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satorulovebot · 18 hours ago

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so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter one

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — you get the chance to meet the infamous gojou satoru while working on your journalism project at suzuka circuit. what could you possibly want from him?

✧₊⁺ word count — 6.3k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), age gap, alcohol use, mature themes, mentions of cheating, substance abuse, themes of marriage and divorce

✧₊⁺ notes — hello everyone! i asked you awhile ago on a poll which series you would like to see after cursed seas and f1 gojo won the poll and then i posted the masterlist and everyone wants it so you get it now. so here it is. and NO its not happy NEVER expect happiness from me because im allergic to it. also the reader being nosy af is inspired by me and my parents telling me i should be a journalist with how nosy i am.

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

next. (coming soon)

You moved to Tokyo with your family when you were younger.

You grew up in a rural part of the country, surrounded by farmers and people either ready to retire or nearing the end of their lives. Your parents hated living there, and so did you—for one, there were hardly any kids to play with, and two, as your father would say, "too many old fuckers lying around."

When you moved to Tokyo, your family decided to celebrate by taking you to a Formula 1 race. Your dad thought it would be perfect for the two of you since fixing up old cars had always been your daddy-daughter activity.

You didn’t like the idea of racing at first—the noise was too loud, and the idea of people speeding toward a black-and-white checkered line seemed ridiculous. But the moment you heard the roar of the engines and watched the lights go from red to green, you were captivated, a fascination that would stay with you for years.

When you got your first computer, you began looking up videos of F1 drivers. One day, you stumbled across a video titled “The Biggest F1 Scandals in History,” and that was when you decided you wanted to go into journalism.

You were nosy, to say the least. So, it was no surprise to your parents when you announced to them that you wanted to pursue journalism as a career. Your father reminded you how you’d always been curious, listening in on others’ conversations and keeping up with the latest school drama.

When you applied for journalism school, you were accepted into one of the top programs in the world—Sophia University. Your parents were proud that you’d made it into such a highly ranked school for journalism in Japan.

You were now in your fourth and final year at Sophia, and enjoying your journalism class. Recently, your professor assigned a project: write a story about a major pop culture figure of your choice, and for extra credit, get an interview with them. Your professor knew it was damn near impossible, but he was always optimistic that one day, someone would get that interview and he could retire in peace.

That project led you here: Suzuka Circuit, Japan's main Formula 1 track. Your chosen figure was none other than Gojou Satoru—F1's biggest driver in recent years. He was your father's favorite among the new-generation drivers, known for his string of controversies since he started on top of the persistent rumors of his heavy drug use before races.

You had managed to snag a media passs from your professor when you mentioned doing an F1 driver for your project. He was able to pull some strings to get you into the media booth, getting you a closer look at Gojou Satoru in person.

You watched the pre-race preparations closely from the media booth, your fingers hovered above your notepad as you waited for the race to start. You were determined to get a good grade on this project, and that meant adding every single detail to your report about this race.

It was about time for the drivers to gather in their garages, each wearing headsets and ready for the pre-race briefing. The briefing typically covers the race start, various pit stop scenarios, and a detailed weather report. Before each race weekend, they usually spend time in a simulator of the track they'll be racing on, preparing them for the upcoming race.

After about thirty-minutes the racers came out of their garages in their respective cars. They each line up based on the results of a quaifying session that takes place before the race, slowest qualifier in the back, fastest in the front. Gojou Satoru was at the front of the grid, which meant he was one of the qualifiers who had the fastest time.

You waited around for a little while longer turning your attention to what was happening around you. Eventually, you made your way back to the front of the media booth as the race started, ready to report.

The engines revved as each driver began preparing for the start of the race, each car vibrating on the starting grid like a beast straining at its chains. Gojou sat at the front of the lineup, his hands loose on the wheel, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as he waited for the lights to turn green.

The roar from the grandstands faded, becoming a blur of sound as the lights ticked down: red, red, red, red… green.

He slammed the throttle, feeling the raw force of the car’s engine kick him back into his seat as he tore down the straight. Other cars jostled for position behind him, all fighting to claim the inside line into the first turn.

Through his earpiece, he heard the voice of his race engineer, Shokou, calm as ever. “Clear on turn two, you’ve got five-tenths on Hayashi. Stay tight.”

But Gojou barley heard her. The car was an extension of him, responding to his every thought, every split-second decision. He pushed down the straights, his right foot heavy on the accelerator, taking corners at speeds most drivers wouldn’t dare attempt. The sound of his tires skidding against the asphalt, the blur of the track side barriers, the lights of Tokyo reflecting off his mirrors—it all blended into a single, perfect rush.

Gojou could see the next turn ahead, a tight chicane that could send the best drivers into the barriers if they weren't careful. He braked hard, turning the wheel with perfect precision to angle the car through. He could feel the back end wobbling, but he didn't flinch, drifting perfectly as he swung back onto the racing line, gaining another second on the pack.

He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd in his head as he slipped through the chicane. This was his playground. Every race was a chance to remind the world why he was the best.

“Coming up on a DRS zone,” Shoko’s voice crackled in his ear, grounding him, though he was already on it

He waited for the perfect moment, watching the rear-view mirror to see the faint outline of Hayashi's car. He pressed the DRS, and his car shot forward, the drag reduction giving him a temporary speed boost that had him pulling away, putting him in the lead.

The track opened up ahead, the second sector full of wide, sweeping turns. Here was where raw speed mattered more than anything. Gojou pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response. He leaned forward, watching the track fly by, the white lines blurring as he focused entirely on the road ahead.

For a second, the sound in his earpiece went dead, the faint sound of static filling his ears. Then Shokou was back. “You’ve got Yoshida closing in on your tail. He’s pushing hard.”

Gojou glanced up at the mirrors, his eyes catching the bright blue and orange of Yoshida's car looming larger. The familiar thrill sparked in him. So, Yoshida thought he had a chance, did he? Well, he’d show him otherwise.

“Copy,” he muttered into his mic, eyes narrowing as he took the next corner, barley touching the brakes. He felt the tires skid but he managed to control the drift, knowing any slip would open the door for Yoshida to slip past.

He whipped into another straight, his hands steady on the wheel as he hit a top speed.

His foot didn’t so much as twitch as the engine’s roar morphed into a high-pitched scream as the car closed the distance.

The curve ahead was brutal—a tight 90-degree bend that demanded precise timing.

In a split-second decision, he did something no one expected. He braked late, his heart pounding as he cut the turn at a speed that sent the back end skidding. The tires gripped just in time, allowing him to pull out of the corner without losing traction. He could almost feel the shock reverberating as he regained control, his lead still intact.

As the laps wore on, his body moved on instinct, every gear shift, every turn becoming a single, fluid motion. One lap. Two. Three, with two pit stops between. He counted them off one by one, his mind buzzing with the pure rush of speed and the heat inside the car, barely noticing the time passing. The crowd faded into nothing, the world shrinking down to the track and his car.

The final lap. This was it.

“Box this lap if you’re in trouble,” Shokou’s voice crackled again. “Tire degradation is high.”

But Gojou’s grip on the steering wheel only tightened. His front tires were holding out—barely. It would be tight, but he could make it. He’d run this last lap on sheer determination alone if he had to.

“Negative, Shokou. I’m taking it,” he replied, and then turned off the earpiece, tuning out everything except the track and the car in front of him.

He launched into the final lap, throwing caution to the wind. Yoshida was right on his tail now, close enough that he could see the gleam of his headlights in the mirrors. But Gojou didn’t back down. He took each turn aggressively, blocking Yoshida's attempts to pass, forcing him to fall back every time.

The last chicane loomed ahead, his final obstacle before the finish line. He tightened his grip, the wheel trembling under his hands. He took the chicane fast, too fast, almost feeling the wheels lift off the ground as he flew out of the turn. The car rocked, but he held steady, pushing the pedal to the floor.

The finish line was in sight, a faint white line at the end of the straight, and with one last push, he crossed it, the checkered flag waving in his periphery as he tore past.

It was only after he’d crossed over the line that the realization hit him—he’d won.

The cheers erupted in the stands, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he slowed down, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He could hear Shoko’s voice crackling back in as she shouted, “You pulled it off, you insane bastard.”

Gojou grinned, leaning back in his seat, still buzzing. He’d done it again, just as he always did.

The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, Gojou was surrounded by his team. Shokou was the first to reach him, her usually composed face split by a wide grin. She grabbed his helmet and thumped him on the shoulder hard enough so he actually felt it though the layers of his suit.

“You reckless son of a—”

“Language, Shokou,” Gojou interrupted, grinning as he yanked off his gloves, waving to the rest of the Tokyo Jujutsu Racing team that swarmed him.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you pull stunts like that? I’m gonna need a raise after today’s heart attack,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, Shokou. That was just a little fun.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Where’s my confetti?”

“Coming right up, your royal highness." Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, still cold and slick, and he twisted the cap, spraying a wild arc of foam that showered his team and nearby fans.

His PR manager, Nanami, clapped him on the back. “You’re insufferable."

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, lifting the champagne bottle in a mock toast, flashing him a grin. The media’s cameras clicked and flashed, capturing every moment as his crew continued their congratulations.

The crowd pressed close against the barriers, shouting his name, waving homemade banners with scribbled slogans and his number embellished with the colors red and black. He walked closer, one arm raised, acknowledging the fans, letting their cheers fill him up, louder and louder with every step.

But as he continued walking, his gaze caught on something—or rather, someone—just beyond the crowd.

At first it was just a hint curiosity, the way your gaze was fixed on him. A bit removed from the chaos, you leaned against one of the barriers with a media pass hanging around your neck, arms folded as you watched from a distance.

Gojou slightly narrowed his eyes, holding your gaze longer than he'd held any fan's tonight, as if he was daring you to look away first.

“What the hell is that about?” he muttered under his breath, gaze moving back to Shokou for half a second.

“Hm?” Shokou followed his gaze, but her eyes slid right past you, uninterested. “Press. You’ll get used to it. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

He forced himself to break the stare, clearing his throat as Shokou ushered him toward the media pen, where a lineup of journalists waited, all armed with recorders, microphones, and notebooks.

He fielded the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was his mindset, what was he thinking on that last turn? His answers were always the same practiced ones, words sliding out like clockwork.

“Well, Mr. Gojou, what would you say to those who believe your racing style is a little… aggressive?” one journalist asked, a little smirk on her face as if she thought she was catching him off guard.

He snorted. “They can call it what they want. I call it winning.” He shrugged. “I don’t come out here to play it safe.”

A few reporters laughed at his remark, clearly interested in what else he had to say as a fresh wave of questions started.

Somewhere behind the flashing lights, he saw you again, lingering a few feet behind the crowd of reporters with that calm gaze fixed on him. You didn’t raise a recorder or a camera, didn’t even make an effort to push closer for a question. You just… watched.

It was disconcerting.

“Gojou!” Another journalist waved a microphone his face, snapping his attention back to the current situation. “What’s the next step for you this season?”

He forced a smile, eyes briefly looking back to you before he focused on the question. “The same as always,” he said. “Push harder, get faster, and give everyone something to talk about.”

The crowd laughed again, though, he barely heard them, too focused on the strange woman staring right into his soul. The two of you locked eyes and you have him a small nod, as if acknowledging that you were in fact staring into his soul.

“Well, I think that’s enough,” Shokou said suddenly at his elbow, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll have plenty of time to hound you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, though he let her guide him away. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were already gone.

Gojou slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the bustling garage and dodging the congratulatory slaps on his back, the endless rounds of handshakes, and the celebratory shouts. He ducked past a few journalists, ignoring the barrage of questions still hurled his way, his smile slipping as he finally found the door to the bathroom.

Inside, the cool, sterile silence was jarring compared to the noise outside, but he let out a sigh of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked the lock and leaned against the sink, running his hands over his face, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

The victory high had worn off, leaving behind a familiar pressure he could not cope with. It settled on his shoulders like an old, unwelcome friend.

He hadn't realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, how deeply it would itself into him when he was alone. The race had been perfect, his win flawless, but he could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him, a pulsing throb being his eyes. He clenched his jaw, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

But his words fell flat, swallowed up by the silence. In the mirror, his own eyes stared back at him, tired, almost hollow.

He reached into the pocket of his racing suit, fingers brushing over the small, familiar packet hidden in the inner lining. It was a stupid habit, a reckless one really, but it was one he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. He could practically feel the temporary relief in the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, running his thumb along the edge of the packet before pulling it out, setting it on the counter next to the sink. He ripped it open tapping a small line onto the smooth counter top. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, as if it was part of his routine of suiting up or gripping the wheel.

The powder glinted under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, almost mocking him with its simplicity. Just a quick escape, just enough to take the edge off. That’s all he needed.

He leaned down, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply, feeling the sting as the powder hit his nose. He straightened his back, blinking hard, the world around him sharpening as his mind cleared. A small, humorless smile tugged at his lips.

He leaned back against the sink, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension in his muscles fading away.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in, that hollow feeling settling in his chest, a reminder that this wasn't the answer. He knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, how he was destroying his body from the inside out, how it could all come crashing down. And yet… here he was.

“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing against the tiles.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting him back to reality.

“Gojou? You in there?” It was Shokou. “They’re waiting for you out here.”

He stuffed the empty packet back into his pocket, brushed the last of the substance off of the sink, and glanced in the mirror one last time to check his reflection, making sure there was no trace left of his momentary escape.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, forced a smirk, and unlocked the door.

Shokou was standing there, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing as he stepped out. She didn’t say anything, but her judgmental eye lingered over him for a split second too long.

“You good?”

“Never better."

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced, but she dropped it, gesturing for him to follow her.

As the celebrations continued, Gojou weaved his way through fans and team-members alike who were still wrapped up in their post-race celebrations. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find the strange woman from earlier who he noticed had a press pass, thinking you would be here.

And then he saw you, leaning against a stack of crates near the garages, observing the current scene with the same judgmental eyes that Shokou had. The media badge hung from your neck, swaying slightly as you shifted your weight, pulling out a notebook and flipping through it, seemingly absorbed in what you were currently doing.

He cleared his throat as he approached, the echo of his footsteps giving his presence away.

You looked up, your brow raised as he came closer, a hint of intrigue flashing in your eyes.

“Looking for something?” you asked, not moving as he stopped in front of you.

“You could say that,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze darted to the notebook in your hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, off in the shadows. Didn’t feel like joining the crowd?”

“Not my style.” You shrugged. “I’m not here to cheer. I’m here to report.”

“Journalist, huh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “What’s your angle?”

“The truth,” you said, a little smile pulling at your lips as you studied him. “Not everyone’s a fan of that, I know.”

“Depends on what you call the truth. But I’ve got a feeling you’ve already got your version.”

"How perceptive. I’m doing a piece on your racing career, your achievements, but… the public wants a fuller picture, don’t you think?

“Not sure I follow. Everyone knows what they need to know.”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping through your notebook. “There’s more than just racing stats when it comes to Gojou Satoru, isn’t there?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People say you’re… unraveling. Your recent ‘questionable decisions’ are starting to paint a different picture, don’t you think?” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook. “The accidents, the fines, the constant change in pit crews—”

“Is this some kind of witch hunt?” he interrupted. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, princess, but I’ve heard it all.”

“Maybe so.” You leaned in a bit, meeting his stare. “But what about the whispers that aren’t out yet? The suspicions about you cheating the drug tests, your team shielding you—” You paused. “There’s a lot of money on your success, Mr. Gojou.”

“Money and racing have always gone hand-in-hand, don’t you think? You’d have a hard time finding someone out here who hasn’t bent a rule or two.”

“True enough.” You titled your head slightly. “But even the most golden careers have a way of losing their shine.”

"Tell me—do you enjoy tearing people down for a living?”

“Only if it’s warranted,” you replied unfazed. “People aren’t interested in perfect stories. They want the flaws, the dirt. It makes it all more real. At least that's what my professor believes."

“You’ve got a wicked mind, I’ll give you that. But I hope you realize you’re not the first to come sniffing around for the ‘real story’.”

A pregnant pause settles between you before you asked, “And what about her?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Who?”

“Your wife. She’s been… noticeably absent from the press circuits. And rumor has it things aren’t exactly picture-perfect between you two.”

“Rumor has it,” he repeated. “Guess you know how it is in this business. There’s always some rumor or another.”

“So it’s just a rumor, then? All the time apart, the missed events, her name suddenly missing from every headline. You’re saying there’s nothing to it?”

“People are eager to make stories out of nothing. My private life is just that—private.”

“That’s interesting,” you murmured, not looking away. “Because the most recent stories about you and her—they’re awfully detailed. People are noticing, wondering why she’s suddenly… disappeared from the scene.”

“Let them wonder. Like I said, people will talk. And it seems like you’re more interested in gossip than journalism.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Journalism is about uncovering the truth,” you countered. “But it seems like you’re more comfortable brushing things under the rug than addressing them.”

His smile returned, his carefully crafted facade sliding back into place as he straightened up, glancing away from you, clearly bored of the conversation. "Maybe someday you'll get the truth you're so desperate for, but it's not going to be today."

Before he walked away completely, he gave you one last look, his tone playful but laced with a hint of warning. “Be careful what you dig up, princess. Sometimes the truth’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

And with that, he turned his back to you, disappearing into the crowd.

Gojou returned home after the long night of celebrations had died down, the adrenaline from the race long gone, now replaced by a gnawing emptiness that felt like it might hollow him out. His penthouse was in the hear of Tokyo—a sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the neon-drenched skyline.

As he opened the door, the soft him of the city below was drowned out by the sound of footsteps, His wife, Hana, appeared from the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, her dark hair pulled back, a looking a frustration etched onto her face.

“You’re late."

“Didn’t realize I was on a curfew,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Don’t act like that.” Her eyes flashed as she followed him into the living room. “You missed the dinner with my parents again. They’ve been asking about you, wondering why you’re never around.”

“Hana, I just won a race,” he replied, exasperated. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood to play the doting son-in-law tonight.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “Of course, it’s always about the race with you. Everything is about that damn career, isn’t it?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know it would mean you disappearing for days, weeks sometimes, chasing whatever thrill you think you need to feel alive.”

“What’s your point, Hana? We’ve had this argument a hundred times.”

“The point is, Satoru,” she said, voice trembling with anger, “that you seem to care more about everything else than this marriage. I’m just a fixture in your life, something you come back to whenever you need to check a box or show face. But you’re never really here.”

He let out a harsh laugh, the bitter sound filling the apartment. "Here we go again. Hana, it’s not like you’ve been some shining example of commitment either. You’ve known what this is for months.”

“What this is?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly as she repeated his words. “What exactly is ‘this,’ Satoru? A sham? A partnership for appearances? I thought you loved me…"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she continued softly, her voice breaking. “The lying, the pretending. It’s exhausting.”

“So what do you want me to say, Hana? That I’m some perfect husband?” He gestured to himself, shaking his head with a smirk that looked almost pained. “We’re both guilty here. Let’s not act like this hasn’t been a slow-motion train wreck.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“What do you want from me, Hana?” he asked quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of him. “You want me to pretend I’m someone I’m not?”

“I want… I wanted the man I married. The one who cared, who had dreams."

“Then maybe,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s time to stop pretending.”

As Gojou stood there running a hand through his hair. Hana paused, her expression shifting from something resigned to something wounded.

“And there’s one more thing."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. “Fucking Christ Hana, what now?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Satoru?” she asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I know what’s out there. The rumors. The whispers about who you’re with when you’re not here. Or maybe you think I don’t hear them.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hana, they’re just rumors. You know how the press is—they’ll twist anything for a story.”

“Twist what, exactly? Why do they have something to twist in the first place?”

“They don’t have anything. It’s just the media looking for something to make people read. Speculation sells.”

“Right. Speculation. But funny how it’s always about you, always linked to another woman.”

“That’s because I’m under a microscope. People love to create scandals, especially with someone like me. And you know that better than anyone.”

“It’s not just them, Satoru. People talk, and it’s not just baseless gossip. I’m not naive. I hear things from people close to you, people who actually know you.”

“You really believe them? You think I’m out there, risking everything for some—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue.

“Do I? I don’t even know my own husband anymore. Maybe I should ask them. Or maybe I should ask you directly, Satoru. Are you seeing someone?”

“Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I want the truth. Just once. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

“Believe what you want, Hana. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Then maybe that’s all I need to know.”

Gojou stormed out of his apartment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to shake off his frustration. He'd had enough for one night. His heart was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to drown the anger with something that could at least help him forget.

The bar he found was tucked away down a dim side street in Shibuya. It wasn't anything fancy–a dark cry from the glitzy nightlife he was used to–but it was dark and quiet which was exactly what he needed. He slid onto a bar stool and motioned for a drink, not bothering to pay attention to what the bartender poured.

He sipped his drink in silence, trying to tune out the night and all the noise in his head. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it was a welcome distraction that numbed his anger and frustration. He was almost on his third drink when he noticed someone sitting in the corner of the room, hunched over a notebook, tapping her pen against her cheek in thought.

She's cute, he thought to himself. He squinted trying to get a better look at the young woman, and he immediately recognized, it was you.

Of all the places he'd expect to see you, this shitty bar wasn't one of them. You looked so absorbed in your work, like you were piecing together something for a story. Satoru's curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up carrying his drink as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the back of the chair across from you. “Didn’t peg you for a bar rat, but maybe I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Gojou Satoru. What a surprise.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already taking the seat.

“Didn’t think someone like you would end up in a place like this. Celebrating?”

He gave a dry laugh, swirling the glass in his hand. “Something like that.”

“So, what are you doing here, really? Figured you’d be at a fancy cafe, writing about some important news story.”

“Maybe I am. Research is research, even if it’s in a bar. Maybe it’s you I’m writing about.”

“So I’m your new project, huh?”

“Maybe. It’s part of this little journalism course I’m doing. We’re supposed to pick a public figure and write a profile. Someone who’s got a… colorful public image.”

“Colorful, huh?” He smirked. “Guess I’m your lucky target. Hope I make an interesting subject."

“Interesting is one word for it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s got you so quiet tonight? I thought you’d be surrounded by fans somewhere.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not in the mood for fans tonight.”

“Tough race?”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “Not the race. Just… life, I guess.”

“So,” he said, leaning in. “tell me about this little journalism course. You planning to make a career out of stalking poor drivers like me?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re learning how to ‘uncover the truth’—or at least, that’s what they say. So far, it’s been a lot of digging through archives and learning to ask the right questions.”

“Right questions, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear one. What would you ask me, if I were your ‘colorful public figure’?”

“Alright, Gojou. How does someone at the top of their game manage to keep it all together? All the races, the publicity, the pressure… don’t you ever feel like it’s too much?”

“Honestly?” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not as easy as it looks, being the guy everyone thinks has it all together. But people don’t care about that part. They just want the show.”

“So you put on the show.”

“Guess that’s what it comes down to.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “People don’t want to see a guy crack under pressure. They want the image.”

“But what do you want?”

No one ever asked him that, as if what he wanted didn’t matter.

“What do I want?” he repeated, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to dodge the question. “Maybe another drink.”

I’m serious. Behind all of that… what’s left?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t even know anymore. It’s like I’ve been going so fast for so long, I can’t remember what it was I was chasing in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to figure out, then.”

He looked at you, and the faintest trace of a genuine smile broke through. “Maybe.”

The two of you sat in silence, and he found himself grateful for it. You didn't press or pry at him and he thought that he could just be himself, even if it was just for a little while.

“Alright,” he said finally, nudging your notebook with his finger. “So, future journalist, you really gonna write all this down? Make me sound like some tortured artist?”

You smirked. “I’ll try to be kind. Maybe I’ll even leave out the part where you go to bars alone and pretend to be mysterious.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, holding up his drink in mock surrender. “Noted. But I expect a copy when it’s published. Autographed, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing as you clinked your glass against his. “But don’t expect it to be flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the conversation continued, Gojou found himself leaning in closer. You both let the drinks keep coming, though it was less about how much alcohol you were consuming and more about the way the words spilled more easily between you two.

“So,” you asked, taking another sip of your drink, “what’s it actually like out there? Everyone sees the fame, the money, the cars, but… what’s it really like?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Honestly? It’s… intense. There’s this high to it, this adrenaline. Nothing like it. You’re pushing yourself and everyone around you to the edge," he tilted his head. “But sometimes, it feels like the line between winning and crashing out isn’t as thick as people think. You cross it once, and that’s it—you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“A little. But I’m more afraid of what happens if I stop. It’s like… I don’t know what I’d be without it. Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. I get it. When something’s all you know… giving it up is like giving up a part of yourself. Scary as hell.”

“Exactly. Guess we all have our addictions, huh?”

Shit. Did he say too much?

You didn’t push, just gave him a quiet nod. “So, what’s Tokyo Jujutsu like? It's one of the toughest team on the grid, right?”

“You know it. They’re tough as hell, no room for error. And they sure as hell won’t give you a second chance if you mess up.”

“Sounds brutal."

“Yeah, maybe. I guess I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

“Enough about me," he continued. What about you? What’s the deal with this journalism project? Are you trying to make a name for yourself by exposing all my secrets?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, my goal in life isn’t to ruin yours. I actually think it’s fascinating, learning what drives people, what keeps them going, even when things get messy.”

“Messy? What makes you think my life is messy?”

“Oh, please. Gojou Satoru’s life is one headline after another. You’re practically the poster boy for drama.”

He feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’m just a guy trying to make a living, you know?”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just a guy who happens to have a dozen scandals and an equal number of speeding tickets.”

“Hey,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a professional, okay? That’s all part of the job.”

The two of you continued to chat into the night. Gojou found himself relaxing, caught up in the rare comfort of talking with someone who didn’t expect him to play a part. He could just… be.

At some point, the bartender announced last call, and Gojou glanced at you, smirking. “Guess that’s our cue.”

You stretched, gathering your notebook and tucking it under your arm. “Thanks for the, uh, ‘research material.’ It was… enlightening.”

He laughed, standing and grabbing his coat. “Anytime. But don’t go making me look like a complete asshole in your little project, alright?”

“No promises."

Outside, the air was crisp as he faint hum of city traffic the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slid his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

Outside, the air was crisp as the faint him of the city being the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slide his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

“Only if you’re brave enough to handle more questions.”

“Oh, I’m plenty brave. But we’ll see if you’re as good at digging as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to leave, throwing him a casual wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Gojou.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching as you disappeared down the empty street.

In that moment he realized, he never did catch your name.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x y/n #gojou satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo saturo #satoru gojo #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen au #gojo fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you

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wild-fern21 · 2 days ago

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Paring: Luke Hughes x reader Synopsis: Meeting someone's parents was scary. Meeting your boyfriend's parents was the worst, when meeting a friend's parents they didn’t have to like you, it was good if they did but if they didn’t it doesn't matter, but meeting a boyfriend's parents meant they had to like you especially if your boyfriend was close with his family. warnings: None that I can think of

You were meeting Luke’s family before the Canucks vs Devil, he had told you numerous times that no matter what you wore, his family wouldn’t care but you still worried. As you stood in front of the mirror you had a pile of clothes next to you and a few scattered around you.

Every outfit you tried on seemed to be wrong. Either too much skin was shown, or you looked like you were trying too hard. Luke had been out with his friends for most of the afternoon. When he walked into the apartment and was met with Jack sitting on the couch in front of the TV the middle Hughes turned to him before speaking.

“You should check on Y/n” Jack says Lukes face turns in confusion “She is freaking out over what to wear to dinner tonight” he adds after seeing his brother's confused face.

“She told me she was alright with picking out an outfit, I texted her earlier and she told me she had it sorted out” Luke told the older boy who shrugged.

“Well she’s been in your room changing outfits since you left, she kinda freaked out over what to wear, I’ve been helping her but she hasn’t found one yet” Jack tells his younger brother his tone slightly worried, Luke let out a sigh and walked down the hallway to were his room is. As he enters the room he is immediately met with a pile of clothes on the ground.

“Hey sweetheart?” Luke spoke softly as he saw you sitting on the bed in a t-shirt and shorts. “Jack’s told me you’ve been stressing out all afternoon.”

You turned to your boyfriend and smile “I just need to find the right outfit, I don’t want you family to think” Your sentence was cut off when Luke walked over to you and brought you into a hug he present comforts you as you bury your head into his jumper, he gently kiss the top of your head.

“You’ve already met Jack and he loves you, Quinn will be happy he gets to meet the girl I haven’t shut up about and my parents already love you from the amount I’ve spoken about you. Nothing to stress about” Luke's words reassure you and you look at the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Do you reckon you could pick out an outfit?” You ask softly, as you move to clean up the clothes that had been scattered around the room. Luke made a sound of agreement and walked over to the pile looking for a certain dress.

He spotted the dress near the bottom of the pile, a small smile made its way to his face. He had brought you this dress for your anniversary and you hadn’t had a reason to wear it. “I think this is the perfect dress” He holds the dress up so you can see it. You send him a small smile as you go to take the peace of clothing from him.

He moves the dress out the way and leaned down puckering his lips out slightly, “I think I deserve a kiss for my valiant effort in finding your dress.” You shake your head and gently kiss him, once you pull away he hands over the dress.

“Ok I am going to clean this up, you can go make sure Jack is ready to go” You say knowing that Luke was just going to wear the clothes he wore out earlier. Luke gave you a salute and walked out the bedroom door to go get his brother.

You had made it to dinner earlier than everyone else and you started to stress, you took your seat in between Jack and Luke gently fidgeting with the end of your dress. Luke, noticing your nerves, and places his hand over your allowing you to fidget with his fingers while the three of you wait for the rest of his family.

Jack stood from his chair, a smile spread across his face as he loudly yelled his oldest brother's name, “Quinny!” This caused you and Luke to stand up as Jack went to give his brother a hug. You moved behind Luke slightly as he greeted his brother eventually Luke came back to your side joining you hand together. As you greeted the oldest brother

Quinn looked at you, his smile turning soft as he noticed your and Luke connected hands “You must be Y/n, I have heard alot about you from this one” Quinn said nodding his head to the boy who was smiling as he watched you and his oldest brother, an anxious smile crossed your face as he spoke. Quinn opens his arms offering you a hug which you immediately agree to.

Pulling out of the hug the group of you make your way back to the table talking everything they had missed during the hockey season. Quinns phone dings causing the table to look at him as he speaks “Mom and Dad just arrived,” Your nevers spiked again as you all stood up waiting for the older couple to make their way to the table.

The boys went to greet their father as Ellen made her way to you, immediately bringing you into a hug “You are so beautiful” She turned to her youngest son and swatted his should “why didnt you let us meet her earlier” She spoke.

Jack let out a small laugh knowing how much you were freaking out over meeting them today if you had met them earlier he couldn’t imagine how much of more stressful that would of been if you had met anyone of them earlier.

Jim comes and greets you bringing you into another hug as Luke stood slightly further back watching with a soft look in his eyes, a smile present on his face at the how well you and his family got along.

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fic #nhl x reader #nhl x y/n #nhl x you

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mythalism · 2 days ago

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im so sorry to be a mythal lover like my icon and url suggest but i genuinely think her relationship with solas in this game was one of its best writing moments and specifically their confrontation is the highlight of this game for me and i have to talk about it.

it is so fucked up and tragic and raw. it shows us a side of him we have never seen before. she is so brutal but also somehow kind. she is probably the most complex and nuanced character in the entire dragon age universe. what she did to him was inexcusable and she takes full accountability for it but she also does not apologize. its SO INTERESTING!!! ITS SO INTERESTING!!!!

WHEN HAVE WE EVER SEEN HIM LOOK LIKE THIS>??? HIS FACE??? HIS BODY LANGUAGE????? HE LOOKS TERRIFIED AND WRETCHED. WE HAVE NEVER SEEN HIM LOOK LIKE THIS EVER.

HE WHISPERS HER NAME, AVERTS HIS GAZE. HE CANT EVEN LOOK HER IN THE EYE. HIS NAME IS PRIDE??? HE IS THE DREAD WOLF AND HE IS THE MANIFESTATION OF PRIDE AND LOOK AT HOW HE LITERALLY CRUMBLES IN HER PRESENCE???? HOLY SHIT. THIS IS SO UNLIKE HIM

i love that she does not apologize. it would have been out of character. she isnt sorry and she never was, but she at least takes accountability for what she did to him and the effect it had. she does not offer meaningless platitudes of sorrow. why would she??? she just plainly states the truth.

I RELEASE YOU FROM MY SERVICE. I RELEASE YOU FROM MY SERVICE. HE STILL CANT LOOK HER IN THE EYE. HE IS SOOOO SUBMISSIVE HERE WHAT THE FUCK. honestly i need to make a comparison between their body language here and his body language with lavellan in trespasser but that'll have to be for another time. but i am so obsessed with this line being what she says of all the things she could have said. again no apologies. just catharsis. and she talks to him like a loyal dog, someone under her command, a subordinate, not a lover. did she always see him that way? where did those lines blur? this would have been a good moment for an "ar sala mala revas" but this line is so brilliant on its own i cant complain.

AND THEN YOU HAVE THIS NEXT. THE WAY THEY ARE THE INVERSE. mythal stands over him and looks down upon him, while lavellan literally GETS ON HER KNEES TO SEE HIS FACE. TO LOOK HIM IN THE EYE. BRO THIS IS SO SICKENING. once again it mimics the way they kneel in trespasser, the way they kneel when he removes her vallaslin. and even though he's not kneeling he is bent over in agony and she is quite literally meeting him where he is at ohhhh myg od

and then when it is finally his time to address her directly he looks her right in the eye, his face is calm and not wretched like before when he looked upon mythal, im literally so sick over this look like how long has it been since they stood face to face like this, 8 years????? i havent even gotten into the way his face is bloodied and bruised like this is so vulnerable im literally dying i dont even remember what my point was with writing this i just needed to scream about it. i think mythal's presence here gives so much context to solavellan's dynamic. seeing how he is with mythal versus with lavellan back to back, how mythal speaks down to him while lavellan literally looks up to him. also something something about how lavellan offers him forgiveness while mythal offers him freedom. maybe i can make these thoughts more coherent in like a week from now but right now im running on 3 hours of sleep and pure dopamine. this scene is so fucking crazy i love it.

#veilguard spoilers #solas #mine.txt #datv spoilers #dav spoilers #da:v spoilers #da spoilers #solavellan

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unnounblr · 1 day ago

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There's supposedly over 161 million registered voters in the U.S., in 2024 (it was 168 million in 2020, apparently about 7 million people died or got taken off the registration, which might be voter suppression) a total of about 141 million votes have been counted for both Harris and Trump so far.

And there's millions more citizens who are eligible to vote but have never been registered.

Trump won the popular vote by about 5 million this time, but there's still about 20 million people on the voter rolls who evidently aren't part of the Democrat+Republican totals. Those 20 million (and, votes are still being counted, so the final total might be less, though I did round the Trump total up to 73 million and the Harris total up to 68 million, for my convenience) either didn't vote (at least for the presidency) or voted third party.

Since the electoral college is what decides who the president is, though, it does depend on where those 20 million live. And I'm doing this on my phone, and don't have the time or energy to do that statistical breakdown for every single state, how many registered voters per state vs. how many people did or didn't vote in that state.

Harris got about as many votes as Clinton in 2016, maybe a few million more, Trump got about as many votes as he got in 2020, if a little less.

A lot of the swing states that went for Trump, did have Abortion initiatives and other progressive initiatives on the ballot, many of which passed, and a few of them supposedly had local elections that went blue, even when the counties themselves still went for Trump, or the district voted for a republican for a congressional seat.

And, like, that's odd, honestly. Like, a possible explanation is that, progressive voters turned up, voted for a democratic mayor or state senator or governor or abortion rights or whatever, then left all the federal selections blank. Because while state legislatures and governors can't actually do a lot about foreign policy, they can, in fact, do things to people in their states and cities.

But for that to be true it would require a big difference between the vote totals for Trump+Harris in those states and the vote totals for those down-ballot races, and. There doesn't seem to be, at first glance? It seems like otherwise democratic voters, or voters who voted for progressive ballot initiatives. Voted for Trump anyway. And 20 million registered voters just didn't turn up.

And, to be cynical for a moment? It isn't like the Israel/Palestine conflict started on October 7th. Palestinians have suffered wrongdoing by the government of Israel since the modern state of Israel's founding, and Israel has had better weaponry and American support for a very long time and they've definitely dropped bombs before. And they've also had the illegal settlements in the West Bank for years.

And all of that was also already true in 2020, and Biden supported Israel back then too. His political stance on Israel didn't change between then and now. Biden already said he would never support Medicare for all, or single-payer healthcare, everyone knew he was moderate/conservative, right-wing, on a lot of issues. Biden in 2020 had some support from some "never Trump" Republicans who endorsed him as well.

And Biden could be associated with Obama and Obama's handlings of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, as Obama's VP. And the U.S. armed forces who actually answered to Obama were the ones doing war crimes and drone and missile strikes for that.

But it seems like Biden was able to get away with it and get 10 million more people to vote for him, very possibly, because he was a white guy. The same complaints had a harder time. Sticking.

Its not like nobody had complaints about the Biden campaign's mismanagement. His history of gaffes, the time he was in a basement and nobody saw him for weeks.

Then again, maybe Biden just got lucky that Covid happened, and Trump clearly and obviously mismanaged it. And Harris, in turn, got associated with the slow economic recovery from Covid, lead by the Biden Admin, and with all the wars in Ukraine and Israel/Palestine that Biden evidently didn't do well enough resolving.

Wars that, again, had already been happening, going back to when Putin's Russia annexed Crimea back in 2014, and, again, the very long history of the Israel-Palestine conflict. But I guess people don't care as much when it isn't in their news feeds or their social media timelines.

...Honestly. The thing that gets me about the popular vote totals is that. Trump went from 63 million in 2016, to over 74 million in 2020, and he's still at almost 73 million now.

So, yeah, there's 20 million people who didn't vote this year, aside from the millions who aren't registered, but. 10 million more people voted for him than voted for him the first time he won.

And. That's a lot scarier to me, in all honesty.

"I don't want to see anyone blaming abstaining voters for this!"

Of course you don't. The entire idea of abstaining was that you could pretend this didn't involve you. Not getting blamed was more important to you than doing any kind of damage control, more important than protecting any of the people you said you wanted to protect. And in this moment, I don't really care what you want. Of course, this isn't entirely your fault. Of course other people made this worse. But if you're going to pretend you had nothing to do with this, forgive me if I ignore you.

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warping-realities · 1 day ago

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Online Scam - An OnlyFags Story

Inspired by the concept created by @johnbrand and @boysmentfs

Henry wasn’t having a good day; hell, it wasn’t even a good week or month. He had been stoked for college, ready to hit up new places and live it up, but the truth was that everything was turning into a total shitshow. His roommate was barely tolerable and he hadn’t made a single friend yet. All of this was messing with his head. But what really got to him was being totally broke, not having a dime to his name. His dad sent him a bit of cash, still stuck between being proud of having a son in college and feeling ashamed that son was openly gay. Henry, a name picked by his late mother, who passed down her delicate traits both physically and mentally, knew his dad earned that money busting his ass as a mechanic at a big car shop, and it didn’t come in large amounts, but surely he could send more than the pathetic little sum he was sending. The young man wondered if he’d get more cash if he had a sports scholarship instead of one for his grades.

While hunting for a side gig that could hook him up with some cash, Henry got blindsided by a new message alert on his computer screen. It wasn’t just the message itself; it was who it was from. Larry Thomas was in charge of the more complex systems at the car company where Henry’s dad worked. He was a relatively new hire, and Henry’s dad didn’t get along with the guy at all, with Henry only knowing him from the last company holiday party, since Henry’s dad didn’t want a “degenerate faggot” near his son. The irony of the situation was lost on the old man.

“Hey, kid, I heard your dad telling the guys he cut your funds to force you to man up or whatever. Maybe this will help you scrape together some cash!” the message from the man said, along with a link. Feeling like he had nothing to lose and pissed off at his dad, who he was now sure was punishing him for being gay, Henry clicked the link, which immediately started downloading some kind of app.

“Shit, I hope this ain’t a virus,” he muttered in front of the computer screen.

After loading, a logo popped up at the top: OnlyFags. What the hell was that? Some kind of joke from Larry? Did he team up with Henry’s dad just to humiliate him? Nah, that didn’t make sense; they hated each other. Still, Henry had caught a few looks from Larry directed at his dad that made him think there was some kinda unrequited attraction there… Before he could do anything, a text box popped up asking “Are you a creator or a user?” followed by two more boxes for a username and password. Henry’s computer acted on its own, typing in a sequence so fast he couldn’t read anything that was written or checked. The screen froze for a moment, a spinning circle indicating something was loading, and soon a bunch of boxes appeared on the screen with various profiles.

A massive shock hit Henry with what those profiles showed. He stared in horror and disgust at what they displayed. Mostly dudes between twenty and forty years old with their bodies on full display, playing with pierced nipples, licking feet, or even getting off in plain sight! He moved the mouse, intending to close that crap and delete that app from his computer ASAP.

But fear took over as, instead of shutting down that damn app, the mouse pointer moved on its own to click the profile button in the opposite corner of the screen. The screen loaded again, and there was a profile filled out for him— name, age, height, weight, shoe size, and even dick size. All of it wildly different from reality. A warning popped up quickly: “Your profile picture is outdated! Would you like to take a new one?”

A sudden wave of even greater horror washed over Henry as his hand clicked “yes.” The front camera opened, and his hand set the timer for twenty seconds before propping it against the headboard of the bed, moving to the other side. Almost robotically, he took off his shirt and tossed it on the floor before adjusting his pose for the camera. He moved, trying to get his foot in the shot while flexing one arm, not realizing he’d gained a bunch of pounds of pure muscle and that his delicate size 7 feet had ballooned to a more robust size 10.

Paralyzed and unable to move, he saw a message pop up on the computer screen. “New photo uploaded! Error!!! Photo does not match profile. Correcting parameters!” Scared, he quickly summoned the last bit of willpower he had and tried to get up and shut that app down once and for all, only to be shoved back by an invisible wall, with all the impact you’d expect from a high-speed crash. Dizzy and confused, he felt his face and body go through a sensation of distortion, and suddenly… nothing! The most complete emptiness reigned in his mind. He didn’t know who he was or even his own name. And he stayed like that for several seconds, staring into the inner void.

Until a new notification appeared on the screen, grabbing his attention. “Success! Parameters corrected; new profile picture published!” Immediately, likes started flooding in on his photo and profile, making him focus on the computer screen just as the computer camera turned on again and a live stream began.

He quickly, almost automatically, repositioned himself, flexing one of the powerful arms he’d just acquired. A notification on the app pinged: “New donation from DirtyFaggotMike.”

The app, once again on its own, opened a list of donations from various users with similar and usernames, ranging from small amounts to hundreds of dollars. Henry felt a rush of pride inside him as memories of all the degrading content about that kind of people and the outrageous amounts of cash received for it flooded his mind!

A new comment appeared in at the top of the page with a $100 donation. “Master, your giant hands turn me on; I’d love to be smothered by them.” Henry found himself talking automatically to the screen: “Keep dreaming, faggot. You’re lucky enough to be able to worship them from a distance!” he replied, grinning arrogantly as he admired his own flexed arm.

A part of Henry still intact, lost in the gigantic void that his memories had become, managed to feel mortified; he didn’t want any of those horrible messages to be received by him, let alone responded to that way. That little remaining fraction tried again to regain control, only to be shoved back as the being occupying his body massaged his powerful pecs and spoke laughing arrogantly while getting up: “Where’s my money, you fags? You won’t get shit from me if this account doesn’t start filling up!”

The next message he received was the reply he’d been waiting for—a private message from LickLuckyLarry. “Master Hunter, I’ve been one of your loyal followers for months and I want to pay a good amount to see you jerk off if it’s not too much audacity on my part.”

Henry… Hunter smiled at that message. With a smirk on his face, he replied, “Disgusting faggot. Of course, it’s a hell of a lot of audacity for a worm like you to ask me that! But it’s you pathetic beings that keep my wallet full. I’m willing to accept, but it’ll depend on how much you’re willing to pay for all this!” he replied, grinning wickedly as his hands roamed over his abs and thighs, tentatively close to his cock.

“Master, please,” the guy replied, “I’d do anything to see you work that giant cock until it explodes with your alpha jizz.”

“Great, let’s talk privately; don’t turn on the camera! I don’t wanna see that faggot face of yours, it’ll be hard enough to jerk off knowing a worm like you is watching! And as for the rest of you, take note, faggots, you should all aspire to be like him.”

He leaned forward and closed the live window, before before lying down in his bed and focusing on talking privately in his smartphone with the guy willing to pay to see him play with his own cock. “I said I didn’t wanna see that pathetic face of yours, faggot,” he said upon seeing the man’s face appear on the app chat screen.

“Sorry, Master Hunter, I couldn’t help it; I promise to pay you a much bigger sum, but I wanted to know if you remember me?”

“And why the hell would I remember a pathetic faggot like you?” Hunter asked with a wicked grin.

“Because I work with your dad and… you… you let me suck your cock at the last company holiday party!”

“And? You’re not the first little bitch I’ve let do that! There’s no shame in showing off a bit or even letting one of you kind pay for a blowjob in the absence of something better. And that whore secretary didn’t want to give me any… Anyway, don’t think you’ll get a discount just because you know my old man, and if you try to blackmail me, I’ll use these weapons to smother you in a way way different from what that other faggot wanted!”

“No, Master Hunter… it’s not that… it’s just that you look so much like your dad! You’re a twenty-years-younger copy of him… I… I’ll pay you a bigger sum… but can you refer to yourself as Master Rusty while you jerk off?”

“So you have a fetish for my old man, huh? You sick fuck! But I’m cool with that! Just keep that ugly mug off the screen and don’t you dare talk to me while I do what needs to be done!”

“Thanks, Master Rusty… just one more thing, that mustache you’re growing makes you look even more like your dad… if I may be so bold, I’d say you should keep it.”

“I’ve allowed too much boldness, you worm. Now let’s wrap this up. Camera off,” Hunter said as he laid back on the bed, the camera aimed at him.

“So you want a piece of old Rusty, huh? You little shit?” Hunter teased, while Henry’s little voice tried to fight against the wave of mockery and arrogance filling his mind.

“A new chance to suck that cock? Only in your dreams.” He continued, with vivid memories of orgies with various women and dozens of live streams and videos for desperate gay guys into humiliation flooding his mind.

“You can look and admire, you can worship me from a distance, but this here, this here you’ll never have again pathetic faggot,” he concluded before exploding with a huge load that covered his entire abdomen.

“Thanks for the grand, loser.”

He ended the call and saved a copy of the video showing only the upper part of his body, teasing the release the full presentation for his fans after they donated a good chunk of cash.

As he lay back down, distracted, thinking about the bizarre situation with a coworker of his dad’s and what Old Rusty would think if he found out where the money supporting his son extravagant lifestyle and his monthly allowances was coming from. In that moment of distraction what remained of Henry inside him made one last attempt to surface, somehow managing to miraculously regain a bit of control. Thinking about how to fix this, Henry looked at his body; however, he seemed… normal. His enormous size 15 feet were giving off a potent funk as always. His well-developed calves giving way to tree trunk thighs, while hanging between them was his pride, his massive 10-inch cock, with which he toyed a bit before continuing his investigation. His abs were chiseled like an 8-brick wall, and just above them were the two slabs of flesh that were his pecs. He grabbed his phone and opened the camera, seeing his face; indeed, a near-exact copy of his dad’s face, square and masculine. The overall impression was one of arrogance and disdain, which precisely defined his personality.

He dropped the phone and smiled, satisfied, as he rested his head on his powerful arms. “Damn, Hunter, you’re one hot piece of ass,” he said to himself. “These faggots will never get tired of you,” he concluded, knowing that with a body and a cock like his, money would never be a problem.

Hundreds of miles away from Hunter’s dorm, Larry was finishing up his third or fourth jerk-off session, this time looking at the gif that served as Hunter’s profile picture on the app. That, he thought, was the best decision he’d ever made, seeing the perfect copy of Rusty that Hunter had become, a copy willing to treat him in the degrading way he’d dreamed for months that his dad would do. As he reached orgasm, remembering all the insults and humiliations, he wondered to himself if there was a chance that the son of one of the other coworkers would fall into the same trap; well, it wouldn’t hurt to try, especially if the reward was as delicious as Hunter.

#male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #mental transformation #corruption #musclegrowth #gay to straight #douchebag tf

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suiana · 1 day ago

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(yandere! bully victim x gn! bully reader) (cw: erm... yandere stuff, body horror or whatever its called idk bruh, he kinda carves his name into ur skin but its not mentioned in detail)

"how does it feel to be on the receiving end now, huh?"

you shiver, letting out a strained sound as you trash on the table.

"pluh- mn!"

"what was that? you've got to be clearer with your words, my dear. how do you expect me to understand muffles?"

the male hums, his cold hands dancing across your body. you could only shiver yet again, unable to do anything but remain binded to the table.

"oh, sorry, i forgot you couldn't speak. haha, how silly of me."

yeah, how silly of him to completely gag you so you couldn't speak. how completely silly of him to tie you to some cold table, restraining all your movements so that you couldn't fight back against him. how absolutely whimsical for him to be recording all your grunts, groans, and whines while you were completely restrained.

well, you suppose it's a bit ironic. considering that you were the one doing it to him when the both of you were younger. albeit not on this level.

you wonder if this was how he felt. vulnerable, naked, defenseless.

it happened so long ago, but the wounds you inflicted on him were still fresh. no matter how hard you try apologizing, his scars still bleed warm.

you shouldn't have been mean to him. you really shouldn't. especially when he was so much nicer back then.

"mn... you have no idea how much I've wanted to do this. it really makes me happy to see you so..."

he pauses, eyes raking over your form that was tied down to his table.

"so weak."

we've all watched the movies where the bully gets put in place and completely punished. you used to laugh at those films. i mean, how could the bully even be so stupid to get karma for their actions? couldn't they have hid better? tried making up for it? why did they have to go through the consequences of their actions? what idiots!

but now that it's happening to you, you wish you hadn't said those words.

the second you found out that your ex-victim was your boss, you couldn't even as much as utter a word. no, you felt like you were about to have a mental breakdown. especially because you were now his secretary, working for him.

"come on, what happened to that big, scary, and mean ol' bully that i knew? the one that used to pour water over my head and have their friends restrain me?"

his words have a hunt of condescension- no, they were fully condescending. he was mocking you right now. mocking you for your stupidity, mocking you for your actions. and he was absolutely taking pleasure in seeing you in such a weak and reduced state. a shell of the person you once were.

you couldn't do anything but to take it like the loser you were.

"haha, look at you. all tied down and gagged like the dog you are. why don't you bark for me? maybe I'll be nicer if you act like a stupid bitch in heat."

he laughs, hands resting on your clothed abdomen. his hair falls over his eyes, the usual up kept man looking like a mess as he continues to taunt you.

"you know, when i confessed to liking you, i never expected you to bully me. seriously. i thought you'd be like, I don't know, nice about it. if you were nice I don't think I'd have stalked you and do all this. would've courted you normally until you accepted. I'm a patient guy after all."

the words that come out of his mouth have just the tiniest bit of sadness in them. however, it's completely squashed down by the sharp look in his eyes.

"had i known you'd be such an ass about it... I'd have just taken you for myself right there and then. who cares about having a normal relationship, right? as long as you're with me, it's all that matters."

right, like what he was doing right now. ever since you started working for him he's been constantly... acting like he was your boyfriend rather than your boss. constantly giving you gifts, telling you that it was okay that you bullied him because he knows you're just shy and that he'll make things right... the worst part was when he forbid you from interacting with others.

it was fucking creepy.

things were only worsened when he found you on a night out at a bar, flirting with some random stranger. you had wanted to let loose and relieve some stress but it looks like karma loved to see you suffer.

"what are you doing? are you cheating on me?"

what the fuck?! you stare at your boss in horror, freezing in place. quickly turning back to the stranger you were flirting with, you shake your head and apologize, explaining that your boss was just a little weird. why the hell is he even here?!

"look, I'm sorry but he's a bit of a creep and-"

"my darling, i think it's time we go back home. you've had one too many drinks."

that experience was only the start of an even worser time. one that led him to declare to the whole damn world that you were now his in a fit of anger and mania. i mean, he practically has you locked in his house now. and it wasn't even illegal since you agreed to come.

he had called you to sort out some paperwork or whatever and you being his secretary... you couldn't refuse even if you wanted to. so you made your way to his house, all naive and ignorant of what was to come the second he opened those doors to that luxurious mansion of his.

you passed out and the next thing you knew, you were restrained to the table, gagged and staring at him with a half lidded look in your eyes.

god damn it, you should've known better than to believe this crazy guy's words. why would you willingly go to his place where there'd be no one but you two? ugh, stupid, stupid, stupid.

and now you could only express how terrified you were with your eyes and shivering body.

"how cute. how seriously cute. I've always wanted to see you look at me with that expression."

he coos, lips stretched into a smirk as he leans down to your face. his breath hits your skin, cold hands trailing up your chest and to your jaw before he grips hard.

"you're mine. it wasn't clear when i was just a boy but you've always been mine. since the day i let you bullied me, and even right now, I've made it clear. you're mine, and always will be mine."

he's right, you've always been his. why else would this rich and obviously powerful guy just let you bully him? he could've had you gone the second you made a move on him but instead...

"i still remember the slaps and bruises you left on me. ah... you were so cute back then. hitting me like that. should've scarred me too, maybe then I'd see your horrified face whenever i flashed it."

a sadist. you're sure that he's some sort of sadistic masochist.

"oh well, it's no matter. I've done that job for you."

he pulls away, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his bare upper body to you. to say that you were completely terrified would be an understatement. because why the hell was your first name (and his last name btw) painfully carved into his other flawless skin? right above his heart, no less!

"isn't it beautiful? you're forever with me now."

his words send a chill down your body. what the hell, you don't want to be with him at all! and it looks like he sensed that but chose to ignore your feelings.

your boss smiles at you before pulling out a small blade from his pants.

oh hell nah.

"it's your turn, darling."

no no no, you don't like where this is going. your body trashes violently against the cold hard table he had you strapped in, pupils blown wide as adrenaline fills your veins.

"mgh! mf!"

"hey hey, quiet down. it's only fair that i get to do it to you, right? consider this my payback. you had your fun and now I'm having mine."

no! shit shit shit, what are you supposed to do?!

you try shaking your head, sweat forming on your skin as your breath grows laboured. your body continues to trash against the bindings, but it looks like the bindings were done just a little too well.

"hm... should i do it somewhere visible? or maybe... right where your heart would be?"

you shake violently, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"nh! mh!"

"aw, is my little darling about to cry? that's so cute. go on, cry for me. cry for me just like i cried for you."

tears fall down your cheeks as he trails the vlade over your clothes. the sharpness of the item has you shivering, cold dread creeping up your spine at the very thought of that anywhere on your skin.

"hm... since you look so scared, I'll carve my initials instead of my full name. how about that? a good offer if i say so myself."

if you could speak, you'd be cursing and begging him to stop. unfortunately that wasn't the case and your boss took your lack of words as the green light.

"don't worry, I'll kiss your pain away afterwards. it'll be over before you know it."

oh god damn it, you really should've just politely rejected him when he confessed.

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere concepts #yandere bully victim #yandere bully victim x reader #yandere ceo #yandere ceo x reader #gn reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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solxamber · 3 days ago

Text

Romance Clichés With: Idia Shroud

Cliché: The Dramatic Save

Others: Leona ; Vil ; Azul ; Kalim

The thing about Idia is that he’s very used to lurking in the background. Life is much simpler that way. But ever since you’d started spending more time with him, he’d found himself in the wildest, most "otome game" situations imaginable. And today? Today topped them all.

You’d been standing together in the courtyard, him telling you about his latest game finds, hands shoved into his pockets as he tried not to fidget too much. It was rare he got to hang out with someone he, uh, actually wanted to hang out with, so his nerves were pinging off the charts.

That’s when it happened.

With zero warning, a large, heavy textbook teetered off the edge of a windowsill above and began its rapid descent towards Idia’s head. He didn’t notice; he was too busy stammering about his latest high score. But you did.

In one swift move, you threw yourself across the space between you and practically flew through the air, hands outstretched like some overdramatic action hero.

You managed to get between him and the descending missile (okay, just a textbook, but in the moment, it was deadly), and though the impact wasn’t as dramatic as you’d pictured, you still managed to shield him with your entire being, shoving him safely aside.

By the time he realized what was going on, you were already fussing over him. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?! Did it hit you anywhere?”

He blinked, processing what just happened as you started checking his head for bumps, squinting at his shocked face. “Uh… w-what?” he stammered, brain catching up about three seconds too late. “Did… did you just… jump in front of me?” The look of awe on his face was equal parts adorable and ridiculous.

“Well, obviously!” You laughed, still fussing, hands on his shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Idia’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to process the sheer amount of romance that just smacked him in the face. You, his crush, his dream come to life, had gone full protagonist, for him. It was like the best tropes had all collided in his brain at once, and it was overwhelming in the best way possible.

“N-No one’s ever done something like that… f-for me…” he mumbled, cheeks reddening as he stared at you with this helpless, smitten look.

You tilted your head, a soft smile crossing your face. “Well, I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe, Idia.”

Somewhere in his brain, the confetti cannons were going off. The “love meter” hit max. The screen flashed “TRUE ENDING” in bold, sparkly letters. He knew it was all real, but a tiny part of him felt like he’d accidentally triggered some hidden route with a secret character, and that character was you.

And before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. “I think I’m in love with you. Like, maybe have been for a while. You’re like, the one or something, and—oh my god, why am I saying this out loud—”

He clamped a hand over his mouth, wide-eyed, as if he could just take it back if he tried hard enough. But instead, he saw you looking at him, your smile widening as you took his hand, gently pulling it down.

“You mean it?” you asked, a bit of awe creeping into your voice.

He couldn’t look at you, his eyes darting everywhere except your face as he mumbled, “Y-Yeah, I mean, yeah, I do. I can’t believe you’re real, honestly, this feels like a fever dream, but—”

Before he could talk himself out of it, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, quick and sweet. It was enough to short-circuit his brain, and when you pulled back, he just blinked, stunned, frozen like his internal processing unit had just maxed out.

“Does that answer your question?” you teased, unable to hold back a little laugh at his flustered expression.

“Uh-huh,” he finally managed, a dopey smile creeping onto his face as his brain rebooted. “Y-Yeah… yes.” He cleared his throat, trying to seem cooler, but the blush on his cheeks was a dead giveaway.

And as you both stood there, your hands still linked, he felt like the luckiest player in the world—like he’d stumbled upon the rarest, sweetest route of them all, and he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x you #idia shroud #twst idia #idia

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dostoyevsky-official · 1 day ago

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Rather than losing by 78,000 votes, it now appears that Harris is set to lose by millions. This is a loss large enough that it would likely have happened even if many of the more marginal choices in this campaign season had been different.

[...] First: Harris did worse than Biden almost everywhere, in both Democratic and Republican areas. Although a few suburban areas bucked this trend by moving in the Democratic direction, the overall picture was disastrous, with Harris losing much of her margin even in Democratic strongholds like New York City. [...] Second, Harris underperformed Senate Democrats.

[...] The first fact above tells us that the entire country turned away from the Democratic ticket this year, and the second fact tells us that this frustration was focused more at the national Democratic ticket than it was at more local Democratic politicians. Can anyone think of something new in US politics since 2020 that has affected everyone across the country in a negative way, and which the average person tends to (wrongly) blame on the President?

The years 2021–2023 saw the highest inflation rate that the US has experienced since 1991. When inflation hit its peak of 8% in 2022, it was the highest level of inflation the US had experienced since 1981. The disruptions this caused to the American economy were significant, but the disruptions it caused to the American psyche were far larger.

That inflation has played such a large part in the thinking of American voters has greatly frustrated some of my fellow policy wonks who have been desperate to point out that 1) inflation was going to rise during the aftershock of the COVID-19 pandemic no matter what anyone did, 2) the US has experienced less inflation than most other wealthy economies, 3) average wages likely rose faster than inflation depending on how you measure it (even though this effect is unevenly distributed), 4) at least part of the high inflation can be easily justified when looking at record low unemployment and rapid low-end wage growth, and 5) inflation is basically back to normal now, even if it hasn’t meant prices declining as many hoped.

Watching the debate over this topic unfold was immensely frustrating, as both sides were generally talking past one another. The economists were correct that the US economy has actually done very well over the last few years, given the odd circumstances. But none of that changes the fact that people have noticed their cost of living rise, and this has had a large impact on both their wallets and their brains.

To state the obvious, the average person is not a perfectly rational economic calculator. This is especially true for inflation.

[...] I don’t think that many voters could describe the relevant differences in the candidates’ plans; they simply voted out the people in charge because bad things happened while they were in charge. Despite Harris’ half-hearted attempts to frame herself as an outsider this year, people knew she was the closest thing to an incumbent who was on the ballot. For many voters, this wasn’t a vote for a particular platform, but rather a referendum on the status quo (anyone else having 2016 flashbacks?)

The greatest tragedy of all is the effect that this will have on future responses to economic crises. [...] Biden’s administration learned from this [Obama's stimulus] failure and chose to go big. As a result, Biden’s recovery accomplished in five months what took Obama’s recovery years.

This is one of the greatest successes of Biden’s presidency, and he has been punished for it relentlessly. [...] Politicians will now be afraid to commit to countercyclical stimulus spending, even when it’s needed to stave off a depression.

Despite his commitment to a stimulus package far better than his predecessor’s, Joe Biden still holds a tremendous amount of blame for last evening’s results. His decision to run for re-election at all ran contrary to the hopes of many of his own voters that he would be a one-term transition out of Trumpism. The hubris of Biden’s decision became glaringly obvious during his debate with Trump, in which the entire American populace realized en masse that Biden was incapable of running a competent campaign. [...] However poorly Harris may have done in this election, we can be confident that Biden would have done far, far worse. Yet even still, Biden’s presence haunted Harris’ campaign.

[...] The Harris campaign did make a tremendous mistake in hiring many of Biden’s campaign officials for her own campaign. These Biden staffers reportedly tended to discourage Harris from pursuing some of the most successful talking points of her campaign — namely, the “weird” branding — and instead encouraged her to run a traditional Diet Republican campaign like Biden’s.

But if you can point to only one mistake that the Kamala Harris campaign made this year, it was her repeated refusal to explain how she would be different from Joe Biden.

[...] For all of the Democratic anxiety provoked by the notion of a spoiler candidate, this does not appear to have been a significant factor in this year’s election. [...] Not only did third party votes not decide this year’s election, but even in the one state in which they did matter, they were the result of the party’s own failures.

The Democratic Party cannot shame its potential supporters into voting for them. When a Democratic candidate fails, it is the fault of that candidate and the campaign they ran, not the fault of an insufficiently loyal electorate. If you want to minimize the risks of a third party spoiler, you should either expand your base to absorb them, reform our electoral system to eliminate the spoiler effect, or both. What you should not do is send Bill Clinton to Michigan to condescend to voters for caring about human life.

[...] Donald Trump — probably the most outwardly racist, xenophobic, and generally hateful Republican presidential candidate in modern history — has built a multiracial coalition. [...] Simply put, the “demography is destiny” theory has been completely debunked. But can the Party itself learn this?

[...] It is noteworthy that the Democratic Party ran to the right on immigration this year, and then lost many Latino voters to the party which is even further right on immigration. I would not interpret this as a general anti-immigrant sentiment among Latino voters; I would interpret it as Latino voters having enough other issues on their mind that immigration did not singularly decide their vote.

[...] An electoral approach towards communities of color which focuses on symbolic in-group gestures is not enough. The Democratic Party needs to speak to every community directly about the economic and social issues affecting them, rather than just scheduling a stop at Howard University and then calling it a day.

[...] The Never Trump movement has always been a mirage.

I have said it before, and I will say it again: the median voter theorem is dead. Appealing to the mythical “center” of US politics is a highly inefficient route towards national electoral victory in the 21st century, something which the Republican party seems to have realized under Trump. If they want to reverse their fortunes, Democrats should spend less time trying to appeal to Republicans and more time trying to appeal to the people who actually vote for them — including both registered Democrats and many independents. I don’t know how many failures it will take for them to learn this lesson, but I hope that they do so by the time I’m done pulling my hair out.

I know writers who take the time to edit their rants before publishing them, and they're all cowards. Fresh off the print, here's my longform view on some of the major takeaways from this presidential election

Shortened, my argument is:

Inflation is the primary explanation for Trump's victory

Joe Biden's initial insistence on running is also important

Third party and write-in voters did not decide this election

The Democrats should stop taking voters of color for granted

"Never Trump Republicans" are not a real voting bloc

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thewolvesofthenorth · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter Four

Chapter Four of Man of Honor

Series Masterlist ❖ Main Masterlist ❖ House Of The Dragon Masterlist

Rating: 18+ Word Count: ~3k Summary: Cregan has a much needed conversation with Arra and Sara shares some news. Meanwhile, you contemplate what the future could hold. Warnings: Angst angst angst, language, fluff, slow burn, pining

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

Cregan put his head in his hands and let out a heavy sigh.

Why must the gods torment me?

Since waking from his dream, he had sat in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Why?

He was perplexed by the images he had seen.

The words he had heard.

The feelings that had been evoked in him.

He had dreamed of you.

Of having you.

Of loving you.

But it would not be so.

Why must they taunt me in this way?

He had made a mistake, and the dream had given him a glimpse of what he could never have.

Cregan sighed again, then stood up and got dressed. As he looked out his window at the dimly lit sky, a feeling of unease filled his heart. Making his way to the stables, he noticed a dark figure crossing the courtyard toward the kitchens.

He watched as the figure stopped and slowly turned, his grey eyes meeting yours. He sucked in a breath as you turned and shook your head, hastily making your way to the kitchens where you would surely find his sister breaking fast.

Cregan watched you disappear through the doorway before turning and continuing his walk to the stables. It had been some time since he had ridden through the Wolfswood, and he felt it would do him some good. As he arrived at the stables, he spotted an unexpected figure.

Arra.

“Good morrow,” he greeted politely, approaching his horse and stroking its back.

Arra turned at the sound of his voice and smiled, patting her own horse.

“Good morrow, Lord Stark,” she replied. “I thought I was alone in being awake at such an unearthly hour.”

“I thought the same,” Cregan responded, watching her place a saddle on her horse. He walked over to his own saddle, picked it up, and ran a hand down the leather.

“May I inquire as to why?” Arra asked. Cregan turned, setting the saddle atop his horse and fastening it a bit more roughly than intended, causing the stallion to let out a huff.

“I could not sleep, and it has been too long since I’ve ridden through the Wolfswood.”

“It is unfortunate that sleep eludes you, my lord,” Arra said sincerely. “Would you be opposed to me accompanying you? It has been quite a while since we last rode together.”

Cregan inwardly cringed at her words, knowing that he had been avoiding her due to his inner conflict about you, and he had hoped that she had not noticed.

“Nothing would please me more, my lady,” he spoke with a smile. Arra returned his smile and swung her leg up to mount her horse, and Cregan did the same.

“Shall we, my lord?”

“Lead the way.”

The two rode out of Winterfell. As they crossed through the South Gate and turned toward the Wolfswood, Cregan took in a deep breath. The cold wind stinging his cheeks provided a strange sense of comfort, and he closed his eyes, savoring the near silence around them, the steady beat of hooves the only sound he heard. As they crossed the tree line into the forest, Cregan slowed his pace to a trot, and Arra fell into place beside him.

“May I speak freely?” Arra asked, her voice breaking the silence and drawing Cregan from his thoughts. He had nearly forgotten she was there and chastised himself for it.

“Of course,” he answered, turning to meet her gaze.

“What ails you?” she asked, her concern evident. “It has been some time since we last rode together. One might think you are avoiding me.” Cregan bit his lip, trying to think of an excuse that might satisfy her.

“You need not answer if you do not wish to discuss it,” she continued, sensing his discomfort. “I am merely curious. Have I done something to offend you, my lord?”

“No,” Cregan finally replied. “You have not offended me, my lady. There are just… some matters that have arisen and drawn my attention more than I anticipated.”

“I apologize for my behavior,” he added. “It was not my intent to cause you distress with my actions.” Arra shook her head at his words.

“There is no need,” she stated. “I understand that you have more pressing concerns to tend to as the Warden of the North, and you have much on your shoulders.” Cregan offered her a smile, not knowing how to respond.

She is too kind.

“However, as your betrothed, I feel I am owed an explanation regarding your behavior.”

Cregan’s throat grew dry as she spoke. She was right; they were betrothed, and he knew he should do what was right and tell her the truth, even if he wasn’t sure what that truth was. The weight of his unspoken feelings pressed heavily on him.

“I apologize, my lady,” he finally said, anxiety twisting in his stomach. “I have not been forthcoming, and as my betrothed, you should know the truth.” Cregan looked down at his hands, reins clenched tightly in his fists.

“Please know it is nothing you have done, or are lacking,” he began, uncertain how she would react. “But I have realized that another may hold my affection.”

“I see,” she replied. Cregan looked over at her as she pulled her horse to a stop. “However, we are betrothed, and it is my duty to uphold that oath.”

“Does this person know of your fondness for them? And do they return such fondness?” Cregan shook his head.

I doubt she feels anything but hate for me at the moment

More likely, she would wish to see my head on a pike.

“I do not completely understand my feelings,” he admitted, “but regardless, I do not intend to forsake my duty.”

“I do not think it fair that you set aside your feelings, my lord,” Arra responded. “If this person were to return them, would it not be more prudent to pledge yourself to them?”

“My lady, Starks do not forget their oaths. I have made mine to you, your family, and the North.” As Cregan spoke, bile rose in his throat, knowing he had already broken an oath to you. “In time, I’m sure feelings may grow between us instead.”

You are an idiot.

“Perhaps, but perhaps not,” she countered. “In any case, I would like for us to be completely honest with each other from now on. Should things change between you and whoever holds your affection, I hope you will tell me so as not to make a fool of us both.”

“Of course, my lady,” Cregan agreed, nodding.

She truly is too kind.

“I am glad to have gotten some clarity from you, my lord,” Arra said, looking up at the now fully lit sky. “Shall we return?” Cregan nodded and they nudged their horses forward to return to Winterfell.

Upon their return to Winterfell, the two parted ways—Arra heading to the Guest House and Cregan setting off to find Sara. He needed to speak with her and perhaps gain more advice, especially after the conversation he had just had with Arra.

Cregan’s first stop was the kitchens, knowing his sister loved experimenting with new recipes, but she was nowhere to be found. His next destination was the library, yet that too proved fruitless. Finally, he made his way to the Glass Gardens, where he found her tending to various fruits, carefully picking the ripe ones and placing them into her basket.

“Cregan!” Sara greeted him with a warm smile when she caught sight of her brother. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to speak with you,” he replied.

“Yes, I gathered,” she retorted, rolling her eyes at his lack of subtlety. “What is it?”

“I spoke with Arra,” he began, and Sara raised an eyebrow.

“And?”

“She asked why I have been avoiding her.”

“It seems that has become your latest talent, brother,” she quipped. Cregan shot her a glare and shook his head, refusing to let her get under his skin. “But go on.”

“I spoke of my feelings,” he admitted, “and apologized for my behavior.”

“Oh? And what feelings might those be?” Sara asked, curious of what he had told the noblewoman.

“I told her that I may hold affection for another,” he confessed.

His words took Sara by surprise.

“And what were her thoughts on the matter?”

“She was unexpectedly understanding,” he replied. “And –“

“And?”

“I did not say who it was I held feelings for, but it seems she supports them regardless,” he said.

Sara hummed thoughtfully at his admission.

“In support of your feelings?”

“Yes.”

“In what manner?”

“She said she did not think it fair for me to set aside my feelings for the sake of duty.”

“Well, she is not mistaken.”

“Do you think I don’t know this?”

“No, but you have been quite stupid as of late,” Sara responded. “And you have also made it abundantly clear that you will chose duty above all else.”

“I know,” Cregan said softly. “And now I am unsure of what to do.”

“What is it you mean?”

“I have a duty to uphold, but I also cannot deny what my heart feels.”

“Best you come to a decision on that, and soon,” Sara warned.

“For what reason?”

“For the reason that she may be thinking of her future,” his sister spoke, “one with someone else. One without you.”

Cregan’s heart clenched at what his sister’s warning.

Could it be?

Were you truly considering marriage to another?

You absently stared at the ceiling as hot water swirled around you, licking your skin with its heat. After your conversation with Sara, you had gone to the library to reflect on she had said and began to write a list of suitors who had made their intentions known to you over the years. The more you wrote, the more daunting the idea of finding a husband and leaving Winterfell became. You compiled over a dozen names, many of them belonging to men you had never met, much less heard of, though a few familiar ones stood out.

Manderly.

Bracken.

Lannister.

Glover.

Blackwood.

Dustin.

Royce.

Baratheon.

Mooton.

Bolton.

Hightower.

Tully.

Arryn.

Tyrell.

Frey.

Reed.

Hornwood.

Cerwyn.

The last one piqued your interest. Over the years, you hadn’t paid much attention to who your suitors were, often brushing them off without even looking at their names. So, seeing the name of Cregan’s best friend on your list struck you as strange, though not entirely out of the realm of possibility. After all, the three of you had grown up together, with Castle Cerwyn only half a day’s ride from Winterfell, and you were all around the same age.

You were certain that Lord Cerwyn faced just as much pressure as Cregan when it came to marriage and producing an heir, so it shouldn’t have surprised you that he might consider you as a match. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel confused, given that he was well aware of your predicament regarding Cregan.

You bit your lip, recalling the last time you’d seen Lord Cerwyn and the conversation that followed. It had been several moons ago, when he came to join Cregan on a hunt. By then, Arra had been in Winterfell for some time, and Cregan spent all his time with her, prompting you to keep your distance. Still, you had run into Lord Cerwyn in the kennels on the morning of the hunt, and the two of you had spoken about why he hadn’t seen you around as often.

- FLASHBACK -

The crunching of footsteps pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see Lord Cerwyn entering the kennels, a surprised expression crossing his face as he took in the sight of you sitting on the ground, the head of a large hound resting in your lap.

“My lady,” he greeted, bowing his head politely. “I did not expect to find you here. And at this hour.”

“I often come here to think. Either here or the godswood,” you replied with a small smile. “It has been some time since we last saw each other, Lord Cerwyn.”

“Indeed, it has,” he agreed. “How do you fare?”

Unsure how to answer, you drew in a breath and looked down at your hands, running your fingers over the hound’s ears to maintain your composure.

“I have seen better days,” you admitted with a sigh. “And you?”

“I’ve been well,” he replied, noticing the shift in your demeanor. “What troubles you?”

“Nothing of importance,” you deflected. You knew each other well enough to recognize when the other was lying, so you tried to dodge his questioning—especially since he was Cregan’s best friend.

“My lady, we’ve been friends since we were children. Please, don’t lie to me,” he insisted, sitting beside you on the ground. “Does it have anything to do with your absence around Winterfell?”

Damn.

You groaned, turning to look at him. “Nothing eludes you, does it?”

“Few things do. Now, tell me, are you avoiding a certain nobleman?”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” you snapped a little too quickly.

“Ah, so you are,” he retorted with a chuckle. “And does this nobleman happen to be tall, with dark hair and strikingly good looks?”

“I’m not avoiding you if that is what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t talking about me, my lady. Though it does warm the heart to know you find me so handsome.”

“Shut up,” you bit back, rolling your eyes at your friend’s teasing. You knew exactly who he meant, and he knew that too.

“I only jest,” he said with a grin. “But it seems you’re avoiding our dear Lord of Winterfell. Now, why would that be?”

“I already told you—I’m not avoiding anyone.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie.”

“It’s not.”

“Then why haven’t I seen you and Cregan together? Not once have I seen you around him. In fact, you always seem to vanish whenever he appears.” You silently scratched the dog’s ear in response.

“Does a Lady Norrey have something to do with it?”

“No,” you mumbled, and he nudged your shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

“It does not matter.”

“It does.”

“I – I don’t – I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered, gently pushing the hound’s head off your lap. Lord Cerwyn placed a hand over yours and gave it a light squeeze.

“I know.”

“What?”

“I know,” he repeated. “About your feelings.”

“I don’t know what you mea – “

“I know how you feel about Cregan,” he said. “I know you love him.”

“I don’t,” you huffed.

“You do,” he insisted. “Everyone sees it.”

“No, they don’t,” you argued. “Because it’s not true.”

“Yes, it is, and yes, they do.”

“I don’t lo –“

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted. “And please don’t lie to yourself.” You glared at him.

“I’m not lying to myself,” you growled.

“Yes, you are,” he said, chastising you. “We both know it.”

You crossed your arms and let out a frustrated huff.

“Fine,” you conceded. “But it means nothing.”

Lord Cerwyn shook his head.

“It does to you.”

“Yes, well,” you said, standing and brushing dirt from your clothes, “it doesn’t mean anything to him. And nothing can be done about it.”

“You don’t know that,” your friend countered, rising to his feet.

“Yes, I do,” you replied with a hint of annoyance. “If it mattered to him, he wouldn’t have pledged himself to her.” Before he could respond, a stableboy appeared at the entrance of the kennels, pausing when he saw you and the young lord.

“Apologies, my lord, my lady,” he said. “Lord Stark asked me to fetch the hounds for the hunt. My lord, your horse is also saddled and waiting at the gate.”

Lord Cerwyn nodded, and the two of you left the kennels as the stableboy went to gather the hounds. Once outside, you stopped and turned to your companion.

“Lord Cerwyn, it was a good to see you,” you said, “I pray that your hunt is successful.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he replied, leaning in to place a light kiss on your cheek. “Until next time.”

You gave him a smile before turning toward the library, his gaze lingering on you as he headed in the opposite direction toward Hunter’s Gate, where his horse awaited.

- END FLASHBACK -

If you had glanced behind you that day, you would have seen Cregan sitting astride his horse by the gate, waiting for his friend.

If you had taken a moment to turn and look, you would have caught Cerwyn smirking as he watched his best friend watching you, a glint of jealousy in the Warden’s eyes.

You sighed, absentmindedly dipping your fingers into the water as you reflected on the memory—and on Cerwyn’s name appearing among the suitors on your list.

There could be worse choices.

Like a Lannister.

Or a Bolton.

Besides, Cerwyn and I already know each other.

And he knows how I feel about Cregan.

So why would he want to court me?

Then again, it might not be so bad.

Maybe I could even grow to love him one day.

But how would Cregan feel?

You groaned; even when thinking of your future with another man, you still thought of Cregan and his feelings.

Fuck his feelings.

Like Sara said, I need to start thinking about myself.

You shook your head and stood up, grabbing your robe as you stepped out of the water. Retrieving a hairbrush, you padded over to a chair by the fire, took a seat, and began to brush your hair.

At least I have some time before I have to make a decision.

Little did you know, the next few months would hold more changes than you anticipated.

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

#cregan stark #house of the dragon #cregan x you #cregan stark fanfic #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #tom taylor #cregan stark x y/n #hotd cregan #man of honor fanfic

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cuubism · 3 days ago

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Idk if you are still taking prompts, but: After their first meeting, while Hob still thinks it is a joke, he escorts Dream out. It is only when Dream returns to the Dreaming that he realizes his ruby has been stolen by Hob. Thus begins a game of cat and mouse through the ages, and Hob keeps slipping through his Endless fingers.

oh dear, this was from last year. fun though! could be the basis for a much longer fic. i love thief hob

Hob knows better than to gloat openly about his winnings, but he can't help tossing the ruby a few times in his hand as he walks, admiring it. Such a stunning gem, he's never seen its like but in paintings of kings, and even those are rare enough. Invaluable. And the strange lord had just had it about his neck, for all to see.

Hob shakes his head, tucking the ruby away in his tunic. Money can't buy common sense, it seems.

He finds his horse in the stable and leads it outside, stepping into the stirrup and swinging up into the saddle. After a find like this, best to disappear. Easy as the ruby had been to snatch, that strange young lord will doubtless come back looking for it, once he notices it's gone.

Night is falling by the time Hob reaches the treeline. He hasn't been followed--the path behind him has been empty for hours, and the trees show nothing but birdsong as he steers his horse into the darkness. Hob knows this route well, and by the time the moon is high above, he's navigated to a familiar clearing, untacked his horse, and sat back against a tree for some rest.

He can't help but look at the strange ruby one more time before going to sleep. It glows unnaturally in the moonlight, a blue-white reflection on a background of venous red. He tilts it back and forth in his palm, studying the cut. Who, exactly, is going to buy this from him, he can't yet say. But it'll pay his way for years once he finds them.

Hob kisses the ruby's cool surface, then tucks it away in his tunic again, chain wrapped around his fingers for safekeeping. He quickly falls asleep.

The moon is still high when Hob wakes, startling back to awareness against the trunk of the tree. He scrubs a hand over his eyes, looking around, disoriented. Strange, it's like it's been only moments since he fell asleep--

His horse is gone. So's his pack. And for that matter, the clearing is smaller, closer, darker than he remembers--

Heart pounding, he scrambles in his tunic to find--

"I imagine you are looking for this," says a low voice, and from the darkness emerges the wine-red glint of the ruby. Following it is the dark shape of the lord Hob had robbed in the tavern, only he's-- he's--

He's horrible. His eyes glow white in the dark, his hair waves in a strange wind, and everything about him is sharp and wrong, like an uneasy nightmare Hob might have in the wee hours, consequences coming back for him.

"Look," he says, holding up his hands in self-defense. Shit, his sword's gone from his belt, too. "S'really your fault for swanning about with that thing, innit? 's bandit country, m'lord."

"Is it?" He... doesn't seem angry. He's smiling. Oh, it's a terrible smile, but nevertheless. "How foolish of me, then. To expect to maintain ownership of my belongings."

"Like I said, thieves about," Hob says. "Got to be careful, now." Really, what did he expect Hob to do? Let someone else get the score?

The strange lord sits down on the grass across from Hob, still with those glowing eyes and that terrible smile playing about his lips. "And what, Robert Gadling, ought I to do, having caught one of these thieves?"

And the thing is. Authority doesn't work very well on Hob. One of his 'flaws' most like to get him killed, 'cuz Authority didn't tend to care whether it worked on you or not. Hob's been hauled before the magistrate for theft before and no matter that he knew he'd be lucky to get away with his life he could never quite bite his tongue. Always a smart mouth, his mum used to say.

It's no different with this lord. Hob's hardly about to bow his head and apologize. He remembers the smirk on the other man's face at his challenge in the tavern. Pretty little thing to be talking big words about punishing thieves.

"Dunno," he says, tracking his gaze over the soft lines of the man's dark robe, his fine neck and narrow shoulders. The longer Hob looks, the less frightening he seems, though there is still something of the otherworld about him. God's teeth, if Hob's brought the ire of the fey about him... "What would you like to do?"

And the strange creature laughs. Just a chuckle, but nevertheless. "I could make you spend your next one hundred years paying a thief's price over and over again in the Dreaming, as penance for taking my ruby," he says. "Should I do that, Hob? Cut off your hands, and again and again as you regrow them?"

"If you did you wouldn't get to see what they can do for you," Hob says. Hell, Hob'll do it even without threat of punishment. He's a pretty little lord, for certain, even if he is fey.

The lord chuckles again, and closes his fist around the ruby, stealing its light. Without the reflection, his eyes seem even wilder. "Hm. Perhaps not this time. I am too curious to waste your next century in sleeping punishment." He takes Hob's face in one hand, holding his chin in sharp fingers. "Be wary what your hands touch in the Waking World, Hob Gadling. Not all creatures will find your insolence humorous enough to wish to be merciful."

He lets go, and Hob falls backward through the tree at his back, falls into darkness--

And wakes in sunlight, his pack beside him, his sword at his side, his horse grazing a few feet away.

Heart pounding, he shoves his hand into his tunic, though he already knows what he'll find.

Or what he won't find. The ruby, gone into the darkness, into dreams, with his strange, fey lord.

Hob shivers.

Well. He'll certainly have to meet him again in 1489, now. Not to retake the ruby--that hardly matters in the end.

But answers to all the mysteries it's brought: those Hob would gladly steal.

#short little prompt fics today #dreamling #my writing #thief hob #ask #silverdrip

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cybsoo2 · 3 days ago

Text

sick to my stomach

╰┈➤ synopsis — The sun has long since burnt out, but inside Beomgyu's room, his fever is burning up. Won't an angel come and take care of him?

╰┈➤ pairing —beomgyu x reader (feat. soobin)

╰┈➤ word count — 5.1k

╰┈➤ content warning — sick!fic, vomiting, angst, playful jealousy, pain & suffering

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ; sorry i lowkey died. here's a fic for your forgiveness 🫶🏻 inspo from that one soogyu incident. ALSO, i think it's ironic that right as i'm finishing writing this i get food poisoning 💀

As the sun sets, so do the shadows on Beomgyu’s face. The colour slowly fading from his flesh. His skin has long lost its warmth. Now, a cold chill takes over his bones. Lips no longer pink, but now pale and bloody. A bad habit of biting down whenever the pain becomes too much.

This stomach bug is slowly killing him.

How did it happen? Was it the winter chill that crept through his window? Tip-toeing through his room, quiet and unassuming. Slow and steady was the sickness. Beomgyu didn’t even notice until he was blinded by the fever. Coughing up a lung as he crawled into bed to retreat. It’s where he’s been resting for hours already. Brain fuzzy and feverish, he barely noticed the sun falling from the sky. The shadows smother his room and replicate his mood. Stuck fading in and out of sleep, he also happens to be unaware of the multiple missed calls lighting up his phone.

The plans he had with you and Soobin are long lost in the back of his mind. This fever has made him forgetful and calling to cancel wasn’t his main focus. He only remembers his previous plans when he hears your voice calling out into the empty house.

“Beomgyu?” You sound so happy, so excited for your plans he has to ruin. Immediately, he’s run over with regret. The very least he could do is not burden you with his sickness. But now you’re wandering up to his room, bound to be disappointed at what you’ll find waiting for you.

“Soobin’s on his way, I think we’ll end up taking his car.” He can hear your footsteps going up the stairs. Getting closer and closer to his quiet room. “Beomgyu?...” The silence is unsettling. You stop for a moment on the stairs, listening intently for any sign that he’s actually alive. Only now do you begin to grow concerned at his lack of response. The silence drags out, each second adds to the anxiety eating away at your stomach. It spirals from there, confused thoughts clutter your mind. It’s so hard to think straight, the worry will only disappear when you see him for yourself. So you continue up the stairs, tentative and unaware of what to expect.

When you open the door to his room, a ray of light streams in from the entrance. It hits Beomgyu in the eyes and he has to blink a few times to readjust. In his hazy vision, he can see the outline of you in the doorway. Is he hallucinating? You look just like an angel. A halo of light illuminates your features. Concern and confusion make-up your expression.

Beomgyu looks like the exact opposite. His eyes are glassy as they gaze up at you. Swollen from sleep, he struggles to open them all the way. In his iris, you can see how sick he really is. The stray tear trails down his face and you reach out to wipe it away. His cheeks are already a rising red colour. They’re warm in your palms and he chases your touch. Your hands, so cold in contrast. It calms his burning fever and he lets his eyes fall shut. For a brief moment, time is frozen. Your touch is like snowflakes on his skin. The words you speak softly like the winter wind. His room has become like heaven. Just his angel and him, and for this small second, he forgets about the pain that plagues him.

While Beomgyu is distracted, you take the time to look over his condition. His body’s temperature is rising; Skin glistening with sweat, the damp sheets, and bangs that stick to his forehead. You brush back the strands of hair and place your palm to his forehead.

“Shit—You’re burning up.” Worry weighs heavy in your chest. It squeezes your heart and stirs up a stomachache. “How long have you been like this?” You ask softly while staring into his eyes. Your hands run through his damp hair, trying to give him some semblance of comfort.

He turns to look up at the ceiling, avoiding your eyes. “A while.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he thinks back to when the fever struck. “I woke up already feeling sick, but I guess it got worse around noon.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve gotten here earlier.” Your voice is deep with distress. It’s eating at you from the inside out. Slowing chipping away at the cavity in your chest. Sinking in its vampire teeth and filling you with venom.

It’s so out of character to see the usually outgoing guy act so quiet. To see him almost on the edge of tears is startling to say the least. This sickness has stolen his heart and left him to rot.

“You know I hate to see you hurting like this.” You whisper into the room. There’s a touch of vulnerability in your voice. The words are spoken so softly, as if you might cry if you try to talk any louder.

Beomgyu turns to look at you. All his attention on the sound of your concern. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault. But now that I’m here, let me try to help you.” You offer him a small smile. One that says, ‘Anything you need, I’ll be here for you.’

“Do you know your temperature?” You ask.

“No,” he groans, leaning more into your arms. “I didn’t think to check.” His voice is hoarse. Sore from the sickness, he tries to speak softly, almost in a whisper. You have to lean in closer to hear what he says.

“Okay well, I’ll go get the thermometer. I should also call Soobin to tell him you’re sick. Maybe he could even pick up some soup for you.” You say while grabbing your phone from your back pocket. You dial the ten digits and then Soobin’s speaking through the phone.

“Hey, Beomgyu’s sick so we won’t be able to hangout like we planned.” You say while attempting to sit up, but a certain someone stops you. Untangling yourself from Beomgyu and taking away his only source of comfort. He whines when you pull away but you try to ignore it and focus on what Soobin is saying. You cover the phone with your other hand and bring it down to your chest, trying to muffle the conversation.

“I’ll be right back.” You say and start to stand up again. But Beomgyu's sudden grip on your wrist says otherwise.

“No, don’t leave.” He looks up at you through half-lidded eyes. He’s almost on the edge of falling asleep, but the sudden scare of you abandoning him leaves him restless and awake. Alone in this empty room, far away from your warmth and missing your embrace.

“I’m just gonna grab the thermometer. I’ll only be a minute.” You try to reassure him.

He doesn’t appear to be persuaded as his grip only tightens. Soft and slender, he uses his other hand to wrap around your wrist. Tugging at your arm, he tries to get you to stay with him. Using all his strength, he barely even makes you stumble. It worries you how weak he is. Plagued by pain, insomnia, and a rising heat, you can’t help but pity him.

You let out a soft sigh. Your heart truly hurts for him. Reaching out, you run your hands through his hair. A slight distraction to sooth him. Beomgyu closes his eyes at the feeling, slowly falling faster to sleep. Shhh. You hush his worries. Him, slowly succumbing to sleep after making you promise to come back quickly. Only then can you take the time to step away and finish talking to Soobin.

You don’t stray too far, only walking off into the bathroom in search of the thermometer, medicine and a quiet place to talk. You rummage through the cabinets in a rush. Eye-brows furrowed and growing frustrated. The thermometer you found tucked away in a drawer, but you can’t seem to find any medicine at all. “Maybe pick up some medicine while you’re at the store, I can’t find anything here.” You say to Soobin, voice laced with frustration.

“Got it! What type should I get?” Soobin sounds upbeat despite the situation. Always happy to help, he’d do anything for his members.

“His fever’s pretty high,” You sit down on the edge of the bathtub and sigh. “Sounds like he has a sore throat too. Probably just get him some Advil and cough drops.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in 20 then.” His voice rings into the room.

You sigh in relief, one less thing to worry about. “Thanks so much Soobin, I’ll see you soon. Bye.” You hang up the phone and tuck it back in your pocket.

When you go to check back on Beomgyu, he’s just as you left him– fast asleep and still as sick as before. You stick the thermometer in his mouth that hangs slightly open– soft snores escaping it. He only startles a bit, shutting his mouth around the object and shifting slightly. But otherwise, he doesn’t wake. Long lost to the cycle of sleep. There’s use in waking him, he could probably use the rest. He looks so peaceful like this. Sound asleep and buried beneath all the blankets.

The chills seem to come and go. It’s like a wave that rolls in– soaking him in a cold sweat, then the sun appears to bring back the heat. His body can’t seem to regulate his temperature. You’ve learned over the years (after one too many unfortunate fevers) that a wet rag would help. After running to grab one, you place it on Beomgyu’s forehead. Other than this there’s nothing else you can do while he’s asleep. The thermometer finally beeps, letting you know it’s time to check his temperature. You pull it out of Beomgyu’s mouth and– Shit. 102.9, it’s pretty high. What he needs is medicine and some proper sleep. Soobin should be arriving soon, and then you should get started on making him something to eat as well. With one last look at him, you kiss his forehead and head downstairs to wait for Soobin’s arrival.

It didn’t take long for Soobin to arrive. When he got there, the conversation was quick. A few words exchanged, a short trip up to check on a still sleeping Beomgyu, and a promise to reschedule your plans whenever he gets better. After that, your attention was drawn to getting started on the soup. Maybe making him something to drink– and a few snacks too. He needs something light and easy on the stomach. You’re so focused on gathering the ingredients and stirring the soup that you don’t even notice the man sneaking up on you until he speaks.

“Liar,” Beomgyu spits, betrayal in his tone.

You spin around at the sound of his voice. Still rough from the cold, and slightly raspy since he just woke up. It’s a bit of a surprise to see him, you expected him to sleep a lot longer.

“What do you mean?” You ask. “And what are you doing up? You should be laying down upstairs. Resting.” Your concern quickly overtakes your curiosity.

Beomgyu ignores you and continues on,“You said you would be right back, but then you left.” He says with a sulk. All the while sinking down into the seat at the table. He lays his head on the wood top, watching you.

“Oh,” You let out a scoff and smile in relief. “I thought I did something serious.”

“It is serious!” He tries to shout. His voice so strained that it comes up as more of a whisper. “You already promised you’d stay and take care of me, it’s too late to back out. And now you’re off having fun and hanging out with Soobin while I was upstairs suffering. Talk about betrayal,” He grumbles.

You can’t help but try to bite back a smile at Beomgyu’s petty attitude. You just ignore his eyes on you and continue to stir the soup– it’s almost ready. “He only stopped by to drop off the soup and some medicine. We really didn’t talk for long.” Turning your head to look at him with a small smirk, you then say, “And how would you know what we were doing anyways. You were asleep.”

“I can assume.” Beomgyu mutters under his breath. “I don’t need Soobin stealing my girlfriend away from me when I’m at my weakest.”

“No ones stealing me away. Just focus on getting better and don’t worry about anything else.” You walk over to him and hand him a bowl. It’s filled with berries, the blue and red ones that are his favourite. Something to snack on while you finish the soup.

“Okay,” He sighs softly, accepting defeat to the playful argument. He takes the bowl and pops a berry in his mouth. He doesn’t have the energy to continue teasing you. Talking is growing tiresome. His throat aches and his thirst is insatiable. His chatter-box is beginning to break, slowly succumbing to the sickness like the rest of his rotting body.

Instead, he observes you. Following your movements like he’s watching a movie. It’s obvious he’s still tired. Eyes blinking slowly, lazy movements, and a quiet voice. He said he can’t get much sleep. Drifting in and out of dreamland, finally falling asleep only to wake up an hour later.

After he eats, you’ll make sure he sleeps. The shadows are closing in and the sky is growing darker. The odd star shines through the navy night, and the moon will join them very soon. What little light the day still offers shines through the window. It illuminates a small corner of the kitchen– the one where Beomgyu sits now.

You walk over to him– a warm bowl of soup held in each hand. Beomgyu can smell it from where he sits. The savoury scent makes his mouth water. He hasn’t eaten all day and he’s eager to have it all. But despite his hunger, his stomach stirs with nausea.

As if you can read the hesitance on his face, you smile at him with encouragement and say, “Just eat what you can. We can always save the rest for later.” Beomgyu nods and takes the first bite. Then another and another, until almost the entire bowl is finished.

You let out a laugh, “Slow down, don’t force yourself. Eating too fast will only upset your stomach.”

“It’s really good. Thank you.” He truly means it. He appreciates you staying by his side despite everything. Shouldering his burdens and sharing his troubles. His soul shines through his eyes, an amber colour in the light. And through his iris, it’s clear to see that he’s lovesick for you.

Although, the love only lasts for so long. “Well you don’t have to thank me, thank Soobin. He’s the one who bought it.” Beomgyu’s face immediately wrinkles in disgust. You can’t help but let a small smile slip at his expression.

“Okay, well if you’re done we can head up to bed.” Sitting up from the table, you take away his empty dishes to put in the sink. You’ll deal with them tomorrow.

“You’ll stay with me right?” Beomgyu grabs the hem of your sweater as you pass by. You stop still and look down at him with a tired smile. “Of course, I’m getting pretty tired too.”

You both make your way upstairs in a sleepy state. Tangled closely to one another and holding on tight. Not sure which limb is whose and where you begin and he ends. You stumble through a nighttime routine. Changing quickly then crawling into bed. Although that’s not before you remember to grab an Advil and wet rag. Placing it upon his forehead and giving him the tiny pill. It’s easy to drift off into sleep after that. The warmth you two emit, wrapped around each other and bundled in the blankets, chases off the winter chill. The darkness creeps into the room, closing your eyes, and dragging you off deep in a dream.

When you first wake, it isn’t by choice. Confused and still clinging onto sleep, it’s hard to think straight. You can’t see anything in the dark, but you can feel the frosty air that snuck in through the open window. The cold chill bites at your skin. It leaves you with red marks, frostbite nipping at your nose and numbing your hands. You can’t shake the shiver that runs up your spine. If you don’t shut the window, then you might end up just as sick as Beomgyu.

You try to sit up, but the warmth of the bed brings you back down. The sheets tied around your legs, handprints sinking into the mattress, and a certain boy that pulls you closer.

Every part of Beomgyu is tangled up in you. He’s wrapped up in your warm embrace. His hand bunches up the fabric of your shirt. His grip is tense, as if he’s desperately trying to get closer. He’s chasing after your heat. Your bleeding heart that pumps blood– hot and heavy. He craves your warmth and needs your love (The only two things that’ll end this sickness).

It’s not a want, but a need. You can hear it in the way his teeth chatter. Milk bone biting back a chill. You can feel how he shivers. Shaking like a leaf while in your arms.

You try to open your eyes in the dark, fighting off the shadows to see what’s wrong. Beomgyu has a look of pain etched into his skin. A strike of worry hits you in the heart. You try to take a closer look, untangling yourself from the tight grip he has around you. With your free hand, you brush back the bangs that cast shadows on his skin. Your other hand carefully cradles the back of his head, turning his sleeping face away from where it hides burrowed into your shoulder, and up to look at you instead.

His pale skin reflects the moonlight. It shines with sweat and when you glance down, you can see that he’s sweat through his shirt too. His fever has only seemed to have risen, growing more angry and ruthless than before. To check your suspicions, you gently cup his cheek in your hand. A quiet gasp leaves your lips. He’s hot to the touch.

The medicine mustn’t have been enough. And the wet rag, now fallen and forgotten on the floor, has long grown warm. You immediately sit up, now wide awake and full of worry.

Even in his sleep Beomgyu can sense you slipping away. He shifts over to your side of the bed. His hand outstretched, trying to chase your ghost. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he can’t find you. A sad look falls upon your face and you take his hand without thinking twice. Rubbing circles along his skin– slow and rhythmic. His subconscious responds, squeezing your hand tight and not letting go.

As you look down at the sorry sight of your boyfriend, you try to decide whether to wake him or not. Should you just let him sleep a little while longer? Let him live off in a dream, distant and unaware. His mind separate from the suffering his body endures. Although you don’t really want to disturb him, it’d probably be better to. Changing the sheets, giving him more medicine– it’ll all help to bring his fever down. So you lean in close and speak softly to him, “Beomgyu.” Your voice sweet as sugar. “Baby, wake up.” You rub up and down his arm so as not to startle him.

Beomgyu begins to wake at the movement. Tired eyes still heavy with sleep. Dreams of you and him still dancing in his head. His peace is now replaced with pain and he whines at the feeling of being awoken.

“Shhh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Your hand slides down to stroke his back. It settles a chill and brings back the heat in his bones.

Now slightly more awake, Beomgyu looks to you for the reason he’s awake. In your iris is a sea of grief. The dark sorrow swimming in your eyes, draining their colour and painting them gray.

You hesitate before speaking, “Your fever hasn’t seemed to have gone down. I’m gonna go grab you some more Advil– hopefully that works.” You glance down at the bed, avoiding his eyes. “I should probably change the sheets too. You sweat right through them.”

It’s only now that you mention it does he start to notice the heat that’s scorching his skin. The pain hits him all at once. His skin, sticky with sweat. Clothes stuck like a second skin and cold from the icy air. A headache drives it’s way through his skull. The pressure building right between his eyes.

Emotions overwhelmed, he begins to tear up. Red-rimmed eyes and crystal tears, he’s pretty when he cries. But the sad sight still hits your heartstring and sweet nothings start to leave your lips.

“I know, I know it hurts. I’m so sorry you’re feeling like this.” You pause for a moment, swallowing down the sympathy that’s stuck in your throat. This new wave of worry makes it hard to talk. You even find that you have to take the time to fight back your own tears. “I’ll be right back.”

Beomgyu can’t find his words. Too tired to talk, he just lets out a low groan. He can feel you slipping away from him. Detangling yourself from the sheets and leaving his arms. His hand still holds yours and he only lets go at the last moment.

He sees you reach down and grab the wet cloth off the floor. Then he’s watching you walk away through blurry vision.

You aren’t gone for long, rushing to grab everything Beomgyu needs with no time to spare. But by the time you get back, the cold air has already reached him. Goosebumps litter his skin, his hair stands on end. He’s constantly switching between cold chills and a scorching heat. Too hot for a sweater, but too cold to be left alone.

It’s only a mere minute before you’re back by Beomgyu’s side. Sliding into bed while he’s pulling you close. He sits up a bit once he sees the pills in the palm of your hand. Two red tablets, the type that’s easy to swallow without an after-taste. He drinks them down with the water you’ve given him. He’s greedy with the way he takes it all. The cool liquid soothing his thirst and calming the heat. He downs the whole glass then goes to hand it back to you.

You quickly put the empty glass on the bedside table, then turn back over to face him. “Go back to bed.” You softly push his head back onto the pillow. Your fingers run through his hair, pushing it out of the way to place the wet cloth back on his forehead. “Try to get as much rest as you can. Just wake me up if you need anything.” He only huffs in response, too lazy to talk and already falling fast asleep. Once you see his body relax and eyes slowly shut, only then can you go to sleep without any worries weighing you down.

The rest of the night is a hazy collection of heatstroke. Beomgyu can’t remember anything too clearly, but he knows you never left his side.

When he’d start throwing up in the middle of the night, you’d rub his back and soothe the sickness.

The lights dimmed down so as not to agitate his headache. The lightbulb flickers overhead. It illuminates the tears that trail down his face. They leave angry red lines that run down from his eyes to his lips.

A sharp pain shoots through his stomach. It’s a constant pain that cuts up his insides. He’s emptied out everything he’s eaten, but the stomachache still stays. His head hangs over the toilet, forehead resting on his arm. The nausea is always sudden to strike, the slightest movement setting it off. Although his body aches and he’s throwing up till it’s acid, you being there helps. The way you rub up and down his back is like an anchor. Something to steady him, a soothing rhythm.

Your own head rests against Beomgyu’s nape. Still fighting off the remnants of sleep. Your whole body shaken at being awoken so suddenly by Beomgyu rushing to the bathroom. The quiet room and winter air threaten to drag you back to sleep, but you blink back the feelings. You’re here to focus on comforting the boy beside you. Even if you can’t do much to stop the sickness, just your presence is enough to bring some solace.

Your fingertips trace up along his spine. He can feel your touch through his shirt and he shivers at the feeling. Your warmth melts through the fabric and Beomgyu feels bare in front of you. He’s at his most sensitive and exposed, all for you to see. Yet, you accept him with open arms, and he couldn’t be anymore grateful.

When all the movement makes him dizzy, you’d hand him aspirins and water to wash it down.

The cup chilled from the frozen air. The heat of his hands leave fingerprints along the glass. He downs the drink in a second, starving for something to help his aching throat. It hurts to take a breath or even try to talk. Everytime a sentence scratches its way out from under his tongue, you shush him almost instantly. Sweet whispers of ‘Don’t talk’ and ‘I know what you’re trying to say’ are spoken. There’s no need for him to talk when you already know him so well. The next minute you’re handing him cough drops to soothe his sore throat.

Beomgyu pouts, they’re the bitter ones. The fake grape flavor that makes him sick to his stomach. He hates how they taste and refuses to eat them. But the next thing he knows he’s backtracking his words and you’re coaxing them down his throat with a kiss. You always taste so sweet, like strawberries at sunrise. He doesn’t even realize he’s swallowed them down like pills until you’re pulling back and he’s chasing you for more. Softly biting down on your bottom lip, his hands begin to wander. In the bathroom, dimly lit and at dawn, all his pain has run away. He can’t focus on anything other than your lips and how his heartbeat pounds in his chest. But Beomgyu is still sick and you’re pulling back to say, “If I kiss you anymore I’ll end up just as sick as you.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.” He looks up into your eyes. It’s an endearing sight to see, his pink cheeks flushed and lips red from your attack. But the image of pain still peeks through, his eyes shine with tears that gather at the waterline. You let out a soft laugh, wiping away the tears before they fall. “Are you sure about that? Cause you don’t look to be doing so well.”

Beomgyu grabs your hand and holds it to his face. All he can do is whisper without it hurting, “But I’d take care of you. Just like you’re looking after me. Then it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

A soft smile pulls at your lips. Your heart hums a tune of tender delight. Heartstrings strumming a soft symphony of love and adoration.“I don’t doubt that you’d take care of me well, but let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that point. Let’s focus on you first, the one who’s actually sick.”

Beomgyu lets out a huff at the reminder of his illness. Even just the words washing over him is enough for the pain to multiply. His attention back on the aches that run along his body, the heat that makes his shirt stick to his skin, and the fatigue that takes away his focus.

He looks exhausted. Eye bags beginning to appear. Pink that’ll turn to purple if he can’t catch anymore sleep. “Come on,” You sigh at the sight of him. “Let’s get you to bed.” You grab his arm and guide him out of the bathroom.

Bits are pieces like this are all he remembers before the fever breaks.

It’s early in the morning. The sun begins to rise, bringing with it a rare warmth. The heat melts the snow and if for only a moment, winter’s wrath has begun to subside.

Beomgyu wakes up feeling slightly better than before. His headache has lessened, only a dull ache remains. His limbs no longer feel heavy with fatigue, instead he’s weightless and well rested. The sun is shining on his face, the bright light waking him up. Beomgyu blinks back the remnants of sleep and lets out a yawn.

Spring is blooming. A flower bud that shoots up from the snow. It’s a gentle blossom, one that’s so unlike yesterday's snow storm. The smell of flowers and the sun’s warm touch has begun to snuff out the sickness. Although nothing can compare to the real warmth right across from him. Beomgyu opens his eyes and sees you. You’re still asleep, slumbering off in a distant dream. You must have moved in your sleep, because your hair is sticking up in all directions and you’ve left his arms in the middle of the night.

Beomgyu reaches over, grabbing your arm to try and pull you closer. Right when he touches you, he can already tell something is wrong. You’re hot to the touch, a blistering heat that burns straight through your skin. Concern immediately overtakes him. Gently, he puts his palm to your forehead to check your temperature. Just as he thought, you’re running a fever.

It’s most likely his own fault. If he didn’t kiss you so carelessly– kept asking for more, then you probably wouldn’t end up sick. Although, he can’t lie and say that he’s sorry. Having you stuck with him until the sickness dies down is like a cruel dream. Wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing your warmth and waiting till the days go by. Sleeping in a bed made for two, twisted in the sheets and talking for hours. And even when it’s the worst of it– the chills and the aches, the sick stomach and the burning heat. You don’t need to worry, because he’ll take care of you. Just like he promised.

#tomorrow x together #txt x reader #txt imagine #txt imagines #txt x you #txt fanfic #txt fic #txt drabble #txt angst #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu imagine #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu fic #beomgyu drabble #beomgyu #beomgyu angst

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justmeinadaze · 2 days ago

Text

Secret Underneath Part 10 (Steddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: I bare you an angsty distraction for the day <3. I'm not going to add my Ko-Fi to this post because I want you to keep your money and use it today to do something that brings you peace.

This is your sign to go buy that venti cup of coffee, buy that book you've been wanting to read, or get that shirt you've been eyeing at the store. Go...be <3.

Warnings: Older (Mid thirties) Sugar Daddies Steve and Eddie/ Young (Early to mid 20s) Baby Fem Plus Size Reader, SMUT, of the rougher variety (they are letting off some steam), belt as handcuffs, after care always <3, FLUFF, they love her and she loves them

ANGST *does disco arms on a dance floor of angst*

Mediation begins so we get more insight on Gina, I don't go into detail of her claims (it doesn't matter anyway cause she be lyin!), the guys take her to an event where someone flirts with her (its someone they know and HATE), Y/N insists the guys use her since they've been keeping things in, near the end they talk about why they've been afraid to be rough with her when they are upset, go into a bit more of their relationship with her, cliffhanger ending (because I can :)) but I think you'll like this one.

Word Count: 5199

Series Here

This was a new experience for you when it came to the two men that you loved.

Today was the day of their mediation to hopefully get things resolved without having to fully go to court. They were dressed from head to toe in their more formal attire with Eddie’s hair pulled back into a ponytail and Steve’s fluffy mane slicked back away from his face.

Originally they didn’t want you to go but at the last minute the rockstar insisted stating that he didn’t want to hide any of this from you like they had tried to before.

“Like we said, sweetheart, we told you everything but she’s probably going to get a bit more specific about certain things… we never did the things she claimed but we also weren’t exactly good men.”

When Gina and her lawyers came in they both straightened up immediately.

You couldn’t deny she was a beautiful woman with her long brown hair and fit physique that squeezed a bit too perfectly in her short pink dress that cut off just above her knee. For some reason you were under the impression that she was closer to your age but now that you were able to see her face to face you realized she was closer to theirs. Her piercing blue eyes scanned the room till they landed on you sitting quietly in the back closer to their side.

As she grinned wide and rose to her feet so did Steve before both lawyers grabbed each person’s wrist and mumbled something while Gina smirked his way. Even after she took her seat again it took the mogul a few more moments before he finally did the same.

Someone you assumed was a judge or at least in charge started to speak and read out instruction for this particular review. The entire time he spoke, their ex watched them like a lion waiting for prey. She was playing a game she intended to win even if it meant hurting them in the process.

##############

A couple of days after the mediation, both men were barely in the apartment and when they were you didn’t want to push them. Occasionally, your hand would tenderly run along Steve’s shoulders as he worked and in response he would grab your palm to kiss the back before letting you go to focus again. When you noticed Eddie smoking on the balcony in his sweats but no jacket, you would bring one out to him but as you turned to go back inside, he would wrap his arms around you, bringing your back to his chest as he held you tightly.

Tonight was an event they couldn’t ignore, hardly covering their distain as their stylist and her team came over to dress them and you up for the evening.

Just as they had before when you stepped out of the bedroom, both men froze as their eyes took you in. Since this wasn’t exactly an elegant affair, Stephanie had you in a red dress that clung to your curves, showing off your arms and chest a bit more than you were used to.

“What do you think?”, you ask as you smooth the material around your stomach. “I’ve never worn something that showed off my upper half like this.”

“You look absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart.”, Eddie exhaled breathlessly as he stepped forward to caress your cheek making your eyes flutter at the intoxicating cologne that surrounded him. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah, baby. I just…is there a sweater or jacket, Steph?”

The ever gentleman he was, Steve started to remove his own suit jacket before the stylist stepped forward to hand you a matching shawl to wrap around your shoulders.

“Thank you.”

The mogul softly smiled your way as he tilted down to kiss your forehead.

“You look beautiful, honey. We need to get you a necklace or something that you can wear. Not that it matters right now, I mean you look breathtaking as is. I was just—”

“Steve!”, you giggle as his friend lightly shoves his arm. “I knew what you meant.”

Eddie’s eyes suddenly light up as he abruptly runs towards the hallway and turns into what was once his old bedroom but was now being used as a place for him to play and record his music. Beaming widely, he saunters back down the hallway with his hands behind his back.

“Close your eyes.” Biting your lip, you do as he says, smiling just as widely as he had when you felt something cool and flat touch your chest. “I wore this in high school but obviously my jewelry game has gotten WAY better.”, he chuckles and backs away from you.

Glancing down, you fingers hold up the red guitar pick that was attached to the chain now clasped around your neck.

“We’ll obviously buy you some more prettier things but—”

Your lips cut him off before you tilt back and wipe away the lipstick that remained.

“This is perfect, Eddie, thank you.”

***

You weren’t sure what to expect this time around now that people knew you were with them but unless they said any different, you were going to do as you did before. This was their territory not yours and they knew how to navigate the sea of fame better then you ever could.

“Did you want to take pictures or would you rather wait inside?”, Steve asked as they waited in line to enter the building.

“You’d take pictures with me?”

His eyes blinked as if you asked one of the most complicated questions he had ever heard.

“Of course, baby, but only if you’re comfortable.”

“I…I just…I don’t know what to do…”

“You just stand there and look beautiful, princess.”, Eddie grinned.

“I don’t want to embarrass you or anything.”

“What makes you think you would?” When you shrugged, the mogul saw the confidence they loved so much about you slowly receding from your eyes for fear of ruining something you perceived as important to them. His large palms cup your cheeks as he brings your lips to his and the sound of cameras clicking fill your ears. “All that matters to me is you.”

Photographers scream their names as cameras continue to go off but neither of them moves except for Eddie who leans down to kiss you as well.

“We can just walk right passed and go inside. You hold all the power here, baby girl, but no matter what we aren’t doing this…”, he gestures towards the reporters. “…without you.”

Nodding, you take each boy’s hand and allow them to take over as they stand beside you to pose for photos. Occasionally the rockstar whispered something in your ear to make you laugh that helps to calm your nerves as your smile stretches wide across your face.

“Mr. Munson, how are you feeling today? You look so happy!”, an interviewer asked enthusiastically.

“Thank you. I am, I am. I’m here with my best friend and this beautiful angel, I mean…”, he chuckles as you blush. “…I’m an incredibly lucky man.”

“How are you tonight, Y/N? You do look exceptionally beautiful! Let’s get a double take here.”, she encourages as you step back and Steve spins you 360 to show off your dress.

“Thank you so much. I’m good. I’m nervous. You’re my first ever interview so… you look gorgeous to. I love your earrings.”, you praise as she playfully shows them off for the camera behind her.

‘Oh, you’re so sweet. I look forward to many more interactions in the future.”

While you three step closer to the door something catches the mogul’s eye that has him tugging at his friend’s sleeve before both men pull you inside.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, baby, you did amazing.”, he whispers as he leans down to kiss your cheek.

***

Something in their mood changed as soon as you guys were finally in the building and sitting at the table as drinks were being served. On the walk there, they didn’t let you drift too far, sticking by your side as they or you spoke to people around you.

While you were eating, they seemed to always have some part of their body on yours and seemed to be knocking back the champagne a bit more than you were.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom real fast.”, you whisper as you get to your feet.

“I’ll walk you—”

“Eddie, baby.”, you say as you place your palm on his shoulder to keep him seated. “I don’t need an escort to pee, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He didn’t seem at all calmed especially when you felt both their eyes watch you as disappeared down the hallway. After finishing your needs and adjusting the rockstar’s necklace around you, you give yourself one final pep talk as you head back into the fray.

“Ow!”

“Shit! Oh my god. I am so sorry! Are you alright?”, you ask frantically as you try to consol the young man you accidently hit with the bathroom door. “God, I’m such mess.”

“Ah, no, no worries. I’m alright. Got me pretty good there though.”, the boy chuckled as his palm rubbed his nose before taking note of your worried demeanor. “It’s ok. I’m seriously alright, see? I’d have lost my contract a long time ago if I couldn’t take a few hits. I’m Roman, Roman Hart.”, he grins as he extends his palm for you to shake.

As you provide him with your name the man laughs a bit harder.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“No? Should I?”

“I’m a quarterback for the New York football team.”

“Ah! Ok, yeah, still have no idea who you are.”, you giggle. “I’m not really into sports and the few players I do recognize are from my hometown. Well, it was nice meeting you and again, I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“No worries.”, he grins. “May I walk you back to your seat? Maybe, we can get to know each other a bit more and you can tell me your favorite guitarist.”

As he reaches out to delicately touch the guitar pick on your chest, something in his tone rubs you the wrong way as your smile falls.

“I’m ok, Mr. Hart, but I appreciate the offer.”

Swiftly turning to leave him behind, you bump into a broad chest that’s heavy breathing with anger and glance up to see Steve’s furious features.

“What are you doing, Roman?”

“Hey, Steve. How are—”

“WHAT are you doing!?”

“Jesus, old man. Take a breath.” At the man’s dismissive tone, the mogul started to step forward but you hastily put yourself between them as you place your palm on his chest. “This beautiful woman here hit me in the face with the door on accident and we were just talking.”

“Bullshit. Did she put you up to this?”

“Well, someone’s paranoid.”

“And someone’s a little bitch.”, Eddie growled the quarterback’s way as he came up behind his friend. “Didn’t think you were manipulatable enough to do Gina’s bidding.”

At his words, Roman’s eyes squint as he glares at the rockstar.

“You’re the football player she cheated on them with.”, you breathe as your own eyes close in frustration.

“Is it cheating when she’s already fucking two guys? I guess not since she said you two could barely get it up for her let alone satisfy her.”, he sassed, this time causing Eddie to step towards him.

“No.”, you scolded in your teacher tone hoping that was stronger than your arms because you were struggling to hold both men in their place. “Go away. There’s nothing I want from her or you.”

“She’s been wanting to talk to you.”

“Then she needs to stop sending men to do her bidding and come talk to me but again there’s nothing I want or need from her.”

“Gina said she wanted to talk to you the other day but…”, he pauses as he glances at Steve.

“Come on, guys, let’s go home.”, you murmur as try to push them back but they don’t budge. “Please… he’s trying to get a rise out of you. Don’t let him win.”

It takes a few seconds before the mogul finally turns around and begins to stomp down the hallway as the rockstar grips your hand.

“If you come near her again, it won’t be a door that hits you in the face.”, Eddie threatened as Roman grinned and winked your way.

#################

“Can we talk?”, you ask as Eddie veers towards the kitchen to grab a beer and Steve starts to take off his suit jacket as he heads towards the bedroom.

“We’ll talk about it later, Y/N.”

“I want to talk about it now, Steven.” At your words, he heavily exhales as he turns to face you. “I’ve given you two space these past few days but this was a big deal. She overstepped a boundary by doing this.”

“Ok, honey. Agreed. Now what?”, he responded sarcastically as he shrugged.

You blinked as your gaze shifted between both men as Eddie came up to your side.

“You don’t have to hold it in. It’s ok to be angry. I told you if you needed to throw a tantrum or vent, you could. I know the word.”

“We’re not angry, Y/N.”, the rockstar sighs and your jaw clenches.

“Really? You’re not angry at all that she sent the man she cheated on you with to come speak with me? The same man she was caught fucking in a car by paparazzi because she was so brazen about her infidelity yet hid her relationship with you both?” As you spoke, Eddie’s fist clenched tighter around the glass in his hand while Steve placed his hands on his hips as they glared your way.

“You aren’t angry that he said you two could never satisfy her even though you went out of your way to make her happy? Or the fact that at that hearing the other day, she had the audacity to giggle her way through her testimony while saying things like how she never imagined you, Eddie, could hurt her because of how you talked about your mom or, Steve, how you manipulated her the way your dad did by giving his side pieces better jewelry and things than you ever gave her.”

Slowly sauntering forward, you place yourself directly in front Eddie’s chest as his eyes blaze down into yours.

“You aren’t angry that Roman touched my skin with his fingers; my body that belongs to you two and only you?”, you murmur as your palm rubs his chest through the opening in his button up shirt before backing away to find home in front of Steve. “It’s not only the fact that he touched me but that he wasn’t afraid to do it. He thought he’d get away with it no matter what because you’re ‘old men’ who can’t satisfy a woman…especially a young woman like me.

The tip of your nose caressed his as your words landed breathily against his lips.

“Hm. Well, I guess you’re more mature than me because I’m furious I can’t make her stop hurting you the way she does.”

Flashing them a soft smile, you start to walk away but Steve’s fingers around your wrist give you pause as he pulls you back to crash his mouth to your own. There’s a fever behind it that has you moaning as Eddie comes up behind you to unzip your dress and tug it down your frame.

You tear at the mogul’s shirt and he pants as you sloppily kiss down his chest. Tilting down to pick you up, he throws you over his shoulder and you watch as the rockstar removes pieces of his own suit as he trails behind, tossing them to the floor without a care.

After throwing you onto the bed, you watched as Steve unbuckled his belt and handed it to his friend who quickly bound your wrists above your head as the other man’s face fell in-between your legs.

“Fuck, Daddy.”, you whined as you pulled on your restraints, desperate to run your fingers through his hair while his tongue and mouth devoured your pussy like a man possessed. Eddie leaned over your body to hand his friend something but it didn’t take you long to realize what it was as the sound of buzzing filled the room and vibration from the wand was pressed against your clit. “Oh…my…”

“Atta girl.”, the rockstar cooed as he took hold of your ankles to help keep your legs open and in the air. “We know how to take care of you, sweetheart.”

“Mhmm.”, you groaned as Steve’s tongue moved faster in and out of your entrance.

“Do you think we’re too old, little girl?”

“No, Daddy. I’ve never—mmph—I’ve never thought that.”

“Do you think someone your own age can fuck you better than us?!”

“Never, Daddy. No one—fuck I’m gonna cum—no one fucks me like you two.”

Your legs tremble in Eddie’s grasp as the coil snaps and the mogul presses the wand harder against your clit to elongate your high. As your legs fall to the bed, Steve unbuttons his slacks and frees his cock, leaning down to spit directly into your hole before guiding himself inside you.

“Say that again.”, he rumbles.

“No one fucks me like you two, Daddy.”

“And who does this pussy belong to?”

“You two, Daddy.”

His large palm wraps around your throat, squeezing lightly as his hips roughly snap, punching a sharp grunt from your lips.

“WHO does this pussy belong to?”

“Ah! Steve and Eddie!”

“That’s right. Say it again.”, Steve growls as his rhythm quickens.

“M-My pussy belongs to—fuck—Steve Harrington and E-Eddie Munson!”

The mogul fell fully on top of you as he pounded his cock deep inside you with a rough abandon that had you wincing a couple of times.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to fucking kill him when I saw his hands on you. If you—oh my god—if you hadn’t stopped me I’d have put him the fucking hospital. No one fucking touches you like that except us.”

“No…one…baby…Fuck me…harder, Steve. I can…handle it.”

Pushing up on his knees, he took hold of the wand again and pressed it to your puffy nub, smirking a bit to himself as he watched you squirm.

Ringed fingers gripped your hair and as you turned your head you were met with Eddie’s cock. Opening wide, you allowed him entry between your parted lips and he was anything but gentle as he thrust his hips.

You whimpered around him and they knew you were close to the edge proving them right when your pussy clenched around Steve’s dick like a vice especially when the rockstar held you still to choke around his length.

You panted when he finally pulled away and the mogul grunted loudly as he slammed his release aggressively into your cunt till he was empty.

They didn’t allow you a second to breathe as Eddie seamlessly flipped you over and placed his entire frame on top of your back before he shifted his waist a bit and you felt his cock effortlessly slid into your aching pussy.

With one hand around your neck and the other underneath you gripping one of your breasts, he remained close to you, absorbing you with his weight as he roughly rolled his hips.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Y-You’d never hurt us like that would you? You’d never cheat on--”

“N-Never, Daddy. Mmm—I love you so much…both of you. H-H-Harder, Eddie. Use me.”

The man’s hold on you tightens as he honors your statement and pumps into you so hard the bed underneath you shakes.

Your orgasm crashes like a rouge wave and you scream their title before you’re abruptly rolled onto your back as the rockstar grunts and climbs up your body to shove his cock down your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut as you allow him to use your mouth till you feel his release hit your tongue and you swallow every drop.

As soon as he pulls himself back, Eddie lays on you again resting his head on your chest waiting patiently for you to play with his hair like you always do but the lightbulb doesn’t go off till he finally glances up to see if you’re ok.

“Shit! Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry. Why didn’t you say anything?!”, he panics as he reaches up to quickly remove the belt from your wrists and carefully bring your arms down to your sides.

“May I have some water, please?”

Hearing the hoarseness of your voice, Steve doesn’t hesitate as he powerwalks to their kitchen and comes back with a cold glass of water. Amber and chocolate eyes scan you over with concern as you chug back the liquid and flinch as it slides down your throat.

“I’m going to make her bath.”, the mogul announces as he turns to head towards the bathroom.

Eddie’s fingers brush some of your hair away from your face and in return you fall into his equally sweaty chest.

“I love you, Eddie.”, you whisper.

“I love you to, princess. Come on. Let’s take a nice relaxing bath.”

Noticing you struggling to move, the man lifts you in his arms and carries you the rest of the way. While the rockstar climbs into the water with you, Steve sits on the edge face you both as he leans against the wall, studying you as his friend washes your skin.

When Eddie starts to clean between your legs, you wince causing Steve’s face to twitch with worry.

“I know, baby girl, I know. I’m almost done.”, the rockstar tries to comfort as you began to softly cry.

When your eyes lock with the other boy’s, you gently smile and he does the same.

“I love you, Steve.”

“I love you to, honey.”, he murmurs as he leans forward to grab your hand so he can kiss the back of it. “I, um, I hope you know we aren’t angry with you or anything. We know that…you weren’t…flirting or—”

“I know. As soon as he touched me…I knew something was off. I swear I didn’t recognize him—”

“We know.”, Eddie soothes as he kisses your cheek. “It did trigger something though. Memories of her being more than polite just to get a rise out of us. Add in what you mentioned…”

“That he had the audacity to touch you and talk to you because he thought we wouldn’t do anything.”, Steve clarified when your eyebrows furrowed. “Because, ya know, we’re grandpas and all that.”

A large grin stretches across both their faces at the sound of your laugh as it echoes through the bathroom.

“He said that was the reason but you know that’s not why right? It’s not your age, its that she sees you as weak. That’s what this whole display is about. That’s why she wants to talk to me. She knows I don’t see you that way and she genuinely believes she can change my mind like she did with everyone else in her circle.”

“Listen to baby girl over here talking like a lawyer. Do you want to take over our case because you absolutely can.”, Eddie jokes as he pulls you back into a tight hug.

Steve’s face slowly changes as his eyes flood with concern before his fingers extend to lightly trace the skin along your neck.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”, the mogul exhales as he rises to his feet. “Ed, go ahead, get her dressed, and when you’re done bring her to the kitchen.”

“Ay yi, Captain.”, the rockstar sasses as he climbs out of the water and grabs a towel. “Again, boy talking to me like he’s my Daddy.”

When his eyes linger where Steve’s had, you shifted your gaze towards the mirror to find growing bruises the size of fingerprints along your throat.

“It’s ok, Eddie, I promise.”, you coo as you reach up to caress his cheek. “I would have used the safe word if you both were hurting me.”

With a tight smile, he nods, gently drying you before throwing some pajamas over your body and carrying you into the kitchen to place you on the counter.

“Ok, honey, this is going to be cold.”, Steve announces as he rubs his hands together and rubs them along your skin. Your squeak at the cold gel makes him chuckle as he continues his task. “This stuff is pretty good. It should lessen’ that colorization before work on Monday.”

“Hey.”, you call softly as you grip his chin and tilt his eyes up to meet yours. “Not the first time your fingers have left bruises on my body. In a good way of course.”

His movements slow for just a moment before he sighs and continues.

“This is different.”

“How?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“We don’t actively want to hurt you, sweetheart.”, Eddie answers for him. “You said we could use you to…throw a tantrum as you call it but…”

“Remember last time, when you got scared that you triggered something by being a brat?” You nod at Steve’s question. “Same thing more or less. She…brings out the worst in us.”

“You keep saying that but I just don’t see it. I really don’t, Steve.”

The rockstar hopped up beside you and handed you a cup of warm tea eliciting a cute little sigh that makes them smile as the liquid slides down your throat.

“You’ve never pushed.” Blinking at Eddie’s statement, he exhaled as he petted your head. “Kind of like what Roman did, she would dangle men in front of us till we snapped. We would scream, yell, shout but it never got physical until we were playing. We made sure she reiterated she knew the word but she never used it. She…fuck…we did drugs together once. She kept pushing and pushing until one bad night I agreed. It was the one and only time I did blow and she held it over my head forever.”

“She would call him names and imply he was angry for something SHE did because he was stoned which he wasn’t.”

“I…it reminded me of my dad and I knew if Wayne found out he would be so disappointed.” As the rockstars head hung, you moved his hair behind his ear and tenderly kissed his cheek.

“Sometimes, Y/N, I would be so wasted from a party the three of us went to that when we were intimate…there were times I felt like I wasn’t in control…She would egg me on talking about how pathetic I was and I would feel my grip tighten…” As he spoke, Steve’s eyes flicked to your throat. “There were times…I wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me…”

Extending your legs, you wrapped them around his waist bringing him to you so you could hug them both tightly.

“I know you’ve been through a lot with her and aren’t even close to being done but please don’t hold it in. Talk to me or hell if you can’t find the words then use me. I know I’m safe with you.”

“Pfft, you can’t just say shit like that and not expect us to swoon, princess.”, Eddie teases as he lays his head on your shoulder and blinks his eyes obnoxiously.

“What if we were done. With the case.”, Steve interjects.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…what if we paid what she’s asking for?”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”, you growl a bit sharply making them both chuckle as the mogul cups your cheeks to bring your forehead to his lips.

“Because, baby girl, if we did that then everything would end now and we can move on with our lives…be happy just the three of us.”

Sighing, you jump down from the counter, regretting your decision as your core throbs at the soreness. They watch you scoot to the sofa before following, Steve placing himself on his knees in front of you as Eddie sits beside you holding your tea and carefully putting an ice pack between your legs.

“Thank you.”, you murmur as he lays his arm behind your head. “Steven, if you think this will stop her then you aren’t as smart as I thought you were. If you give in, she’ll just keep coming at you guys asking for more and more. It may not be now but it’s not the money she’s after. She likes toying with you and when she realizes she can’t change my mind she’ll probably do the same with me to.”

“Over my dead body.”, the mogul grumbles as you smirk.

“You both have to be smart about this. Don’t let her win.”

“What do you think we should do, baby?”, Eddie asks as his fingers begin to play with your hair.

################

Gina saunters into Steve’s empty building with a giddy sense of pride. When the mogul emailed her that God awful formal statement asking her to meet them in his office she literally danced around her (Roman’s) massive bedroom as she began getting ready.

She knew sending the quarterback would rattle their cage. Eddie was the easiest one to shake but Steve was the most fun to make jealous. Neither boy was the possessive type but the mogul held in his emotions more than his friend and watching him break was just…so much fun.

When he stood up to keep her from talking to you, she knew exactly what she needed to do. You meant nothing to her. Whether she could get you on her side or not didn’t matter to her one bit but if she could convince you in someway to leave them…

The thought of them broken hearted as they crawled back to her drove her insane. One way or another she’d get the money she was owed but to watch them grumble after abandoning her? Well, that was just a bonus.

“You know, boys, we could have done this at my place.”

“Last we checked; you don’t have one.”

At the sound of your voice, her head shot up to take in the setting before her.

Instead of Steve sitting at his desk, you were in his large office chair while both men were seated off to the side on his couch he kept by the wall. While they were dressed a bit more casually, you were in a red, long sleeve velvet dress that had a belt around your hips accentuating your curves. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, displaying the guitar pick necklace Eddie had once told her was his favorite.

As you stood up and came around the desk, your red heels Steve bought you clacked across the floor.

Her startled eyes scanned you over constantly before she took a step backward causing a smirk to flicker across your lips.

“Well Gina, you wanted to talk to me so here I am. Let’s talk.”

###############

@aol19 @paradisepoisons @paleidiot @dashingdeb16

@lilaclazer @joannamuns9n @thwippyparker @emotionaldreamer

@aactuaaltraash @alastorssimp @mygirlchaos @starksbabie @imagine-all-the-imagines @myherometalhead

AGAIN! Here's hoping the tags do what I want this time lol

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dadbodbuck · 4 hours ago

Text

does the swallow dream of flying?

Rating: G | WC: 1.6k | Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Summary:

Tommy calls Eddie after he breaks up with Buck. Eddie has some choice words for him. Coda for 8x06.

{ Read it here on Ao3! }

OR read below!

“Eddie,” Tommy says, voice hoarse on the other end of the line. He sounds—if not drunk, then so heartbroken it sounds like inebriation. “I wanted to—I’m calling to say goodbye.”

Eddie’s not quite sure if he means it the way he thinks he does, but his stomach almost falls out through the soles of his feet anyway. He sits bolt upright in bed, carefully extricating himself away from Buck, who’s doing his best impression of a endoparasite (“A parasite that lives on the skin of its host, Eddie, it’s really fascinating stuff—”) and somehow latched onto Eddie’s waist with an iron grip while also being dead asleep.

What little vestiges of sleep had been clinging to him fall completely away as he steps into his own hallway, quietly hissing, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I mean—at home?” Tommy says, confused, and okay, yeah, he’s definitely slurring his words a little, “Where else would I be?”

Eddie sighs and drags a hand over his face. “Are you going to be safe? Do I need to call someone?”

“No! No, it’s not like that,” Tommy assures him, “Sorry, I should have clarified. I’ll be okay. This is just… this is it. For us. Since Ev—since Buck and I broke up.”

“From what I heard, you’re the one who broke up with him,” Eddie huffs, “Or did I just spend the last three hours getting snot on my nice white shirt for a mutual thing?”

“This is what I mean!” Tommy insists, “He’s your best friend. I’m—I know I don’t rank that high. I just… fuck, I really enjoyed spending time with you these past six months. It’ll—it’ll always be,” a rough, shaky breath, “I’ll remember it fondly.”

Eddie feels a shocking flare of irritation, and it leads him out onto his back patio, so he knows he won’t wake Buck up. “What the fuck happened, man?”

“I had—I had to end it,” Tommy says, with a shake in his voice like a motorcycle’s death wobble, “It wasn’t going to last. If I didn’t pull the plug it would have broken me. I didn’t want to—I didn’t want it to get to the point where either one of us would get our hearts broken.”

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, neither one of you sound especially put together right now,” Eddie positively seethes, “He’s fucking gutted, Kinard. He told me—” (“I didn’t know if I loved him this morning, and then he called me Buck and I felt sick. What—what else could it be?”) “—well, he told me a lot that, frankly, I don’t think you should hear from anyone but him. And you don’t even know what you did to him because you ran! You didn’t even try—”

“Please stop,” Tommy says, sounding smaller than Eddie has ever heard him, “It’s… it’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Eddie snaps.

“For him!” Tommy insists, “For both of us, but especially for him. I’m not the forever guy. I’m not his forever guy, and I’m not yours, either. I just want… I want a clean break. I—I want—”

There’s a sniffle, a choked-off sob, and Tommy says, “I just want to be left alone. It would hurt less if people would just leave me the fuck alone.”

“That’s a shitty excuse, and you know it,” Eddie accuses, “Tommy, listen. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, I’m saying this because—despite the fact that you’re apparently the biggest idiot I’ve ever met—I care about you. I care about you outside of your relationship to Buck. Or did you forget the fact that you were my friend before you were his boyfriend?”

“So, what,” Tommy says, irritation seeping into his voice, “You want to keep talking to me? I know how that goes. You’ll text me every once in a while, we won’t hang out if Buck’s going to be there, so you’ll lose interest and our fun trips and sparring sessions will be fewer and further between, and it’ll hurt. It’ll hurt worse than this. Why do you think I’m doing this, Eddie? I’m doing this because it’s the only way I can keep myself sane.

“You want to know why? You want to know why I broke up with him? Because I woke up the morning of our anniversary and realized I was falling in love with him. I haven’t been able to eat. I haven’t been able to sleep. I—I realized I would let him do anything to me, and that’s not something I ever want to feel again. So I couldn’t. There—there’s your fucking answer. I broke up with him because a little heartbreak is better than ever letting myself get hurt like that ever again.”

The words kind of prickle at some sense in the back of Eddie’s brain. The anger fades a little, and into something a lot more like concern. “Hurt like what, Tommy?”

“I don’t—I don’t know how to tell someone no once they’re in my life like that,” Tommy confesses through gritted teeth, “Maybe it’s my dad’s fault, maybe Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’s fault, maybe it’s just me. Every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended in me making the same mistake. I stayed too long, I let them—I let them believe I wanted to marry them, or I let them take out their anger on me, or I—I—other stuff. Evan—Buck doesn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right,” Eddie acquiesces, “He doesn’t. He deserves a partner who can communicate openly with him. Which you had been doing. You’re capable of being open, Tommy. You did it before.”

Tommy pauses on the other end of the line. “I—I don’t know what to do, Eddie.”

“Did you want to break up with him?” Eddie presses.

“No,” Tommy says, easy as breathing, “Of course not. I want him around for the rest of my life. But that’s… selfish.”

“And breaking up with him because you don’t want to talk through something difficult and scary is so altruistic,” Eddie counters, “You know, there’s this thing Buck says about love—you don’t find it, you make it. I think he heard it on a scene we were at years ago. From this old gay couple, been together for decades and decades.”

Tommy’s quiet on the other end, and then Eddie hears the hitch of his breath. Tommy is sobbing, silent and restrained, but so hard the exhalation of breath sounds nearly painful.

(“I’m starting to think the curse wasn’t just Billy Boils. Maybe it’s me—I mean, I move into Abby’s place, and she leaves me. I pick out an apartment with Ali, and she leaves me. Taylor moves in, and she leaves me. And now this? I can’t… Eddie, I can’t keep doing this. I’m—maybe I’m just the guy who’s good for a fun time, not a long time. I—what am I doing wrong?”

“Buck, you’re not doing anything wrong. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you think—do you think you could ever fall in love with me?”

“I think if I wasn’t this way, I already would have.”)

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Tommy,” Eddie says, “But I really think you should talk to him. Tell him where your head’s at. Buck’s really good at—at understanding why you hurt him, and he’s even better at forgiving.”

“I—I—I can’t—”

“You can,” Eddie insists, “So pull yourself together, do some box breathing, get some sleep, and come over to my house tomorrow. I’ll make my hangover cure. I’ll lock the doors if I have to.”

Tommy’s quiet, which Eddie interprets as a fully-blown panic attack.

“If you don’t, I will call Athena Grant,” Eddie threatens, “You don’t want to know the things she’s willing to do for Buck. I’ve seen her break at least three laws with my own eyes.”

This, at least, gets a laugh out of Tommy. “Okay—Jesus, yeah. What time?”

“If you’re not over here by nine I’m sending the cavalry,” Eddie says primly, “And bring flowers. Nobody’s ever gotten Buck flowers before.”

Tommy takes a slow, shaky breath out. “Thanks, Eddie. You didn’t—you didn’t have to do all this for me.”

“Everyone always says Buck has a habit of worming his way into your heart, but nobody ever talks about me,” Eddie grins, “You’re stuck with me now, Kinard. Rain or shine. Even when you’re the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow when I’m on my way,” Tommy says, “I’ll—I should go eat some carbs and drink water now.”

“Take care of yourself, man,” Eddie says, “And don’t you ever call me to say goodbye again. Or break up with Buck like that. Also—call him Evan. It’s fucking weird to hear you call him Buck.”

“Okay,” Tommy acquiesces, quiet. “Damn. I was so worried about falling in love with Evan that I didn’t even realize I already loved you.”

“I’m sneaky like that,” Eddie says, “I’ll see you tomorrow—or else.”

(The next day, Tommy knocks on the door at nine sharp. He hasn’t changed out of his pajamas, his hair is a mess, he looks too gaunt and the bags under his eyes could fit a small country. But he’s holding a bouquet of wildflowers.

“I got this one because they’re the same color as your eyes,” Tommy says to Buck, who stands in the living room with his mouth ajar.

“What’s going on right now?” Buck says, eyes darting over to Eddie suspiciously.

“I’m going on a walk,” Eddie says, putting his sunglasses on his forehead and twisting at the hips to pop his back, “Don’t fuck on any of my furniture.”)

#bucktommy #tevan #kinkley #kinley #you'll have to kill me if you want me to stop writing this ship

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