kayla !!

she/her, 21

[avocad0ess]

I wonder who I would be today if I didn’t develop an obsession with fanficion when I was 11

[tteokdoroki]

🛞 YOU AIN'T MY BOYFRIEND ✩  katsuki bakugou .ᐟ

🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 you think that katsuki bakugou cares too much. he obsesses over the little things. whether or not you've eaten, whether or not you're seeing someone else, whether or not you even like him. you can't understand why he cares so much about someone like you. after all, he isn't even your boyfriend. (6.2K)

🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ suggestive & angst ⋆ eighteen plus only. pro hero au, characters are depicted as adults. friends with benefits, brief smut scenes, daddy kink mention, situationships, insecurity, simp katsuki, avoidant attachment styles, reader and katsuki are bad at feelings, unhappy ending, open ending. pro hero katsuki bakugou, toxic avoidant & fem reader.

🏁  team radio ! ⋆ happy birthday to me!! sharing another fic for my bday bc it is my gift to you!! for all the memories n the love n awl!! this year its blasty boy, based on this post i made ages ago. been workin on this for a while and it felt so good to explore katsuki in this way!! there may be a part two lol. thank you so much as always! hope you all enjoy and click for more. 

── © tteokdoroki ╱ 2026.

bakugou has always been good at sensing oncoming danger. no, he didn’t have a quirk for it and no, he didn’t have to train at it. he’s always just had a penchant for knowing when peril was prowling along the horizon, he thought quick on his feet and under pressure, his instincts were killer. there’s a reason why he’s the best at what he does. saving people, stopping threats. 

but then, there’s you. 

they’d call you a hero level threat if they knew you, a little more then personally. an enigma  that sucks the good-hearted nature out of someone and turns them into something hollow. a villain by matters of the heart rather than that of society — although a string of failed relationships and an obvious lack of commitment would argue otherwise. katsuki never sees it coming, the fatal blow you land on him, the one that shatters his very vision of how love works. 

he doesn’t expect to meet you through a friend of a friend and hit it off straight away, his walls crumbling down as if they were made from nothing but sand. a somber stooge to thrashing imperial shaded waves and saltine sea water. he doesn’t anticipate falling fast, hard enough to scrape his knees on shingly tarmac. abrasive on the palms of his hands. all this, even though dynamight has never tripped or lost his cool before.

you’re disarmingly funny, smart-mouthed when it counts but you’re dedicated to your craft and fiercely loyal to the people you care about. by all means, you’re the girl of his dreams, there’s not a day that goes by where you’re not the first thing on his mind after a gruelling patrol and meetings with the hero commission. 

katsuki seeks you out like a blossom winding up to find the sun, desperate to spend free time with you — dates that aren’t really dates in places hidden away from prying public eyes. late nights that lead to your legs tangled at the short end of his couch, your cheek smooshed into his chest and a hand low the small of your back. heaviness there that doesn’t seem burdensome, natural.

the two of you are too far into the comfort zone after such a short time, he doesn’t even pick up on the blaring warning signs. the dating app notifications that still pop up on your phone, the way your head dips when he leans in a little too close to kiss you. 

he doesn’t see it clearly enough, the dangerous thorns that wrap around you like the stems of a blood red rose. his friends know better, you’re the type of girl who drank the blood of her enemies and ate the bones of her past lovers, stripping them bare like a carcass lost in the wastelands. they know the map of bakugou’s being well, the subtle craving for attachment and endearment that lies behind walls of flesh, muscle and a hardened exterior made up of a bit of trauma with a dash of near death. for all his gruffness and grandeur, there is a human within katsuki bakugou. one who carnally craves the simple promise of forever with someone else. 

those friends who pledge a lifetime by katsuki’s side aren’t enough to satisfy his appetite and yearning inner-ego, they know that, but still — they look out for him. 

“oh, relationships? i don’t do those.” you’d laughed, then, waving a hand dismissively when mina corners you on the way into the dynamight agency. a favour. a good friend willing to ask what the other can’t. 

her shoulders had risen in anxiety, treading carefully as the pink haired pro prodded and pried. “then what about katsuki?”

“what about him?” you quipped, tone clipped, unwilling to fall open to her investigation. katsuki’s friends weren’t yours by any means — you were new, fresh meat in their eyes that had somehow withstood of concerned childhood classmates. “we’re not dating. just messing around?”

mina’s expression soured then. “does he know that?” 

“he should. he’s a grown man, i’m sure he knows what kind of relationship he can handle.” 

“a situationship.” 

“a friendship that comes with added benefits.” he recalls you supplying. quick to the punch and cold like ice.

katsuki stays long enough to hear mina give you the low down. katsuki bakugou doesn’t do casual, he doesn’t mess around — his heart only goes out to some and when it’s yours, you’re supposed to take care of it. mina gives you the chance to walk away, leave him be and you fail to take it. with that minacious sense of esurience you possess.

the first time you sleep together happens after your first fight. he wants something you can’t give him, permanence, the sturdiness that reminds one of an oak tree that’s grown proud and tall over time. katsuki wants something that lasts and his heart is set on you — someone who disappears into the rolling smoke and only exists for a split second, a momentary fraction of time like when the sun and moon meet for an eclipse. you’re evanescent, almost imaginary, fleeting like a nomad who never stays for too long.

he can’t have you. not in the way that he needs to feel stabilised. 

everything blows up, when you tell him that. sitting on the other side of the bed, wearing his clothes, comfortable in his penthouse where your shoes ( an impressive collection of sneakers to high heels ) are lined up by the door and you’ve got a favourite mug on the top shelf of his kitchen cabinets where only he can reach. there’s a piece of you everywhere in bakugou’s home but not a single piece you can part with long enough for him to call you his own. the fight is full of rage and pent up frustration and a hurt that’s nearly incurable — katsuki should have made you leave right then and there, emotions rising like hot air above cool. with tears building behind his red eyes that burn brightly with fury, but he can’t because you’re so intertwined with his life, it’d be like having a lung missing if you’d gone. 

it’s not love, it shouldn’t be — but his heart feels anchored to you even if it’s holding you back. you let him say it, that he loves you so much it could kill him in his youthful age. he loves you while pushing into you deep, chest rising and falling in tune with yours, much like a habit you’ve picked up from one another. he loves you with your legs hiked high on his shoulders, at the weight of his shaft pressed up against your sensitive walls with his teeth and tongue marking you like you belong to him. the sex that night had felt like a confession, a love letter written in hickies and scratch marks — penned and signed into your body by rough-padded fingertips that find your clit between rolling waves of trusts, hips that hit yours like the turning tide hits the shore.  

in the moment, you reciprocated. sung his praises kike they were the lyrics to your favourite song, coated in wistfulness. howled his name, katsuki, at the moon whilst the stars bore witness to the union of your souls and your bodies. struck claw marks between the muscles in his back, leaving him with a scar. a heavily ironic reminder of your presence in his life — even if you left him physically, you’d still be there in the root of his heart and in every breath he’d take from then on. he couldn’t get rid of you, not that he wanted to, not even if he tried. in every sense of the word — mind, body and soul, katsuki had decided he belonged to you. willed you to understand through every stroke of his cock into you, every gentle kiss that deepened to share hungry moans, every caress over your battle wounds and fatal flaws… that he was yours, however you wanted. whatever that looked like. he would take it. 

in the morning, you were different — colder, sharper, as if the sinful hells from which your desire had risen from, had now  frozen over. like the heat and passion you’d shared were nothing but a mutually beneficial exchange. pleasure for pleasure, not to be mistaken for beating hearts coming together as one. in the morning, you’d tossed katsuki aside, smiling sweet, your lips pressed against his cheek, your clothes from the night before wrinkled against your love-bruised frame. “thank you,” he remembers you saying. “same time next week?” 

it’s a joke that lands as a sucker punch. worse than any hit he’s ever taken on the field. 

despite that, bakugou had never wanted you more. something he couldn’t keep. a hurricane in a glass jar that  he couldn’t contain. free as a bird that could fly away at a moment's notice — too dazed with desire and devotion to see the cruel limbo you were leaving him in. even then he’d have called you the girl of his dreams, perfect in every way except for your knack for avoidance. he should have walked away then. 

he should walk away now. as his tired, blood red eyes look to you with a rose tinted lens. watching you sleep soundly amongst sheets you’d complain cost more than a month’s rent and won’t let katsuki buy for your own apartment. still thinking that you’re perfect for him, that you fit right into his world where you’ve made him so intrinsically part of your own. thriving in this weird symbiotic relationship where you get your needs taken care of and he gets a taste of what it’s like to be longed for. as more than a hero. as less than dynamight. just katsuki. you’d taken a sledgehammer to the pro hero’s concrete shell and sent his shield packing, now he’s no longer to build up his walls without fear of shutting you out. 

friends with benefits, lovers but not quite — bakugou doesn’t care as long as he’s with you. he’d pick fights for you until he turned black and blue, rescue you from the competition because he knows it means having his way with you afterwards, let you call him your boyfriend high on life and liquor just to piss another man off. now you’re in his shirt, the warm charm of the sun spilling through his curtains to illuminate the soft slopes of your thighs and highlight every perfect imperfection on your skin. the scars you try to hide, the tiger stripes you sometimes let him love. 

you look softest when you’re asleep, like you wouldn’t dare destroy someone’s self worth and ability to love. you don’t look dangerous. 

he still doesn’t believe that you are.

“suki,” stretching high and wide like a little harmless — maybe even blameless — kitten lounging under the blessing of the afternoon sun. your voice calls to him — wafting through the aerosols that catch light under golden rays. they act as a smog, a performance of smoke and mirrors that hides your true intentions from the blonde. even if he were to wave his hand through the smoggy disguise, katsuki still wouldn’t be able to see your desires clearly. “my head hurts.” 

“yeah?” bakugou’s bare chest rises and falls with somewhat of a brusque titter, the sound curling inward like a wisp of smoke caught within his lungs —  cemented into their small branches of bronchi. it’s soft, barely noticeable, if you weren’t listening. almost as if he’s been trying to keep it a secret from you. as though his fondness were to scare you away. “want me to kiss it better?”

“mhm…” more of you emerges from cotton hills and stiff peaks of linens — a hand rubbing through the crust corned at your eyes and lips. “god it kills, what even happened last night?”

even then, despite the sleep caked into your skin and the lines carved out by creases in the sheets struck against your cheeks, disregarding the bitterness to your morning breath and the drool staining the fabric of his your sleep shirt — you’re still the most beautiful person in the world to katsuki bakugou. with all your flaws and icks and green flags he can’t help the uptick in his pulse and the pull of gravity that lures him into smiling almost school-girlishly at the sight of you rubbing the ache from your forehead, lost in the waves of his bed spread.

you’re perfect even if you don’t know it — some kind of lawless and flawless being that could do no wrong in the jewelled eyes of the beholder. 

“party. didn’t invite me so i don’t know what you had.”

“it was a party, am i not supposed to drink?” a cheshire grin blooms amongst your features and compliments the mirthy spark to your sleepy stare as you reply bluntly. if there was any inclination as to how deeply katsuki feels for you, it would be the way his focus flits away from your eye contact and the manner in which rich red blood pools underneath the surface of his cheeks. a blush that catches sunlight and spreads like a flame over oil slick, creeping down to the back of katsuki’s neck.

he rubs at it — akin to how one would smooth over a scab they’re not trying to pick in fear of making it bleed —  as he speaks. intent and careful. “responsibly, sure,” he’s already reaching to pull the covers back and welcome you to the land of the living. you hide, pouting like you’ve been scolded. “you were so shitfaced last night, ‘m surprised you even managed to call me to come pick you up.” 

you don’t like that. the tenderness that sits between curse words and stretching through the comfortable atmosphere of the late morning. to you, katsuki is scary in the kind of way that reminds you of the buzz you feel after watching a horror movie — electric and alive, all fried nerve endings and an impending sense of doom tickling your chest. maybe it’s because he’s so handsome. in the way that causes trouble with the old ladies on floor thirty four of the apartment building or gets the girls tripping over their kitten heels at the agency. maybe it’s because he leans into this natural duty to protect or nurse strays like you back to health. 

genuine fear easily takes residence in your being when bakugou cares for you in the ways you feel you don’t deserve. it’s small, fleeting — almost like the subtle beat of a butterfly's wings or the tickle of your own hair at the nape of your neck. 

katsuki isn’t someone to be afraid of. he’s not some kind of predator lurking in the dark waiting to turn you into a chunk of meat. his affections lap at you in the same way ocean blue does at a sandy shoreline, in soft waves with bubbling white at the owl waiting to be absorbed into porous substrate. he waits, oh, he waits for you to accept all of him as though he were always meant to be yours. 

that’s what frightens you, his gentle dedication. his tired eyes that crystallise when you walk into a room. his heart tattooed in fading ink on his sleeve, waiting for you to take a knife and pierce it with all that you’ve got. 

the thought of accepting his love and returning it had your stomach turning. not because you resent the idea, but because you find yourself warming to it like a steel kettle on a hot stove or a freshly potted sapling winding towards the light in order to grow. it’s as frightening coming face to face with an animal that sees you as nothing more than prey. like a hare standing against a wolf where the odds are hardly in its favour. 

“it’s too early on in the day for you to parent me katsuki and you sound like my dad,” you bite like a snake that has venom poised behind its teeth, regarding the blonde with devious merriment. “bet you like that though, gets you all riled up telling me what to do. acting like my dad. do you want to be? my daddy, katsuki?”

your banter is usually like this, the kind where the dialect crawls underneath his skin through an open wound and spreads uncomfortably in the form of a viral infection. it sticks meagerly to katsuki’s ego in a similar fashion to a postage stamp placed down wrong — where you can’t pick it up by the corner and peel it back, unable to reposition it correctly. in the moment, you’re funny — light on your feet and quick with quips that come easy and aren’t supposed to mean anything aside from serving the purpose of laughter. except, when the coals cool and the time passes you leave a sting that creeps up on the victim, dead before they even know it. straight faced by the time the day is over.

“don’t be like that.” he leans over you, wafting notes of clean pine and smoked applewood, sparking your senses awake, and pushes the side of your head playfully. his touch slides down, careful as it goes, before bakugou cups your cheeks and squishes them twice.“bein’ fuckin’ mean.” 

“sorry daddy.” you grin the same as before. with the air of someone who knows exactly who they are and what they’re doing. you’re a woman who’s made a vexatious habit out of reading people — katsuki is one of them — scouring their worn, aging pages for something that makes them tick. 

by now he’s caught on the game that you play, toying with the knotted mess of his feelings like a feline with her bawl of carmine coloured yarn. the iniquitous version of the red string of fate. he returns to his seat at the edge of the bed,  turning away before you catch the fall in his face. as though the manner in which icarus flew too close to the sun — only to be scorned —  could be captured in his expression, like an artist who carves his wages through stone.

“oh shut up,” bakugou pushes again, no weight behind his hand. controlled because he’s not a man with a temper. the kind you run to when he spends a weekend out of town. “‘m not fuckin’ you ‘n i gotta go to work.” 

“that’s never stopped you before.” you purr, never quite having learned how to be subtle.

hero galas and award-show after parties run rampant through katsuki’s mind — the memories without picture frames because you never stay long enough to keep. alcohol bleeds into the ink, leaving them splotchy where he’d remember the happenings if he were sober. lipstip smudge kiss that taste of plasticky makeup and the bitter pop of champagne 

undeterred by your little mind games and the puzzles you make of the pro hero’s patience — he glances over at you, just for a moment. registers the presence of you helpless in his bed and then suppresses a fond smile, poking his tongue into his cheek. “you’re hungover, that’ll stop me. told you, i care about you.” 

there’s a twang to katsuki’s voice that has always warmed you sweetly. much like honey and buttermilk simmering on a stove. years of drawling and pulling along the vowels braided between their intimidating consonant peers. unhurried and rough around the edges. the way he softly answers you despite the wrath and envy that hides behind the snakelike bite of your words when you speak — he tries not to be loud, in fear his speech may be taken as a curse. the last thing katsuki wants is to scare you away, especially when you make a habit of escaping from his hold like a bird from a net or a gazelle from a hunter. 

you turn silent –  in a manner similar to the creep of the quiet night that sneaks up on her friend, the day – shifting upright and bringing the duvet with you. “don’t need you to,” your fingers curl in the blankets until crescent moons form in your palms through the thinness. you don’t snap, that is what terrifies katsuki more. “and that doesn’t mean you have to baby me.” it’s a childish retort that you add on, one that lands in the pocket of silence beginning to brew at the center of the room. sour like the punch of a lemon when you sip on something citrus. “i’m an adult, we can fuck if i wanna.” 

“but i don’t,” he feels far away when he responds, carefully unveiling his truth to you at a safe distance, to avoid the splinters of your shattering morning. “even if you’re nicer to me when you’re fucked up.” 

a rare joke from him turns you into the cheshire cat.

“you think i’m mean sober. so you prefer me subdued.” you ask, a taunting tone intertwined with the cadence of a person who seeks only to get a rise out of their victim. you pass his

the blonde whips round to face you, not to yell or to “listen. you were drinkin’, i wasn’t there to look out for you and there could have been anythin’ in your system. i was worried about you.” something churns in his stomach and ties his intensities together in some kind of fatal knot guided by a sick sense of anxiety.  it’s the same kind of feeling you. katsuki sighs, shoulders falling as though the strings that master them have been released.  “i don’t wanna argue.”

“me either,” you quip, sensing the defeat. “my head really hurts, kats.”

he softens as you drop the topic. a change in tactics to keep him on his toes, interested in playing the game of chess you’ve laid out for the two of you. his pieces have been stolen, barely anything left on the board since you so eagerly take and take from him. “i know baby,” katsuki supplies in that sugary simple syrup manner that would have any girl twist her ankle in order to get a chance with him. “just, lemme get you some orange juice for your hangover, kay?”

“with bits in it? bleck. you know i don’t like orange juice.” he does. of course katsuki bakugou knows that you hate orange juice with the little floating pieces of fruit flesh and that you prefer the kind of squash you dilate with running water over anything else. he knows that you hate to eat breakfast in the morning because you’re never too hungry, but if he were to cook something up you’d eat it with the same appetite as a grown man. katsuki knows you like the sun burning up high, would know the familiar company of a summer’s day and a clear blue sky — in a way that’s complimentary, two souls tangled by a fine rouge thread, knotted with no loose ends.  

except he finds you tugging at them as though you’re a bird caught in a net — fighting ferociously until you’re too fatigued to taste it. freedom. as though you’re frightened of the calm katsuki could offer you. he dwells on the thought, standing too still amongst a hurricane — biting fear cool against his skin because he’s not entirely sure what he’ll do when he loses your presence beside him simply because you’re not ready for something greater.

his eyes drag away from you, polarised to the wall like a magnet that attracts. “well it’s either that or tomato juice, pick your poison,” katsuki supplies, listening for your tantrum amongst cotton sheets. you settle on the bright, more-fruity counterpart ( because you’ve argued about this before at 3AM whilst he’s been in indonesia for a mission and you've been stuck here — using your spare key to get into his apartment when you’d missed him. tomato, despite its many seeds, isn’t a fruit in your eyes ) and the blonde hauls himself up from the edge of the bed to find his juicer in the kitchen. “that’s what i thought, brat.”

katsuki never leaves you without saying goodbye. a text after patrol to let you know that he’s safe, a kiss on the forehead when he moves from one room to the next, a perfectly wrapped morsel of his soul packed up into a brief, flickering moment all for you. something to keep when the regular rhythm of your body starts to fall out of tune without him, no matter how long or short the time spent apart is — katsuki always gives you something. 

but this morning he leaves the bedroom with his lips pressed into a thin line and the hard set expression of a man who’s worked so much for too little in return — breaking a sweat to undo crossed wires as though there’s a time bomb ticking relentlessly between you that requires a special agent’s touch to figure you out. katsuki isn’t a spy, he isn’t a mind reader and yes, he’s super-human… but in his line of work there are just some people you can never seem to save. maybe you’re one of them and maybe that’s why he feels as though he might need to give up.

you draw your knees to your chest underneath the sheets in order to add pressure to the panic building within — he doesn’t shut you out in the manner that you do with him. katsuki always comes back to pull you out of your own mess as though you’re a wounded animal in need of tending. he’s good like that. he cares about you like that. 

you’re a blender, an emotional one at that, you come with razor sharp, silvering blades that constantly whir like a looming threat. get too close and you’ll lose a piece of yourself, bleed out on cold concrete like a saviour who tried entirely too hard to save someone who didn’t want it. what seems right to him, when it comes to you, is a means to his own demise and death – in this tale, katsuki is a wolf licking crimson blood from a blade poised to kill him, worsening his own wounds inflicted by his own desire for you.

a mere twenty paces away, you listen to him clatter about in the kitchen – juicing fresh fruit for you. from scratch. just to help you feel better. It's a luxury you know that you don’t deserve, a tragedy that you know he’ll play line by line if it means being with you. for a while, you thought yourself invincible, taking advantage of the weakness of men who have hurt you before. yet, katsuki is kind, he warms you, treats you as though you’re flawless to the point where you feel as though you are a physical lie. an apple dealt to adam instead of eve, rotted on the inside and ripe on the out.

bakugou waltzes back into the bedroom not even ten minutes later, freshly squeezed orange juice and two pills in hand to ease away the pain you know doesn’t compare to what lives between each intercostal space protecting his heart and lungs. he says nothing. you say nothing. the room feels like a trap, latent hostility building between the four walls as if it had cemented them together itself.

you inhale, like you’re taking a drag of a cigarette. you don’t want the smoke to clear – you’ll see the heartache in his eyes clearer then.

“are we okay?” you ask with the uneasy focus of someone who feels like her world is out to get her – drown her in the emotional turmoil she’s built. a swig of orange juice and bitter paracetamol clings to the insides of your teeth, causing a similar discomfort to that in the atmosphere. “i feel like… things have been really weird. with you. with me.”  

“no ‘m not. you’re being weird.” he delivers the line with a sharp intensity you’re completely unfamiliar with – like he’s taken on the same skillset, the same precise aim of an adroit sniper, and gone straight for your heart – forcing himself to speak over the blockage in his throat that keeps him from spilling emotions like an oil slick on clean water. 

a wound to the body can easily heal, but one to the heart that keeps pumping, can last a lifetime. you don’t scream out in agony, a wounded soldier on a battlefield – no – you quickly build a defensive shield and strike a strategic attack, because your ego broils brightly underneath the surface of your skin and never settles enough to let your temper just be.  

this time round, you scoff in braggart disbelief. as if you hadn’t expected this, the rain on your make believe parade.  “woah okay, childish.” 

observant as ever, katsuki does not miss the way you roll your eyes over the glass – the spread of your lips seeping into your cheeks as they take the form of a grim lour. something akin to kindling, a match-stick ready to set light to a bomb. this morning you’d promised not to argue, and yet, one catches in the wind that changes course. imminent and ready to detonate this faux relationship you’ve built.

“oh, like you’re not.” the blonde snaps back, sarcasm snaked between syllables. 

“alright then, what’s that supposed to mean, katsuki?”

“you just — ‘m just…” bakugou grapples for a sensible sentence, something to explain away the clouds in his mind that came with you. he hates to admit it, how you unhappiness came into his world soon after you did, bringing with you bouquets of bewilderment and nights where too many things were left unsaid.  “it’s okay for you to tease me and not the other way around?” 

it’s unclear why that sets you off, perhaps its how accusatory bakugou sounds. when he says it like that – calls you out on how hypocritical you can be, your temper flares like a streak of red in the dead of night. a cry for help to anyone watching, to katsuki not to give up on you before you’ve properly started.

“you’re not kidding around though, it’s not funny,” spitting venomously, you let your response rain down on him like acid rain, searing through the thick and guarded armor he thought he had built strong all these years. “you keep calling me mean when that’s how i’ve always been, firey just how you like it. you treat me like i’m made of glass, like you’ve gone soft and keep looking at me like i’m gonna burst into flames!” it keeps going, this gruesome splurge of awful words used to cut at him, and you can’t stop it because you see it working. the manner in which this big, mountainous and explosive man, shrinks away from you as though it burns to be near. “like me, being here is setting you off. almost as though you don’t want me here. and if you don’t, that’s fine, i’ll go. but in the future don’t bring me over if you’re gonna act all avoidant and shit.”

katsuki sits up now, alert, as if his burns have been doused with cold water. his carmine eyes, devoid of the same cruelty you treat him with, are electrified with everything he doesn’t say. loaded with all the ways you’ve hurt him. tears that refuse to fall. “what? was i supposed to leave you there drunk with that fuckin’ asshole? the one you keep fucking when ‘m not around to give you the attention you crave.” the blonde throws a thumb your way, inculpatory. “you don’t get to do that, call me like ‘m some shitty lapdog. then c-call me that fuckin’ name and then act like it’s weird that i want to take care of you.” 

“call you, what, katsuki?”

“course you don’t remember,” bakugou grumbles incredulously, standing from the bed in the same manner someone would flee from the scene of a crime. like he needs to get away from it all. from you. from the jail cell that is your fucked up relationship. “‘m not saying shit. got patrol so ‘m headin’ out.” 

the blonde excuses himself weakly and reaches for his hero costume as a shield.

because maybe, right now, he needs to be dynamight instead of katsuki. he needs to be a hero to save himself.

“katsuki,” you growl to make him stay. “call you, what? say it. it’s on the tip of your tongue.”

the look he gives you is wounded and pleading. the kind only a dying animal could give whilst begging to be put out of its misery — whatever katsuki says now will be blood on your hands, his organs violently spilling into your grip since you’re the only person in his life with enough strength to rip his heart out from behind the doors to his psyche. “your boyfriend. you called me your boyfriend last night and i picked you up and i liked it.” katsuki admits from across the room, at a safe distance from you because confessing feelings to you is akin to stepping on a land mine.

he’s been fighting an internal war since figuring out that he feels for you outside of fucking, wishing like a wistful child on every lucky star that perhaps, you would be able to wave your white flag and admit the same. beyond your own facade, you could maybe trade your heart for his like you would for a trading card. if you’d wanted him the way he wanted you, you’d push your pride away just enough to let yourself believe you could love someone outside of yourself.

 “i liked that you sat in my backseat, on the verge of throwing up and called me your boyfriend…” he supplies in the same way a child would when they make an attempt to be part of adult conversation — rushed in the sense that syllables land awkwardly and vowels tack themselves to the underneath of his tongue it moves around in his mouth, like there’s too much to say to you and not enough time for telling you. “i feel sick just sayin’ i liked that you let me hold your hair back when you did eventually puke your fuckin’ guts out, ‘nd let me shower you ‘nd change your clothes. let me hold you without making it weird, like we’re not supposed to do that shit just because all we do is have sex!”

with every inch he gives, you take, and the consequences nearly choke katsuki bakugou slowly to an unfair death. “i know you won’t ever let me do it again, now that you’re sober, ‘cause that’s not what you want and it’s not what we agreed to. you don’t like lookin’ like you need someone.”

“but i liked it,” bakugou rasps, vocal chords strained like an out of tune guitar — the notes wail into the tense, thickened air. “even if it was only for one fuckin’ night. when you were mine, for just one night. i liked being your boyfriend.” 

he liked being wrapped around your finger, even if it were a noose. 

“but you’re not,” the words of your retort are entirely too harsh and brittle, and they slip out like fine sand through fingertips before you have a chance to stop them. “you’re not my boyfriend.”

“exactly.”

“so what do we do?”

for the first time that morning. you sound scared — reality dawning on you as though you’ve woken up to nothing after dreaming about everything you could have ever wanted.

“dunno, do whatever you want,” he’s so tired of going back and forth. if he knew from the very day your eyes first met – in a similar fashion to two worlds colliding, colours mixing, flowers blooming – that this is what you’d wanted, he would have stayed far away. “you can stay. you know where your things are ‘nd i left you breakfast. in the fridge. bottom shelf where you can reach it.” 

“katsuki, i–” 

he shakes his head, the weight of him in your mind and head and in this very room lifting – as though he were never there. you seal your lips. your true feelings are a sullen, oppressive secret behind your teeth.

katsuki bakugou is stubborn. he always has been. to a fault. “i really gotta go, kay?”

you sink into the sheets, “okay… i’ll call you?” 

the pit in the stomach tells you he’ll wait for your call, you know he will. he’s always been self destructive like that. you’re like a ticking time bomb in the centre of his bed, where he’s supposed to feel safest — just waiting to explode and send shards of shrapnel shaped like daggers directly into his scarred heart and  he’s got no sense of danger. no telling of when you’re going to go off and decimate him. 

“be safe.” you add.

“i will be. i–” katsuki looks back, his tongue pushed to form the shape of love that he quickly abandons as if the weight isn’t crushing his heart in his chest. “… just don’t go anywhere? we’ll talk about this later.”

you nod silently as he leaves. afraid. 

you never do talk. 

you never do stay. 

because he’s certainly not your boyfriend and you’re not his girlfriend either. 

there’s no obligation in that anyway.

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © TTEOKDOROKI 2020-26. all fanfics & layouts belong to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[dracaryshoney]

More Than Blood

Pairing: Valarr Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Your husband might be the blood of the dragon, but you are a lioness. Consumed by hatred, you hatch a plan most unfit for a wife to bear… until you get what you deserve.

CW: 18+ MDNI, some fluff, slow burn smut, one-shot, a bit of angst, alternate universe, no one dies, Baelor is King and Maekar is the Hand, arranged marriage, marital conflict, husband!Valarr, wife!reader, Lannister!reader, mean!reader, lots of arguing, mention of blood, one dagger use, mention of past events, attempted murder, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, talk of pregnancy, p-in-v, teasing, a touch of switch, praises, face-sitting, breeding kink, well this is Westeros.

Word count: 9.1k.

Note: This is so random of me to write about Valarr, but that sweet man deserves a better ending so... enjoy!

All characters are fictional and adults. Characters and setting are based on GRRM's works. Read at your own discretion. I’m not responsible for your media consumption.

"If you dare touch me without my permission, I will murder you in your sleep, dear husband."

That was the first thing you said to Valarr Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne, after you had shortly arrived in Dragonstone for the first time.

The Young Prince was stunned by your threat, but he knew better than to be your foe. He was the one who decided to wed you after all, despite your harshness toward him.

Days have passed, and the marriage has not been consummated. Though none may know the truth, save you and your husband. He had refused the bedding ceremony back in King's Landing, where the two of you were wed, and rather insisted on bringing you to Dragonstone, away from the capital.

You know it is your duty to give him heirs. Valarr is the eldest son of King Baelor II Targaryen after all. And you will be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when the time comes. Your firstborn son will be heir to the Iron Throne after your husband. You are well aware of that.

But the thought of giving yourself to Valarr Targaryen disgusts you. A dragon of all people. It fills you with hatred and pure rage, somehow.

As you eat your grapes, you recall the first night you spent with Valarr here in this very chamber of yours...

"You have nothing to fear from me, my lady," your husband muttered as he walked closer to you that night in your bedchamber, "I promise I will not... force myself on you if that is what you fear. You have my word."

You chuckled at that. "You do not fear me," you said as you looked up at him, "I don't care about your word. I don't care about you."

Valarr sighed softly. "You do realize we have to consummate the marriage sooner rather than late, do you?" he stared deep into your eyes, "You agreed to this marriage."

"I did not agree," you muttered, "You did."

"Yet here you are."

You shook your head and turned to gaze down at the unfamiliar view of Dragonstone. "Yet here I am," you mumbled.

"It does not have to be this way," your husband murmured, "You do not have to be so... hateful."

You turned to look at him and scoffed. "I am a Lannister of Casterly Rock, the daughter of the Grey Lion," you said, meeting his gaze, "but here I am. Traded like a sheep. Toothless against the dragons. Hateful is too slight a word for it, dear husband."

His eyes softened, then he tried to touch your hand, yet you tore it from his grasp.

"I suppose the maester will send a raven to King's Landing about— well... our proper wedding night. To inform the king that my heir has already been planted in your— I mean... in you," he said before retreating from you to sit on the edge of the bed.

You grabbed a cup from the table and took a sip. When you eventually turned to look at Valarr, his face was already reddened down to his neck. Your irritation slid away slowly when you realized he was getting a little embarrassed from only saying that.

In that moment, you were sure there was something about Valarr that made him different from other highborn men you knew. The prince seemed so soft that you thought you might eat a man such as he with ease, yet there was something about his presence that warned you not to take him lightly.

You sighed and met his gaze. "Then what? You want us to fuck?" you muttered, and he startled a bit when he heard such a lady say that word so carelessly. "Forgive me, my prince," you said as you walked closer to him, "It's not going to happen soon."

Then you seized his dagger and cut your palm, letting the fresh blood stain the bedding.

"Have you lost your mind?!" Valarr shouted in surprise as he took the dagger from you.

"There," you muttered, pointing at the bloodstain on the bedding, "That is your wedding night."

The prince watched you in disbelief as he shook his head. There was a slight regret there in his eyes. Perhaps he regretted that he ever wed you, or chose you as his wife, or even laid his eyes on you.

"Not to worry, husband, I will make sure the maester sends my regards to King's Landing as well."

You smile as you recall how shocked he looked that night and continue chewing the grape, feeling the sweet juice on your tongue. It has been weeks since that night, and not once has he asked about consummating the marriage since then. No one suspects anything. Not the maester, not the servants, not your handmaids. You were clever enough to leave proof that night.

And no one dares to question you.

Your husband might be the blood of the dragon, but you are a lioness. You will not make it easy for him. You will not let him mistake you for a sheep.

One day, your husband summons you to the library in the castle where he usually spends his time studying, surrounded by books and ancient Valyrian scrolls.

"Yes, my prince?" you ask as you stand there in front of him, feeling bothered already.

Valarr looks up from his book. "That gown looks lovely on you. It fits your Lannister gold necklace perfectly," he murmurs, staring at your neck, then your face, meeting your eyes, "You look... very pretty."

"I know that already," you mutter, already annoyed at his compliment, "You sent for me? Why?"

"Have you eaten?" he asks, closing his book.

"Why am I here?"

"You did not answer my question."

"Yes, I have eaten this morning," you answer as you roll your eyes at him. "Why did you send for me? To question me about food? This is such nonsense."

"I heard you left the castle at first light."

"I was only wandering along the stone steps and the shores. I needed fresh air."

"So it seems," your husband murmurs, "Was it pleasant?"

"It was," you mutter, "Until you sent for me and fucking ruined my day."

"Why are you always mad at me?" the prince asks, "I was only being nice to you. Must you be so hateful all the time?"

"I don't wish you to be nice to me. I don't need you to be nice."

"I am your husband," Valarr mutters before standing from his seat and walking toward you. "I have been your husband for a while now, but you have pushed me away every chance you got. Why?"

"Because I hate you."

The Young Prince walks closer and closer until you have to look up to meet his gaze. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare into his eyes. This is the first time you notice how mesmerizing the colour of his mismatched eyes is.

"You hate me," he chuckles, "Yet you do not even know me that well for you to claim that you hate me, my lady. If you believe it is so, then tell me, have I done you any wrong?"

You are silent at that, still glaring at him.

Valarr smirks at your silence. "So I thought," he murmurs. "We are man and wife. I only wish us to behave like one."

"We behave just fine," you say as you look away.

"I do not ask you to love me, if that is what you are concerned about. I only ask you to give me a chance to get to know you," Valarr murmurs, "Spend one night with me in my bedchamber every three days."

You turn to look at him. "So you can finally fuck me?" you ask with a sneer.

"No, I do not care about that. Not yet, I believe," he says, "I only wish to be closer to my lady wife. I want to get to know you."

His eyes are honest. You can see it and feel it as you stare into his eyes. There was no mischief in them.

"What do I get in return?" you ask.

Your husband laughs a bit. "In return?" he chuckles, "Not everything has to be political, you know."

"Everything is political," you mutter, "Every aspect in our lives is political. Including our marriage."

"You are not wrong in that," he smiles. "Very well. What do you wish for?"

You pull away from him. "I have nothing to wish for. Not yet, I believe," you say with a smile, "But when the time comes when I need your favor, I'll let you know."

A night with the Young Prince every three days turned out to be acceptable for you. The first time you shared a bed with Valarr felt rather odd. Still, you did not let him touch you at all that night.

The second time you spent the night in his chamber, somehow the conversation took a turn with the two of you arguing about something foolish after you dined together until voices were raised in that chamber.

The dragon and the lioness had both lost their tempers.

And the night ended poorly, with you being sure you wanted to see his head on a spike.

"You know what, Valarr? You Targaryens fucking deserve all the tragedies that have happened to your house. I wish you would die screaming, as your dragons did."

You remember saying that to his face before leaving his bedchamber around the hour of the bat. You do realize you could have lost your head for saying that to the prince of Dragonstone, the heir to the Iron Throne, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. What you said to him was considered treason to the crown. But you did say all that, out of anger.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You have threatened him many times before without any fear, but that was the very first time he looked truly mad. You could see the rage in his gaze. Eyes burning with dragon's wrath as he stared at you in anger before you left him.

What if he is going to execute you? Will he?

Then there is a knock on your door.

Fuck.

"My lady?" your handmaid asks, behind the door. "Shall I have a bath prepared for you, my lady?"

Oh. It is daytime already. You have been dwelling on thoughts of your husband all night.

You let out a sigh of relief and let her in.

"Have you seen my husband this morning?" you ask as she prepares the bath.

"I'm afraid I have not, my lady," she says, before helping you take off your garments, "All I know is that Prince Valarr was not in the library this morning as he usually does."

That is odd of him. Your husband always spends his mornings in the library. Either reading books or letters, or even practicing his High Valyrian.

Valarr must be very mad at you.

You get in the tub, and your handmaid pours scented oils into the steaming water.

"How do the Targaryens execute people here in Dragonstone?" you ask, staring at the water.

"Pardon me, my lady?" she asks, looking confused by your question.

You sigh and turn to look at her. "You have served me for many years, we both know that. My father assigned you to be my handmaid since you were but a young girl," you mutter, and she smiles at you. "But are you truly loyal to me?" you ask her.

"I am, my lady. I am loyal to you and the crown."

"No," you shake your head, "Not the crown. Only to me."

"As you say, my lady. Only to you," she pledges, "I have been loyal to House Lannister since your lord father rescued me from those men at that tavern and made me your handmaid. I am yours, my lady."

"I need you to do something for me," you mutter, staring at her. "Gather my father's men. Discreetly. I need at least two of them guarding my door at all times. And the rest that are here to prepare a ship for me, should it be required when the time comes. Do this without my husband or any of the Kingsguard and others knowing about it. I only trust you. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, my lady. I can."

"If any of you get caught, then lie and abandon the plan," you command, "Speak not of me. I can't save your head from a spike if you drag my name into it. I will pay all of you either way, you know I always do."

"I will not disappoint you, my lady," she says, sincere in her voice.

"I know," you nod. "Soon, we will leave Dragonstone for good," you mutter, then you take both her hands in yours. "And... I need you to promise me... Should anything befall the prince, you are to know nothing of it. Nothing at all. Even when some trouble shall happen to me, I would not have your blood on my hands. Burn the fucking ship if you have to. Swear it."

She looks surprised by that. "My lady..." she whispers, frightened at your words, "Don't do it, my lady, please... Prince Valarr is your husband. The bond between man and wife is sacred. Such cruelty seldom ends well."

"Sacred or not, there is no bond between Valarr and me. We have no love for each other in this marriage."

There is a sorrow in her eyes when she hears the truth. "This plan is treacherous, my lady. We commit treason by conspiring to do this," she whispers as she meets your gaze, "His Grace is heir to the throne."

It is treason indeed. To even scheme about this. To intend on killing the king's firstborn son. But you will not let him have you beheaded. If there is a chance that he might take your life, you would rather take his first. Better him than you.

And you will figure out how to get away with it later on. As long as you can keep your head attached to your body longer.

"It's not treason if you keep your mouth shut," you say to your handmaid, holding her hands even tighter. "If you do this for me, I will make sure you will be a rich girl after I safely arrive in Casterly Rock. My father will pay you with more gold than you could ever imagine. And you know the saying... a Lannister always pays his debts."

It is not even dawn yet when you wake up with a chill settling in your bones.

Something is wrong. Something feels bizarre with your body. You remember having dreams in your sleep, but they were too dark for you to remember clearly.

It does not feel like a passing cold, but one that settles deep in your bones, as though your very own marrow has begun to rot within you.

"A fever, my lady," the maester says after he examines you while your husband stands there beside him. Then the maester turns to look at your husband, "My prince, I fear the fever runs high. The lady is very ill."

"Will it be gone soon?" Valarr asks him.

"I'm afraid it will take time, my prince," the maester explains, "The body is yet unaccustomed to this place, most like. With rest, the fever will leave her body in time... we shall hope so."

"Am I dying?" you ask, looking up at the maester and your husband.

"No, you are not," Valarr mutters as he sits on the edge of your bed to see you better, then he touches your cheek with his palm. "You will recover in time," he says, his face cold and still.

The day before, you would have slapped him in the face if he dared to touch you this way, but somehow, there is no rage within you as you feel his skin on yours. Perhaps you are too weak to feel any rage in this condition.

"For your own safety, my prince, you should keep some distance. The lady is most unwell," the maester says, "If it please you, I can have the handmaids to watch over her instead... until she gets better."

"No need for that," the prince says, "I will stay with my wife. Day and night if I have to."

You hate being vulnerable. There is nothing you despise more. And now you are as vulnerable as a sheep in front of a dragon.

After the maester leaves the chamber, you turn to look at your husband. "He said true. You must keep some distance from me," you mutter.

"I will not leave you alone while you must suffer from this... fever," Valarr murmurs as he stares deep into your eyes. "I took a vow to bring you under my protection," he says, taking your hand in his. "Worry not. You will get better."

You watch your hand in his bigger one before your sight starts to blur from taking the remedy the maester gave you, and then all you see is darkness.

The fever brings you dreadful dreams in your sleep. It has been a day since the fever first struck you, yet the dreadful dreams have not lessened.

You get woken up around the hour of the owl, and you notice that Valarr has fallen asleep in the chair beside your bed, a quilt draped over him.

His bright streak of hair gleams in the candlelight. You notice the way the silver glistens among his dark hair, making him look more unusual than other Targaryens. Every feature of his face catches your attention as he sleeps. Valarr looks very handsome somehow. It pains you to admit that to yourself, even in your weakened state.

And then you cough. And he wakes.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You wish you did not have to cough. He catches your gaze instantly. You can feel even more heat on your cheeks, feeling slightly ashamed for getting caught watching him sleep.

"Do you find any relief?" he asks, staring at you.

"What?" you ask in surprise.

"Do you feel any better? Has the fever lessened?"

"Oh," you say, then you shake your head. "I don't know. But it's not getting worse, to say the least."

Valarr gets closer to you and touches your forehead. "The fever is still there. You need to rest more," he murmurs before sitting back in the chair.

"You should go back to your chamber."

"No."

You sigh in desperation. "Much as I would see you dead, I would not have it be by a fever I have," you say before you cough even more.

You do feel guilty somehow, knowing you did plot to murder him with Tears of Lys you stole from the maester's quarters that you were going to put in his drink right before you caught the fever.

"I am not leaving you."

"Valarr."

"I am not leaving you," he insists, "I took a vow to bring you under my protection. I am staying here. With you."

The prince sounds too sincere for his own good. This only makes it harder to keep hating him. Though if he catches the fever and dies naturally, it would save your head from beheading.

But why would he insist on staying with you and risking his own life if he wants to take your head?

"I must know the truth," you say, looking into his eyes, "Do you mean to have me executed?"

"What? Why would I do that?"

You blink in disbelief. "So you're not."

"No," your husband assures. "Has the fever made you lose your sanity?" he asks, frowning at you as he touches your forehead again, then your neck.

"No, I thought—" you pause, noticing concern in his eyes, then continue, "I thought you were going to behead me after I... well… after we fought that night. You seemed very mad at me. And what I said to you was... considered treason to the crown, I believe."

Valarr pulls his hand from you as he chuckles at that. "I was... mad at you, yes. But I was not going to behead you over some argument. Married people argue all the time, my dear," he mutters before settling back in the chair.

You want to thank him for not beheading you, but your pride does not want to.

"I was so mad at you, I could not find any sleep that night. Nor the day after," your husband admits. "But when the Kingsguard told me that you sent for the maester due to some illness, I could feel my heart stop beating at the time. I rushed to your bedchamber so fast I could not see anything else, thinking that you were hurting and alone."

He what?

You are left wordless after hearing all that. You know he tells no lie. And the way he said it...

I could not see anything else, thinking that you were hurting and alone.

It reminds you of that first night. The night when you cut your palm with his dagger. That night, you refused to see the maester, saying it was only a cut. And Valarr insisted on treating the wound himself. You mocked him that night, not believing that a prince knew how to treat a wound. But he did it anyway. He told you that his squire taught him how. And he told you that he hates seeing you hurting.

It did not mean anything to you back then.

But now...

You cannot believe you almost poisoned this man. Perhaps you deserve to be beheaded after all.

"Get some rest," he says as he draws the quilt back over himself.

"You need your rest as well," you murmur, "You should go back to your bedchamber."

"I can rest here just fine."

"You are a prince of the realm. You cannot sleep in a chair all night."

"I like this chair. It is quite comfortable."

You shake your head at his stubbornness and try to sit up to grab a cup from the small table near your bed.

"Here, let me help you," he says as he brings the cup of water to your hand. Your husband watches you drink and takes the cup from you, and puts it back on the small table. Then he gently wipes the water from your lips with his thumb. "Go back to sleep. You need your rest. I will watch over you from here," he murmurs as he sits back in the chair, as though the moment bears no trace of tenderness between the two of you.

Then a silence fills the chamber. Even the wind sounds too loud from how silent the chamber is.

Then you look up and try to meet his gaze in the darkened chamber.

"I have done nothing but wrong you, Valarr," you say, breaking the silence, "Even in my place as your wife. I have forsaken my duty and proven myself a wicked woman. Then why do you still show me such kindness?"

The prince sighs as he reaches to hold your hand in his. "I did not take my vows lightly. As you are," he says with a smile, making you smile back at him for a moment. "Rest now, love," he pats your hand and lets go slowly.

"I owe you an apology," you mutter, "I didn't mean what I said the other night. About your house and all that. I'm sorry."

"I know. I should not have raised my voice at you as well," he admits, "I must beg your forgiveness for that."

You smile at him and nod, then he covers your body with a warm quilt.

"Perhaps I deserve this. This fever must be a punishment for me. I did curse you and your house while I was living here in your ancestral home," you say, then Valarr shakes his head and smiles at you. "And I also... had ill intentions toward you. The most unfit for a wife to have," you admit, feeling regretful, "For that... I am truly sorry, Valarr."

"I forgive you."

That is all he said. Without question.

You stare at him with tears in your eyes. Somehow, you feel like you do not deserve this man. You do not deserve his kindness.

"Why?" you ask, as tears fall down your cheeks, "You don't even ask what my intentions were. How can you forgive me?"

Valarr reaches to embrace you. "I do not need to know," he whispers as he rubs your back with his hand, "All I need to know is that you are sorry. And I know it pains your pride to even say that to me. I know you are truly sorry."

You hug him back. "I do not wish to die," you mumble, "but I feel like I'm dying."

Your husband pulls back to see your face. "You are not going to die," he says, shaking his head. Then he wipes your tears with his thumbs, "You will heal. And you will live."

"We should not get too close," you mutter, pulling away from him, "I don't wish you to catch the fever as well."

"Do you remember our vows?" he asks out of nowhere. You nod, then he says, "Remind me of it."

"One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

"There," your husband says, "If I shall have the fever, then so be it. We are one flesh."

He kisses your forehead. His lips feel cold on your burning skin.

"You should not have done that," you mutter when he pulls back to look at your face.

"Why? You will murder me in my sleep?" Valarr smirks, caressing your cheek, "I do not think you are in a position as such, love."

Then he gets up from the bed to sit back on the chair.

"Valarr."

The prince turns his head to look at you. "Yes?"

"If it is so... will you share my bed this night?"

Valarr smiles and nods as he walks toward the other side of the bed. The moment he lies beside you on the bed, you draw close to him, finding comfort at his side.

"Sleep," he mutters as you nestle against him.

"Is it true that Aegon the Conqueror was born here on Dragonstone?"

Your husband chuckles at your question. He knows you only ask that because you do not wish to sleep soon. "Yes, he did, and died here as well," he mutters, then he notices your slightly frightened face, "I did not mean to frighten you."

Fuck.

What if it is his ancestors' ghosts that haunt your sleep, angered by the intent in your heart?

The Targaryens are indeed known for their blood magic.

"I'm not frightened," you lie.

"Of course you are not," your husband says with a smirk, "You have to sleep now. I mean it."

Then you close your eyes and sail away to sleep.

It took seven days for the fever to leave your body.

Nothing happened between you and him so far. Not in that way.

The two of you mostly talked during those nights you spent together, before the remedy the maester brought you made you fall asleep right in your husband's arms.

This night, you leave your chamber and walk toward his. When you open his door, you see him standing by the table in his room. Valarr is reading a book with his back to you. Silver streak of hair glows in the pale moonlight. His upper body bare, and one hand bracing upon the table near the book.

Fuck.

You feel your cheeks warm at the sight of him. His bare, wide shoulders. Fuck...

"Valarr," you call his name.

Your husband turns to see you in surprise. "My love," he murmurs, "What brings you here? I did not expect you. Surely we do not plan to share this chamber tonight?"

It feels even more embarrassing to you now. It is true what he said. You had only been here the night before to spend that one night in three days. The arrangement you agreed to. But having to spend the time together with him during those times when you were ill makes you want to be near him more, somehow. You have a feeling that he is slowly becoming your friend.

You nod. "Yes, you are right. It seems I have come at the wrong time. Forgive me, husband. I shall leave you to it," you say as you walk toward the door.

"No, no. Please. Come back here," he begs as he walks closer to you and takes your hand in his to lead you further into his chamber, to his bed.

You try to hide your smile as you walk with him, knowing how easy this game is to you.

"Comfortable?" he asks, watching you sit on his bed with a pillow behind you. Then he watches your face and realizes he is bare to the waist. He clears his throat and pulls on his clothes, covering that strong frame of his.

"Yes. Very comfortable," you mutter. "What were you reading this late?" you ask, trying to hide your blush.

"History."

"Why do you like to read so much?"

"I will rule someday. A good king must learn from the past to... avoid repeating its mistakes. My father told me that," Valarr says with a smile. "I wish to be a great king as he is someday."

"Perhaps you will," you mutter, smiling back at him. "You are his heir, but why didn't he choose you as his Hand?" you ask, "Your father was Hand of the King during your grandsire's reign, was he not?"

"It is not that simple," the prince shakes his head. "My father needs someone with experience. And also someone who can advise him without being so... self-interested. He needs a loyal Hand. Someone like my uncle Maekar."

"The Hammer and the Anvil."

"Yes," Valarr grins at you and nods, "The Hammer and the Anvil."

Your husband closes his book and walks to you on the bed.

"I like you this way," he says before reaching for your hand and holding it in his, "This... not so hateful woman you turn out to be."

You laugh at that, and he pulls you closer to him.

You have softened to him compared to what you were when you first arrived in Dragonstone. Valarr has a way to carve his way into your wicked heart. The way he was fully devoted to you during those darker times. The way he refused to leave you alone, even when he was risking his own life. Somehow, he managed to show how much he cares for you, even more than your own family ever showed. More than your own kin. More than blood.

"Can I kiss you?" your husband asks.

Then you pull him closer to you and kiss him first. You kiss his lips so hard until you are on top of him on the bed, with his hand on your waist and the other on the side of your neck.

Everything feels right for a moment until something in your stomach churns, and you pull away from him. You pull back and sit on the bed, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Is... is something wrong?" he asks, worry in his voice, "Did I hurt you?"

"I'm sorry," you say, still avoiding his gaze.

Valarr sits up and tries to touch you, but then he pauses and pulls his hand back.

"I guess I owe you an explanation…" you murmur.

"For what?" he asks, staring at you.

"The reason why I was so hateful to you and House Targaryen in our early days of marriage," you mutter, then he sits next to you on the bed without saying a word. "It was not merely because this marriage was against my will. There was a reason," you admit, "Well... I was quite fond of this… man for some time back in Casterly Rock. And the moment you wished to choose me as your wife, my father had this innocent man locked up in a dungeon cell."

You pause, looking down at your lap, then continue, "He was found dead a few days later."

"How did he die?"

You shake your head. "I never knew. I was not allowed to see him. But I knew there was a raven before my father put that man in a cell," you say, then you turn to look up at him to meet his gaze, "Did you order his death?"

"Why would I do such a thing? Am I so damned in your eyes?"

You shrug, looking down again. "My father was never one to torment a man, save by the order of the crown. He would do anything to make me your future queen. And he had always been desperate to see his blood ascend the throne someday."

"I did not order his death, if that is what you are accusing me," the prince says, facing you, "Nor did the king."

"You don't know that," you argue, "It is possible that King Baelor gave the command, behind your back."

"No... I know that. I know my father," Valarr mutters, reaching to touch your cheek with his hand. "He is not the kind of man who would give an order to kill an innocent. My father never gave that order. I swear this," he says, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "Do you believe me?"

You wish you did not believe him, but you do. His eyes tell you that everything he said is true.

Then you nod.

And he sighs and pulls you closer to him. You soften into him as he hugs you tight in his arms.

A moment passes as he holds you tight, and then Valarr asks, "Did you ever see the body with your own eyes?"

"It doesn't matter. You never saw how horrible those dungeon cells in Casterly Rock were," you sigh, "Even the servants told me they saw him dead and bloody."

"The servants your father paid," the prince mutters, making you look up at him. "There is a chance this man is still alive," he pauses, then brushes your hair back with his fingers, "But you are right. It does not matter. You are my wife now."

The way he says that so softly yet stern causes your stomach to stir. In a good way, somehow. You do believe that your husband has nothing to do with any of this. Valarr has done nothing but good to you the whole time, unlike your own father, who probably lied to you for the benefit of your house. He has always been a cunning man after all. And it is all starting to make sense now.

The chamber is silent for a while.

Valarr lies back on the bed with you on his chest while caressing your hair with his fingers, and occasionally kisses the top of your head softly.

"We met years ago, you know," he murmurs, breaking the silence, "The first time I saw you was in Casterly Rock, not King's Landing."

You blink in confusion. "What? No, we didn't."

"Yes, we did," the prince chuckles, "It was your brother's nameday. Many years ago. My father was still Hand of the King back then, and he brought me along with him for the tourney."

You are still staring at him as you try to remember which tourney this was.

"You were very mean to me even back then, and I remember thinking, why would a girl so pretty as you have to be the meanest creature in the realm?"

You chuckle at that. "Meanest creature?" you ask in disbelief as the two of you laugh, "You wound me, husband."

"I said so pretty as well, in case you did not hear."

"Sure."

Valarr smiles before he speaks again, "But on the same day, when your brother was showing me around the garden, I saw you giving water to a stray cat, cupping it in your hand. It was a long summer, and you insisted on feeding that skinny cat some meat scraps and water even as your hair got ruined from the heat."

He grins as he watches your face while listening to him.

Then he continues, "And I saw your mother scold you for ruining your hair that day, but you did not tell her the reason and kept on being rude to everyone else at the feast, yet you had but moments ago saved a cat's life."

"I remember that day now," you admit with a smile on your face. "It was the day I found Ser Claw," you mutter, "He's a fat cat now. And he's a knight. My brother knighted him."

"A knight?" Valarr asks in disbelief before he laughs, "But he is a cat."

His gaze meets yours as you stare at him. "Wait... you are certain?"

"Yes," you answer.

"You made your brother knight your cat?"

"That's why his name is Ser Claw."

Valarr tries to hold back a laugh, trying not to make fun of you. "Very well then," he mutters, still trying not to laugh and embarrass you, "That is a very... clever name."

You give him a look, and he cannot hold his laughter anymore.

"I must apologize, my love," he says after catching his breath from laughing too much, "I did not mean to offend you. I was only imagining the cat being knighted in my head. Sorry."

You roll your eyes at him. "It's fine. I know it's foolish to you. Not that I care what you think."

"I do not think it is foolish," Valarr mutters as he cups your face in his hand. "I think it is sweet. Well, I think you are sweet."

You frown at him. "I am anything but."

"My mistake," the prince says, "You are right. You are not sweet." Then he shifts slowly, guiding you onto your back until he is above you, his eyes search your face. "You are a hateful woman. My hateful little wife," he murmurs before kissing your lips.

You melt to the kiss. Your hands sneak inside his clothes, touching his bare body as you kiss him. Valarr breaks the kiss and smiles for a moment before taking his clothes off, making you look up to stare at his bare upper body. Then he kisses your lips again.

The heat rises as his kiss travels down your neck, causing you to moan when you feel his warmth there as his hands slowly rid you of your nightgown. The prince suckles on one of your tits as his hand travels south toward your cunt. You hold onto the back of his head and whine when you feel his fingers rubbing you down there, one finger teasing on your entrance.

And then he stops, making you glare at him.

"Do I have your permission?" Valarr asks with a smirk on his face as he gazes at you with those beautiful eyes, "Or will you murder me in my sleep after this?"

Seven hells. How dare he use your own words against you now, of all times?

"Shut up," you mutter, rolling your eyes in annoyance. Then he chuckles and pulls away from you. "Wait... where the fuck are you going?" you ask.

"I am not going anywhere," the prince mumbles as he lies back down on the other side of the bed. "Come here," he murmurs, meeting your gaze, "Come sit on my face."

"What?"

"You heard me, love."

You stare at him in disbelief as heat creeps all over your body.

"Come here," Valarr murmurs, pulling you closer against him, "A rightful seat for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, my face is."

You brace yourself above him, your knees placed on either side of his head. The prince grazes his fingertips on your thighs as he looks up at you with those eyes of his before he begins to devour your cunt.

"Valarr," you whine, "Oh... fuck."

You grab and pull his hair as you grind onto his face even more. Both his hands are grabbing your rear, clawing at your skin. The slight pain only rouses your arousal.

"Yes," you moan, feeling so close to the edge as he sucks your cunt, "I— uh—" you try to pull away from him, "It's too much."

"No," your husband mutters as he holds onto you tighter, forcing you to sit on his face against your will. "Come for me," he says, "On. My. Face."

You feel too much pressure and pleasure at the same time. Valarr eventually lets go of you after you wet his handsome face. He smiles at you when you lie on your back, catching your breath.

"So beautiful..." your husband murmurs, staring at you, "My wife... You are the most beautiful."

His face is wet from your arousal, while his hair is a mess from your grasp.

"You're a mess," you mutter as you stare back at him. "I made a mess of the heir to the Iron Throne," you tease, "I must beg your forgiveness then, Your Grace."

Valarr chuckles. "Shall I have you whipped for that?"

"Do not tempt me with such an offer," you say, making him laugh.

The prince reaches to hold you. "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"

"I feel great," you smile, "You were... good."

"I believe I am good at some other matters as well," he murmurs as he positions himself on top of you, completely bare.

"Do you?" you look up at him, staring into his eyes, teasing him as he starts rubbing his hard cock against your soaked cunt, "Mmmm, shall I be the judge of that, Your Grace?"

Valarr chuckles softly, shaking his head in disbelief at your teasing before entering you. Your jaw drops when you feel how big his cock is inside you, even just the tip.

"Fuuck..." you moan, one hand pressing onto his stomach, holding him from pushing his cock deeper, "Wait, wait, wait..."

"What?" the prince asks with a smirk on his face. Not that he listens to you as he pushes deeper.

"Too much..." you admit, "Too much cock."

"I think you can take it just fine," Valarr murmurs as he pushes deeper, scratching your womb with his veiny cock. "You have the wettest cunt in the realm, my love," he smirks. "Fuck..." he moans when he feels his dick entirely inside you.

That is the first time you hear your husband saying such crude words. Only then do you realize you have never heard him curse before. His manner is that of a prince, but when he fucks you, all that princely grace in him vanishes. Perhaps you have awakened the dragon in him.

You want to scream when he starts to move again. Whether it is from the pain or pleasure, you cannot say.

"Are you all right?" the prince asks, slowing his movement while looking deep into your eyes.

"Just kiss me."

Valarr kisses you as if it were your last night in this world. His lips devour yours while his cock keeps slamming into your cunt.

Heavy breathing and sighs fill the chamber as he thrusts in and out of you. His soft moans give you more pleasure beyond your imagination.

When your eyes meet his in that moment, your body yields and collides beneath him. You can feel the gush between your thighs, soaking you both a little.

"Oh— fuck. I'm sorry..." you mutter in shock as you look down, "I didn't know I could do that."

"Do not be sorry," your husband murmurs before thrusting into you again, "I love that you could do that. I love seeing you pleased."

"Yeah?" you ask with a smile, still in a daze, "You love pleasing me?"

"Mmhm."

"I don't hate you anymore, dear husband," you say, caressing his cheek, "In case you did not already know."

Valarr smiles at you as he takes your hand and kisses your palm. "I know that," he murmurs as he keeps thrusting. "Do I have your permission to come inside your tight cunt?" he asks, mischief in his eyes as he stares into yours.

Oh. Your husband teases you with your own words for the second time this night. This man wants to play with you.

"Perhaps I should think about that for a while..." you tease, caressing his lips with your thumb as his thrusts get slower. "Would you beg for it, my prince?"

The prince reddens even more. He looks as if he is right there at the edge. Even his jaw hardens as he holds it a while longer, not wanting to lose this game he started. He eventually closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, muttering a curse.

Valarr looks like he regrets playing this game with you.

"Why would I want to do that?" he murmurs between his slow thrusts, trying not to let go.

"You asked for my permission, dear husband," you murmur, brushing his hair back with your fingers, "and you're the one who needs to put an heir in me, so... I think you should beg for it. Should you not?"

If looks could kill, he would kill you this instant.

But he needs this. He cannot think of his pride at the moment. He cannot think at all when his cock is buried deep inside your tight cunt.

"I— ah— fuck..." Valarr pauses, closing his eyes again for a second before meeting your gaze. "Please... Can I come inside you?" he begs with those eyes of his.

"All right. You can come."

Your husband does a few hard thrusts before filling your womb with his seed.

"Good boy, my prince," you tease as you pat his cheek, making him glare at you with that look again.

"Shut up."

You smile when he lies beside you. Even when he scowls at you for making him beg earlier, he still pulls you close into his arms. Then you chuckle and twirl his silver streak of hair with your fingers as he catches his breath.

"You truly did well at these other matters. As the judge, I am pleased," you murmur, "We shall do this more often."

Valarr kisses the top of your head and closes his eyes. "We have plenty of time. Let us sleep now, my love."

You wake up to the sound of someone walking around the chamber.

"I beg your pardon, my lady. Did I wake you?"

You sit up on the bed and stare at your handmaid. "It's fine. Why are you here at such an early hour?" you ask, your voice still thick with sleep.

"It is well past noon, my lady," she says.

Your eyes open wide at that. "It is what?" you ask in surprise.

Your handmaid nods, "I was waiting in front of your bedchamber earlier, my lady, but Prince Valarr sent for me to prepare your bath for the day in his bedchamber instead."

After helping you with your bath and putting on your dress for the day, your handmaid is about to change the bedding before noticing that the bedding is stained from your night with the prince.

She turns to you, her face bright with surprise as she looks at you.

You cannot hold your laugh after seeing her face, and you both fill the chamber with laughter.

"Must be a pleasant night," she teases. "I am glad beyond words that your marriage with the prince has grown so... well, my lady," she grins at you.

"I am glad as well," you say, reaching to hug her, "Thank you. For being loyal to me. For not betraying me, even when I was in the wrong. And for reminding me that the bond between man and wife is sacred. You were right."

Your handmaid nods as she smiles at you.

"Come with me to my chamber," you say to her, "I'll assign others to tend in here."

She follows you to your bedchamber. You walk toward the table and open a small carved chest as she stands behind you.

"Here. Take this," you give her one of your heavy gold necklaces, "It's yours."

"My lady... I can't. I can't accept this."

"Yes, you can. I promised that you would be a rich girl if you helped me, and you did. This necklace is of great value," you say to her, "And I already told you. I always pay my debts."

Many moons have turned since then.

Your days and nights are rather different now. This morning, you are sitting on your husband's lap with his hand holding you while his other hand flips pages of a book, muttering some High Valyrian.

You pull his attention from the book, drawing his face closer to meet your eyes.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing."

"Do you wish to go again?"

"What?" you chuckle, "No!"

The prince stares at you, waiting for you to speak.

You smile and put your hand on his cheek. "I am grateful for you, dear husband."

"Is this some kind of jest?" your husband asks, watching you with suspicion.

You laugh, "No!"

"You are scaring me, my love. What is it with you?"

"I only want to say I'm grateful for you."

Your husband stares at you in disbelief. "That is odd coming from you."

"It's just that... you make me realize something."

"Realize what?"

"From the time we have spent together... you make me realize that I was blind before I saw the world through your eyes," you murmur, and his gaze eventually softens, "I was a very hateful person. Filled with hatred. Blinded with rage. But you were never like that. You are filled with love. You are full of love, Valarr. And you have shown me that in the end... love wins."

Valarr kisses the top of your head. "You were not filled with hatred. Well... perhaps a little hateful, most of the time. But you have loved as well."

"I never claim to love you."

"I did not mean me. I mean your Ser Claw."

You laugh at that and nestle closer to his neck as you sit upon his lap, his arms holding you close. The two of you stay there in peaceful silence for a moment.

"Valarr," you murmur as you look up at him, breaking the silence.

"Mhm?"

“When you are king… can we bring Ser Claw to King's Landing?”

"Why not bring the cat here sooner?"

"Ser Claw would get sick on the sea crossing to Dragonstone," you chuckle, "King's Landing suits him far better. The road from Casterly Rock to King's Landing is the easier way."

Your husband nods. "The mother of my child shall get all she wishes," he murmurs, putting his hand on top of your swelling belly.

You smile and put your hand on top of his. "Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?" you ask, meeting his eyes.

"Perhaps a girl."

You chuckle. "A girl?" you ask in disbelief, "Why not a boy? Men usually wish to get an heir as soon as they can."

Valarr shrugs. "I could not say," he says, "Perhaps I want my firstborn to be as pretty as you. Though I hope she does not have your... temper."

You glare at him.

Your husband laughs and kisses your cheek. "A girl or a boy matters not to me," he murmurs, "The babe will be ours. Yours and mine."

It is almost your due. The king commands you and your husband to return to King's Landing, for he will hold a tourney to celebrate the birth of his first grandchild. 

"Father," your husband greets the king.

King Baelor hugs Valarr the moment he sees his son upon your arrival in the Red Keep. "It has been so long..." the king mutters, delight on his face as he stares at the prince, "You should have come home sooner, son."

Valarr smiles at his father, then the king turns to look at you.

"Your Grace," you greet him.

"My lady," King Baelor smiles, "I hope your pregnancy has been kind to you. How fares your condition?"

"It fares well, Your Grace," you say, "There have been... difficult mornings, but my dear husband has been there to comfort me, as he always has."

"I am glad to hear that. I pray your labor will be an easy one," the king mutters to you before turning to look at Valarr, "I am most proud of what you have become, my boy."

"Without doubt," Prince Maekar mutters with a smirk as he walks closer toward his brother and glances at his nephew, "His grace never shuts up about you, boy."

King Baelor turns to stare at his brother, and the Young Prince chuckles at his uncle's comment. "Uncle," he greets him.

"You shall be a father soon. Congratulations, boy," Prince Maekar mutters to him, then turns to greet you, "My lady."

You greet the Hand of the king as well, and then your husband asks him, "Well then... Uncle, do you have any counsel for a new father?"

Prince Maekar chuckles, sharing a glance with his brother before turning to Valarr, "Fatherhood is no easy task, but I am sure you will do it well, as your father has."

At evenfall, when you return to the chamber assigned to you after spending time with your husband and his family, there is a scratching sound from the other side of the chamber. You follow the sound while holding your swollen belly with your hand.

Your heart almost leaps out of joy as you see him.

"Ser Claw!"

The cat gives a sharp hiss at first when you catch him in the chamber, but when you call his name, he recognizes you and comes to you, rubbing his head against you. 

You are hugging the cat in your arms when Valarr walks in with a smile on his face.

"I see you two have been reunited," he mutters, walking closer to you.

You turn to look at him. "Oh, thank you..." you say, beaming while holding your cat, "Thank you... for arranging this for me, Valarr."

Your husband kisses your forehead. "I told you, I love seeing you pleased."

"Here," you give the cat to his arms, "Hold him."

Valarr grins as he pets the cat with his fingers. Then you hold your husband's face in your hands before kissing him on the lips.

"I thought I would get more than a kiss."

You smile at that. "Oh, you will get more," you mutter, taking Ser Claw from him. "What would happen to him when we eventually get back to Dragonstone?" you ask.

"My cousin Egg would love to take care of him," Valarr murmurs, "Worry not, my love. The cat will be in good hands with my cousin."

PLS DON'T LET AERION PUT HIS HAND ON THAT CAT!!! LMAOOO. I had a great time writing this one and some mood swings, so… yeah. Didn't think I would ever write something about Valarr Targaryen tho. It came to me on a random night. Also, I didn't plan this to be this long. Thank you for reading it all if you did. Wrote this from the bottom of my heart and my chaotic head. I wanted to have an ending where everyone gets to be happy. Maekar gets to spend his life with Baelor beside him, Valarr gets to see his father become king and grow old, and Egg gets to have a cat!

This is a one-shot. Not really proofread, sorry.

I'd love it if you leave a note on what you think about this. Reblog would be appreciated. Love y'all 🤍

Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[cutiecusp]

The invitation. (Part 4)

Keegan x Reader.

Brothers best friend, K caught feelings. The aftermath.

(Part three here)

.........

We still good?

@kaeyasfuturewife @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @soraya-daydreams @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @ghost-soaps-shadow @veryberry26 @nananadende @lostintransist @bmtillerbabe

[persianmom-deactivated20260602]

standing in my room like a lost sim

[tteokdoroki]

🍥 THE POURING RAIN  ✩  jock bf yuuji itadori .ᐟ

🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 the best player on the team never loses, at least that's what he thought, up until losing her. whether its for good or not, remains uncertain. or the one in which yuuji itadori's girlfriend puts a pause on their relationship, where you fail to resist him one last time. (2.7K) | magnetic - jock bf yuuji masterlist.

🏁 safety car ! ⋆  not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. college au, not canon compliant, characters are in their twenties, angst, established relationships, break ups or being on break, insecurity, marking, fingering (f!recieving), creampies, car sex, unprotected sex, reader is emotionally avoidant lol and wears glasses, yuuji is trying his best. jock bf yuuji itadori, weird girl & fem reader. part of series but can be read as a stand alone.

🏁  team radio ! ⋆ this was originally meant to be a drabble but the emotions got the best of me wooooo !! i had fun writing somthing spicy n sad, i like showing that their relationship has its ups and downs! i hope u enjoy anway! click for more. 

── © tteokdoroki ╱ 2026.

being on a break with jock bf yuuji. it’s only supposed to be temporary, a moment for your heart to heal because lately it feels like he doesn’t understand you. why you feel out of place amongst his friends, how their girlfriends leer at you when he isn’t looking. it’s embarrassing enough as it is, being the odd one out, the one people look at and wonder why the campus’ most popular jock is even with her. you know he isn’t mean enough to do something about it. so you put things on pause one night in his truck, after a game, after he’s won. you tell him you need space and yuuji doesn’t take it well.

he’s been broken up with before but not like this. not in limbo when his heart is still yours and yours is still his and he’s not allowed to touch it. being on break feels like sinking to the bottom of a lake with a weight tied to your ankle. heavy in his chest, to the point where he can’t breathe. yuuji drives to your dorm in the rain, varsity jacket soaked through to the bone. to the point where he looks like a wet puppy, pink locks damp and shaggy over his warm eyes. he stands outside your window for at least twenty minutes to beg for you to take him back, convincing you to sit in his car and just … talk.

but you don’t end up talking, it’s never just talking. with yuuji he kisses you like there’s a world out there that doesn’t matter — slips his hands under your clothes and brushes your open wounds like his hands are magic. sealing them up with fragile tape and glue. his presence often overwhelms you with warmth and kindness, but covers up anything ugly that you feel. itadori doesn’t let you breathe, he fills your lungs and takes up space when all you need is to cry.

“missed you, baby,” he purrs into your mouth, running his tongue over your teeth. “can’t believe you left me.”

your own ends up down his throat within a matter of seconds and his deft fingers inch down the front of your jeans — stroking past your panties and pinching your clit, rolling it lovingly. pretending like the mess of insecurities and hurt isn’t snowballing between you. even though you’ve told him he had to earn you back. the rhythm is too familiar, too comfortable and after all he’s the only one who knows your body. been the only one to touch it. the only one who gets you to cry into the depths of a storm and cum all wet and syrupy into the seat of his palm — blistering hot lips burning their claim into your neck.

his clothes are stoggy and water logged and heavy but it doesn’t stop the two of you from crawling into the backseat — the heavy rainfall rivalling the dull thud of your heartbeat as it pitter platters against the roof of itadori’s truck. like always, he’s all consuming — reaching every far thought in your mind as though he’s the sun rising in the east of your dreary night sky. there’s no time to think about how you look lying against sticky black leather, underneath the jock, no room to worry about whether or not you still turn him on. if he still wants you like he always has.

yuuji pops the button on your jeans and tugs them down, pulling the gusset of your panties tight against your wet cunt. when you shudder beneath him, eyes glossy and vacant of all the turmoil he’d seen before, the jock doesn’t hesitate. damp clothes are stripped and damp skin is eagerly pressed against yours — the rain tastes fresh on his lips from and despite how hot yuuji is, physical heat burning through you, he’s cold from the outdoor shower as well.

the stretch of his cock as it pushes into your fluttering hole is a sort of comfort to the ache you feel in your chest. the kind you get when you’re about to cry and the world that you know is collapsing around you. yuuji fills you wholly, to the brim with cruel ever-lasting affection and of course, his milky shaft. it hurts so good, to have him like this after weeks of keeping him at arms length. unread texts, liked instagram messages, fleeting glances between lectures.

you’ve missed him, oh you have, every lunge of his hips forcefully crashing into yours feels like it’s full of the love you’ve always craved. you clench harder, squeeze tighter when yuuji pulls back from your suctioning sopping mound, throbbing against the ribbed walls that swallow him down. “knew my girl would come back to me,” breaking away from your swollen lips, yuuji kisses down your neck and nibbles at your earlobe, breath soft and balmy against the bare skin there. “can’t be without you, without this perfect body underneath me. don’t go,” he begs, stomach muscles rippling against your abdomen, taut with pleasure. “don’t leave me again.”

the truck that you’ve laughed in, loved in, rocks with an unspeakably passionate rhythm — windows fogging from the heat of your sensual escapade. you feel almost whole with yuuji bullying his way into your cunt, carving you into the shape of him until you feel his tip bleeding arousal deep against your g-spot. except something doesn’t feel right, the ease at which you’ve let him after everything you’d expressed went unaddressed.

does he even care that his friends hate you? that you’re not like him?

the thought makes you sniffle his name as if it’s the last time, wailed with the howling winds as you roll your hips upwards — matching his powerful and wild bucks, lewd squelching sounds adding riffs over the slap of skin on skin and ruffling fabric. you’re consumed by him, devoured including all of your doubts — to the point where your back arches from soiled leather and your shaky hands have no choice but to ground themselves in yuuji’s sodden hair.

“that’s it baby, that’s… fuck — that’s it,” itadori whispers, his voice thickened with ardour and rough around the edges. “say my name, scream it. it’s yours, fuck it’s all yours. this body, this heart, this dick. ‘m all yours,” he pumps into you harder, faster — pelvis tacked to the cute little nub hidden between wrecked folds. coated in a nasty mix of your essence and his precum. it runs in a sweet stream down the length of your slit, slipping over your asshole. betraying you. because that’s all it takes, a little candied chatter from yuuji and you’re back underneath him when you know your heart needs the distance to heal.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” the jock whimpers, words wrapped tightly in ecstasy — cracking like he’s about to shatter. you know that he’s close, you’ve bared witness to his peak more times than you can count. it’s a sight that feels like it should belong to you, but you can’t help but think of the others who had yuuji before you. you cry out, tears sharp at the edges of your eyes — unsure if they’re because you feel so good or because you hate the way your mind works. how it steals away the loving moments like this and fills them with insecurity.

yuuji switches to grinding, pressing that mushroomed tip against the squishy spot along your walls that has your chest heaving and a high pitched squeal tearing in your throat. “mhm… yeah baby? that’s the spot?” itadori hums, pleased with himself. proud. hips jerking forward again just to have your pussy lock and unlock around his swollen base again. “make it wet baby. cum for me, cum on this cock. make it yours.” that’s all it takes to have your glass window shattered, your high bursting through you like shards of a vase thrown to the floor. white floods your vision and your release trickles out of you in a hot rush you can’t even process. making a mess of the leather. soiling yuuji‘s dick and half kicked off clothes. you sob this time, needy and pained and desperate — mouth falling open in agonised euphoria. “g-god i missed how you sound when you cum for me. never wanna let that go.”

he wouldn’t if he could. he’d keep you trapped under the guise of his suffocating love without ever looking back at his mistakes.

you lay limp, dazed and like jello as yuuji chases his own rightfully earned orgasm. slamming into you feverishly, pulling smaller spurts and streams of sweet nectar from your ravaged mound as he picks up speed. loses coordination. “i love you, i love you, i love you so much.”

he chokes out, his own scream muffled as he plants his hot face into your neck. yuuji cums after you, just like he always does. putting your pleasure first where he sometimes forgets the rest of your feelings — as though the sex he’s so good at can make up for what he lacks. the sex he’s had with the girls you worry about, the girl that you’ve become. itadori pants weakly as white hot pours into your womb, sticky and thick — pushed further along your rippling and sensitive wounds by a few hearty thrusts. the arm you had wrapped around his neck loosens as his seed pours out of you onto the backseat — but your eyes stay closed.

because if you open them, you won’t have the heart to leave him here in this far. to face the reality. that you’re so weak for yuuji that you can’t even stand your own ground. that your love for him outweighs your logic to the point where it hurts.

all two hundred and something pounds and six foot, three inches of him collapses on top of you — a usually welcomed weight that now feels suffocating. your nose scrunches as if they'll hold back your tears and you tilt your head to the side, avoiding yuuji's face.

“i meant it, you know?" he speaks shakily, regaining his breath whilst trying to nuzzle his nose against your cheek fondly. “i missed you. us."

“i know.”

you sit up then, swiftly before the dam breaks and the emotion leaks. yuuji mirrors you, confused as you shuffle around the backseat in search for your clothes. his breathing fails to even out —evident in the way his blushing chest rises and falls in rapid succession, panicked because you're panicking. too fast, too swift. as though you want to leave the moment behind and not look back.

a gaping silence stretches through the car, honeyed eyes that lose their warmth track your every movement and the jock sits shirtless. more nervous than he has been for any game or test in his life.

yuuji pierces the quiet, speaks before the clap of thunder. “can we please just get back together?”

“not yet.” your head shakes, just like your voice as you shrug on your tank top. your fingers brush his jacket, you'd always reach for it after intimate moments like this — yuuji watches you hesitate to grab it before retracting entirely.

but he forces the fabric into your grip, he's your boyfriend for christ's sake. he'd never leave you out in the cold rain.

“then when? why are you doing this to me? to us?” yuuji itadori would never yell at you nor shout if he could help it, despite being the outgoing and charasmatically loud guy that he was. yet, its not the volume of his voice that makes you jump. its the tinge of hurt that frays it's edges.

“because," comes your frustrated sniffle as you swipe at your face with the back of your trembling hands, effectively pushing up your glasses — overcome with every bitter, green sensation that's been tormenting you since you went on break. "i love you so much that id forgive you for anything and that’s not fair,” you exclaim, eyes wild and lips swollen. you're sure you look a crazed mess but itadori thinks you've never looked more beautiful. “i can’t.. i can’t get over the shit in my head and you always ignore it. kiss it better. fuck it away. i need… i need you to understand it.”

“but i do—"

“no, yuu. you don’t.” you snap, quivering. “i can’t pretend to be someone im not, someone who fits into your world because i love you, yuuji.”

the regret hits you like a freight train and the tears start to fall faster than you can stop them. clinging to the plastic frame of your glasses. because it’s so easy to fall into his sticky honey-eyed trap. you’re like a mouse to cheese, bees to pollen, moths to candle light. constantly seeking him out for validation, approval and leaning on him a little too much.

yuuji’s left confused. torn between wanting to comfort you and leaving you be — he doesn't know when he stopped being your person. when he stopped noticing what was wrong before you even had to say. its an idea that makes him feel insanely sick to his stomach already filled with dread. he doesn't want this to end or for this to be it, yuuji needs you. like plants need sunlight and nutrients and air and water. he needs you.

he doesn't get it. what went wrong and why can't he fix it. the thoughts become even more frenzied when you finish tugging on your clothes and pulling your hand away from the seedy mess you've left him. didn’t you say that you loved him? your body welcomed him home like he’d never left — and now he doesn’t understand it, why you pull away and act so eager to rush out into the rain.

“baby, you never had to pretend. you're perfect just the way you are,” yuuji tries. yearning. longing. he looks as though he'll break. "baby please—"

“don’t—" rolling your shoulders like you're trying the shed the weight of his doe eyed and emotional stare, you warn the jock with an air of finality. then you reach for the door handle, your only escape. “i’ll call you.”

you could stay and pretend that yuuji being who he is, adored by who he is... is something that you can ignore. that the people he surrounds himself with aren't the ones feeding you doubts. you can play pretend and make believe but it won't stop the venom from reaching your heart, and yuuji can only soothe you, suck out the poison so much before he gets hurt too.

you need to leave and figure out if life is better this way, without you in his. if his team can get a long better, play better without you iterfering with their star.

“when?" the car door clicks open before itadori can stop it, you move to slam it shut but he pushes it wide open as the sky opens up it's floodgates. he yells after you as you trudge out, wrapped in his stupid jacket with his stupid number plastered wetly across your back. “it’s like you don’t even have a phone anymore. you never answer my texts, my calls. shit! we haven't spoken in days" itadori tumbles after you, shrugging on his t-shirt that instantly tacks to the outline of his body -- the scratches and marks you'd left on him evident through the water-logged material. "i had to drive here to see you. my... fuck, my own girlfriend! and i... and i can’t — i don’t know how to be without you.”

now you're at a standstill, a cross roads. you halfway back to your dorm's entrace. yuuji by his car. both of you caught in the rain.

you're thankful for it, at least. it's hard to see your tears in the pouring rain.

you woudn't want yuuji to know that you're cyring again.

“i don’t know. i don't know what you want me to say, yuu,” you whisper over the icy rain's pitter patter. “i’ll just… i’ll call you.”

turning on your heels, you dart back into your dorm builidng, not daring to look back and watch yuuji's big heart break.

you always be that weird girl, you'll always self destruct.

and yuuji will always be the jock that didn't care about social standings, the one that always loved you whole heartedly and the one that would always wait around... until you were ready for him to diffuse you.

end. - reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © TTEOKDOROKI 2020-26. all fanfics & layouts belong to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[kosmogrl]

[angelslant]

when i have a crush i dont kick my feet or twirl my hair instead i am in my kitchen at 3am pacing in circles with my hands clasped behind my back like a middle-aged divorced detective haunted by a cold case he just cant crack

[daftpatience]

drinking water when I have a headache should give instant relief. it should go away. what's even the point of drinking water if it can't do that

[pommeauromarin]

slowburn, angst with happy ending, friends to lover, mutual pining, idiots in love, yearning, fluff, kissing, no miscommunication

[armandology]

fuuuuck i just realized that the future idealized version of myself cant exist without current me being the catalyst for change and doing hard things. has anybody heard about this

[shymagnolia]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

[shymagnolia]

okay so i just got my dream job??? a week after applying to it?? and now i’m thinking….maybe this is the good luck post

[flagellant]

…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment

likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post

[coffee-or-hot-cocoa]

i need all the help i can get for finals

[finnglas]

Hey so

the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like. 

So you know. 

This might be the real one, y’all.

[kalieros]

Thinking about Simon who's just obsessed with your curves. To the point that its slightly possessive, slightly inappropriate to the outside world - or so that's what you'd probably believe. The second your form appears in front of his eyes he's itching for a handful of something, anything to grab onto. You show up at work to bring him his lunch because he forgot it at home? He's hugging you, pulling you in and grabbing your ass full-force, kissing your cheek while he tries not to take you into his office and work his face between those plush thighs. What about at the supermarket on Sundays, when the two of you are grocery shopping for the next week? This man is absolutely fighting every intrusive thought to keep from running his hand up the hem of your short little dress, biting his knuckles in the fucking bread aisle. The urge to smack your ass and watch it jiggle taunts him as he sees you walk ahead of him. Dinner with the boys on a weekday is just as bad too, he's not afraid of getting handsy and really claiming you, especially in front of his guys. One second you're putting food on the table and walking back into the kitchen, the next he's pulling you in for a kiss and groping your chest, running his hands along your sides and thanking you for organizing such a nice night for everyone. "Mmm, thank you for dinner, love. Did you forget something in the kitchen?" He murmurs, pushing you back with a kiss and heat in his eyes. Not a thing in the world could stop him from backing you into the kitchen and kissing you breathless, one hand caressing between your legs, before you convince him you can't have a quickie just a wall over from your guests. He might drag out a little whine from you before returning to dinner but the boys understand. They'd do anything for a handful too.

a/n: thank you so much to everyone who is enjoying this and reblogging it!!

[gaysindistress]

Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

[gaysindistress]

Bro yall have been blowing up my phone all day and I love it 🥹🥹❤️💕

New Simon drabble coming out tonight

[hardknifeplays]

Simon Riley spoiling his missus rotten.

sfw, fluff, soft!simon — reblogs & likes are appreciated.

This man, Simon Riley, will never let you buy cheap things. Even if the thing you want is good quality and highly functional, and buying it really helps you to 'press down the cost'.

"No," said the man quickly when you want to buy an affordable reading tablet, his eyes are still fixated on whatever document was on his laptop screen. You raised your brow, your hands folded on your chest. "Babe, I'm just using it for reading. that's all, nothing productivity-related." you explained more, but your husband just answered you with a low hum.

"Said no," he repeated. Not knowing why he just outright denied you of the decent tablet, you sat yourself down on the edge of the table next to his laptop. "But why? I will use it just for reading, I repeat, my sir, just for reading. I'm not going to play games, or even text via the tablet. It is affordable enough." you said, your hands moving around so expressively (mostly to convince him to agree with you).

Then finally, his eyes darted and met yours lazily. He studied you from your head to your torso, then back to your eyes, then letting out a sigh.

"You don't deserve cheap things," he said in a tired voice. You rolled your eyes, and quickly responded, "It's not cheap, Si, it's affordable. Why do I have to buy more expensive things if the cheaper ones are well-functioned already? especially just for one purpose?" and you could see he was wiping his face with both of his hands before he stood up from his seat and placing himself in front of you.

You looked up at him, the distance between your bodies was almost non-existent and you could feel his warmth radiating towards you. He looked at you in the eyes, this time his brows down, looking rather concerned. Then his finger outlined your jaw lightly, his eyes trained on your lips before his dark brown iris shot you again with a more loving and gentle expression.

"Why are you always treating yourself this way? Denying yourself from something that you truly deserved," he whispered, "You don't deserve cheap things, mama. I can afford your every need." as he said so, his lips met yours softly, and you felt his finger tucked some strands of your hair to the back of your ears.

When he let go of the kiss, you returned him a kiss on each cheek. "I don't always need expensive things, Lovie. As long as it works well, that would be enough. We can use the money for something else. Okay?" you reassured him once again. He looked down at the table for a few seconds, before getting back to you. "You don't always need it, but I am willing to give it to you," he said, looking right into your eyes.

Your blood rushed just by seeing the seriousness in his eyes, so no cheap things for his Lovie. It made you feel cared for, and you know at this moment that this man would always give what's best for you. Your 'enough' would never convince him, if he could go further for you, he would.

He always would.

You let out a shaky sigh, and then you placed your finger on his chest pointing at him. "Okay, your money, your rules." you chirped playfully, and a grin bloomed at the lips of your husband as he scooped you from the table and pulled you into his embrace.

"That's my missus." he smiled into your hair, finally winning you over.

[lilacdaydreamsss1-deactivated20]

things i DON'T want in my future house:

1. an angry man

[dumblr]

2. an unfaithful man

[classycookiexo]

[capricorn-born]

Oddly specific. Got a deposit for 6,837 today

[weaselle]

fuck it, i never ever do those “reblog for X, this one really works!” posts, but this one doesn’t have any of that BS, this is just straight up wishing us good things; and then the comment doesn’t even say any of that either. Zero claims on this post, all positive vibes

May you end this week feeling ever more certain of a future you’ll love

[vmohlere]

May you end this week feeling ever more certain of a future you’ll love