also steve with scruff because that needs a warning too, 18+ mdni a/n: ok i'm not the happiest with this but it's been sitting in my drafts for so long and she needs to see the world now so.. enjoy? <3

You don’t go out anymore. None of the party does, really.

Fighting through the end of the world and somehow surviving for three years straight made bars and clubs and getting drunk seem a little less important. It gets too easy to stay within the inner circle that’s seen the same sort of hell you’ve seen.

Eventually, time goes on and you don’t realize that you’ve only been around the same ten people until the thought of going to the grocery store alone sounds scary.

Fighting monsters, weathering alternate dimensions, beating up Russians soldiers — that’s cake. It’s the getting back to normal that’s so hard.

That's a bitter pill to swallow. None of you got to have too much of a childhood before the knowledge of a sentient darkness swirling beneath your feet turned everything upside down (no pun intended). A life with a regular routine unbound by the impending doom of an armageddon is hard to go back to, when fighting to stay alive is all you’ve ever done.

You try really hard, though. All of you do.

The kids try to find a nostalgic amusement in the arcade they used to frequent while grappling with the fact that they’ll never been those kids again. The older group of you dabbles in the simple pleasure of growing up and discovering what adulthood really means — getting drunk and going dancing just because you can, but facing the inevitable consequences of those actions all on your own.

The six of you find a certain solace at the Limelight. For Steve and Jonathan, they serve good beer — obviously cheap and unusually tangy on the tongue, but nice and cold nonetheless. For Eddie and Robin, there’s a karaoke machine and a stage across the bar, complete with every rock ballad imaginable. You and Nancy take special interest in the dance floor — a platform with light-up rainbow squares for all your drunken twirling needs.

It’s a nice place. More than that, it’s a familiar one. Eventually, going there every friday night is like comfort food in the belly, pleasant and warm. Steve feels safe there when he’s with all of you and tonight he’s especially fuzzy with a quiet sort of happiness that’s got his cheeks all pink.

Maybe the beer is partly to blame.

Or maybe it’s because you’ve got your hand tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, anchoring yourself to him and simultaneously fending off any unwanted attention from the scantily clad women around you who can't seem to take their eyes away from your Steve.

But he only watches you as you smile into your glass while Eddie Munson, all sweaty after his Madison Square Garden worthy rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart, tells some stupidly unfunny joke. You’re pressed contently into his side, like you would melt into him if you could, and he’s buzzing with the comfort of your warmth and the chemically induced mellow from the drink in his cup.

It was a good night. An easy one. A fun one.

And then it just… wasn’t.

When your ex waltzes into the bar, he brings the cold air in with him and an unusual sophisticated energy that’s typically foreign to this side of town. He’s got on a gray corduroy blazer and slacks to match. The black turtle neck he wears beneath it clings to his lean torso and broad chest, like he wants people to marvel at how muscular he is.

You don’t even realize it’s him at first. You turn to Nancy to talk shit about the douchebag at your eight o’clock that just walked in while the guy settles at the far end of the bar, around the corner that faces the group of you. He removes the dark Ray-Bans from the straight bridge of his nose and uses them to push back his cinnamon-colored curls.

Steve feels you tense at his side then. You duck inside yourself and force him and Robin to form a makeshift shield around you.

It’s a tad too dramatic for two people who ended on pretty decent terms. It was about as amicable as a breakup can be — you were both seventeen and thankfully already mature enough to know that the relationship wasn’t bound to make it outside of high school. So you split up in search of more fulfilling things.

You found yours, in Steve and in the rest of the party. And by the looks of it — the obviously expensive suit and the silver Rolex glittering under the dim yellow bar light — he found his.

You aren’t exactly sure how, but he sees you.

Probably because Robin couldn’t stop ogling at him from over her shoulder, obviously not getting the hint to act casual and inevitably dragging his attention over to the group of you.

He’s confused by the attention at first and then beaming when he notices you. The man flashes a set of pearly whites beneath a plump pink grin, all but shoving through the crowded bar to come and meet you.

Steve is able to get a better look at him when he’s no more than a couple inches away. The guy wrenches you away from him to wrap you in a friendly embrace, smiling like a ray of a thousands suns while he laughs with a hearty mirth.

A childlike and terribly jealous scowl settles upon Steve's features as his stomach wrenches something fierce. This stranger is touching you, and he hates that he’s touching you, but it’s more than that.

Steve’s almost certain this is what he would look like if he hadn’t been through the end of the world. The ornate suit and sunglasses worth more than most people’s salaries could’ve been his. In another life, he could’ve been this pretty and perfect and pure.

But, instead, here he is — dressed in an aged Hawkins Tigers sweatshirt and hand-me-down jeans that are frayed at the hems. There are bits of dried blood on the knee that he can’t get out. He isn’t quite sure if it’s his or if it belongs to one of the three varying monsters he’s been face-to-face with over the years.

His hair is pushed back and visibly un-styled, fluffier than usual because it hasn’t been washed in a while. And only now does he notice the prickly layer of scruff itching at his jaw and above his lip because the effort to shave is just too much sometimes.

He wishes he had, though. Now, he wants to completely perfect his appearance and change his life entirely — all at the sight of some stranger he didn't know existed before now.

The man introduces himself to the rest of the group when he parts from you — Todd.

Because of coursehis name is Todd.

No one says that out loud, of course, but you do share pairs of knowing looks. Eddie’s the only one brave enough, or rather drunk enough, to take the piss out of the guy.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for Limelight?” he asks before laughing into his beer.

The rhetorical question leads to the man, Todd, to start complaining about work — how he’s making more than he knows what to do with, that the lifestyle isn’t as lavish as everyone made it out to be, that work is his best friend most days because he doesn’t have time for real relationships anymore.

And it doesn’t sound braggy. This isn't some rich guy complaining about all the money he has. He’s genuine, and that’s somehow even worse.

Steve can tell he’s working for some big four accounting firm without him having to say it. He can practically smell it all over the guy. Todd’s just got that air about him, that he’s got an office on the fiftieth story with large glass windows that span from the floor to the ceiling. He’s making well into the six-figures if that’s the case. Just like his goddamn dad.

Just like he would be if the endless cycling of fighting hadn’t stripped him flesh from bone.

Steve forces himself to shove that thought to the back of his mind.

“You know I’ve actually been thinking about, you know, just dropping everything. Putting in my two weeks and fucking off to France,” Todd admits. His eyes sparkle like a pair of fucking diamonds when they lock in on you. “Like we always used to talk about.”

That was your dream. The kind of reverie that wasn’t at all practical or the least bit tangible, but the kind you fantasized about nonetheless.

And here this asshole goes, living it for the both of you.

You’re grinning at him anyway, patting him on the shoulder while you congratulate him. You tell him he should do it. That he deserves it.

Steve, meanwhile, is so angry he can feel the prickle of the red-hot rage on his skin, like so many little needles. It’s a simmering heat for now, all slow and lazy. The longer he holds it in, the more likely he is to pop into a full boil. He knows that. But he keeps the fire in his chest and wallows in that high-pitched ache.

Todd leaves not too long after. Makes it a point not to overstay his welcome. He’s polite when he goes, making sure to talk to all your friends even though he didn’t exactly come for them — he compliments Eddie’s leather jacket and Robin’s taste in style, Jonathan and Nancy are both blushing pink when he praises their work with the local paper. He says something to Steve he can’t quite register because he’s too busy fuming.

The brunette girl beside him is practically swooning, and he has to remind her — “Robin, you’re gay.”

The man was kind, terribly so, the sort of politeness you can’t help but notice and marvel at, like a pretty pebble you’ve found on the ground. He didn’t overstep any boundaries with you either, like he respected that you two were practically strangers now — fucking asshole — and whether or not he knew you were with Steve, he kept a chivalrous distance anyway.

He must’ve known, though, he did have eyes after all. There’s no way he missed the way Steve had been looming over you the whole time. Or the possessive arm he had around your shoulder. Or the stern chocolate gaze that had ping-ponged between you and him the entire conversation.

When he leaves, there’s nothing to talk shit about or make fun of him for. Not only is that really fucking annoying, but it’s boring, and it leaves you and Steve as the punching bags for all their stupid jokes.

“You certainly have a type, don’t ya, doll?” Eddie teases you as he reaches behind Nancy to shove at your shoulder. “Steve’s practically a carbon copy of that douchebag.”

“Holy shit, I can see it now,” Robin marvels breathlessly. Her deep ocean gaze is still locked on Todd across the bar. He’s minding his own business now, ordering another drink, while the rest of you can’t seem to stop talking about him. She turns back to Steve, her eyes flitting over his features like it’s the first time she’s seeing them while she puts the pieces of a puzzle together.

“But, Steve’s like the dollar store version of him, though, right?” she wonders rhetorically and then feels the need to explain herself when Steve furrows his brows at her. “—Because, you know… he’s a lot richer than you are…”

The boy rolls his and brings the beer back to his lips. The clarification makes it sting more.

“Thanks, Rob.”

Steve isn’t quite sure what’s got him seething. He’s the personification of a forest fire now — scorching, raging, and deadly — without a reason to be. It’s entirely likely you’ll never see Todd ever again. He lives in the city these days and he just told you that he was planning on moving to fucking France.

But these facts don’t mean as much to him when he knows that the guy isn’t totally over you.

Steve knows Todd would be more than happy to take you out for coffee tomorrow morning to tie up any left-behind loose ends. He’s a rich guy going through a quarter-life crisis (Steve knows a little about what that’s like, too), he’d be more than happy to sweep an old ex-girlfriend off her feet and take her all the way to France with him. She’d need only to ask him to.

Maybe that’s what angers him. There’s a man, all rich and pretty and unscathed by war, that might love you like he does.

The wildfire in his chest grows. It’s a wonder it hasn't seared a hole in the fabric of his sweatshirt. And it burns. It leaves aching blisters on his skin like it’s the real damn thing. It’s like punches to the face, worse than every time he’s ever been beaten up combined.

He manages to keep the ashes of himself together. It's the least he can do for the rest of you, who obviously aren’t as bothered by Todd’s lingering presence and have since moved on to things more meaningful.

It wouldn’t be fair to project his ache onto you.

You guys don’t get too many nights like this, with work and school and lingering bouts of PTSD — who’s he to ruin this night for everyone else when he’s the problem?

But if any of you notice his simmering anger, you don’t show it.

He isn’t sure if that makes him feel better or not.

Nancy and Jonathan stay no longer than fifteen minutes after the fact. “We’ve got an early day tomorrow,” the say with a shrug, though everyone knows what that’s code for. Robin makes kissing noises at them as they make their exit.

Now, the brunette girl stands in front of the stage that Eddie parades on. He belts “If you only hold me tight, we’ll be holding on forever!” into the microphone for the hundredth time. She cheers for the boy like it’s the first time she’s ever heard the stupid song.

The bartender hands you two drinks, a couple of Sex on the Beach’s for you and Robin to try.

She hadn’t stopped talking about it since she spotted it on the menu even though she hates peach schnapps. You tell Steve you’re going to run it to her and that you bet she won’t make it through one sip without gagging. You also promise that you’ll try and pull Eddie away from the stage when the Bonnie Tyler song fades and then inevitably loops again.

He only nods and mumbles a vague affirmative under his breath. He doesn’t even look at you. Just stares down at his empty glass of beer and draws patterns on the cloudy cup with his finger.

It’s hard not to notice his uncharacteristically long silence.

He hasn’t been King Steve for quite some time, but that version of him always manages to peek out after a couple of drinks. He gets loud and brash and smiley and stupid. It makes the quiet demeanor he possesses now that much more daunting. Like a flag he’s waving to make sure everyone else knows that he’s upset about something or other.

Eventually, it makes you burst.

“Is something wrong?” you blurt.

He finally glances at you then. And has the gall to look confused. “What?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. You shift your weight on your feet and try to ignore the distant stinging of the ice glasses in your hand, how the cold of them shoots pins and needles into your palms. “You’re just… being really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” he dismisses with a shrug of his own. A hint of a smile flashes at the very corner of his mouth before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows down the rest of it in one quick gulp. You watch anxiously as he waves to the bartender for another.

“We can go home if you want—”

“Jesus, I’m fine,” he interjects. The laugh that spills from his throat borders on annoyance. “Just go get the freak before he drives me crazy.”

With that, the two of you part ways. You, with the knowledge that something’s wrong with your boyfriend but having no way to make it better because he won’t tell you anything. And Steve, with another irrational reason to be angry at the world because how do you not get it?

If his ex-girlfriend showed up to a bar, looking like an airbrushed model with more money than all of you combined who’s got brains and wit and humility, he’d want you to get a little fucking jealous too.

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. But he chooses to wallow in his anger than reflect on it, anyway. He takes pity on himself and makes everyone else out to be the enemy. Like he does best.

Even hours later, when he’s sobering up with room temperature water and a bowl of pretzels — and you’re calling a cab for a significantly drunker Eddie and Robin — he still feels the sting.

He makes sure you know it too.

The drive back home is uncomfortably quiet, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he at least had the radio on. But when he stuck the key into the ignition and music started blaring from the speakers (because he forget to turn it down beforehand), he turns it off completely. You feel to awkward to touch it.

“Do you, uh… Do you wanna talk about it now?” you ask him.

You’re unfamiliarly timid with him as you peer at him through your lashes. It’s like you’re looking at the sun, the way you have to glance at him from the corner of your eye so he won’t blind you. And it isn’t because of his usually sunny disposition because, somewhere along the course of the night, his shine got snuffed out. It’s because he’s practically lit himself on fire with his anger where he sits next to you.

And he still has the nerve to shake his head. “Talk about what? I told you, there’s nothing wrong,” he dismisses with one hand in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the other resting its elbow against the driver’s side door while his fingers pick anxiously at his lower lip. Nothing wrong, my ass.

“Are we seriously gonna play that game tonight?”

“What game?” he scoffs out a laugh.

“The game here you’re upset about something, but refuse to tell me why, so I have to guess what’s wrong with you until I get it right and you let me make it better.”

Steve glances at you and then back to the road. “I… I don’t do that.”

Oh, fuck, he totally does, he thinks to himself. Fuck, he hates that you know him so well.

“You’re literally doing it right now.”

“Well, I can’t be. Because I’m not upset about anything,” he argues with a shrug. “That’s, like, a mathematical impossibility. Or whatever.”

“Considering this is the most you’ve said to me all night, I know that isn’t true— And it’s not even a conversation! You’re just being passive aggressive!”

“Passive aggressive, huh?” he repeats sardonically.

“Yes!” you seethe. “You’re mad at me and I can tell that you’re mad, so just tell me why—”

“I’m not mad at you,” Steve grumbles. He feels even more like shit for making you think he was acting all pissy because of something you had done. You hadn’t done anything. You were perfect. You’re always perfect. And here he goes, making you think otherwise.

He slows to a stop at the last red-light before home. The neon scarlet matches that anger sweltering in his belly. He still refuses to look at you.

“Then what happened between when we got to Limelight and right now that’s got you so fucked up?” you ask him with a furrowed brow and inquisitive eyes.

The boy only huffs. His chest deflates with a heavy breath. He almost forgets to answer you because he’s too busy praying for the light to turn green so he can get the fuck home.

He just needs a little food in his system, he concludes, and a nice hot shower and a bed to rest his tired bones. Maybe then he’ll be able to function like he’s meant to.

He feels a sense of relief for the first time in hours when the light bathes the two of you in a neon emerald glow.

You let out a sharp exhale through your nose at his silence. You shake your head at him like an annoyed parent and cross your arms over your chest. Your knees turn away from him and towards the door in time with your gaze that flits to the window. Now you’re the one that’s pissed.

Steve mumbles lowly when he finally answers you. It’s nearly inaudible.

“Your douchebag ex.”

“What?” you reply, sparing a glance over at him. It isn’t a question of whether you heard him or not, but of why that’s what he’s being so mean to you about.

“Your douchebag ex,” he repeats louder and picks chapped skin from his bottom lip. He rubs his tongue over the irritated skin to soothe the burn. “That’s what I’m upset about.”

Your brows furrow as you rack your head for the conversation you had with Todd that you’d already forgotten about. He’d said hello, and that you looked nice, and then asked you what you’d been up to before making conversation with your friends. He’d wished you luck and walked back to his seat not too long after. You wonder if there was some code in his words that you’d missed.

“…I don’t get it. What did he do?”

“Really?” Steve wonders with an emotionless laugh. “You don’t have a single clue why that might’ve pissed me off?”

He barely slows at the sign of the four-way stop. The block is practically a ghost town now. No one’s out so late into the night. Any other time you might’ve said something about it, but you’re just as eager to get home as the simmering boy next to you.

“No! He stopped by to talk for, like, five minutes! Are you really upset because another man talked to me?” you shout and it burns him because, yeah, that is kind of what he’s mad about — but it’s more than that and you don’t seem to get it. It’s not your job to either. He’ll just burn for the both of you.

The car jerks to a stop when he parks in the driveway.

“Yeah, you’re right—” Steve mutters to himself as he snatches the keys from the ignition. “You don’t get it.”

You feel the impact of the slammed of the car door as he exits. The headlights illuminate the boy as he uses his key ring to unlock the front entrance of your shared home. The dim orange overhead light slowly dims above you and then shuts off completely, bathing you in darkness.

With a sigh and a fleeting thought of oh, it’s gonna be that kinda night, huh? you follow less unenthusiastically behind him.

“Then just explain it to me,” you plead, your voice coated with exhaustion. The warmth of the living room seeps into your bones and makes you that much more tired. “I really, really don’t wanna do this tonight.”

“That asshole was all over you,” Steve finally chooses to air his grievances while he toes off his sneakers.

“He hugged me once! What was I supposed to do? Push him off?”

“That’d be a start.”

“I would’ve done it!” you promise.

He plops onto the couch with a rather dramatic huff as you struggle to take off your boots, what with the zipper getting caught in the slider and being distracted by the storm cloud across the room.

“I don’t care about him! I literally haven’t seen him since I was eighteen! I basically forgot he existed in the first place.”

Steve doesn’t let himself take any solace in your words.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs with the shake of his head. He rests his elbows on his knees, runs his palms over his face once before dragging his fingers through his mussed hair. “Sometimes… I don’t know, I guess, sometimes it feels like maybe you deserve someone better than me.”

His confession feels like a stab in your heart.

You can only imagine how many daggers are piercing him now.

“Steve…”

“No. Don’t give me that bullshit spiel, alright?” he spurns with a shake of his stubborn head. When he laughs, it lacks any and all emotion; it’s gut-wrenchingly bitter and coated with venom. “We both know he could take way better care of you than I ever could. He’s practically a fucking millionaire, babe! And he’s, what, twenty-five? He has the money to drop everything and fly across the world— to France.”

“Steve—” you try again, to stop the spiral before it starts.

He doesn’t let you.

“I mean, fuck, I know how bad you wanna go there. You’ve been talking about it since we were eight,” he laments with wide, glassy eyes and an hand splayed out towards you. He brings it, then, to his chest and clutches at his heart, “But I can’t take you. Because I’m so broke, it fucking hurts. You deserve someone to do that shit for you, alright? And it’s not me. It’s never gonna be me.”

“…You really think he can take better care of me than you do?” you ask him so quietly that it sounds like a whimper. Your face is twisted in anguish, like his sadness pains you too.

“Well, yeah,” he chuckles like the answer’s obvious. He sniffles. “Considering we’re working our asses off just to make it through the week and you’d never have to work a day in your life if you were with that asshole.”

“It’s not about the money, Steve,” you agonize with the shake of your head. “I don’t love him. I would be so unhappy if I were with him because he’s not you. I don’t give a single fuck about France if you’re not gonna be there with me.”

You close the distance between you as you walk from the entrance to where he sits in the living room. He can hardly look at you as you round the couch to stand ahead of him, sparing only meek glances your way.

The small smile on your lips only half puts out the fire raging in his chest. It’s one of those natural wildfires now. The kind that you’ve just got to let burn.

“What do I have to do, Steve? What do you want me to do to prove that I just want you?” you ask him softly, nudging your sock-clad foot with his own. “I’ll fucking— I’ll find his number in the phone book right now and invite him over if you want—”

Yeah, because seeing him again is gonna make any of this shit better, he thinks bitterly to himself, though he’s pleasantly surprised by your following promise.

“I’ll make him come over here, act like I wanna catch up or whatever, and then make him watch while I suck your cock,” you paint the picture for him in a suddenly low, sultry tone.

Steve can almost see it — the look on Todd’s face as he stands in the foyer, his hands balled into fists at his side, wearing an angry amber tint upon his perfect face while he watches the girl that got away take a mouthful of another man’s dick. “I’ll get all nice and pretty on my knees for you and make him watch.”

Steve tenses at your words. His fingers twitch where they rests on his knees, itching to get a hold of you. His eyes go heavy as he gazes up at you, his stern stare looking much darker than before — hungrier.

Your eyes carry a similar sort of desire. They swim with innocence and yearning and knowing.

Because both of you understand how your fights usually end. You’ve been together long enough to know. The anger grows and grows in the belly of a dragon until it’s all you can do to keep your hands off of each other. You make Steve come so hard he forgets all the reasons he was raging in the first place and then he apologizes with his tongue deep inside you, touching you in all the tender ways he knows how.

“Yeah,” he breathes with a nod, the word heavy on his tongue. “That’s what I want.”

“You wanna own me, don’t you, Stevie?” you purr.

Your movements are calculated and cat-like as you mount him. Your hands caress him from his knees to his thighs, then rise up to his chest when you straddle his lap. “You wanna fuck me and make me forget about every guy that’s ever had me before you. Is that it?”

He nods, too dumb to speak for now. Your voice is all silk and heat. It reminds him of your wet, hot pussy sitting just over his lap. Only the thin layers of your clothes separate you from him.

“You wanna ruin everyone else for me, huh?”

“Fuck, yes,” he breathes, both in an answer and a moan as your hand reaches between you to grab his cock through his jeans.

“You already have,” you assure with a sincere twinkle in your eyes. “But feel free to remind me.”

When your mouths collide, it’s all tongue and teeth and spit. It’s not passionate, it’s dirty.

His tongue forces its way between your lips and into your mouth, rubbing every part of you he can reach with the muscle, like he wants you to feel all of him there — a lingering touch that you can’t get rid of.

Your mouths caress each other and then break apart again in acute, wet, and filthy clicks that fill the silence in the house.

His stubble softly scratches you as it rubs against your skin. The feeling of it sends chills down your spine. Fuck, you curse to yourself. It’d feel even better between your legs.

Steve separates from you suddenly, his teeth digging into your bottom lip. A whimper leaves your throat as he mouths at it. With hooded eyes, he lets it go and watches it fall back into place. Then he grabs your cheeks with two large palms and drags you back to him, sucking on the bitten skin and then on your tongue.

The sensation’s got you moaning, your eyes rolling back in your head, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Your obedient hands worm between your bodies to unbuckle his belt.

“You gonna be good for me?” Steve asks you while your fingers undo that button on his pants. His lips are pinker and more swollen, coated with a fine sheen of spit that matches what's smeared on his chin.

“I’ll be so good for you, Stevie,” you promise before reaching through the band of his underwear to wrap your fingers around his warm, half-hard cock.

A grunt escapes his throat as he slides your panties to the side. He’s suddenly grateful for the easy access granted by your dress — the one that makes your tits look like heaven, the one he was cursing just hours because it had Todd drooling all over himself when he saw you.

The thought of the man no longer angers him. He’s not the one with his finger between the lips of your pussy, already drenched and coated with you.

“Yeah? You want daddy to fill your hungry little cunt?” Steve asks you, almost taunting you. He only uses that nickname when he’s in a certain mood — the mood to ruin you.

The tip of his finger catches the peak of your swollen clit and you keen.

His touch makes you so stupid that you’ve already forgotten to answer his question. He makes sure to remind you, though, when his hand rears back and smacks against the bare flesh of your cunt.

You hear the wet slap before you feel it.

It makes you clench around nothing and moan louder for him, pressing yourself closer to him.

“Words,”he demands softly.

“Please,” you moan helplessly into his shoulder. You love when he gets like this, assertive and showy with the power you let him have over you. He gets mean with you, but never too much that you forget how much he loves you, and that’s when you like him best.

His finger slips so effortlessly into you. You could easily take more than that with the way your pussy is so eager to suck him inside. He knows it, too. He just wants to tease you.

He wants to leave you empty and yearning before he fucks you silly. For now, he’s taunting you with his slow and clinical touch, observing everything he’s doing to you and how it has you twitching and begging for more.

He wants to commit it all to memory.

He’s barely got the tip of his pointer and middle finger prodding at your clenching entrance; it’s your pussy that drags them further in, opening for him and then tightening around the appendages so they’ll never leave. The obscenity of it makes both of you moan.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty like this,” Steve mutters to himself. “And so fucking wet— enough for me to slip right in, don’t ya think?”

You’re not so sure but you nod into his shoulder anyway. Even after all this time together, you can’t quite get used to how big he is. He still has to work you up to take his cock, with three or more fingers shoved inside of you until you’re ready. Even then, it still burns for the first couple of seconds. There’s always a grace period that you have to wait for before he can move.

And you feel the ache of him in your belly after, every damn time. Like he’s still there.

But you’re so wet now, impossibly so, you don’t think you could feel a thing other than pure bliss when he nestles his cock deep inside of you.

You whine quietly when he pulls his fingers from you, though it turns into a breathy moan when you see them glisten with your wetness. He slides them over his length, jerking himself to lube himself up for you. Just for good measure, he grabs hold of his cock and rubs the rounded tip between your velvet lips, coating it further with your slick.

“Think there’s enough for me to take your ass tonight, baby?” he asks over your low moan. He has to hold back his own, grit his teeth to keep it from leaving his mouth. God, you feel exactly like silk. “You want me to fuck that tight little hole, huh? You’ve only let me in there, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer tightly.

He doesn’t know which question you’re answering. Probably all three. Or maybe you’re just moaning because he’s got you all stupid with his cock and it’s not even inside of you yet. Both seems most likely.

Steve positions himself against you. When you feel the bulbous tip of his head, you hardly wait to slide down, down, down upon his cock.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel full. It takes less time before he reaches the apparent end of you. The feeling makes you jolt against him, like your body’s trying to move back up and away from the sensation on instinct. He’s quick to grab your hips to keep himself inside you.

“Uh-uh,” he hums. “Don’t run away from me.”

“Fuck,” you moan into his shoulder and then whine. The pleasure and the accompanying ache has your head spinning. “You’re already so deep.”

“I know, baby. You gotta take all of me, though, okay? Said you were gonna me by good girl, remember?”

His coo is enough to comfort you. You nod against his neck and let him guide you further and further down his cock.

You grit your teeth when you think he can’t possibly fill you anymore. The burn peaks all at once and ebbs so quickly, letting the rest of his inches slide in you with ease. And, god, if you don’t feel him in your fucking throat.

He stills, thankfully, and lets you get used to the feeling of him all over again.

“There you go,” Steve praises like he always does and then laughs at how rigid you’ve gone. “Breathe, baby.”

The exhale comes out as a sob and a small “fuck”, but you force yourself to relax against him nonetheless. His warm hands rub soothingly against the buzzing skin of your thighs beneath the skirt of your dress. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

“I can feel you in my fucking guts right now,” you slur, voice fragile like glass.

Your words are almost enough to make him burst and you haven’t even moved yet. A deep, hearty groan climbs from his throat. He tips his heavy head to the back of the couch and clenches his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the feeling.

He makes himself climb down from the peak of pleasure and quickly gain his bearings all over again.

“Ride me, honey,” he whispers you.

Immediately, you start rocking your hips against him. His sigh is blissful, almost dreamy, as he watches you work yourself on top of him.

You’re always so patient with your pleasure, so calculated and attentive. You slide your hips back over his thighs and then up again, moaning every time the material of his sweatshirt rubs against your clit. You’re not chasing the feeling, you’re letting it come slowly and ease its way up to you. You know you’ve got all the time in the world.

Steve has always admired your patience, but it’s never one he could hope to possess. He rides toward an orgasm on a white mare. He claims it, he hunts it, he snatches it. Because, you’re right, you’ve got all the time in the world — he wants you to come as many times as the night (or, rather, your pussy) will allow.

So it isn’t at all surprising when gets impatient with your slow movements. And when one hand falls to your ass and the other slides up your back and clutches the opposite shoulder, you know what you’re in for.

Even though you’re expecting it, a high-pitched moan spills from your mouth when he starts fucking up into you. He’s doing a whole lot more than just hitting the right spot. The rubbing of the fabric is unrelenting against your clit.

You’re always done for when he takes you like this. Both of you know it.

“You already close, aren’t you?” he manages through heavy pants over the lewd slapping of his thighs against your own. “This is all it takes, huh?”

“’S because of you,” you slur into the sticky skin of his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you moan.

He can feel himself getting closer and he groans through gritted teeth. The hand on your shoulder ascends to the back of your head. His fingers tangle in your hair and pull you from the refuge you’d found in the book of his shoulder. It allows him to see you for the first time since you’d mounted his cock.

Your cheeks are blotchy and glowing cherry. Your eyes are glassy and glazed over with pleasure. Your lips swollen from where you’d been biting at them.

Perfect, he thinks to himself.

He drags that hand to your chest, wrenching at the plunging neck and pushing it down to reveal your tits. They bound out of the fabric with ease, a small red and raw line at the tops of them from where the dress had kept them so tightly contained.

He palms at your left breast, digs his fingers into the fat of it and lets your hard and pebbled nipple rub against his palm.

“Fuck, baby,” he almost whines. It takes all of his willpower to keep his eyes open to look at them. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s why I wore this— wanted your attention—” you confess through each of his thrusts.

“Yeah, you got my fucking attention, sweetheart,” he manages a breathy laugh.

His heart swells at the thought of you picking this dress because you thought he might like it. That you’d think of him doing something as mundane as picking what you wore out to the bar you went to every Friday night.

It gets too easy to want to slip into that softness. But he knows that you’re already close. So, so fucking close.

“Now come all over my cock for me, yeah?” he demands softly. “Cream on this dick and show me how good you are.”

And, like the good girl you are, don’t need to be told twice.

You shudder against him and then go rigid. He watches with a proud, lazy grin as you tip your head back, squeeze your eyes shut, and let your mouth fall agape. The feeling in your stomach builds and builds and builds, the pleasure disappearing for a moment, before coming back in an explosion that makes you gush.

As though your moans weren’t enough of a confirmation of your orgasm, you go so unmistakably tight around him that it makes his legs twitch beneath you. He angles his hips so he can peek between the two of you to watch the sheen of your cum glisten on his hard cock.

“God, you’re so fucking sensitive like this— holy shit.”

“Steve!” you whine when your high starts to fade and his thrusts only quicken.

He's chasing his own pleasure now, you know that, but the feeling against your abused pussy is growing into a nearly unbearable one.

You bite your lip so hard it’s a wonder you don’t draw any blood. You grip his shoulders and ball his sweatshirt in your fist, tethering yourself to him and to reality.

“Who’s making you feel this good, huh?” he asks with his chin jutted out to look up at you. “Who else can fuck you like this?”

You can tell by his glassy eyes and erratic thrusts that he’s close to his own orgasm. He always wants you to talk him through it, to praise him and to tell him how good he makes you feel. For obvious reason, the whole thing comes terribly natural to you.

“Only you,” you promise tiredly. “’S just you, Stevie—”

“Fuck,” he spits and tilts his head to the back of the couch. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and brings his bottom lip between his teeth, never easing his impossibly swift thrusts.

“Want you to come in me,” you whisper to him. You rest your arms on his shoulders and drag your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and pulling every time he lets a moan slip. “Want you to come so deep inside me— I’m dripping for days—”

“Shit, baby.”

“And then, when I’m all round and full with your baby— everyone’s gonna know who I belong to, right?”

“Fuck yes,” he groans. “Gonna come so— fuck— so nice and deep in this pussy. My pussy.”

“Please,” you beg, like you aren’t half-delirious with your own pleasure. “Come in your pussy, Stevie.”

“Holy shit—” His cock pulses and twitches and then spits inside you. He grabs onto your hips more roughly than he intended and keeps you tightly pressed against him while he comes, giving you several long and warm ropes against your velvet walls. He whimpers when your pussy flutters around him.

You collapse against him when his orgasm comes and goes, rocking against his lap to get him through his high until he stops you with a firm squeeze to your thigh. You both sink further into the couch, swimming in the peaceful void that pleasure always pushes you into.

He rubs his hands beneath the skirt of your dress, petting your warm and sticky skin as the after-sex bliss rest heavily upon the both of you.

“Here,” he breaks the satin silence and taps at your hip. “Get off, baby. Let me get you some water or something—”

He feels you shake your head from where you’ve tucked it in his shoulder again. “Don’t wanna move. Want you to stay inside me.”

“Yeah?”

You’ve never done this before — cockwarming. He’s not sure if you have before, but he definitely hasn’t, and certainly not with you.

Before you, he was the kind of asshole that went to sleep right after sex. The thought of staying inside his partner never crossed his mind. But to his defense, none of his partners thought to do it either. Being King Steve and all meant there wasn’t a lot of cuddling going on after sex. It was usually one-and-done affairs, but he never did this with any of his girlfriends before either.

And now that he’s matured into a somewhat respectable adult, he takes great pride in taking care of you after, in cleaning you up and making sure you’re alright. And when you’re either falling asleep or wanting to shower, there’s no room to be kept inside you. Not until now.

“Wanna fall asleep like this,” you confess. The way you’re halfway slurring and settling more heavily against him tells him you’re not too far off.

“That’s not gonna be comfortable for you, baby,” he scolds softly. Because him — he’s perfect like this. He’s slouched in the plush cushion of the couch and you’re wrapped so tightly around him (in every possible way) you've become his own personal blanket.

But your back is hunched from where your neck is snug and pressed into his shoulder. You’ll likely wake up aching tomorrow, in more ways than one.

“Don’t care,” you mumble and sprinkle kisses to his neck, just because you can. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

“Forever?” he laughs tiredly.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You shift on his lap to look at him, exhaling a moan through your nose when you feel him twitch inside of you, even though he’s going steadily soft. Your gaze is innocent and yearning and knowing — hungry again. “Think you can take that, Harrington?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he promises with a sincere twinkle in his cinnamon colored eyes. “I can take it.”

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