#can't you make an original content yourself?

[sylustra]

Sylus saying "...don't run" to MC when they're finally being openly honest about their desire for one another and their trust and shared spaces.

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[skzophreniic]

Favorite Places to Have Sex

MDNI, 18+ content.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 when they wanna venture outside your bed

notes: this ended up longer than originally planned ngl. i find myself falling deeper and deeper into the void that is kim seungmin. pray for me ✊😔

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ CHAN

you already know what it is. chris practically lives at the studio, so why not fuck where he's most comfortable?

it always starts innocent enough. he's working late, you've invited yourself to the couch in the back, just scrolling through your phone. he calls you over to show you something he's working on and there just happens to only be one chair--the one he's currently settled on.

of course, he's not just going to let you stand, he's too much of a gentleman for that! he's kind enough to lend you his lap.

except now he can't focus. he's just trying to mix a track, but the way you shift on his lap whenever you point something out on the screen...yeah.

his fingers start tracing lazy circles on your thighs, voice dropping lower as he murmurs, "You’re distracting me, baby."

before you know it, his hands are gripping your hips, and you’re bouncing on his cock in the dim glow of his monitors, his low groans mixing with the bass from his unfinished song. The door is locked, but someone could still knock at any second—maybe a member, maybe a staff member and it's such a fucking vice, because on one hand, he doesn't give a shit. he wants them to hear, to know how good he makes you feel. it's the biggest thing that feeds his ego.

on the other hand, those sounds you make, the whimpers, the mewls, the lewd squelch your cunt makes when he's already made you cum twice but still can't stop rutting into you...yeah those are only for his ears.

he's pretty open to using his own moans though. have you listened closely to the backtrack of railway?

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ LEE KNOW

minho is obsessed with eye contact, so it’s no surprise that his favorite place is in front of a mirror. he wants you to see everything—the way your body moves, the way your face twists in pleasure, the way he controls every reaction you have.

you're insecure about your body? the sounds you make? yeah, no. every fucking thing about you is his biggest turn on, and he's just not okay with you not knowing that.

he’ll start slow, teasing you with featherlight touches, whispering in your ear, "look at yourself, baby. look how pretty you are for me." his hands will guide your movements, forcing you to watch the way he ruins you. and just when you think he’s going to let you close your eyes, he grips your jaw, turning your head toward the reflection. "I said, watch."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ CHANGBIN

gym. yeah i said it, i don't care how basic it is.

he will sweetly ask you to come work out with him, super super early in the morning or super late at night, when nobody's around. he'll tell you it's because he gets too shy to take off his shirt when other people are around but gets too hot and uncomfortable with it on.

you fall for it every time. sweet thing.

binnie loves seeing you all sweaty and out of breath. there’s something about watching you work out that drives changbin crazy—maybe it’s the way your body moves, the little whimpers when you push yourself too hard, the way you stretch in all the right ways.

one second, he’s spotting for you, the next, he’s pinning you against the weight bench, gripping your thighs, telling you to let him do all the work now. "you wanna stretch a little more, baby?"

next thing you know, he’s pinning you against the mirror, your fingers leaving smudged prints on the glass as he fucks into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight. he groans against your ear, voice thick with need,

"you've worked so hard today, baby," he'll grunt into your ear. "let me take care of you now."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ HYUNJIN

hyunjin’s art studio is his sanctuary, the place where he’s most creative, where he loses himself in his work for hours at a time.

it always starts innocently enough. it's your birthday, and he wants to paint a portrait of you in that cute little sun dress he gifted you. that short, skimpy little sun dress he gifted you. and he needs you on his lap. for the creative process. spefically with your dress up, panties pushed aside, and his cock nestled deeply inside of you.

also for the creative process.

"you gotta sit still for me, pretty." he murmurs, leaned back against the couch, his gaze focused on his canvas. "or else this will take longer."

it's horrendously delicious, the way he makes you warm his cock while he works, refusing to let you move. he doesn't even fucking react, a hundred precent focused on making you the best portrait.

when he's done though, and only if you've been good and didn't move, he'll set his supplies aside to dry and let you fuck yourself on him. let you use him any way you want it.

and if you haven't been good, the only thing you're getting off on is his thigh. if you're lucky. tough luck.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ HAN

jisung has no patience. if he wants you, he wants you. which is why you end up fucking in the car so often—no waiting, no hesitations, just pure, impulsive desire.

it usually happens after late-night drives. the city lights blur past as he grips the wheel, one hand occasionally straying to your thigh, drumming against your skin. it's so fucking soft against his fingers, he's already hard. and you just had to wear that little skirt that gives him easy access.

"you're driving me crazy," he mutters, trying to keep his eyes on the road, shifting in his seat. he's only just got his fucking license, he could hardly drive with the music on yet, much less with you sitting there like that.

he’s aching for you.

so when he pulls into some dark, empty parking lot, hands clenched around the steering wheel like he’s trying to keep himself in check, you decide to put him out of his misery.

you lean over, fingers already working at his belt.

he whimpers. actually fucking whimpers.

his cock is already hard, leaking, twitching against the cool air, and when you wrap your fingers around him, he bucks into your hand with a choked gasp.

"f-fuck, baby, please—"

yeah...you're not going home any time soon.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ FELIX

felix is dangerously charming, and he knows exactly how to turn an innocent moment into something sinful. it usually starts with something as simple as baking together, fingers covered in flour, soft laughter filling the space.

but then, his hands start lingering—a light touch on your lower back, a casual squeeze of your thigh, his voice dropping an octave as he murmurs, "You're making a mess, baby."

the moment he sees you licking something off your finger, tilting your head like you’re teasing him? yep, you're fucked. not quite literally yet tho.

before you know it, he’s lifting you onto the counter, lips trailing down your neck as he spreads your thighs, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat building between you both. the half-mixed batter is forgotten, the kitchen filled with breathless moans instead, his hands spreading your thighs apart, eating you out like a man starved.

which he is. he's always fucking starved for you.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ SEUNGMIN

the library is the last place you’d expect seungmin to be this filthy.

It always starts so subtly. he's supposed to be helping you study for your finals, flipping through textbooks in the quietest corner of the library. but then his hand finds your thigh under the table, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles.

"focus," he says, when he look at him sharply, voice perfectly neutral.

like he isn’t the one distracting you.

you try. poor thing, you really do. but his touch is persistent, featherlight strokes just beneath the hem of your skirt, moving higher, higher—so painfully slow that it’s infuriating.

"seungmin," you whisper, an urgent warning.

He doesn’t even glance up from his book. "what?"

you shoot him a glare, shifting in your seat to escape his touch, but his grip tightens just slightly—a silent command. Stay still.

"you should really be paying attention," he murmurs. "or do you need some extra motivation?"

oh he'll tell you that if you make it through the chapter like this that he'll reward you, give you what you really want. he'll keep you on the edge, till you're finally right there, so close--

he pulls away completely, returning to his textbook like nothing happened.

"you should finish your work first," he says, flipping a page. "i’ll think about rewarding you later."

the audacity.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ JEONGIN

his childhood bedroom.

you heard me.

the posters on the walls, the old books cluttering his desk, the twin-sized bed that barely fits both of you—it’s all so him. It should be innocent, just a short visit to his parents’ house, just a normal night.

or so you thought.

it starts with you lying next to him under the covers, whispering and giggling, trying not to wake anyone. he’s got one arm lazily draped over your waist, thumb rubbing slow circles against your hip. but then his hand slips lower—too low for something so casual—and suddenly, that mischievous smirk is on his lips.

"you’re being quiet," he teases, voice barely above a whisper. "something wrong?"

um yeah, something’s wrong. his parents are asleep down the hall. the walls are thin.

that’s the thrill—how you stiffen when he presses against you, how you grip his wrist when his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts.

"aw, baby, that's just too bad" he coos, smirking against your skin. "You’re gonna have to be quiet for me."

the bed creaks when he shifts, pressing his weight against you, and he pauses—just for a second—listening for any signs of movement outside the door. when all remains quiet, he grins, his hand slipping beneath your pajama shorts, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning.

"shh," he breathes, pressing a finger to your lips. "if you wake them up, you’ll have to explain how their sweet, innocent jeongin has you like this."

[wondrluv]

୨୧ my shirt, your shirt, our shirt, whatever ; pb5

➪ summary: paige gets back to connecticut from the national championship, making her way to you without a second thought. and when she sees you (trying) to order a shirt, she scolds you saying you could have hers

➪ warnings: none... i don't think (i mean there is an allusion to paige crying but that's it) not proofread in the slightest

➪ word count: 0.6k

➪ emma's notes: me? writing two fics in two days? who am i? anyway, this wasn't the fic i was originally going to write, or the mid-sized!reader one i had in mind but i couldn't help it. ana sent me the ask and i just had to write it. HUSKIES ARE NATTY CHAMPS!!!! i'm so unbelievably proud and happy for them, words can't describe how i'm feeling. anyway... i hope you guys enjoy the fic :)

© wondrluv ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

It was late when Paige knocked on your door, exhausted to the brim but her lips were still pulled up into that wide smile of hers that made you giggle at just the thought of it. 

You had woken up from the sound, stumbling over to open it and immediately matching her grin, pulling her into a hug, “You did it.”

Paige couldn’t help but smile wider at your soft words, dropping her belongings and wrapping her arms around your torso, grip tight as ever. She buried her head in your shoulder and you could feel the fabric of your shirt dampen, your hand coming up to run through her hair to calm her. 

“I’m so proud of you, you did amazing, not just tonight. The whole year, the past five years. I couldn’t be any prouder, P.”

She stayed silent for moments after your small speech, relishing the fact that she was in your arms and you were in hers. This was her safe space, you were her safe space. Winning the championship felt great, but celebrating it with you felt even better. 

When she finally pulled away, her hands cupped your cheeks, bringing you into a kiss, grinning at the small gasp you let out. Your hands slipped to her hips, resting comfortably against them, gripping her sweatshirt. 

Her forehead rested against yours, staring at you with the happiest expression you had ever seen on her face, causing you to replicate it on yours. 

“I’m so happy.”

“I can tell. Congratulations, champion.” You flicked the brim of her hat, it flying off from the force, exposing her messy hair and glasses. “Don’t you look adorable.”

She blushed at your teasing, her head immediately going back into the crook of your neck, hiding the redness. All you could do was laugh, dragging her inside and kicking her stuff in with your foot, shutting the door behind you.

You collapsed on the bed, watching as Paige changed into clothes that didn’t smell like sweat and the airport. You pulled out your phone, scrolling through Fanatics to buy yourself a shirt, you hadn’t been able to do it beforehand, too busy texting your congratulations to the team and talking with Paige. 

She crawled into your bed behind you, her arms finding their place around your middle, pulling you flush against her and resting her forehead on your shoulder, “What’re you doing?”

“Just some shopping.” Your hand came up to scratch at her scalp, Paige sighing contently at your actions. 

She lifted her head just enough to get a peak at your phone, eyes narrowing at all the apparel that had ‘National Champions Huskies’ written across them. She rolled her eyes, arms tightening around you, “If you wanted a shirt you could’ve just asked to wear mine.”

You turned around so you were facing her, poking her cheek softly, “That’s your shirt, P. I wanted my own.”

“Yeah, but you know how much I like it when you wear my shirts.” It was your turn to blush, your cheeks heating up as you stared at her. “As soon as I wash it, you’re wearing it, yeah?”

“Fine. But I’m still gonna get my own.” 

She tutted softly, reaching for your phone and pulling it out of your grasp, “No. My shirt is your shirt, it’s our shirt.”

You let out a tiny scoff but were unable to keep the smile off your face, “Whatever.”

“C’mon, sleep time. I’m sleepy.” 

You softened, nodding your head and allowing her to pull you closer, your head resting against her chest and her head resting against hers. You fell asleep quickly, the lingering sleepiness from before taking over you. 

And just before she fell asleep, Paige ordered you a shirt of your own, one that matched hers because who was she not to get you what you wanted?

PART TWO ; PB5 MASTERLIST ; WBB MASTERLIST

TAGLIST ; NAVIGATION

[beeing1alive]

Turning on Tokyo Revengers boys without knowing it pt.1

f.t.: Mikey (Manjirō Sanō); Draken (Ken Ryūgūji); Mitsuya (Takashi Mitsuya); Baji (Keisuke Baji); Chifuyu (Chifuyu Matsuno); Kazutora (Kazutora Hanemija)

Warning: Nsfw content, minors do not interact

Mikey:

can't help but get a hard-on when he sees you sitting on his motorbike

especially when it's summer and you're wearing short clothes

his gaze veils slightly, he draws the air through his teeth slightly and watches every movement you make

i'm not going to lie, he's never got hard so fast

Without hesitation, he ran over to you and sat on his motorbike with you, just to kiss you a little more intimately than he wanted to

you can always tell if he's Horney when he kisses you extremely kinky in public

Draken:

Gets hard the fastest when you wear his clothes

I think we can all agree when I say that he has a size kink

I mean, he just can't help it when he sees you in his clothes, which are obviously way too big for you

especially when you're wearing one of his shirts and otherwise just a pair of panties

his eyes would darken slightly and he would slowly move towards you to tell you that he has a big little problem in his trousers and that you could help him with it

Mitsuya:

jealousy turns him on immensely

I mean, I know he doesn't look it so much, but he gets rock hard in seconds when he sees you talking to another boy for a little too long

a chiselled smile appears on his handsome face and he tries as hard as he can to hide the ever-growing and pulsating bulge in his trousers, which he manages to do quite well

as soon as you and the boy are ready, he pulls you behind him, gently but firmly

the moment you arrive in a quiet corner, you are his

Baji:

nothing turns him on more than seeing you in a leadership position

I mean, when you assert yourself and do all those leader things

he'll sit still, his eyes veil slightly and he watches every little move you make

I'm not even lying when I say that he just sits there and a slight, barely noticeable blush spreads across his face as he notices his trousers getting tighter in a matter of seconds

Chifuyu:

gets hard within a few seconds if he sees you in short clothes

for example, shorts and a revealing shirt

he is just too innocent and would blush extremely and in rare cases get a nosebleed too

if he feels confident enough, he'll snuggle up to you from behind so you can feel his hard boner pressed against your bum, which doesn't make it any better for him

he'll gently give you a sweet kiss on the neck and tell you that you know how much it turns him on when you wear revealing clothes

Kazutora:

turns him on most of the time when you're sitting or lying on his lap

the first few times this happened, he was very uncomfortable because you felt it directly when he got hard and he can't hide it

when he's feeling very horny, he tries to move his hips against your bum to create friction

if you're also wearing short clothes, he'll almost come in his trousers at the slightest touch

I mean, that divine view of you, in short clothes, on his lap, pressed against his hard cock

he just can't help it, so don't be angry with him

Here is pt.2

Attention: The characters and the GIF do not belong to me. The credits go to the original owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed, please contact me.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

FYI artists and writers: some info regarding tumblr's new "third-party sharing" (aka selling your content to OpenAI and Midjourney)

You may have already seen the post by @staff regarding third-party sharing and how to opt out. You may have also already seen various news articles discussing the matter.

But here's a little further clarity re some questions I had, and you may too. Caveat: Not all of this is on official tumblr pages, so it's possible things may change.

(1) "I heard they already have access to my data and it doesn't really matter if I opt out"

From the 404 article:

A new FAQ section we reviewed is titled “What happens when you opt out?” states “If you opt out from the start, we will block crawlers from accessing your content by adding your site on a disallowed list. If you change your mind later, we also plan to update any partners about people who newly opt-out and ask that their content be removed from past sources and future training.”

So please, go click that opt-out button.

(2) Some future user: "I've been away from tumblr for months, and I just heard about all this. I didn't opt out before, so does it make a difference anymore?"

Another internal document shows that, on February 23, an employee asked in a staff-only thread, “Do we have assurances that if a user opts out of their data being shared with third parties that our existing data partners will be notified of such a change and remove their data?” Andrew Spittle, Automattic’s head of AI replied: “We will notify existing partners on a regular basis about anyone who's opted out since the last time we provided a list. I want this to be an ongoing process where we regularly advocate for past content to be excluded based on current preferences. We will ask that content be deleted and removed from any future training runs. I believe partners will honor this based on our conversations with them to this point. I don't think they gain much overall by retaining it.”

It should make a difference! Go click that button.

(3) "I opted out, but my art posts have been reblogged by so many people, and I don't know if they all opted out. What does that mean for my stuff?"

This answer is actually on the support page for the toggle:

This option will prevent your blog's content, even when reblogged, from being shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models.

And some further clarification by the COO and a product manager:

zingring: A couple people from work have reached out to let me know that yes, it applies to reblogs of "don't scrape" content. If you opt out, your content is opted out, even in reblog form. cyle: yep, for reblogs, we're taking it so far as "if anybody in the reblog trail has opted out, all of the content in that reblog will be opted out", when a reblog could be scraped/shared.

So not only your reblogged posts, but anyone who contributed in a reblog (such as posts where someone has been inspired to draw fanart of the OP) will presumably be protected by your opt-out. (A good reason to opt out even if you yourself are not a creator.)

Furthermore, if you the OP were offline and didn't know about the opt-out, if someone contributed to a reblog and they are opted out, then your original work is also protected. (Which makes it very tempting to contribute "scrapeable content" now whenever I reblog from an abandoned/disused blog...)

(4) "What about deleted blogs? They can't opt out!"

I was told by someone (not official) that he read "deleted blogs are all opted-out by default". However, he didn't recall the source, and I can't find it, so I can't guarantee that info. If I get more details - like if/when tumblr puts up that FAQ as reported in the 404 article - I will add it here as soon as I can.

Edit, tumblr has updated their help page for the option to opt-out of third-party sharing! It now states:

The content which will not be shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models, includes: • Posts and reblogs of posts from blogs who have enabled the "Prevent third-party sharing" option. • Posts and reblogs of posts from deleted blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from password-protected blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from explicit blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from suspended/deactivated blogs. • Private posts. • Drafts. • Messages. • Asks and submissions which have not been publicly posted. • Post+ subscriber-only posts. • Explicit posts.

So no need to worry about your old deleted blogs that still have reblogs floating around. *\o/*

But for your existing blogs, please use the opt out option. And a reminder of how to opt out, under the cut:

The opt-out toggle is in Blog Settings, and please note you need to do it for each one of your blogs / sideblogs.

On dashboard, the toggle is at https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/blogname [replace "blogname" as applicable] down by Visibility:

For mobile, you need the most recent update of the app. (Android version 33.4.1.100, iOs version 33.4.) Then go to your blog tab (the little person icon), and then the gear icon for Settings, then click Visibility.

Again, if you have a sideblog, go back to the blog tab, switch to it, and go to settings again. Repeat as necessary.

If you do not have access to the newest version of the app for whatever reason, you can also log into tumblr in your mobile browser. Same URL as per desktop above, same location.

Note you do not need to change settings in both desktop and the app, just one is fine.

I hope this helps!

[miyaz6ki]

──── 8 times in the morning.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. forest sex. that's it.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. kinich x gn!afab!reader,!!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. he would, idk i just get the vibes, oh and i wrote dialogue this time :)

kinich who's such a meanie, merely observing you, a lustful smirk on his face as you rode him. watching each time how you plop down onto his base, the way your wanton moans mixed with the moist, & musky environment you've both set yourselves to.

kinich who leans against the branches, as your chest leans onto his, repeatedly bouncing. hearing the way you could only whimper out small mewls of his name, seeing how prettily your tummy bulged with his length inside of you, he could watch you for days.

kinich who holds you down by your hips, slamming you against his base when you start to get tired, barely carrying yourself off the branch below you. grunting at the sound of your wails of pleasure. or the way you screamed his name when you squirted on his cock for what seems like the umpteenth time already!!

"ah— shit.. have you ever thought how pretty you look like this?" he huffed out as he held you down to his base. you couldn't make out a reply, simply inhaling and exhaling, in the process of catching your breath. "s' pretty.. i'm gonna miss the way you whine my name.. gonna miss these hips on this cock."

he sounded so condescending. mere pants coming out your mouth, busy trying to formulate a sentence in a way to retaliate against him. but before you can speak a single word—

"mhm? sorry, what was that, pretty?" mock visible in the tone of his voice, kinich had no mercy for you, at least for now. grinding against your g-spot. "a-ahh fffuck.. kin—" you felt like you were about to cum again, deep crescent marks indented to your plush thighs. "mmf.. kin— i-i'm g'na.." "what? cumming again?" he only rubbed against harder, reaching a hand out to touch the precious little bump he made in your stomach.

the dominance of tree covers the whole of the land, yet here you were, instead of hunting for the price of a million mora, you'd get the dopamine of getting it at least. kinich who only let out a scoff, watching your eyebrows knit in pleasure, watching how your thighs simply quivered from it, you were getting close.

kinich who was obsessed watching your expression spoil into a hot mess on his dick. feeling your pussy clench on him so good, he couldn't resist a groan. the moon marks into your hips only worsening, whining for him to just finish you off already—

"c'mon.. say please. please ruin my pussy, kinich. beg for me, tell me how much you've earned this last drop of my cum inside you." such a meanie kinich is! he wanted you to beg him so sweetly, even when you can barely remember your own name. even when you can only see stars from cumming so much. after a few attempts, he lets out a low rasp, giving it to you anyway.

kinich who pistons your hips onto his cock one more time, a lot rougher than the ones he did with you earlier. hitting your womb so good you scream a little louder than earlier, startling a few animals nearby (LOL.)

kinich who arrives back to their commissioners, the ones who originally gave him the mission, saying they forfeit the job.

"hey— kid you can't just leave now! you already—" a bag of the ores they searched for landed onto the table. deciding not to accept payment for this mission this time, making you cream on his cock 8 times in a row was priceless.

this was supposed to be in my kinktober thing but i guess i need to post

[ariestrxsh]

mean!chris x shy!reader

✰ content warning: smut, sneaking around, pornography, masturbation, oral(m & f!receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, enemies to lovers

✰ summary: the morning after you and chris share a mutual masturbation session together, you both have to act normal around his suspicious brothers. the tension grows even thicker when the two of you are left alone all afternoon.

Idk who first wrote mean!chris or shy!reader, so I can't give proper credits, but I feel like it's been done before. I can't claim this is an original AU, but I hope you enjoy the fic! Credits to everyone who did it before me! ✰

dividers by @/anitalenia

Lights Turned On

chapters: | 1 | 2 |

The next morning, the sound of the heater kicking on woke you up around 9 a.m. You were on the hard living room floor with Matt to your right, beginning to stir. Nick was already up and making coffee in the other room, the aromatic scent drifting through the air.

You shivered, tugging your wool blanket up to your chin. Sunlight was beginning to pour in through the big window, lighting up the front of the house. You yawned, the detailed memories from the night before flooding back to you - Chris, walking in on him, seeing him naked for the first time, finishing beside him.

You almost had to ask yourself if it was all a dream, but when your tired eyes fluttered opened, Chris was descending the stairs. He was in a sweater and flannel pajama pants, and he was holding a laundry basket with his sheets in it. There was a part of you that felt hurt when he didn't even glance in your direction.

"You piss the bed or something?" Matt teased Chris, motioning towards the basket full of his bedding.

"Fuck off," Chris hastily mumbled under his breath on his way to the laundry room. You quickly turned away and blushed, knowing he was probably washing them because of the mess you made on them. It definitely wasn't a dream, but you were better off pretending it was, that way you didn't bring any attention to the situation.

Matt shifted around in the blankets, rubbing his eyes and turning to face you. "Hey, did you go upstairs last night?" He casually asked you. Your eyes subtly widened, and your heartrate started to quicken.

"Yeah, I went to go wash off my makeup," you shrugged, avoiding eye contact. Why was he asking?

"Then why didn't you?" He asked, furrowing his brow and letting out a chuckle as he motioned towards the smeared eyeliner on your eye lids and your crusty day-old mascara. "You look like a damn racoon."

Blood rushed to your cheeks, realizing you were going to have to think on your feet and lie, because after you'd gotten caught up in your little side quest with Chris, you completely forgot the main objective of going upstairs in the first place.

"Yeah, turns out I forgot my makeup wipes and my face wash at home," you shrugged, rolling your eyes at yourself and shooting a weak smile in his direction.

"You could've used my face wash," Matt narrowed his gaze at you. "Or Nick's."

"I just didn't feel right about using it without asking first," you lied, shrugging a shoulder and glancing over at Matt's face to see if he bought it.

"You're always welcome to our stuff. You know that," Matt said, giving you a skeptical look. You could feel the awkward tension growing between the two of you. You could tell that Matt could tell that you were hiding something.

"Why'd you ask?" You wondered out loud, taking control of the conversation. You tried to make your question sound as nonchalant as possible, trying to figure out what he already knew without seeming like you were trying to gather information.

"Well, I woke up last night, and you were gone. I stayed up for like twenty minutes before I fell back asleep, but you never came back down. I almost went upstairs looking for you, but I dozed off," Matt replied.

Your heart dropped at his words. The thought of him stumbling upon you and Chris and your intimate moment sent a rush of panic through you.

"So, why were you upstairs for that long? Were you alright?" Matt inquired with an almost concerned look on his face. You had to come up with something quickly that would either answer all his questions or keep him from asking them.

"God, Matt! I was having lady issues. Do you have to pry so hard?" You snapped back defensively, knowing he wouldn't want to press further. You threw the blanket off in annoyance as Matt mumbled an apology to you.

You almost felt bad for being snippy with him, but you didn't know any other way to handle the situation in the moment without incriminating yourself, so you doubled down. You got up with a huff and headed to the kitchen to join Nick.

"Coffee?" Nick offered, glancing over at you, already refilling his Keurig with water in anticipation that you were going to say yes. You weren't the type to ever turn down a cup of coffee.

"Sure, thanks," you accepted, giving him a warm smile. Nick grabbed you a french vanilla kcup and your favorite mug out of the cabinet and started brewing a cup for you.

You peered through the doorway that connected the kitchen to the laundry room as Chris pulled his sweater off over his head and tossed it into the wash with his bedding. His intense blue eyes met yours for just a moment, but his expression was completely unreadable.

You loved how mysterious he was, but you also hated it, and you especially hated how much you loved it. You were usually good at reading people, but Chris' mannerisms, his expressions, and his tone, all left you with more questions than answers.

He went back to loading up the washing machine, but he started subtly flexing, enjoying the attention you were giving him even if he was really good at acting like he didn't notice. You dropped your gaze to the way his pajama pants hung low on his hips, revealing the waistband of his black Calvin Klein underwear. Your eyes wandered to the bulge in his pants.

"Did you hear me?" Nick inquired, breaking you out of your dirty thoughts that you were entertaining about his brother.

"Huh?" You asked, not realizing he had been speaking to you or that you had been subconsciously holding your breath the whole time. Nick glanced at where you were looking and back at you, giving you a confused look as if he could tell what you were thinking.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about all the laundry I have to get done," you nervously responded, quickly pulling your gaze away from Chris' bulge.

"You're good," Nick replied. "I was just letting you know I'm leaving for my Space Camp meeting soon, and Matt's coming with me if he ever gets his ass up," Nick chuckled, looking over his shoulder into the living room where Matt still laying on the floor on his phone. You snorted at Nick's comment.

"You can come if you want, but it might be a little boring. You're also free to just hang out here as long as you don't mind being stuck here with Chris."

You shrugged, trying to act like you weren't dying to stay back. "I don't mind hanging out here," you told Nick, taking your cup of coffee from him once it was done brewing. Nick took his mug with him into the living room, saying something to Matt about him being the laziest person he's ever met.

You wandered over to the boys' fridge to get some milk for your coffee. You reached down and picked up the carton, and when you turned to close the fridge door, Chris' blue eyes met yours as he was preparing his own cup of coffee a few feet away.

He shook his head and let out a soft scoff. "Gonna stay and hang out here with me all day? Thought you had laundry to do," he joked, giving you a smirk to let you know that he'd noticed you checking him out.

Your palms began to sweat, nearly losing your grasp on the milk in your hand. You could hardly hear Nick and Matt arguing or the sound of the Keurig brewing over your heart hammering away. Chris leaned up against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he licked his lips.

"You better put your eyes back in your head before one of my brothers catches you staring at me like that," Chris warned you, reaching down the front of his underwear and adjusting his hardening cock. Your gaze followed his wandering hand for just a moment before you caught yourself staring.

You blushed, averting your eyes to the two boys in the other room. Matt was still laying on the floor, bickering back and forth with Nick about how long it would take him to get ready.

"I've already called the Uber. They're like ten minutes away!" Nick rolled his eyes, standing over Matt with one hand on his hip, and his other hand looped through the handle of his ceramic mug. "You think I can't get ready in ten minutes?" Matt scoffed, finally climbing to his feet.

You turned your attention back to Chris, who was taking a step towards you, your stomach fluttering as he got close to you, thinking for a moment that he might kiss you. "You gonna do something with it or just stand there?" He smirked, towering over you.

"Do something with it?" You reiterated, your breath growing shallow as you peered up into his perfect blue eyes. Was he asking you to..?

"The milk, you little pervert," he chuckled, looking down at the carton you still held in your trembling hand. He took it from you without waiting for you to answer. He poured a bit into his steaming hot coffee and turned back to you, handing you back the milk. He brought his mug to his lips and took a sip from it, holding eye contact with you. You'd never been so jealous of a cup of coffee before.

"I had fun last night," he said, finally addressing the elephant in the room, "but if you're hoping for another show, just know, the first one may have been free, but the next one's gonna cost ya." Chris winked, gently brushing past you as he walked off in the other direction, heading towards his room.

Your jaw dropped, and you peered back over your shoulder at Chris as he ascended the stairs, admiring his back muscles. You could hardly wait for Nick and Matt to leave to figure out exactly what Chris meant by that little comment.

A few minutes later, you said your goodbyes to Nick and Matt, wishing Nick luck with his brand deal and apologizing to Matt for snapping on him earlier.

You took a shower in the upstairs bathroom after they left, finally washing the old makeup from your face and letting the hot water run down your back. The whole time you stood under the shower head, rinsing the shampoo from your hair, your mind was swimming with thoughts of Chris, replaying last night's events and anticipating what today would be like now that the two of you had the house to yourselves.

You spent a little extra time in the shower, scrubbing yourself and shaving all your body hair, trying to convince yourself you weren't doing it in case Chris wanted to have sex with you, even though you knew you were.

Suddenly, you heard the bathroom door open and close, which startled you and caused you to knick your ankle with your razor. "Shit," you whispered, watching the bit of blood color the water before swirling down the drain.

"Gonna use up all the hot water before I can get a shower in, huh?" Chris snorted as you heard the sound of the faucet running.

"W-What are you doing in here?" You managed to get out, stumbling over your words.

"Using my bathroom," he scoffed as if it weren't the most obvious answer in the world.

"You can't just barge in here," you argued, peeking out from behind the shower curtain at the shirtless boy who was applying some toothpaste to his toothbrush.

"You mean, like you did to me last night?" Chris winked at you and started brushing his teeth. You pulled the curtain closed again with a huff and went back to shaving your legs.

A couple minutes later, you heard Chris spit into the sink, rinse off his toothbrush, and knock the excess water off of it. You thought he was just about to leave when you heard the toilet lid open and the sound of Chris emptying his bladder just a few feet from you.

"Ew, are you peeing in here right now!?" You exclaimed.

"Yeah? So?" He nonchalantly asked, shrugging.

"You're disgusting," you shot back, rolling your eyes.

"If I'm so disgusting, why do you want me so bad then?" He teased you. You couldn't even think of a witty comeback. Instead, you scoffed at him loudly and waited for him to flush before you shut off the water. At least he washes his hands, you thought as you heard the faucet running again.

"Can you hurry up?" You asked. "I'm done with my shower. I'm ready to get out now."

"Then get out," he responded. You poked your head out from behind the shower curtain and gave him an unamused look. "What? You got to see every inch of me last night." Chris leaned up against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your gaze flickered between him and your towel that was slung over the rack across the room. He smirked at you and reached for your towel, handing it to you. You snatched it out of his hand and started drying off behind the curtain. You wrapped the towel around your chest and stepped out onto the bath mat, your eyes meeting Chris'.

"Why are you still in here?" You retorted, glaring.

"Just waitin' for my turn to use the shower. Didn't expect ya to take all damn day," Chris sneered back. His gaze danced over you, eyeing you up and down as you wiped away the condensation on the mirror with your hand.

"You're bleeding," Chris observed. You glanced down at your ankle and the drop of blood that was slowly running down your skin. "Here, hop up on the counter," he told you, moving closer towards you, grabbing you by your waist and spinning you around.

He lifted you by your hips, propping you up on the ledge of the granite countertop, your heart skipping a beat. Your gaze met his for a moment. He reached around you to grab a bandaid out of the drawer and a tissue from the kleenex box beside you.

He kneeled down in front of you, wiping away the bit of blood that dripped down your the side of your foot and carefully placed a bandaid on your cut. His hand gently brushed over your freshly shaven leg as he stood back up.

"There," he softly cooed, both of his hands resting on the countertop and his face just inches from yours. "I'm gonna go take a shower. By the time I'm done, I want you completely naked on my bed, legs spread, touching yourself to your favorite kind of porn," he lowered his voice, searching your face for a reaction.

Your heart pounded in your ears, your eyes widened, and you could feel your cheeks flush as he spoke. You turned your head away, avoiding eye contact. "You hear me?" He wondered aloud, tipping your chin up to face him again. "You got to watch me last night. Now it's my turn to watch you." His intense blue eyes bore into yours.

Your breath was caught in your throat. Any boldness you had the night before was completely diminished when he spoke to you like that, his body draping over yours as you sat there in your towel. All you could do was nod.

Chris took a step back, dropping his bottoms with a smirk. You glanced down almost as a reflex but quickly turned away to leave the room. You heard the shower kick on behind you.

You walked down the hall, completely embarrassed by what Chris had asked you to do - and admittedly, a little turned on by it at the same time. When you walked into Chris' room, you noticed a vanilla-scented candle lit on his bedside table next to his lamp.

Your eyes wandered to the new, fresh sheet he had on his bed. You finished drying off, letting your towel drop to the floor. You laid on the clean linen, propping yourself up against his headboard with a soft pillow behind you. You nervously bit down on your lip, preparing to do what Chris had told you he wanted you to be doing when he walked in.

Your palms started sweating, and your face grew hot. You opened your phone, scrolling through some porn when a lesbian video caught your eye. You clicked on it, your stare locked onto the two women and the way they started kissing and undressing each other.

Your hand wandered south, your fingers drawing closer to your heat as the scene played out in front of you. After the two of them made out for a few minutes, the video started to get even more steamy. Their hands roamed each other's bodies and their mouths, too.

You watched as one woman started sucking on the other woman's neck, slowly moving down to her collarbone and then to her breast. She took the woman's nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. She trailed kisses down her stomach, parting her thighs, and started gently licking her between her legs.

A soft moan unfurled from your lips as you started gently rubbing your clit in circles. You were so enthralled with the hot scene and how good your hand felt that you nearly forgot you were in Chris' bed or that he could walk in on you any minute.

You started going at it faster now, your breath quickening and your fingers making tighter, more fervent circles as you listened to the heavenly sounds the girl made while she was being eaten out. That's when Chris appeared in the doorway, leaning up against the doorframe with his towel hung loosely around his hips as he watched in awe.

You didn't notice him yet, too caught up in what you were doing, your body squirming beneath your own touch. His voice startled you when he finally spoke. "Look at you," he quietly said, smirking, his gaze fixed on you. He stepped forward, running his fingers through his damp hair, a few water droplets rolling down his chest.

He approached the side of the bed and gently brushed the back of his hand against your flushed cheek. "What do we have here?" He inquired, peeking over at your phone screen and raising an eyebrow at what he saw. You immediately grew self-conscious and started to close your legs. "Ah, ah, ah," Chris cooed, "keep 'em open."

He gently wedged your knees apart again with his strong hands, his eyes dancing over your breasts and your glistening pussy that you continued to toy with. "You're watchin' girls, huh?" He sweetly asked, his voice laced with a hint of jealousy.

You bit down on your lip and nodded, still drawing lazy, slow circles on your clit. "What do you like about girls?" He asked, brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face as he watched the video alongside you.

"They're soft and sensual, and they just know what they're doing more than boys do," you admitted, your eyes still fixed on your phone screen and the way the two girls were interacting with one another.

"They know what they're doing more than boys do, hmm?" Chris repeatedly you, sounding skeptical. "You really believe that?" You nodded, your eyes flickering up at his. He let out a low chuckle.

"We'll see about that," he smirked, taking your phone from you, shutting off the screen, and tossing it to the side. "C'mon. I'm your entertainment now. Let's put that mouth of yours to good use, hmm?" Chris softly purred, dropping his towel.

His hard cock sprung out at eye-level with you, and he gently placed his palm on the back of your head, his fingers combing through your locks. He gripped you by the underside of your hair, guiding you towards his swollen tip. He pressed it up against your full lips, watching it slowly disappear behind them.

He let out a relieved sigh, a smile curling on his lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, too nervous to look directly at him. He softly chuckled at your timid nature.

"C'mon. Look at me, pretty girl. Don't get all shy on me," he softly whispered, coaxing you to meet his gaze with yours. "That's it," he hissed as you slowly peered up at him, looking into his gorgeous blue eyes. He looked like a God, standing over you, his perfect skin glistening from his shower.

You softly moaned around his length, the vibration causing him to twitch in your mouth and involuntarily tighten the grip on your head. He watched you through heavy lidded eyes, his jaw dropping as you took him further.

He reveled in the sight of you looking up at him with his cock buried behind your soft, wet lips. "Good fuckin' girl," he rasped, gently rocking his hips forward, taking in the view.

His gaze travelled between your legs, admiring the way your fingers traced your clit. "Fuck, you look so good like this," Chris hoarsely whispered. "Wonder what Matt and Nick would think if they knew I had you like this right now," he smirked, his words causing you to clench around nothing.

You hummed around his perfect cock, feeling it spasm against your lips. He tipped his head back for a moment, his blue eyes rolling back as a few pleasured sounds poured from him. You could feel him throbbing as your tongue traced every vein.

You could tell he was already close, and it took every ounce of willpower for him to hold his hips still. He grabbed you by your hair and slowly pulled you off of him. "Fuck," he whispered, his cock twitching at the loss of contact.

He brought his attention back to the way your hand was moving fervently between your legs. He slowly paced over towards the foot of the bed to get a better view of you touching yourself for him. "So wet, aren't you?" He purred, slowly lowering his head between your thighs. Your heart raced, anticipating his next move.

"Put your fingers inside," Chris ordered you, his hot breath hitting your cunt as he spoke, causing your toes to curl. "You heard me. Put them inside," he repeated. You nodded, taking two of your fingers, placing them at your entrance, and slowly pushing them in. A soft whimper escaped your lips as your knuckles disappeared into your hole. "Fuck yeah. That's it. Now fuck yourself with them. Hard."

You did as he said, pistoning your fingers in and out of your pussy, the wet, languid sounds filling the room. Your breath grew ragged and your moans grew louder. Chris licked his lips, his gaze fixed on your glistening cunt.

"Stop," he said suddenly. You halted your movements, giving him an inquisitive look as you slowly removed your fingers. He hooked his arms around your thighs, pulling your heat closer to his face. He placed his strong hands on the back of your legs, pinning your knees to your chest and nearly folding you in half.

Without warning, he started slowly and seductively tracing your folds with his tongue. You pinched your eyebrows together, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head fall back against his soft pillow. "Oh, no you don't. Eyes on me," he ordered you.

You peered down at him with a glazed over expression, eager to do whatever he said even if it was out of your comfort zone. You watched his tongue slither out from behind his lips once more, and he started flicking it against your clit. "Oh!" You whimpered, your body jolting at the sensation.

He chuckled against your heat, watching you writhe around. He closed his lips down around your sensitive bud, alternating between tenderly suckling on it and licking it. He rolled his soft and velvety tongue against you, your wetness starting to drip down his chin.

"Chris.." you squealed. He hummed against you, vibrations reverberating through your whole body. You kept your eyes fixed on him the whole time, his blue eyes that were staring into your soul and his quick tongue that were just about to fall apart on. He pulled away just before you could.

You let out a disappointed sigh, your climax ripped out from under you before you could reach the point of no return.

You watched Chris position his length at your entrance. Your eyes and your mouth widened as he started slowly dragging his pink tip up and down your folds, teasing your slit. He shot you a smirk as he finally sunk it in, ripping a few satisfied sounds from your core.

Your walls enveloped him, accepting him and sucking him in as he pushed a bit deeper. A guttural sound left his lips as you stretched around his throbbing member. "God, your pussy is perfect," he purred, slowly rolling his hips back and forth. "Takin' me like a good girl, aren't you?" He grabbed your left leg and slung your ankle over his shoulder to get a deeper stroke.

"Oh, my god," you sharply gasped, feeling his tip kissing your cervix over and over again. It wasn't just his size, but the way he fucked - the way he stirred his hips into you, the way he angled himself inside of you, and the way his thrusts were sensual and slow but incredibly powerful nonetheless.

"Feel that? You like that?" He seductively asked you, his fingertips gliding over your thigh as he pushed into you once more.

"Yes! Right there," you moaned, not worrying about your volume, considering the two of you had the house to yourselves. Each restrained movement he made drove you crazy. You knew he was holding back - taunting you. You grasped for Chris' soft sheets beneath you, desperate for something to anchor you.

Chris bent your knee and pressed it into your chest as he burrowed himself deeper, using all his body weight with each skillful plunge. "So fuckin' pretty when you're about to fall apart on my cock," he told you through his breathlessness, tenderly placing a hand on your face as he pressed his forehead to yours.

You could feel your cheek grow warm under his touch. You giggled, breaking eye contact and turning away. "C'mon, eyes right here. I wanna see your pretty face when you finish on me," Chris whispered, tilting your chin to face him again.

As if there were a magnet drawing you each closer to one another, the space between your lips and his started to close in on itself. He moaned into your mouth, his breath mixing with yours. The sloppy sound of you two kissing filled the room, complimented by skin slapping against skin as Chris sped up his thrusts.

Chris broke away from the kiss, feeling you start to tremble beneath him. "That's it. C'mon," he cooed, his gaze locked onto your blissed out expression. You could feel the knot forming in your core, threatening to snap any second now. "Be a good girl and finish for me," he grunted, his own finish line approaching.

"Chris.." His name slipped from your lips as more of a breathy whisper. You came unraveled, your pussy pulsating around him, moans and profanities streaming from your throat as your climax was ripped from you.

Chris continued bucking his hips forward at an unwavering pace, his fingertips digging into the top of your thigh. He fucked you steadily through your orgasm and the aftershocks, chasing his own. He stared down at the complete mess you were beneath him, admiring how beautiful you looked right after finishing.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned you, his facial expression saturated with lust and pleasure, his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes locked on yours. You could feel him starting to twitch inside of you, teetering on the point of no return.

He pulled out at the last second, ropes of cum squirting onto your lower stomach and your pussy. He let out a satisfied sigh before collapsing beside you, his cheeks flushed and sweat dropping down the sides of his face. He turned to face you, a smile spread across his lip, still clearly out of breath but trying to muster up enough strength to tease you one last time.

"So. Do I do it better than girls do?" Chris chuckled, grabbing a towel and cleaning the evidence of what he's just done to you off of your skin. You blushed, your chest rising and falling as you stared up at the ceiling.

"Better than the ones I've been with, yeah," you admitted breathlessly.

"What about the other guys you've been with?" Chris asked, narrowing his gaze.

"Okay, fine. Yeah, better than them, too. Happy?" You shot back, rolling your eyes and trying to hold back a smirk.

Chris climbed to his feet, unable to control the fact that your comment went straight to his head. "That's what I thought," he responded, wandering over to his closet to grab a change of clothes.

"You know, I would have liked more foreplay, though," you admitted.

"More foreplay, huh?" He asked, glancing back at you and giving you a lustful grin. "Noted. I'll do that next time."

Your heart fluttered at the promise of a next time.

You threw your legs over the side of his bed, glancing down at the wet spot the two of you left behind on the bed. You blushed, reaching for your towel and draping it around your body as you started to head out of the room. "I'm gonna go change," you told Chris.

"Good luck," he mumbled.

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a suspicious look as you stepped out into the hallway. You walked a few doors down and entered Nick's room, pausing when you saw that your bag was left unzipped. You made your way over, kneeled on the carpet, and started rifling through its contents in search of your change of clothes.

Of course, Chris was messing with you. You just knew he had something to do with this.

"Chris!" You shouted, getting up from the ground and heading towards the bathroom. You peeked in there for the outfit you'd worn the night before, which, of course, was also missing.

"Chris!" You exclaimed again after he didn't answer the first time. You marched down the hall and back into his bedroom. "What did you do with my clothes?" You asked accusingly, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Why do you assume I have them?" He snorted from his gaming chair, his headset already on. "Because they're not where I left them, and you're the only other person here," you retorted, your eyes rolling in annoyance.

"Guess you'd better start looking for them because all you have to wear is that towel until you find them," he smirked, glancing up at you from his laptop.

"Ugh!" You stomped, growing impatient. "I'm serious. Where are they, Chris?" You hissed.

"I'm serious - you'd better start lookin' for them, because I'm not tellin'. You're gonna walk around in that little towel of yours until you find them," he repeated, giving you a sharp look.

He had done this on purpose - hidden your clothes throughout the house. He wanted you like this. He wanted you vulnerable and desperate, in nothing but a flimsy towel while you took part in his little demented scavenger hunt.

The only saving grace was that the house was much warmer than it was when you'd first gotten up, so being in a towel wasn't completely uncomfortable despite how exposed you felt. You rolled your eyes one last time before you left the room again.

You shuffled downstairs, rifling through the pantry for something to eat while you silently asked yourself, if you were Chris, where would you hide someone's clothes? You made yourself another cup of coffee, holding your towel closed with one hand.

You figured you'd either find them or he'd give them back to you before his brothers got home. Surely, he wouldn't leave you stranded in a towel for Nick and Matt to come home to - right?

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement

Series Masterlist

Words: 8k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Drugging, age gap, coercion, loss of innocence, dub-con, explicit sex, oral (f rec), breeding kink (inferred), HEA

Your stepfather made an ill-advised wager with Arthur Shelby and when he lost the coin toss, you were are to be given to Arthur for the night. And you will be taken tonight. Just not by Arthur...

A/N: I don't know if any of you are fans of Peaky Blinders. The DH started watching it recently and I've watched it with him. My muse grabbed me and this was the result. But I find if I keep her happy, she'll let me work on my other projects so... Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

You shivered in the chilly air, wearing your best dress and wrapped in your heaviest shawl, as you walked along the cobbled street, slick with rain and coal dust. You felt numb, struggling to accept the situation you found yourself in through no fault of your own. 

One one side of you John Shelby walked with his usual restless energy, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. Though younger than the others, he had a sharpness in his eyes, a tension in his jaw that betrayed the weight of the world he’d been forced to carry. His hair was slightly disheveled, his cap pulled low over his forehead, casting a shadow that makes him look harder than his years. The dim gas light flickered across his face, highlighting a faint bruise on his cheekbone—evidence of a recent scrap, though nothing too serious by Shelby standards.

On the other side, Liam Murphy, one of the Peaky Blinders’ trusted men, walked along. Taller and broader than John, he carried himself with the calm confidence of someone who knows he can handle whatever comes next. His dark eyes scan the area as they reach the destination, ever-watchful. His fingers tapping idly against the handle of the revolver holstered beneath his coat. Dressed in the same razor-brimmed flat cap and three-piece suit as the rest of the gang, Liam looked every bit the part of a man who’s bled for the Shelbys and would do so again without hesitation. The faint trace of whiskey lingers on his breath, but his movements are steady, his focus razor-sharp.

Around them, the air hums with unspoken tension. John’s energy crackles like a struck match, eager, impatient. His gaze landed on you and he cracked a smile. "Look at you. You look like a fuckin' lamb going to slaughter."

Yes, were scared to death. But you lifted your chin, holding his gaze. "Wouldn't you?"

Both of them burst into laughter at that as they stopped in front of the apartment, the agreed meeting place. 

"Yeah," John said. "Can't say I'd want to fuck Arthur either."

The reminder of why you were here was too pointed, too impersonal. You glanced around Small Heath, the neighborhood the Shelbys dominated here in Birmingham. It was a rough area, a working-class district, thick with the grime of industry and the weight of hardship. The narrow, soot-stained brick houses huddled together as if bracing against the cold, damp air rolling in from the factories. The sharp scent of iron and smoke from nearby foundries clung to the wind like an ever-present warning.

Gas lamps cast flickering pools of light, their glow struggling against the heavy smog that lingered in the alleyways. The sounds of the city never truly died—somewhere in the distance, a train whistle howls through the night, blending with the rattle of carts, the distant shouts of drunken men spilling from the back doors of a pub, and the occasional bark of a stray dog scavenging for scraps.

When the door opened, your heart lurched in your chest to see Arthur Shelby standing there in the dim light, a shadow of the man he once was—wild-eyed, disheveled, and teetering on the edge of something dangerous. His waistcoat is unbuttoned, his once-crisp white shirt now rumpled and stained with whiskey and the sweat of a man who'd been drinking too long and thinking too hard. His tie hung loose around his neck, the knot twisted and undone, as if he tried and failed to make himself presentable before giving up entirely.

His hair, usually slicked back with care, was in disarray, tufts sticking up where he’d raked his fingers through it in frustration. His face was a map of old scars and fresh exhaustion, his beard uneven, the shadow of stubble catching the flickering light. His knuckles were raw, split from a recent fight—maybe a brawl at The Garrison, maybe something worse.

His eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, burned with the remnants of rage and sorrow, that familiar fire barely held at bay. His breath reeked of whiskey and smoke, and when he exhaled, it was slow, heavy, as if the weight of the world pressed down on his chest. When he saw you, his eyes lit up in surprise as if his mind just pushed the memory of why you were there through the haze of his enebriation. 

"Come in," he said after studying you for a moment.

What else could you do? 

Dropping your head, trying to keep your desperation and fury at bay, you walked quickly by him and into the apartment. 

When John and Liam tried to push their way in, Arthur smashed a fist into Liam's face. The crunching sound made you think Arthur broke his nose. "What the fuck?" Liam yelled. "Aren't we supposed to be witnesses?"

The question sent a spike of fear through your heart.

"The hell you are!" Arthur raged at them. "Now get out before I knock some teeth out, you fuckin' bastards."

With that, he slammed the door hard and locked it for good measure. 

Inside the small apartment, the air was thick with the scent of damp wood, old tobacco, and the faint traces of stew long gone cold. The walls were thin, covered in peeling wallpaper that was once floral but now curls at the edges, stained by years of cigarette smoke and candlelight. The floorboards creaked under the weight of every movement, betraying any attempt at stealth. Outside, heavy boots scuff against the cobblestones, stopping and starting, keeping you on edge.

The only light inside came from a low-burning candle near the window, its feeble glow barely touching the dark corners of the room. A single iron-framed bed sits against one wall, its mattress lumpy and worn. A wooden table stands near the hearth, cluttered with an empty bottle, a playing card bent at the edges, and a knife someone left behind—perhaps a warning, perhaps a promise.

The Peaky Blinders owned these streets, and yet, danger lurks in the shadows, even for them. Every knock at the door could be salvation—or the end. This is where you were born.

You stood in the small space and waited. You had no intention to make this easy for anyone. Particularly when it wasn't fair at all how you came to be here.

Arthur swayed slightly, adjusting his stance, his grip tightening on the half-empty bottle he lifted from the small table by the window. At least the curtains there were closed. There was an eerie stillness in him, the kind that only comes before a storm. He wiped a hand down his face, inhaling sharply, trying to steady himself, but the chaos inside him is still bubbling, waiting for the right moment to spill over.

"Look," Arthur said, "I'm truly sorry for this situation. It's nothing personal towards you, you know. It was your father and the coin toss. He--"

"Stepfather," you corrected him. Your father had been a decent man who didn't make it back from the war. Your mother had married Sean O'Grady out of necessity, to keep you and your younger brother fed. Your stepfather was as bad as your father had apparently been good.

"Whatever," Arthur said. "He lost the coin toss and the coin is sacred to us. He promised me a turn with you if he lost."

Something like shame flashed in his eyes as he looked you over. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking. You were inexperienced with men. Your brother had started working at the factory at a young age but you stayed home and helped with the garden, with the sewing. Your mother took in work as a seamstress here and there and that's how the Shelbys came into your life to begin with. Arthur started it, coming by to have a couple of shirts repaired, stains removed. He'd been intimidating enough but he wasn't the one who scared you the most.

Tommy Shelby.

His name alone carried weight, pressing down on your chest like an iron shackle. He was the kind of man stories are whispered about in dark corners, the kind of man who steps into a room and bends the air around him. He never needed to raise his voice to command obedience, nor did he need to lift a hand to make someone afraid. His power was in the silence, in the way his glacier-blue eyes stripped a person down to their bones, exposing every weakness, every lie, every desperate plea before it ever leaves their lips.

You'd seen men stronger than you shrink beneath his gaze, their bravado crumbling under the quiet calculation that lurks behind those cold, unreadable eyes. There was no excess in his movements, no wasted gestures. He was precise, measured, a man who played chess while everyone else is swinging fists. And yet, beneath the tailored suit and composed expression, there lurked something even more dangerous—something hollow and broken, something that made him unpredictable.

He didn't look like a man who enjoyed violence. That would make him easier to understand. No, Tommy Shelby wore it like a necessary burden, a tool in his arsenal, wielding it with the same detached efficiency as he did his words. That detachment terrified you the most. Because men who enjoy hurting others can be manipulated, can be fed their own hunger until they slip. But a man like Tommy—one who kills without joy, without hesitation, without remorse—he was a different kind of monster entirely.

Arthur drank straight from the bottle, the amber liquid splashing inside it. His eyes never left you and now you were shaking. You knew your stepfather wanted you married off and gone from his house, but he felt like this was the way to do it? Or was this punishment because you hadn't made that happen?

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, slurring his words. "Come over here."

"And do what?" you had to ask. "I don't know... how..."

His eyebrows shot up at that. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

You shook your head. Waves of shame and anger rushed through you to be in this situation. You were untried and terrified. He was drunk and seemed at a loss as to how to handle this situation. After a moment, he set the bottle back on the table and marched towards you, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you in place for his kiss. Just like that.

Instinct had you fighting him. His kiss was sloppy and wet, the liquor on his breath heavy, making you feel a little sick. He was easily twice your size and it was nothing for him to drag you in the direction of the bed. When your back met the mattress, you closed your eyes in acquiescence. You just wanted it over with so you could go back home, soiled goods thanks to your stepfather's poor judgment. But you'd live to fight another day. At least you hoped you would.

Arthur's weight dropped onto you on the bed, but after a moment, you realized he wasn't moving. When he snored by your ear, it was all you could do not to burst into tears. Did this mean you'd have to wait for him to sober up? Would this torment be rescheduled? You didn't think you could take that.

You didn't know what to do. Carefully, you managed to roll him off you and onto his side. He didn't wake or even move as you managed to get off the bed. Hope had your heart swelling in your chest. Could you make it out of this apartment then? You could claim that the deed was done and he passed out after. You could declare it done, right?

Rushing to the window, you moved the curtain just enough to see the street and it didn't look like anyone was outside the door now. Could you make it out? If you moved fast enough? 

With your heart flying in your chest, you unlocked the door and pulled it open, dashing out onto the street and sending up every prayer that you'd ever said that you could just make it home. 

You collided with someone hard. You were shaking as his hands came up to steady you, keep you from falling. An apology was on your tonque as you glanced up to see who blocked you.

It was him.

Tommy Shelby was the one who had you, his figure a sharp silhouette against the darkness. A beat after he released you, a match flares to life, momentarily illuminating the angular planes of his face—the high cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the cigarette resting between his fingers. The glow flickers out as he exhales, smoke curling around him like a specter, and in that brief moment, his icy blue eyes locked onto yours.

He didn’t look surprised.

No anger. No raised voice. Just that cold, assessing gaze—as if he had already predicted this, as if he knew you would run before even you did. A slow inhale. A subtle shift of his stance. The barest tilt of his head, like a wolf considering a cornered rabbit.

You expect fury, maybe even threats, but what terrifies you most is the patience in his expression. Calculated. Absolute. Unshaken.

“Going somewhere?” His voice is soft, measured, all the more dangerous for its calmness.

You want to run, but your legs refuse to move. The street around you seemed empty, swallowed in shadow. But you know—he's never truly alone. Somewhere, in the darkened alleys, his men are watching. Waiting.

Tommy takes one step forward, slow and deliberate.

“You should know,” he murmured, flicking his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his polished boot, “I don’t like having to come after people.” The weight of his words coiled around you, squeezing the air from your lungs.

Hooking your thumb in the direction of the apartment, and it was trembling, you said, "He's d-done."

That cool gaze moved over you, up and down, and his gaze returned to yours. "Not with you. Arthur loves the ladies but I've never seen him move that fast."

You hadn't thought of that. 

"Did he pass out?" he asked quietly.

Tears stung the backs of your eyes and you nodded. It wouldn't do any good to lie to him. "What happens now?" you asked, cringing under that cold gaze. 

"There's still an arrangement," Tommy reminded you. "And it has to be honored."

You glanced back over your shoulder at the door wondering what he meant by that. Would you wait for Arthur to wake up? Come back another day when he was sober?

Rough fingers at your chin turned your face back to him, and you shrank away from that unfamiliar touch. When your attention was returned to him, he grabbed your upper arm and started walking, almost dragging you up the street at first. What was he going to do? Where was he taking you?

Men were walking not too far behind you now, his men. They stayed behind the two of you until Tommy abruptly turned a corner, heading up a short flight of steps. Leading you into another apartment.

The new apartment was different—cleaner, quiet and cold. A stark contrast to the cramped, smoke-choked rooms you just fled from. The walls are smooth, freshly painted in an off-white shade that seems almost too pristine for a place in Small Heath. There’s no peeling wallpaper, no damp smell clinging to the wooden floorboards. Instead, there’s the faint scent of tobacco and whiskey, mingling with the lingering traces of fresh linen and polish—evidence that someone actually cares for this space.

The furniture is sparse but elegant in a way that doesn’t fit the rough streets outside. A solid oak table sits near the window, a glass decanter of amber liquid resting on top, two crystal tumblers beside it. A plush armchair, its deep leather cracked at the seams, faces the fireplace where faint embers glow, casting flickering shadows against the walls. A bottle of Scotch, half-empty, stands on the mantel as if waiting for its owner’s return.

Against one wall, a proper bed. Not a cot, not a lumpy mattress stuffed into the corner, but a well-made bed with crisp white sheets and a thick wool blanket folded at the foot. A luxury in this part of Birmingham. A reminder that this isn’t a prison. But it’s still his space. His territory. And now, you're trapped inside it.

The gas lamps flickered, their glow reflecting off the dark glass of the window. Outside, Small Heath moved on—voices drifting through the night, a horse’s hooves clattering in the distance, the faint murmur of a pub emptying out. But in here, the world feels still, heavy with unspoken rules and the weight of Tommy Shelby’s presence.

His men have left by now, their boots retreating down the hallway, leaving you alone with him. The door clicks shut.

A moment of silence.

“You’ll be more comfortable here,” he says, his voice as controlled as ever, but there’s no mistaking the finality in his words. This isn’t a courtesy. It’s an arrangement.

You didn't understand why you were here. Was he going to keep an eye on you until his brother slept it off? Or would he expect you to stay here until the deed could be done?

With practiced ease, he hung up his cap and shrugged out his dusty black coat, hanging it up. Then, the soft sound of a match striking as Tommy lights another cigarette, his gaze unreadable as he exhales a slow stream of smoke. Grabbing the Scotch and tumblers from his mantel, he moving to the table at the window, filling the crystal glasses and motioning you over. 

"Have one," he said. 

He wanted you to drink? You'd never drank spirits in your life. You must have stared at the glass like a snake about to bite you.

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette. "Since my brother is unable to do the honors," he said, "we'll finish the arrangement here and now. Drink it. It will make it easier."

Panic threatened to overtake you. What? Arthur Shelby passed out drunk so now you were expected to fuck Tommy Shelby?

Not doing as he said seemed terrifying, so you reached for the tumbler meant for you with a shaking hand. Bringing it to your lips for a sip, you almost coughed. The drink was smooth but potent. It burned like fire all the way down to your stomach. 

"Sit down," he said, using his foot to push one of the two chairs at the table back for you. You did as he wanted, taking another drink of whiskey. You felt the weight of those ice-blue eyes on you as you stiffly took a seat. "You ever been with a man?"

The man could just talk about something so personal like it was nothing more than business. It was a lot more than that to you. It took a moment for you to work up the courage to meet his gaze now, but you made yourself do it. You may have been trapped in this situation but you had to remember that you personally had done nothing wrong. 

“No,” was all you said. “Never drank either. Until now.”

Tommy tilted his head slightly, still studying you, the faint glow of his cigarette illuminating the sharp angles of his face. “Your stepfather isn’t a smart man.”

“Or a kind one,” you murmured, the words bitter on your tongue.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, effortless yet edged with something unreadable. “That why he offered you up?” His voice was calm, almost casual, but his gaze never wavered. “Strict with you, was he? That why you haven’t got any experience?”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around the tumbler in your hands. “No. He just wants me gone.”

Tommy hummed in answer. The room feels smaller with him in it. The air is thick with the smoky bite of liquor and tobacco, the soft glow of the gas lamp casting shadows across his sharp features. Tommy took the chair across from you, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, the other resting on his thigh, fingers curled loosely around a half-filled tumbler. He hasn’t spoken for a couple of moments, and yet his silence is as oppressive as a threat.

He studies you, slow and deliberate, his ice-blue gaze dragging over you like a weight you can’t shake off. Not leering. Not curious. Calculating. Like he’s unraveling you in his mind, peeling back the layers of fear, of defiance, of whatever fragile armor you've built to protect yourself. He sees through you. And he enjoys it.

The cigarette smolders between his fingers, the red ember glowing each time he takes a slow, unhurried drag. He exhales through his nose, the smoke curling like ghostly fingers in the space between them, thick, intimate, suffocating. He’s not trying to scare you. He doesn’t have to. His presence alone is enough.

And yet… he is devastating.

The angles of his face, chiseled and unyielding, should make him look harsh, unappealing, but they don’t. His dark lashes, too long for a man, cast shadows over his cheekbones as he watches you, the corner of his mouth curling around the cigarette in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but is. The controlled power in the way he moves, the effortless confidence—it draws you in even as you will yourself to stay afraid.

He lifts his glass, taking a slow sip of Scotch, the tendons in his forearm flexing beneath the crisp sleeve of his shirt. When he sets it down, the clink of crystal against wood echoes too loud in the quiet.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low, even, dangerous.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, tapping ash from his cigarette, “and I’ll start thinking you’ve forgotten why you’re here.”

It’s a warning, a challenge.

And God help you, it’s both terrifying and intoxicating. You take another sip of from your glass, welcoming the burn and the warmth. You'd been unable to really eat today given what was going to happen. Your entire life would change after tonight. The alcohol went straight to your head, taking the edge off of your fear. Not enough but it was better than nothing.

"If the... arrangement is settled, here and now, then I'm done?" you had to ask. "Arthur..."

Tommy takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a ribbon of smoke that curls lazily between you. His blue eyes stay locked on yours, sharp and unreadable, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to look away. He lifts his glass, takes a sip, then sets it down with an almost deliberate slowness.

Then, in that same calm, cutting voice, he asks, “Would you prefer Arthur?”

The question lands like a blow.

Your fingers tightened around the tumbler, the burn of alcohol lingering in your throat, but you can’t find your voice. Prefer Arthur? Tommy says it so easily, like the answer doesn’t matter to him either way, like it’s nothing more than an idle curiosity. But the way he watches you now—eyes half-lidded, cigarette balanced between his fingers—you know it’s not.

Your pulse quickens. Arthur is rougher. Louder. More reckless. But Tommy… Tommy is something else entirely. Colder. Calculating. Inevitable.

You swallow hard, shaking your head. “No.”

Tommy doesn’t react, not right away. He just studies you for another long, unbearable moment before flicking the ash from his cigarette and smashing out in a small tray. “Good.”

You don’t ask why. Something tells you you don’t want to know.

Your heart pounds as he drains his tumbler in one slow pull, then rises from the chair with a grace that feels almost too controlled. His movements are smooth, deliberate—never hurried, never uncertain. Without a word, he reaches for your glass. Carefully, but firmly, he takes it from your hands and sets it on the table. Then, he offers his hand.

Your pulse spikes. A silent command. A choice that isn’t really a choice. Despite the tension tightening in your chest, you take it. His fingers closed around yours—not rough, not gentle, just steady. He pulls you effortlessly to your feet, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin, grounding you even as your nerves coil tighter.

It’s only a few steps to the bed, but the space between felt heavily charged. Tommy sits at the edge, his grip still firm around your hand. Then, he glances up at you, those piercing blue eyes pinning you in place. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words, the weight of the moment pressing down on your skin. And still—he doesn't let go.

Tommy’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand, almost absentmindedly, as he studied you with that same quiet intensity that makes your breath catch. His gaze flickers over your face, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail—the way your lips part slightly, the way your pulse jumped at your throat.

Then, in that smooth, low voice that sends a shiver down your spine, he murmurs, “Pretty thing, aren’t you?”

It isn’t a question. It’s an observation. A fact.

Your stomach tightens. There’s no warmth in his tone, no flirtation, just a simple acknowledgment, spoken like he’s already decided exactly what to do with you. Like he owns the moment, owns you. His fingers tighten, just for a beat, before his grip loosens again. And for the first time, you realize—it’s not just fear that’s making your heart race.

You weren’t prepared for the way his other hand slips behind your neck, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to send a shiver down your spine. No hesitation. No uncertainty. He pulls you toward him with quiet intent, as if he’s already decided how this will go—as if there was never a question.

The only time a man had ever kissed you was Arthur’s sloppy, whiskey-soaked attempt in the other apartment. But this—this is something else entirely.

There’s no drunken sway, no careless fumbling. Tommy moves with purpose, with the same measured control he applies to everything he does. And that’s what makes it dangerous. When his lips touched yours, it was a whisper of a kiss at first. There was no overpowering smell of spirits, just the faint scent of tobacco, of him. As his lips moved against yours, firmer and seeking, you tried to mimic him, afraid not to do something. You must have done something right. He increased the pressure at the back of your neck to pull you closer, and your hands landed on his shoulders, crisp linen covering tight muscle under your palms. When he deepened the kiss, you let him, and the slide of his tongue against yours gave him a deep taste of you. His deep moan surprised you, and you felt that subtle sound all through your body as he continued to kiss you breathless.

It was easy for him to pull you onto the bed and roll you under him, breathless as you were. When his mouth claimed yours again, his kiss was more demanding, and his hands were everywhere. Tommy managed to pull the shawl free of you without breaking the kiss, his hands then sliding down to work the worn leather Mary Janes you wore off your feet, tossing them off the side of the bed. One hand grabbed your ankle before sliding up your leg, up to cover the globe of your ass and panic had you jerking in his hold. 

Tommy pulled back to look you in the eye, his face flushed in his excitement and quiet intent. There was a wildness in his eyes—untamed, dangerous, something raw and unchecked. You doubted many had ever seen it, and for good reason. It wasn’t meant to be witnessed. His gaze searched yours, piercing, relentless, and you trembled in his arms, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of it.

"I'm going to have you," he said breathlessly, his weight pinning your body to the bed. Grinding himself into your tummy, the hard, heated length of him was unmistakable, even with both of you clothed. His eyes darkened in sheer determination and his hold on you tightened. "You understand?"

You nodded quickly. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

Sliding his hand roughly up your body, he smoothed his hand over you cheek, his gaze never leaving you. Tommy kept watching you as that hand moved back down to pluck at the buttons of your blouse and his nimble fingers made quick work of it. Impatiently, his hands pulled the garment free of your skirt before undoing the buttons of your camisole beneath. You couldn't stop trembling as he undid the last barrier and peeled it back to reveal your upper body to him.

His gaze was sharp, moving over your breasts with growing impatience, hunger. With a delicacy you wouldn't have believed him capable of, his fingers traced over your collar bone, over the tiny gold cross pendant of your necklace. He trailed a finger over your skin, across to one breast, using that digit to tease your nipple to a tight peak with a gentle circular touch. When his heated gaze returned to yours, he filled his hand with your breast, squeezing firmly but not enough to hurt. Tommy began kissing you again, heated and greedy now, with his hand teasing your breast before sliding down your body and beneath your skirt. As if he knew you were about to start fighting him again, he broke the kiss to cover your breast, teasing it with his lips and tongue as his hand slid under your skirt, into your underwear. Sensation overwhelmed you, need battling fear, and your hands clutched in the bedding beneath you as his fingers teased your private flesh, the light pressure drawing sensations from your body that you'd never experienced. 

"You can touch me," he muttered around your nipple. It felt like a command. Your hands shook as they slid up to him, instinctively moving to his head. The glossy black locks of his short hair slid between your fingers as he continued to tease you relentlessly, burning you down with his mouth and hands. 

Chills and pulses of unexpected pleasure had you writhing feverishly beneath him as his tongue smoothed over your aching nipple and his fingers danced in the wet folds between your legs. Your breath sucked in when he touched your pearl, and he lifted his head to savor your reaction. Whatever he was doing with his fingers, all you knew was that it would soon drive you insane, continued, but he didn't give you the speed or pressure you wanted. The touch was fleeting, maddening. Your fingers clutched in his hair as he continued to delicately torture you, your legs clamped around his hand because you couldn't help it in your need. And it didn't slow his efforts at all. 

When his touch stopped, you whined, an unfamiliar sound to you. In a frenzy of movement, Tommy unzipped your skirt and roughly yanked it off along with your underwear, your stockings. He wasn't satisfied until you were stripped bare beneath him, all of you trembling under the intensity of his stare. As he sat there next to you, taking every inch of you in, his fingers went to work with haste, undoing his tie, stripping off his waistcoat. His fingers flew at undoing the buttons of his own shirt which he pulled free of his trousers but didn't remove it. 

Tommy shifted down the bed and moved to throw one of your legs over his shoulder so fast, you didn't have time to react. And by the time you did, he'd buried his face between your thighs. The flames of humiliation only burned you for a few seconds. The man's mouth covered your sex, his tongue a wicked torment that was unfamiliar and almost too much to bear. One of his hands worked to keep your folds open, your curls out of his way, as he kissed your pussy as he had your mouth. The other slid up over your tummy with pressure, holding you in place for his assault on your senses.

You accepted it but your entire body was shaking, shivering and it was impossible to stay still. Your back arched and you would have been horrified to realize that you were pushing yourself towards him, towards his mouth, wanting more, if you hadn't been so lost in the storm of sensation. What he was doing didn't make the fever better, it made it worse. It felt like fire running through your veins with raw need pooling low in your belly. When he slid a finger back to your pearl as he continued to work you with his mouth, you gasped. When his movements sped up, when his tongued traced your opening, you screamed long and loud. A wave of pure pleasure swept over you and he didn't stop what he was doing the entire time, dragging it out until you violently shook beneath him, crying and moaning as your body shivered and eased. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he moved up the bed toward you, his hands working the fine leather belt at the front of his trousers. He wore nothing beneath and the sight of his cock, angry red and larger than you expected, filled your vision as you watched him take himself in hand, working himself as his gaze roamed over you. Tommy shifted, one of his knees pushing yours apart. You let him, watching him drape himself over you. There was something obscene about the way he stripped you naked but was still mostly clothed himself. 

He surprised you by stopping then, a hand smoothing over your hair and face with care. You sensed he was holding back, respecting your inexperience. You knew it meant nothing to him but he realized it meant something for you, and your heart squeezed in your chest at the gesture. 

"It's going to hurt," he said, whispering against your lips. "Not for long. Hang onto me."

You did what he said, but slid your hands beneath his shirt, running your hands over the muscular plane of his damp back. Your fingers found scars, a lot of them, but it gave you a distraction from the way he lined himself up with your entrance, the smooth head of him pressing into you insistently. It felt better to bring your legs up, your knees hovering around his hips. You held your breath as the pressure built, and the intrusion of him pushed further into your body. When he met that fleshy barrier inside you that proved your claim, Tommy surged through it, and the pain was searing. It took your breath away, had tears stinging your eyes as he completely filled you. Your tender walls quivered around him, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar length of him.

With the pad of his thumb, he caught a tear, brushing it away with a touch that was almost too careful for a man like him. Then, without a word, he lowered his head, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was soft, deliberate—unexpectedly tender. No force. No urgency. Just a slow, measured touch, as if, for once, Tommy Shelby was in no hurry to take what he wanted. He held still inside you, allowing you to adjust. Lost in the dizzying mix of pain and pleasure from his kisses, you found yourself clinging to the unexpected gentleness in his touch. A contradiction. A quiet mercy. Something you never would have expected from a man like him.

But the arrangement wasn’t over. Not until he decided it was. Not until he was finished.

Slowly, he started moving inside you and it stung like fire as he thrust in and out of you. You knew you were wincing, but you'd be damned if you'd complain now. You wanted to be brave, feeling like you'd earn his respect if you were. And as he pushed in and out of you, the pain lessened and dulled, easing to be replaced with more of the sensations from before. The good ones. Before long your thighs were clamped around his hips as he plunged into you again and again. Hot, reckless kisses dropped over your face and breasts as he fucked you. Your arms and legs were wrapped around him but it was more than that. You weren't just lying there and thinking of England as you'd been advised by your mother and aunts. You were riding waves of unexpected pleasure, soaring to those heights again. Your hands became claws at his back, your nails carving into his skin. Your thighs tightened around his hips as you moved with him, wanting more, craving more.

His lips blazed a path to the sensitive skin of your throat, peppering your skin with kisses and swipes of his tongue as he rode you harder. The drive of him inside of you, his hands on your breasts, fingers teasing your pearl, drove you mad. You started begging him, pleading for release from the intense experience he was drowning you in.

"Please," you chanted.

His actions pushed you higher until, with your heart racing in your chest, until he sent you flying again. Your cries and screams filled the room as the man literally destroyed you. 

Tommy drove on above you and you knew he was now chasing his own end and you still held him. But it also occured to you in that moment that there was no birth control being used here, no condom or anything. You tried to steady your breathing, pushing down the rising panic. Surely, a man like Tommy Shelby wouldn’t want a bastard running around—wouldn’t leave something like that to chance. Tommy was many things—ruthless, dangerous, unreadable. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had more honor than that.

 As his movements sped up, his thrusts just shy of painful, you tensed, hoping he was going to pull out of you when his time came so there'd be no worry about a baby. Above you his eyes were closed, his mouth slack. The beauty of him in that moment made you pause as he came. When you jerked beneath him, his hands collared your wrists and pushed them into the bed on either side of your head. Holding you there, he pumped himself into you growling as he did, thrust after thrust. Truthfully, you didn't have it in you to try and stop him. As if you even could.

Maybe it wouldn't take. You tried to shove that worry to the back of your mind, not even wanting to think about that right now.

He'd collapsed onto you, but his weight wasn't too much as his breathing rushed with yours. Running your fingers through his hair, you tried to stay calm. Your mind couldn't help jumping ahead.

Now that the deed was done, you'd be sent back home. Everyone in Small Heath knew you'd been won in an ill-advised bet. Would other men consider you an easy mark? You couldn't count on your stepfather to protect you. 

Tommy pulled himself free from you and it stung. He stretched out next to you on the bed, his finger tracing the curve of your breast. He watched you in that way of his—sharp and knowing. His gaze settled on you, unreadable yet unrelenting. Then, in that low, measured voice, he asks, “What are you thinking so hard about?”

It’s not just a question. It’s a test. Like he can already see the storm rising behind your eyes, the panic tightening in your chest as you grapple with the future he’s tangled you in.

You open your mouth, then close it. Because what do you even say to him? But he doesn’t look away. He waits. And somehow, that’s even worse. At the end of the day, only the arrangement mattered. His family’s honor was intact, the deal upheld—that was all that concerned him. Whatever you felt, whatever came next for you, wouldn’t change a thing. Tommy wasn’t the kind of man to concern himself with your plight. You knew that. It was better not to mention it at all.

So instead, you took the coward’s way out.

“Can I go home now?” The words left your lips, but somehow, they didn’t sound like a plea. More like a quiet resignation.

Was that reluctance you saw in his face? Just for a flicker of a moment—something unreadable, something hesitant beneath the mask of indifference.

Tommy considers your question, his expression giving nothing away. But he studies you, weighing something. You can’t tell what. And that’s the most unsettling part.

With a deep sigh, he finally says, "You can."

As you start to sit up, you watch him search through your clothing on the bed, finding your simple underwear. You watch in stunned silenced as he carefully takes them and dips them between your legs, staining the white garment with your blood. When you instinctively reach for them—alarmed by the sight of your own blood, mortified by what he’s just done—Tommy’s eyes snap to yours, sharp and unyielding. Before you can touch them, he moves them out of reach, his grip firm, his expression leaving no room for argument.

“I’m keeping these.” The finality in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. Like a claim. Like a promise.

Why?

You were shaking as you watched him dress, dressing yourself as quickly as you could with shaking limbs. It was over now, right? Was your underwear stained with your blood proof that the arrangement was met? You were bleeding and he was keeping your undergarment. It was distressing. He must have noticed. Without a word, he stepped to a cabinet drawer and pulled out a clean, white towel, tossing it onto your lap.

"Clean yourself up," he said, already pulling on his coat and adjusting his cap with practiced ease. Then, just as effortlessly, "I'll be back to take you home."

And with that, he was gone.

You sat there, staring at the door he’d just disappeared through, the towel limp in your hands.

Tommy Shelby was taking you home.

A short, breathless laugh escaped before you could stop it. That would scare the shit out of your stepfather. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss you.

Or maybe—it wouldn’t matter at all. You didn't know what the future held for you or what impact this night would have on it.

***

Tommy’s grip tightened on the wheel, his jaw set in that familiar, unreadable line. The road stretched dark and empty ahead of him, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. He didn’t glance her way—didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of her presence beside him, could hear the way she shifted slightly in her seat, the tension rolling off her in waves.

This was necessary. That’s what he told himself. A loose end tied up, an arrangement upheld.

When he pulled up to Watery Lane, the headlights cut through the mist curling over the cobbled drive, illuminating the towering structure of Arrow House. The place had never really felt like home, but it served its purpose—just like everything in his world.

He killed the engine and stepped out first, running as he rounded the car and opened the door for her. She hesitated, just for a moment, then followed without a word. He could almost see the question in her mind. Why am I here?

Because he wanted her here. He wanted her. Tonight merely sealed her fate.

Inside, the house was dimly lit, the scent of wood smoke and aged whiskey lingering in the air. Tommy didn’t break stride, already pulling off his gloves as he spotted Polly standing at the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed, dark eyes sharp as they flicked between him and her.

“Take her up,” he said simply, voice low and clipped. “My room. Find her something to sleep in.”

Polly didn’t move right away. Instead, she gave him a look—one of those looks. The kind that didn’t need words, the kind only Polly could give.

It was half question, half judgment. What’s this, then?

Tommy exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before muttering, “Not now, Pol.”

With a slow shake of her head, she turned to his girl, her expression softening slightly as she gestured for her to follow.

Tommy watched for a second longer, then turned on his heel, heading straight for the whiskey decanter. He'd knock back a couple then he'd join her in sleep.

***

The house was quiet early the next morning, but Polly was already up. Tommy found her in the sitting room, a cigarette between her fingers, an untouched cup of tea going cold on the table beside her. The morning light filtered weakly through the windows, casting a dull glow over the room.

She didn’t look at him right away, just took a slow drag, exhaling through her nose before finally speaking. “That the girl Arthur won in the coin toss?”

Tommy poured himself a drink, even though it was too early for one. He took his time before answering. “It is.”

Polly’s gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing. “So why is she upstairs, in your room, and not with him? Or home with her family?”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately. Just swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught in it. He didn't feel the need to explain himself.

But Polly wasn’t stupid. Her eyes narrowed slightly, putting the pieces together faster than most ever could. She leaned back in her chair, cigarette poised between her fingers, a slow smirk curving her lips. “You wanted her.” It wasn’t a question.

Tommy took a sip of his whiskey. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. But Polly was already seeing through him, like she always did.

“You let Arthur think it was his idea.” Her voice was quieter now. “Tricked her stepfather into wagering her. Then drugged Arthur when the time came to claim her. You waited, knowing she’d panic, knowing she’d run. And who was there, ready to catch her?” She let the silence hang for a beat before answering her own question. “You.”

Tommy tilted his head, nonchalant, unreadable. He took another slow sip of whiskey before finally meeting Polly’s gaze.

She sighed, shaking her head as if tired of playing this game with him. “What are your intentions, Thomas?”

Another pause. He could lie. He could deflect. But Polly wouldn’t believe him, and they both knew it.

So instead, he took another drag of his cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and simply said—“She’s mine.”

Polly let out a breath, long and slow, before muttering, “Jesus Christ, Tommy.”

Tommy had already made his decision.

Arthur would know soon enough. There’d be no shouting, no drunken outburst—just the facts, laid out cleanly, irrefutably. Tommy would hand over proof that the arrangement had been upheld, that the wager had been honored in the way that mattered. It would be enough to keep Arthur from questioning him, enough to silence any complaints before they started.

As for the girl’s stepfather? He would be a cautionary tale. A reminder of what happened when someone gambled with the Shelbys and lost. When a debt was called, when something was taken and then never seen again. Her sudden disappearance—her absence—would be enough to send a whisper of fear through Small Heath, a warning to any fool who might ever think to challenge them again.

And in time, when the dust settled, when the moment was right—he would marry her. Not because of obligation. Not because of the arrangement.

Because she was now his.

[stellacendia]

I've got a complicated history with the concept of romance. I had a relationship in high school that, while technically romantic, was more or less "I like you the same amount as my other friends except we kiss sometimes." I've always had friendships that were incredibly intense, at least on my end. And when the person on the other end of that friendship was single, I felt that intensity was... more or less returned enough for me to be content. Not everyone values friendships like I do, I get it. Good enough for me.

Then that friend would get a romantic partner, and suddenly it felt like I mattered way less. And, god, I've always tried to be reasonable about it, I've tried to be understanding and nice. Of course my friend wants to spend a lot of time with their partner, especially when the relationship is new. Of course the partner is important too, of course romance is important to my friend. I can't be selfish and deny my friend time with their partner. I should try to be friends with the partner so that we can all spend time together. No, it's definitely not third-wheeling, not when we're all friends with each other!

But yeah, I felt replaced. Also horribly guilty for feeling replaced, but to me.... that friend was the most important person in the world. I'd do anything for that person, no questions asked. Follow them to the ends of the earth, let my entire universe revolve around them. (Is this healthy? Maybe not. Probably not. Did it anyway. Don't know how not to.) And it just fucken sucks when that person simply won't offer the same devotion in return. They'll offer it to their romantic partner, because the romantic partner is always more important than any platonic relationships. They'll offer it conditionally to me, when they're between relationships, only to drop me again the moment they start up another romance.

It's this messy cycle that keeps me endlessly questioning whether or not I'm really aromantic. Cause most of the time I feel like I am! I do not and have never needed romance. And then I catch myself daydreaming about a future where I have a partner that acts in all the ways a romantic partner does and have a mini identity crisis.

And I think, I've figured it out. I don't actually want a romantic relationship. What I want is for someone to finally offer me back the same kind of devotion most commonly found in romantic relationships, the same kind of devotion I offer my closest friends. For once I want to be somebody's most important person, instead of always being second best.

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ad perpetuam memoriam II

I II III

summary: you enroll at night raven college one year after the original yuu. a heartslabyul event and a mysterious letter type of post: series includes: ace, deuce, riddle, silver, sebek additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not yuu, this is all AU, not making predictions for how twst will end

"Leave me be,"

The hollow sound of knocking and the rasps of weary sighs end. Finally. You pull your blanket back over your head, content to sleep through the rest of the morning.

BANG!

The door splits itself apart, sparks of magic and smoke flying through the cool air.

Sebek Zigvolt, vice housewarden of Diasomnia, pushes his magic pen into the slim opening of his pocket before he comes inside.

"Up,"

He demands, curtly but not coldly, a hand on his hip. "I have no patience for your disrespect. Silver has been far too lenient with you."

Lenient. If lenient meant sending birds and squirrels through your window, then yes. If lenient meant trying to talk to you in your sleep, then certainly. If lenient meant sending his vicewarden to split your door in two, then Silver was the most lenient housewarden this dorm ever had!

...Not that you'd know.

"Lord Malleus would have torn this room apart, stone by stone, days ago," Sebek says. "You cannot shut yourself away as though you are some... sleeping princess in a tower! UP!"

Cold air touches your sweaty, crumpled body, and your blanket falls at Sebek's feet as he pulls it from you.

"You're ill," he asks, though it's more of a statement than a question.

You say nothing, and he scoffs.

Sebek leers over you, the soft gray light of morning casting his shadow over your body. "You should consider yourself fortunate, that Silver has not thrown you out of this room yet. You are making a mockery of the Housewarden,"

With some difficulty, and, surely, some disgust, he lifts your sweaty, cold body from the bed.

Fwump.

Sebek sits you in the lounge, forcing you to keep upright with a hand on the nape of your neck. With the other, he holds a cracker to your lips. His hand doesn't move until you've eaten the entire thing.

"Sebek... What are you doing?"

Both of your eyes, sharp and wide, crusty and tired, turn to Silver.

"What does it look like?" the vicewarden scoffs. "Feeding your pet."

Silver looks taken aback, crystalline eyes reflecting your sordid state, and he hurries to your side.

"Gentle," he instructs his vicewarden, taking your hand in his. You can't seem to understand why he's so kind to you. You don't ask.

"Are you ill?" he asks (genuinely, this time). "You must be hungry..."

Sebek rolls his eyes, though even he looks a little uncomfortable at the thought, shifting where he stands.

"I'll prepare something," he mutters.

"Thank you, Sebek. That would be good,"

Silver's thumb draws lines and letters over the back of your hand, soothing you. He must have learnt that somewhere. You wonder what his parents are like.

"You've missed several days of classes. I've had some of your classmates collect your work for you. But don't worry about that now,"

You look away, eyes tired and barely open. Sick, yes, that's what you are. It's not that you'd been avoiding everyone... you're just... sick.

"Riddle wanted me to give this to you," Silver says, taking a delicate, elegant paper from his pocket. Had he been carrying that all weekend?

"It's an invitation for an unbirthday party, which-"

"I don't want to go," you don't even let him explain. Though you're not sure of what you want, now. Except for this headache to go away...

Silver frowns. "You should. You should make friends, or at least... talk... to someone. Deuce has been asking Sebek about you,"

For some strange reason, that makes your headache worse. Is it obligation? Guilt? Pity? Do these people think that if they care enough, one day they'll look at you and finally see someone else?

Is it so hard to believe that you're cared for?

Yes. It is.

"You should tell him I'm fine," you snap, though without meaning to. "I don't have to be friends with him, you know."

Silver winces, and you overflow with guilt. Something about him, the only person to, so far, treat you as a human and not a shadow, makes your stomach twist and turn.

"You're right. But he's trying. Really,"

"That's what they say," you relent.

"Yes. It's not easy for everyone," Silver dabs at some of the sweat and grease on your forehead with a handkerchief. "Especially those who were close to... never mind. Don't worry yourself about it. You have nothing to feel bad for, you belong here just as much as anyone does."

His gaze becomes hazy, unfocused, as he speaks. He may as well have been talking to himself.

"Soup!" Sebek announces, as if it were some kind of culinary battle cry.

He sits at your side in the comfortable darkness of the lounge and sets the warm bowl in your lap. It smells good.

"You cook?" you ask, absent-mindedly stirring the broth.

Sebek smirks. "Certainly. We both do,"

"We learned because Lil- er, my father is a terrible cook," Silver explains with a smile. "You're lucky he isn't here. He'd insist on making you his "specialty" and you'd end up worse than before."

You snort at that. "It can't possibly be that bad,"

"It is," the two say in unison. Sebek shudders at some memory, or another.

"He'd love you," Silver says. "So would... well... Malleus would understand."

Malleus. Your stay in Diasomnia has been haunted by that name, spoken into every conversation and implied between each breath.

Something about the way they spoke of him told you he wouldn't like you. You're not sure why.

"I guess that's good enough," you relent. Silver smiles, and Sebek pats your head, not knowing how else to show his approval.

"I'm unsure if this is entirely necessary-"

You catch yourself talking in that voice and just as soon shut your mouth. Have you always mirrored the others, or is it only a symptom of mania?

Perhaps you've been locked in that room for too long, after all.

Riddle doesn't seem to notice that you were mimicking his voice, or he doesn't say anything of it, at least, instead fixing the white and red sash of your scratchy uniform over your shoulder.

"It is. It's custom to be dressed in the Heartslabyul dorm uniform for an unbirthday party,"

"But I don't think that-"

"Hush," he pins the sash in place.

Riddle takes a step back, his chin comfortably cradled in his gloved palm. "Perfect. Now, let's make haste. It'd be uncouth for the Housewarden to be tardy,"

Great. Is that what you sound like??

You follow after him, the heels of your tight, pinchy boots click click clicking on the tile in rhythm with his.

"I would have had Deuce tend to you, as the former vice housewarden would have, but..." Riddle sighs. "He's doing his best, he's doing his best..."

You glance at him as he mutters the mantra to himself, fingers twitching around the magic pen in his pocket.

He withdraws them. "Of course, Ace has been of no help, either,"

Ace. A thought of a figure in red and white comes to mind, faceless and apprehensive. He was the one who had hugged you at the orientation ceremony.

You hadn't seen him since.

"Has he fallen ill?" you ask, still sounding all too like the housewarden.

"No," Riddle says. "Yes. It's... an affliction of the mind. Ahem. Never mind that."

"Oh,"

"Yes. Well, Deuce will have you. It was he who wanted to extend the invite... ever charitable,"

Yuck. The apprehension in Riddle's voice makes your skin crawl, even if it's not entirely aggressive.

"...Right,"

Riddle leads you through a door with a mockingly smiling face engraved on the knob, and into the gardens.

In another world, you might have liked it here. The tall, handsome hedges, the perfectly kept grass, the painted roses which seemed to sing in the golden sunlight... and, of course, the tables, one set after the other, in pinks and whites and greens and gold, a spread of teapots, tarts, jams, sugar, butter, on each one.

"Hey!" a merry, little-too-loud voice beckons from behind. You would have jumped, but a sudden hand on your shoulder keeps you tethered to the earth.

"There you are! I'm so glad you could come!" Deuce Spade smiles. "You look great... the uniform really suits you!"

"You think so?" you ask, feeling more like a circus clown than a student of the strictest dorm in school.

Deuce nods enthusiastically (a little too much so) and his hand slides to your wrist. "Oh, man, I have so many people to introduce you to,"

Dread. As much as you would have liked to run back to your room, or mingle on your own terms, or simply say no, you don't.

"...Great,"

"Great!" Deuce echoes, dragging you over the manicured lawn.

There is, at least, some comfort in the confusion, apathy, and meager care of Deuce's Heartslabyul dormmates. The disinterested greetings, the humble waves, the looks of pity, as if you were anyone but yourself. Then, at least, you can pretend as if you belong here.

"And one more person!"

You glance towards Riddle, scolding a first-year for spreading his jam "offensively" (whatever that means). You haven't had any food, yet. Or water. You haven't even sat down.

The taste of Sebek's soup is still stuck to your tongue. That was last night.

"Ace, over here!"

Dread. If there was anything in your stomach, it surely would have introduced itself to the front of your shirt.

Deuce drags you through the grass, caking your pointy shoes in mud and debris. Why, you? Why? He pushes and pries himself (and you, attached at the wrist) through a crowd of ooh-ing and ah-ing first-years. "Ace, look who it is!"

A boy with spiky, red hair, not unlike the hedgehogs Riddle had introduced you to earlier, bristles. The lively cards between his fingers die on his palms, and the table falls silent.

"Yeah?" Ace asks.

He doesn't seem too excited to see you.

"Look who it is!" Deuce repeats, as if Ace hadn't heard him the first time. He definitely had. "Finally decided to come!"

Ace shuffles the deck, slotting each card together, and then separating them again.

His eyes, narrowed, dark but fiery, like molten iron, never stray from Deuce. He doesn't even look at you.

"So?"

"So?" Deuce says. "Wouldn't you like to say hi?"

You tug, trying to break your wrist free of the binding of his hand, your body making some futile effort to escape.

Deuce doesn't budge.

Ace's eyes finally lower to his cards. "Nah, I'm good,"

The table seems to let out a collective sigh of relief, but the tension isn't done with. Ace's casual response had only thrown a blanket over the corpse of this conversation.

"...Oh. Okay," Deuce says, withdrawing from the first-years. "Sorry." he says to you.

You shake your head. "I should get back to Diasomnia, anyway. Silver needs me,"

He doesn't. No one really needs you.

Deuce doesn't have to know that.

"Oh, well..." he looks at his feet. "Um... if you... need anything, Riddle and I would be glad to help, 'kay?"

"...Sure,"

His grip is gone, and cold, afternoon air embraces your wrist. His palms had been sweaty, you grimace.

You leave the dorm uniform where Riddle had given it, dressing yourself in the familiarly unfamiliar clothes that Crowley had dumped on your doorstep days ago.

Though they're not really yours, they're still something you can call your own.

"Mind yourself," the strict sound of Riddle comes from the kitchen. "I can't recall having excused you."

Your mouth dries. "Did I... need to be excused?"

He comes into the light. At least his expression is softer than his voice.

"Well, you could have at least said good-bye,"

"...I didn't think anyone would notice-"

"Nonsense," his face goes red. "I would have. Are there no manners, where you come from?"

You open your mouth, but only breath comes out. Riddle coughs, taking out an embroidered handkerchief (you swear you've seen like, eight of those so far. This school is weird) and breathes into it. His face returns to its proper color.

"...And... breathe," he sighs. "Now... as for you. You mustn't think so lowly of yourself. You were invited to this event, were you not?"

You nod.

"Then you are wanted. I have heard from Silver that you haven't adjusted?"

"No one would," you mutter. Which seems logical to you. Who would "adjust" to being magicked into another world?

Riddle looks away for a moment. "...To some, it comes easier than others. Forgive Deuce for not knowing how to behave. He's... trying,"

You raise an eyebrow. Riddle sighs and waves off your look with his handkerchief.

"Trey would have known exactly what to do with you..." he says. "He would have had you bake something with him. Explained the rules, given you that... ugh, what was it? Some kind of sauce? As a practical joke... all very immature, yes, but it worked on the first-years.

And Cater, of course. He would have treated it like a holiday. Sevens, my head hurts just imagining the hashtags..."

You snort, if only at Riddle's memories, names and faces you didn't know.

He smiles. "I suppose Deuce sympathizes with you, in that way. You both have certain expectations to meet. The difference is that you didn't ask for yours... ahem. Take care,"

You walk back to school feeling unlike yourself. Your chest is light, your feet don't seem to meet the earth, and your mind is elsewhere. Not here, but not at home, either.

Riddle's awkward words of comfort were gauze to your bleeding heart, though it bled on nonetheless.

But they gave you something to imagine. Something to soothe your mind.

What was this place like before?

Most days, the school felt more like a museum. Dates and titles, portraits without faces in golden frames, hung above your head and hands, unreachable, untouchable.

Everything, every conversation, every question, every word of solace, every smile, was a test you hadn't studied for. A funeral for a person you hadn't known.

No one has lifted the lid of the coffin. Maybe that person has been mangled beyond recognition. Maybe that person is you.

You stop.

There is the dilapidated dorm called Ramshackle, and the one light in its foggy window. The lingering smell of mildew feels like a lullaby. It sings, come in, come in and enjoy the quiet, this is your grave.

Your foot turns, the toe of your shoe dragging across the beaten cobblestone, toward the lullaby, the singing, and the quiet.

Then, there's a hand on your shoulder.

"Lost?"

You would have screamed, but you're suddenly bound by another hand, this one larger and colder than Deuce Spade's, and you're beckoned back into the school.

"Oh, don't fret," the Headmage chirps. "It's an absolutely labyrinthine campus! I've had to collect twenty-six lost students this week alone. I've considered maps, but think of the cost... print is not free, you know!"

You steady yourself, finding your breath and balance again.

It feels more as if the Headmage is talking to himself than to you, and so you don't speak, following him (not of your own will, of course) through the dark, abandoned halls of the school.

"...And I resolved to doing it myself, but it really is such a hassle... I am a busy man, you know," he says. "Though, never too busy for you! Housewarden Vanrouge has come to me with some concerns about your socializing... or, rather, lack of it. Oh- now, don't give me that pout! I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that I told him to forget it. I said, not all magicless students from another world will be spry, sociable sixteen-year-olds! And it gives you more time to focus on me- ah, your studies. But now that you've mentioned it, I do have a few cabinets that could use sorting..."

Crowley stops before a door, as tall and dark as he, but without any ability to speak, which makes it slightly more tolerable.

"Here we are," he smiles.

"Here... where?"

"The mail room," he takes a key from his ensemble and slots it in the imposing door. "Now, wait here."

You raise an eyebrow. Mail room? It's getting dark- the shadows on the walls are slanted, and the sun had given its last breath while he was monologuing. Surely, he's not asking you to sort anything now...

"You know, I thought letter-writing had fallen out of fashion," Crowley says, returning from the depths of the dark. "What, with the emails, and the text messages, and the... ah, that reminds me, I'll have to procure you a phone for emergencies... er, but later. Here, for you."

He hands you an envelope, cream-colored and smooth. There is no name, nor return address on the back. It is simply addressed to the "Residing Second Magicless Student of Night Raven College."

You feel the rich, creamy paper under your thumbs. It smells like smoke.

"Now, don't look at me," Crowley says. "I haven't the slightest clue of who might write you from outside the college. In fact, it makes me worry about our campus security... ah, I'll have someone look at that tomorrow. Good night, dear."

He leaves you there in the hall, envelope in hand, a frown on your lips.

It's dark now. The light has vanished beyond the imposing walls of the school, the shadows have become long-limbed and monstrous, and the sky is blue and red in the blood of the setting sun.

You turn the envelope over. There is still no name. A single wax seal, imprinted in the shape of a bell, is the only sign of life.

Weird. All of this is weird.

You walk home in the dark and cold.

[uravitypng]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

pairing: denki kaminari x reader

word count: 4.8k words

a/n: i'm so glad i finished this and i hope you all like this because i loved writing this. denki's girlfriend is possibly one of the worst people ever...

content warnings: cheating(denki cheats on his girlfriend with reader), praise, unprotected sex, creamie/coming inside, body worship, denki's girlfriend is the absolute worst, multiple orgasms, pining, reader has some self esteem issues and self doubts but denki shows her how perfect she is, oral(f!recieving), denki calls condoms rubber, reader is in denial, petnames, reader is hinted to be chubby, - mdni/18+

you didn't even want to be here... you always got a bad vibe off of them. you're 'friends' with mina but just barely, yet somehow she's dragged you to a party with people who you're definitely not 'friends' with.

at least kaminari is here, he always smiles at you and makes conversation with you even if his girlfriend is a total bitch and probably is the worst out of all of them.

you miss the time before you knew they were dating. somehow after finding that out his girlfriend seemed even worse and more entitled.

you walk into the kitchen in hopes to get another drink but instead you hear that bitch and you had a feeling she was originally talking about you and it was confirmed when she said your name. "i don't know why she's even here. the only reason mina invited her was out of pity." she says spitefully. your eyes well up with tears, maybe you did get invited out of pity, mina is someone who would do that, she knows you don't have many friends.

this whole time you don't realise kaminari is behind you hearing the same thing you are and his face twists in disgust as he hears his girlfriend carry on speaking, "she's just so boring, it's no wonder she's single." your heart fills heavy, it's not your fault that you're single you've just never found someone you clicked with, you blame it on all the fictional characters you like and you often compared them to all your potential relationships. "she's ugly. it's almost a crime that she's at a party with us, that she's in hinami's home. when i started dating kami i met some of his other friends from school when he was younger, that's when i met mineta. the really short one y'know? short, pervy and unattractive, all around terrible guy. he's probably going to be single for the rest of his life, the only way he's not is if he dates her and even then it'll be him who's the more better looking one." they laugh.

why, why, why? what did you ever do to them?

you know you're not the most interesting or the most attractive but you don't deserve this- no one does. you don't want to make a scene but you have to leave, you can't stay here any longer. you wish you could speak up for yourself but you can't and even if you could what good would it do? so you decide to leave before you start hyperventilating, before saying goodbye to mina. turning around to leave when you literally bump into kaminari and there's an expression on his face that you've never seen before and he doesn't even try to hide it.

he looks angry. more than angry, he looks pissed. he's gripping hold of the beer he's drinking so hard that his hands are becoming white around the bottle, his jaw is clenched and his stare is hard but when he feels you bump into him his eyes soften when he looks at you and takes you in. you're biting your lip trying not to sob and tears are filling your waterline. as you see him you can't stop the dam from breaking as the tears heavily stream down your face. as you push past him you hope to never see him again- any of them.

that doesn't happen though. denki has made it a point to wiggle himself into your life, inserting himself there. it happened that very night after you left the party, about half an hour after you arrived home and changed into comfy clothes he came knocking on you door. "kaminari? how... how do you know where i live? wait, what- hold up, what are you even doing here?"

why is he wet, has it been raining? he smiles genuinely at you, even though he's soaked to the bone, freezing from the rain and so very irate with his girlfriend just seeing you cheers him up. he's never seen you in a comfortable setting before, a setting where you're not dressing up from anyone, you look even cuter than normal...

"can i come in?" he asks you and you blink slowly and heavily a few times, processing the question. it relaxes you because the way he says it sounds like a sincere questions. sometimes when people ask a question you know you have to answer a certain way, you know there is a right way.

sometimes when someone asks "can i...?" you have to say yes because saying no isn't really an option, they're not really asking you. but when you heard denki say, "can i come in?" you relax because you know you could just say no and that would be okay, he would be okay with that. if you told him no he 'can't come in' he'd just leave and won't push you to say yes or try to make you feel guilty. sometimes questions like "can i come in?" or a "can we go here?" are almost rhetorical question.

he makes you feel safe.

you nod your head and step aside letting him through. "okay," you reply softly and a little hoarsely, slightly annoyed at yourself for not speaking more louder and assertively.

"how are you feeling?"

the tether that's keeping you from becoming frustrated feels like it starts fraying "how do you think i'm feeling?" beginning to get annoyed at him because why is he even here talking to you, shouldn't he still be at hinema's house with his girlfriend?

"yeah... that's a stupid question, sorry." denki rubs the back of his head with hand and steps a little bit closer to you. "let me make you feel better," he blurts out.

"huh?"

denki steps even closer to you and gently holds onto your hand, clasping it in his. "let me... let me make you feel better. let me apologise on my girlfriends behalf..." your eyes go wide starting to have an idea about what he means but not wanting to verbalise it and jump to conclusions, worrying to get the wrong idea. "let me... show you- show you how beautiful you are, how wonderful you are." he squeezes your hand momentarily and says quietly, almost begging, "please."

"what about your girlfriend?" you say girlfriend with disdain.

"what about her? she doesn't matter. let me show you how pretty you are love."

your heartbeat increases at the nickname and your face heats up. "i- i don't know kaminari."

"denki." he says gently but authoritatively.

"what?"

"please, please call me denki." he pleads, squeezing your hand again.

"okay, denki..." you test his name on your tongue and it sounds right, like you should always be saying it.

even now you're still not sure to what compelled you to say, "please show me denki." you never regretted your answer.

it starts slowly, gently, tenderly. denki cups your cheek in his palm and kisses you, placing his other hand on your hip keeping you close to him. the longer you kiss the more hungry it becomes and you're not really sure if it was you or him that deepened the kiss and pressed your bodies up against each other.

"can i love?" he gestures to your top that he's currently fiddling with the hem of, wanting to lift it up so he can touch you properly and get a good look at you.

you hum in affirmation and keep your lips attached to his, not wanting to separate. denki slivers your top up and puts his hand where it used to be, now on your exposed supple flesh, his cold hands stroking your skin delicately. as you feel his hands you shudder remembering now about how drenched he is. "you must be freezing denki." you finally move away from his lips and see his clothes covered in rain with rain drops dripping down his hair landing on his shoulders.

"it's okay. completely worth it." denki grins at you and you suddenly feel shy by the way he's looking at you. you definitely feel pretty by his gaze, it's electrifying and makes you feel bashful all at once.

"do- do you want a towel to dry yourself off with?" denki kisses your jaw and smiles, distracting you.

"don't worry about it love." his breathe against your neck making you shiver. you pout even though he can't see you and you still worry, not wanting him to get a cold. "you keep me warm."

"but-"

denki presses his lips against yours and wraps both his arms around your waist. you moan quietly and he lifts your top up over your head. "is this okay?"

"yes please," you respond, hoping not to sound too needy.

he smirks at your tone and takes off the rest of your clothes. "jesus, you look even more beautiful than i imagined," he says quietly to himself, you're not sure if you were suppose to hear it or if he even meant to say it out loud. denki runs his hands along the curves of your body.

"you imagined me?" you match his volume and he looks startled at your question, obviously surprised that you heard what he said, you come to the conclusion that he thought he was thinking but he actually said out loud

"who wouldn't? you're beautiful." denki kisses your shoulder and holds one of your breasts in his large hands, stroking your nipple as you bite your lip to stop any embarrassing noises spilling out. you're already feeling shy as it is after denki has said such nice things about you.

after realising what you were doing he takes your chin in his hand and tilts you to look at him so you're making eye contact. "look at me. you don't need to do that. not with me. i want to see you. i want to hear all the noises you make, i want you."

denki grazes his teeth along your neck and you gasp. "those are the noises i wanted." you press your lips together trying not to smile, denki grins at how adorable you look.

he moves to take off his shirt and you thought he looked good beforehand in a casual black button up shirt but god does he look even better with it off. you thought he'd be kind of skinny but he's actually lean and a little slim. you can see some defining muscle, his arms are just the same. a couple of moles on his forearms and faint freckles dust his shoulders and upper chest. you wonder if he has light freckles on his face too because you've never once seen them but maybe you haven't looked hard enough.

you know you're probably staring a tiny bit too much at his slender waist and yellow happy trail that matches the colour of his hair and he doesn't mind one bit, happy that you like what you see and fond of your attention.

"like what you see?" he chuckles. you go to hide your face behind your hand after being caught but denki catches your wrist. "what did i tell you? i want to see you sweetheart." you have the urge to bury your face against his chest, hiding away from his gaze but you resist the urge.

everything became a little hazy after that for the next ten minutes, denki has manoeuvred you into your bedroom onto your bed, hovering over you, and keeping you in between his two arms. you pull denki down by wrapping your arms around his neck so you can kiss him again. the kiss begins slow and sweet before denki runs his tongue against your bottom lip, silently asking for access into your mouth and you grant him it. your tongues intertwine and you can still taste that cheap beer he's been drinking that's still lingering even though you've already been kissing previously.

you could kiss denki all night but he has other plans as he starts touching your breasts again and moves his hand down your body to get you ready for his cock, surprised to find that you're already wet. "wet from just a little kissing? that's so cute." he kisses your cheek and whispers against your ear.

"denki," you whine, "don't tease me."

he has to take a deep breath after hearing you whine, not wanting to let you know how bad you affect him because if you keep making noises like that he'll come in his boxers before he gets inside you. "it's okay love." he grinds himself against your thigh, groaning at the contact, letting you feel how hard he is. "i'm just the same." he says deeply and you shiver at the knowledge that denki is just as turned on as you. he's turned on by you.

his dick is almost painful with being contained in his jeans so he rushes to take them off. precome stains his grey boxers turning the area black and he takes them off too, grinning at you. the one way you would describe denki's dick is pretty, just like him so it makes sense. he's a little longer than average, circumcised and pubes trimmed. you want him inside you. now.

"do you have a- you know?" denki asks, gesturing to your bedside cabinet. he regrets not carrying any condoms in his pocket or wallet but his girlfriend only likes having sex in ones of their bedrooms. she's not a fan of spontaneous sex.

"oh, um, maybe? in the bathroom. i wasn't really expecting this and i don't- don't do this a lot... at all really." you admit, while trying to think about where you keep condoms because you must have them somewhere but you keep coming up a blank. the entire time denki's thinking about how you never do this, it makes him feel special, special that you're letting him make you feel good.

you want him... all of him. "i um-i-i'm on the pill." denki's eyes snap up to look at you.

"holy shit are you serious right now?" he asks automatically and enthusiastically, his face lighting up.

you start regretting your suggestion and denki can tell by the look on your face, he thinks he probably spooked you. "we don't need to do anything like that if you don't want to love. i can eat you out for hours. i mean hell, that sounds like at absolute dream." you giggle after hearing that. "sorry i was a bit quick and excited there, i've just never had sex without any rubber on."

you're surprised after hearing that, thinking that he's the type to go without and you tell him just that. "i think that was why i was so excited, i've always wanted too. it's always been a dream of mine and i don't like using them but i've never brought it up with any of the girls i've been with."

"well.. is it okay that i brought it up?" you ask more confident seeing that denki is delighted with the idea.

"fuck yeah. i trust you like crazy. if it was going to be anyone i'd want it to be you." he tells you, grinning. he trusts you. if he had the opportunity with anyone he'd choose you? your heart flutters.

"i don't really like condoms either and i want you, all of you." you tell him shyly and denki's heart misses a beat after your confession.

next thing you know denki is pushing his cock into, inch by inch. even though denki has already prepped you and has been touching you there is still a slight stretch. both you and denki groan simultaneously. your velvet, warm, wet walls welcome him without any barrier.

what comes out of denki next is a mixture of moans, groans, swearing and praising with each thrust. "fucking hell, holy shit sweetheart. you're fucking beautiful, most beautiful girl in the world, so pretty." with each praise and compliment every slight doubt that lingers in the back of your mind disappears, your sole focus being on the man above you. "you feel so good, lovely." he holds your hands in his, enlacing your fingers, that seems far too intimate for a supposedly one night stand to make you feel better.

he catches on to how to please you best with every gasp, noise and shake, and only after a couple minutes he seems to know your body better than you do. with every thrust he's rubbing against your g-spot, drawing circles over your clit and taking your nipple in his mouth.

you came harder than you ever came that night, multiple times with your ears going fuzzy and eyes going blurry. denki doesn't let you know but he's in the same boat, his come spilling into you, the warmth making you shudder and arch your back, grabbing onto him tightly. he's never came as much as he did and he knows that it's all because of you.

you don't know how it happened but denki ended up staying the night and leaving in the early hours of the morning. this wasn't how your night was suppose to go but you don't regret it. he did what he said he would when he arrived on your doorstep, he did make you feel better and he did make sure you didn't spend the night upset and feeling insecure and alone. that night was so shitty, his girlfriend was so shitty yet he succeeded in making it a good night.

when he came to your door you thought there was a silent understanding, a one night stand and after this he'll go back to his girlfriend. for that one night he'll be making up for what his girlfriend said but it didn't turn out like that.

you expected to not see denki for months, that is if you ever see him again. you expected to go back to calling him by his last name and trying to forget what he looks like nude and how his stomach went taunt as he was about to climax but instead you saw him a week after when he knocked on your door, slamming his lips against yours and pushing you against your wall. at least once a week for months now you would see him, you know you should feel bad for his girlfriend, he is cheating on her with you, but you don't, not in the slightest.

after the first few times denki came by again you slipped in some questions afterwards, wanting to know if he was doing this with other girls. he isn't.

wanting to know if you're still the only person he's slept with without wearing a condom. yes you are and he has no intention of changing that.

you've never asked him any questions involving morality like if he feels guilty or if he loves his girlfriend. it doesn't involve you.

you're aware now your relationship has developed more than it once was, the closest label you have would be friends with benefits. some nights denki knocks on your door unannounced, like always, with a bag of popcorn and your favourite snacks ready to watch a new film that has just come out on netflix. he's probably the closest friend you have, you stay clear of his girlfriend though, she isn't even aware that you and denki are close now. hopefully the last time she's spoken about you or thought about you was at that dreadful party and hopefully it stays that way.

denki likes his girlfriend... he does... if he was quoting mean girls he'd say something along the lines of - there's good and bad to everybody. but his girlfriend is just more upfront about it.

that would be a lie though. there are some things he likes about his girlfriend and when they're alone together it can be really good but he then remembers about how awful her attitude is towards other people. towards you. sneaking around and cheating on her is honestly rather thrilling for him and he likes the idea of silently letting you get your own back.

sometimes he'll rationalise it in his own head while he's drunk. cheating on her is okay because he's always wanted to sleep with you. it's okay because ever since you first met, denki wished you were his girlfriend.

he could never end it with his current girlfriend, his parents always ask about her and it would cause a rift in their friend group. near the beginning of their relationship his girlfriend brought herself a dog but he prefers denki over her, opting to want his attention over hers. if they did break up he knows he'd never see that dog again, he's grown to love it. it's just as much of his than it is hers but he knows that that won't matter and he'll never see him again if they broke up. they work next to each other and they go to all the same places.

he could never break up with her, he'd never hear the end of it with his parents.

so for now he gets to have some joy from getting to see you and kiss you and lay his head on your lap while you watch television together. if he tries hard enough he can almost imagine you're his girlfriend instead.

one night denki's at yours, you're not doing any explicit but you're just enjoying your night together, that is until she spoils it. denki's ringtone going off disrupts hot fuzz and he takes the call not even bothering to pause the movie. you decide to turn it down though. "kamiiiii, where are?" god her voice is grating. once a voice that spewed such nasty things about you now just sounds annoying. "i came by yours and you're not here."

denki closes his eyes shut tight, it looks to you that he's annoyed too. "sorry, i'm out tonight." he lies and know what is about to happen next.

"don't you want to see me. c'mon home, we can spend the night together." she giggles into the phone. you knew it. you knew what would happen when he answered that call from her.

denki knows he does't really have a choice without explaining where he is so he agrees to come see her. "okay, i'll be there soon." you both stay silent for a moment not talking before he breaks the silence. "i'm sorry love, we didn't even get to finish the film. i swear we can finish it next time." he apologises.

he thought he saw disappointment on your face for a second but he knows that he's just seeing things, you wouldn't be disappointed for him to go, you're not like that, he knows to you that he's just someone to fuck. he knows that you're using him to get back at his girlfriend. he doesn't mind that one bit though, as long as you're in his life.

"you can watch the rest without me if you wanted to." he tells you getting up from the sofa.

you shake your head, "no, no, it's fine. we can watch it next time. bye kaminari."

'oh no she's annoyed at me, she called me kaminari. she hasn't called me that in months. maybe she wanted to have sex tonight and i've ruined her plans. i can't stay now though, i'm already leaving. i'll have to make it up to her.'

you don't know why you called him kaminari, you knew it was petty but that didn't stop you from saying it. sometimes you get so caught up with denki you forget that outside of your home he isn't yours and he never will be. you're just sleeping together, that's all, and you don't want anything more than that... you don't...

denki thought about you all night, you never left his mind. he hates that he left you but he felt like he had no option. if he was anyone else he would have enough sense to distance himself from you but when it comes to you his judgement gets cloudy and he'll do whatever he can to be in your life, even if that involves lying through his teeth to everyone about where he is.

two nights after denki left after the phone call he came to yours with a takeaway in his hand and a grin on his face. he doesn't actually say the word 'sorry,' he doesn't acknowledge that he left abruptly, he just grins and asks "hot fuzz?"

you match his grin and let him in. you thought maybe you would be a little annoyed with denki after seeing him in your doorway but you realised that you had no right to be annoyed. you're not his girlfriend.

one takeaway and half a film after you're playing with denki's hair and he hums in happiness and gratitude. "i could have you play with my hair all night but do you want to take this to the bedroom love? i'm still pretty hungry." he takes your hands away from his head so he can kiss your wrist and winks at you. you roll your eyes and call him an idiot. "just for you sweetheart." it just came out and both of you heard. denki splutters and tries to backtrack what he said but it's too late, his whole entire face is red and his eyes are wide and you're doing no better. you haven't fully processed the words yet but you're sure it was accidental, it's just denki being denki. you turn your head away from him, nervous and embarrassed. your cheeks feel like they're on fire and you don't think you have the courage to look at him in the eye. even though you've talked yourself into how it was denki just being denki you still can't look at him.

the implications that he's yours makes you incredibly happy but you don't even want to accept that, after all you just see him as a friend. he's a good fuck. you're absolutely in denial. at least he isn't. he knows he wants you to be his, fully, completely, body and mind.

you both end up trying to ignore what he said, haphazardly but relatively successful, pivoting back to denki's offer of going to the bedroom. "denks are we taking this to the bedroom or not?"

'god she's amazing.' he's so glad you aren't acting weird.

denki's got his head between your plush thighs, he's holding onto them keeping them open so you don't close them and stop him. licking a strip along your pussy, before flicking your clit a few times with his tongue and then lapping up your juices as he plays with your breast and moaning at your taste. "denki, don't do that, it's embarrassing."

he looks up from where he's laying to see you, "what? enjoy myself. don't complain or i won't let you come."

the threat of not being allowed an orgasm shuts you up, knowing that denki will absolutely deliver on that threat if he wants to. you know that he would eat you out for hours not letting your come once.

you loose track of time, your hips start rolling uncontrollably and you grab hold of his hair. "don't get greedy sweetheart, you'll come when i say you can." he holds down your thighs to stop you from moving and kisses your hip, sucking to form a mark on your soft skin. his mark.

for all his threats he does let you come. "you've been so behaved. so good sweetheart," he mumbles against your skin. you come again and again. he finally lets up and you watch him lick his lips and wink at you. you turn your head away from him and he chuckles. his erection is visible even with his jeans on and denki flops down on the bed next to you, drawing you closer so you're laying next to each other, his arm under you.

reaching down to his jeans you start stroking him through his clothes. "don't worry about that, not tonight. i just wanted to look after you, make you feel good." he places a chaste kiss on you forehead.

"you always make me feel good," you tell him honestly and his heart feels like it's beating out of his chest.

"then my work here is done." he replies and you giggle. he is completely and utterly in love with you.

he can't tell you, no matter how much he wants to. you don't feel the same way and he can't lose you.

how much longer will you stay in denial for?

will his girlfriend ever find out about you two? maybe that will be your tipping point. maybe her finding out will make you realise that you want denki more than a quick fuck or a friend. maybe her finding out will be what you need. you're in love with denki.

[jayke0]

Bunk Up

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem reader

Summary: Arthur invites you on a hunting trip, but you foolishly forget your tent. No harm done, you can bunk up with him, right?

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: a deer gets killed (camp's gotta eat), female masturbation, dry humping, fingering, p in v, breeding kink if you squint, unprotected sex, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 3,132

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

…………......................………………………………….

Why in god's green earth had you agreed to go on this hunting trip again?

Oh yeah, because you have a hard-on for Arthur Morgan… figuratively, that is.

It'd be alright if you could just tell him your feelings, but you'd prided yourself on liking more respectable, more rich men in the past; that's the easiest way to make a living, at the end of the day. You'd originally intended to go for the gang leader, but that man is oblivious and stubborn as hell, not to mention not actually rich, much to your displeasure.

Then Arthur had introduced himself to you. His stupid snarky remarks and silly outfits and disgustingly beautiful eyes all seemed to merge together into this gorgeous man that loomed in front of you and had your knees almost buckling.

Even worse, he'd noticed the way your demeanour changed and how your body seemed to crumble under the weight of his soft eyes.

“Hey! Are you even listenin’ to me?” His gruff voice breaks you from your trance.

“ ‘course I am, I always listen to your wise words, Mr Morgan.” You remark, looking up at him from the position you'd had your eyes trained on seconds ago. “Yeah, sure.” You feel his rough fingertips turn your chin back towards the deer in front of you, a gesture that makes heat rise in your cheeks all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Take the shot, you got a perfect shot there, can't miss it.”

The cold varnished wood cools your warm cheeks as you bring it close to your face and grit your teeth.

“Always shoot on empty lungs.” His whisper sends shivers down your spine before you take the shot, a loud crack echoing through the trees as a clatter of birds ascends into the sky.

“You did good! That was perfect.” A soft grunt leaves his throat as he gets up and checks the prey. “Think Pearson will make a good meal outta this,” his eyes then meet yours. “Good girl.” he tips his hat to you.

Damn Arthur Morgan, with that shit eating grin that makes your stomach flutter.

“You know I ain't one for pickin’ on people–” Arthur starts, shoveling chunks of peaches in his mouth, “but I don't think I've ever seen someone forget their tent on a huntin’ trip.”

“Ok, for one, you're always picking on people, ‘specially if you don't like ‘em. And for two… just– shut the hell up.” You pull your coat tighter around your body to shield yourself from the cold rain drizzling down your neck, the soft fur bringing you some warmth and comfort to your otherwise shaking body.

“Easy girl, don't be gettin’ mad at me now. Besides, it means you get to share a tent with me, ain't that a dream?” A simple grumble from you makes the man chuckle lowly. “I won't take that personally.”

It was a dream, and you hated admitting that.

Luckily, you'd remembered your bed roll, so at least you didn't have to snuggle up under the cotton sheets with your rugged partner… but, admittedly, a small part of you is disappointed at that.

You try to forget about those thoughts that are festering in the back of your mind and making you squeeze your legs together, but as the cold seeps into your bones and makes yourself huddle further into the sheets, you find yourself backing up against the warm body behind you.

The soft rustle of trees keeps you awake, at least that's what you tell yourself at first, not wanting to give into those filthy images of the cowboy flashing behind your eyelids.

Soon, all too soon for your liking, you find yourself panting. It's barely audible, but it's enough to make yourself embarrassed and look back at the outlaw peacefully sleeping behind you, unaware of the pictures you have playing on loop in your head. It makes you bite your lip; the thought of touching yourself right next to the man you've been meaning to tell your feelings to for months.

Quietly and carefully, you slide your hand over your body and between your legs, rubbing your already damp cunt over the fabric of your underwear. The feeling makes you grit your teeth much like earlier, and a small noise sneaks past your lips. You look back at Arthur again to see his chest still rising and falling slowly… fuck it, what's the worst that could happen?

Your hand slips into your underwear before you're even registering it. It's too cold to take the blanket off, or even your underwear for that matter, so you just run your fingers through your wet folds under the thin fabric. The slick noise it makes sounds too loud in the quiet forest, but at this point you're pretty sure the man is asleep, so you continue teasing yourself.

Your fingers circle your hole as you imagine it being his thick digits instead, or maybe even his tongue, since he's usually so quick with it. Another wet noise fills the tent when your fingers slide inside your needy cunt, buried to your knuckles as you massage that glorious spot inside you. When you pick up the pace, and the noises get louder, you're practically praying, wishing it was Arthur's fingers instead. They'd stretch you wide and fuck you good, the thought makes you shove some of the blanket in your mouth.

You're teetering on the edge at this point, scanning your brain for that final image that'll send you descending down the cliff… but a thick arm wrapping around your waist has you freezing in place.

“What have we got here?” Arthur's low, sleepy voice has the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, raising goosebumps all over your body as if he'd just ripped the sheets from your body.

“Arthur!–shit, I'm sorry–." You start, but his nose pressing against the back of your neck makes you stop in your tracks.

“I ain't judgin’ you, girl. We've all got our urges, desires.” He shuffles up closer to you, closing in on your body till his chest is pressed against your back, and his crotch is angled perfectly against your thighs. “Just wanted to know what you were thinkin’ about.”

God, his voice is so soft and low, it could make you fall asleep if your fingers weren't still knuckle deep inside yourself. “I–uhm…” Should you admit it? With the way he's pressing against you, it makes you think you should.

“You.”

“ ‘s that so? And why ain't you told me about this before, sweetheart?” His breath is hot on the back of your neck, pushing out any coldness that was left in your body as his large hand splays across your stomach and strokes your soft skin.

A huff escapes your nose a little louder than you expected. “Because… I'm embarrassed, I don't wanna be thinking about you like this.” You mumble ashamedly, but as those words leave your lips, you start moving your fingers inside your cunt again; a ‘come hither’ motion that makes you bite your lip to contain your noises.

“Oh, that ain't very nice. You ain't exactly a saint ya'self, Darlin’.”

Fuck, the way his words roll off his tongue makes you roll against your hand with a soft noise.

The action must've pleased Arthur, because he lets out a pant and presses his hips closer to yours, grinding in tandem with you as your hips roll on your fingers.

This feels so strange and wrong, but you aren't sure why. It's not like Arthur is married or even has a girl, he's just as lonely as you, and maybe that's exactly why you're so drawn to each other.

“Mmm, been dreamin’ ‘bout this for months, pressing against you like this.” He groans softly. His chin is placed neatly on your shoulder, cheek pressing against yours as his stubble itches your skin. He feels so warm and big behind you, like he's shielding you from any and every burden, and as his hips rock against yours more, you can't help but do the same. You grind back on him with short, soft pants, tilting your head to just get a glimpse of his blissed out face.

“When was the last time you did something like this, cowboy? You're acting like you're gonna cum in your night clothes.”

That makes a soft chuckle leave his red lips, flushed face pulling away from yours to look down at you.

“Long enough to be needin’ you.”

His words make you shiver, but he's quick to distract you with his hand taking your wrist and swatting your hand away.

“Lemme do it for you, sweetheart, please?”

Before your brain can even question or think about it, your body is telling him yes, your head nodding almost instantly. His fingers are quick to dive into your under garments and slide through your slick folds, a groan from him ringing in your ears.

“Dammit girl, you must have one hell of an imagination to make ya'self this wet… Jesus.” He grunts, looking down at his hand in your underwear with only the dim light of the lantern making your skin glow.

“I always get like this when I think of you, Arthur.” You tell him as your hand wraps around his wrist. “You're the only one that can make me cum.” You moan in his ear, making him dive his fingers into your needy cunt.

The stretch is wonderful, not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel it, and it's just how you expected, if not better. His thick digits curl and glide over your walls until he finally feels you squirm against him as they touch that delicious spot.

“Yeah? You like it there, darlin’? Want me to keep goin’?”

Again, your body simply speaks for you, nodding quickly and grinding down on his fingers. You feel him grind his hips against you again, his body seemingly wanting to get impossibly closer to you as he ruts against your ass.

“You're such a pretty girl, y'know that? Been waitin’ to tell you that since the day we met.” He rests his chin on your arm so he can peck the exposed skin and continue curling his fingers inside you.

The tent is once again filled with the filthy sounds of your hole taking two fingers, sloppy wet sounds that would make you feel ashamed if it didn't feel so fucking good. It feels like all your nerves are being stroked at once, each time his fingers brush against your tummy or stroke your walls feels like you can't get enough of the electricity that runs through your body. You grip his thick arm, looking back at him as moans fall from your lips.

“You're damn good… shit.” You whimper as he looks up at you, big round eyes meeting yours to show he's there.

“Well, I appreciate that, comin’ from you.” He chuckles lightly, his own words breathy while his hips start to snap a little faster and become sloppy. “You gotta lemme feel this cunt for myself, please sweetheart, lemme feel this cunt clench around my cock.”

You find it hard to stop rocking your hips when he's talking to you like that, but eventually you take a deep breath and stop yourself. His fingers slip out of you with a lewd sound, and you feel him shuffle to get his night clothes off.

Your own are gone within seconds, your body too hot and needy to worry about if you'd thrown them outside to the wolves to get torn to shreds, all you can focus on is the man behind you.

As much as this position made you wet before, you desperately want to see his handsome face, even if it is barely visible. So, you flip onto your other side and rest your hands on his chest, the warmth spreading through your fingers. You can practically feel his excitement buzzing off of him and through your body, and it makes you giggle a little. “Jesus, you really ain't done this in a while, have you?”

“Not with a girl as pretty as you, sweetheart.” One hand slides over your cheek while his other finally gets his clothes off.

Just his tone alone makes your cheeks heat up, but as he leans in for a kiss, you find yourself taking in a breath of surprise. It's easy to melt into his arms and get lost in the feeling of his lips; they're surprisingly soft and sweet, and they feel like they fit perfectly on yours.

You're so swept up that it takes you a second to notice his hand snaking around the back of your knee and pulling your hips closer to himself.

That's when you feel it.

His length rests against your slick pussy lips, your leg now cocked over his waist to get him close. It feels bigger than you expected, thicker than you expected, it makes you whine softly on his lips.

You hate his little grin that you feel spread across his face. “Impatient, ain't you?” He teases, slowly rocking his hips against yours to let his cock slide through your sopping folds. His tip manages to butt against your clit each time, making you furrow your brows and moan softly on his lips.

Your hand is still resting on his cheek as you feel him push in for the first time, and god are you glad you're holding onto your bedroll with the other, because the stretch and the way he fills you makes you almost cum on the spot, a loud moan spilling from your lips to make you whimper embarrassedly.

“Oh sweetheart, don't be embarrassed. I love the noises you're makin’ for me, they're makin’ me so goddamn hard, can you do it again for me?” He asks as he pulls his hips back before sliding inside your warm, slick walls again.

You're quick to oblige to his plea, your body automatically reacting with a soft choked moan at the surprise of his thick cock stretching you once again. You can feel his calloused fingers still gripping the back of your knee to hold your leg up, giving him the perfect angle for his length to hit every nerve you have inside you and send sparks of arousal up your spine.

“Thaaat’s a good girl, look at'chu.” The man purrs, his warm breath making your eyes flutter shut so you can focus on his cock spearing you with each slow, deep thrust.

“Holy shit, Arthur, f–feels like you're splitting me in half.” You moan as your hands slide over his thick biceps and along his broad shoulders, finding that the perfect place for you to grip on for dear life too.

Arthur groans before leaning forward to press a kiss on the top of your head as he pants softly. “Biggest you've had, huh? Never felt somethin’ like this inside you, have you?” He doesn't accept the simple shake of your head, instead giving you a sharp thrust that has your nails dig into his flesh and a whimper spill from your lips. “No! No, I haven't… I love it, dammit, I love your cock.”

Something inside him seems to click as you say those words, a long moan slipping from his throat as his grip becomes tighter on your leg to pull you closer to him, his cock burying deeper inside you. He doesn't give you time to adjust before his hips are colliding with yours and the sounds of both your arousal soaked thighs are filling your ears and sending waves of pleasure from your head to your toes.

“Listen to those filthy noises, girl, that's all you. That's your wet cunt..” Arthur manages to moan out. He tilts his head down to watch your hips connecting, his head resting against your collar bones. “What a pretty cunt it is too… shit, I ain't ever felt somethin’ as good as this, miss.” His words seem to roll off of his tongue with ease, as if he's a erotic poet reciting the words he's scrawled down on the page. Maybe it has something to do with that journal he's writing in all the time… lord above how you'd love to read that.

“For you, Mr Morgan,” you blabber without even thinking about the words coming from your mouth. “I'm all for you, want you to take me like this over and over–.” It's funny how worked up you get over your own words, but it seems to have an even better effect on Arthur.

His brows knit together as his jaw hangs open a little, and dirty blonde strands of hair fall in his face and stick to his forehead perfectly.

“Shit, girl, you're gonna make me finish inside you if you keep talkin’ like that…” The man groans, his lip finding its way between his teeth to give him something to chew on. Somehow, his thrusts get faster, impossibly better as you feel the molten heat spread through your body and up to your throat to make you moan his name, along with any other expletives that come to mind.

Before you can stop yourself, you're saying dangerous words that, with any other man, would be like handing a loaded gun to a baboon.

“I want you to do that Arthur! Please– please cum inside me–” Your entire body tenses up before you come crashing down, whaling and grasping onto him for dear life as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm and make sharp thrusts that have you whimpering loudly. Your walls clench him tightly in pulsing rhythm, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

It's only a few more seconds before he's tearing his body away from yours and fisting himself, white ropes shooting all over your tummy as groans and growls rumble in his chest and his head throws back.

You watch the whole scene in front of you in awe, as if you're at the goddamn theatre watching a play… no, it's better than that. You'd never had time for the theatre, but you always have time for Arthur, despite how he gets on your nerves sometimes.

You smile softly at him as he lifts his head to look down at you, a smug grin on his face as he leans forward and pecks your lips.

“Hey, what's with the grin?” You huff softly and hit his chest playfully.

“Nothin’ just been waitin’ for you to admit your feelin's for me for a while now.”

An annoyed growl leaves your lips as you feel your face heat up with embarrassment, burying it in his chest instead to save you from his teasing.

“Shut the hell up, Morgan…”

[luigilore]

[1:17 AM]

luigi's limbs and your own are entangled together, one of his arms thrown over your waist, pulling your back close against his chest. you haven't felt any movement from him except his rhythmic breathing and start to wonder if he's actually asleep until you feel his touch gently move across your bare shoulder.

his palm warmly slides across your spine and the direct contact makes you shiver a little- in a really good way. one of his fingertips moves across your back, almost like he's tracing something, but you can't quite discern what it is. still, the gesture itself makes you feel so incredibly endeared that something blooms inside of you that you can't entirely understand in the moment, something like overwhelming love. 

“what're you doing?” you mumble, voice hoarse from not speaking for a while. you stay with your back to luigi, not having the energy to turn around and face your boyfriend, and not wanting to mess up your current comfortable and cozy position.

he responds easily, his low voice makes your heart beat a little faster. “just tracing the constellations.” luigi continues softly, “this is orion.” you feel him gently trace a pattern along your skin. “and this is cygnus,” he says as his fingers continue to graze across your skin.

"i didn't know you knew the constellations," you smile, although not that surprised. you've known luigi long enough to not be shocked at all the things he somehow manages to know, the bits of knowledge he seeks out and retains.

you can hear the grin in his voice when he repsonds, "yeah, i had this big book of constellations when i was a kid. i read it all the time."

"it's all muscle memory now," he mutters, as tracing the same patterns he used to spot in the sky, his own little constellations, fingertips warm against your skin.

“feels nice," you sigh simply, enjoying his soft, warm touch. "show me another," you murmur, now turning your body to face him as he smiles widely at your request.

“this is cassiopeia.” luigi thumbs a small pattern on your skin that resembles a simple zig zag. “it’s supposed to be a seated queen.”

“let me try,” you find yourself surrounded by luigi's as your arms find their way around his neck. you trace a similar pattern to the one he showed you on his own bare shoulder blade. his eyes flutter shut as he shudders, “that was good, really good.” he says softly, eyes remaining closed but he's still smiling back at you, totally relaxed.

“good,” you whisper back, continuing to trace the zig zag pattern up and down his back, slowly lulling him into a content sleep. there's something satisfying watching luigi fall asleep. it's something he deserves but is not so often granted to him and you love that he feels safe and comfortable with you. you shift to return back to your original spooning position- but not before pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead.

[yazzwrites6962]

Sticky Situation ♡ Denji

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Denji x Fem!Virgin!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Author's Note: UNEDITED! Denji is absolutely aged up in this depiction. In no way should he be interpreted as a minor, even if it doesn't exactly follow the original work. I do not own any characters/images!

Genre: Smut and fluff

Summary: Y/N is a top tier devil hunter, earning her much respect and praise among others. However, when she catches herself in an embarrassing situation, she desperately pleads for Denji to help and not tell anyone. He wants something in return.

Word Count: 4456

Warnings: Sexual content, language, loss of virginity, penetration, Fem! oral receiving, biting, masochism, blood, slight degradation, praise, hair pulling, spanking, mirror sex, choking, sort of "caught".

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was irritating enough that you had to deal with Denji and Power getting in your way all the time in the past couple weeks, but now you had to live with the idiots. You only really did it as a favor to Makima, one of your oldest friends.

"You'll be like a mentor. A stabilizing force to their chaos." You recall the night Makima tried to persuade you. "Besides, it will be good for you. You can't live life all on your lonesome. You should learn to make friends."

"I'm perfectly happy being all on my own for the rest of my life. Other people only slow me down." You can hazily remember Makima pouring you another shot. That was one of the only ways you could be convinced of anything: If you weren't sober. "I have you, what more could I need? Though... I guess if you really want me to do it, I will."

You never could have anticipated that your apartment would be destroyed during a battle with the Chaos devil. It seemed chaos followed you everywhere now that you were a glorified babysitter. The only reason the Chaos devil got away that day was because of Denji ruining your plans. You missed the days when you had your solitude and organized schedule. You had a certain way of doing everything, and he always managed to screw it up.

Now, while your place was being fixed, you were shoved into a cramped apartment with Aki, Denji, and Power. You didn't mind Aki so much. He seemed plenty capable and usually stayed away from you. It was Denji and Power you'd grown to hate. Still, you couldn't back out from your favor to Makima.

It was a warm Sunday, and for once, you had nothing much to do. You'd cleaned up the tiny space you called your own. Somehow, Aki managed to clean out a decently sized closet for you to stay in. You'd cleaned the kitchen as well. Aki, Denji, and Power were not home, and you relished the peace this brought. You couldn't care less about where they were.

No devils, no mess, no noise. What a dream. You opted to take a nice hot shower to relax your muscles. You slowly peel off your clothes, making your way to the bathroom. You turn on the shower, allowing the room to fill with steam. The mirrors fogged and you took your time bathing yourself, enjoying the rare comfort of your solitude.

You must've been in the shower for nearly an hour before you finally decided to get out, wrapping your damp body in a large white towel. You wipe the mirror, finding your bare face staring back at you, wet hair draping over your shoulders. That's when you feel something tickling your foot.

You look down, your heart stopping as you pray that what you're seeing is a hallucination. To your dismay, it's not. You shriek, kicking your foot and leaping onto the sink. You immediately douse your foot in soap, scrubbing it under the faucet while your eyes are locked on the little bug on the floor.

A cockroach. A cockroach was crawling on your foot. Disgusting. Of course, the apartment has cockroaches. Denji and power are the most disgusting people you've ever met. Can it fly? Dear god it better not be able to fly.

You're trapped in the bathroom, unable to leave out of fear of the cockroach. To think, you, who can defeat any foe and instill fear in others is terrified of a cockroach. As you're racking your brain for ideas, the bathroom door bursts open, you scream once again, fearing the cockroach will react to the sudden movement.

"What's going on?!" Denji shouts, standing right at the door. You're huff in frustration. Not only are you stuck with a cockroach, but he's home. He heard you scream. He's... staring right at your cleavage? What a pervert!

"Denji! What the fuck are you doing home?" You yell, trying to calm your nerves. You don't want to lose respect, especially not from him. You pull your towel in a little tighter, trying to cover as much of your body as possible.

"I got home like, fifteen minutes ago. Power and Aki are still out- Why are you on the sink?" He asks, his eyes searching the room before they land on the little brown creature on the floor. His gaze switches between you and the bug before a smirk grows on his face. "Miss Y/N... Are you scared of the cockroach?"

"No!" You practically scream this to the entire building. A deep blush washes over your cheeks as you shift your position ever so slightly. "What are you even doing?! Get out! Shut the door!" Denji does as you instruct, except he steps inside the room before shutting the door behind him.

"Then what are you doing on the sink?" He chuckled, approaching the little bug on the floor. He pinches it between his fingers, and you practically vomit in your mouth from this action. He holds it a little closer to you, and you sink into yourself, holding your breath. "You are scared!" He laughs, the bug writhing between his pointer and his thumb.

"S-Stop! Just get that thing out of here, you freak!" You shut your eyes, horrified by what you're seeing. "I'm not scared! It's just gross! Put it outside!" Denji's laughter continues, as he pulls back, putting some more distance between you and the cockroach.

"Wow. I never thought I'd see you so scared of something. It's kinda cute." He teases. "I'll make you a deal. I'll get rid of the bug, and I won't tell anyone about your fear," You inhale, feeling slightly more relieved. "But you've got to do something for me in return." Of course there's a catch.

"I don't make deals or compromises." You state sternly, pointing towards the door. "Get rid of it, Denji!" Rather than following your orders, he brings the bug closer to you, causing a shriek to slip from your lips.

"C'mon, Miss Y/N. Loosen up. I'm not asking much. Just a favor." A favor is what got you into this mess in the first place, but with the cockroach's legs wiggling right in front of your face, you don't have too much of a choice.

"Fine! Whatever! Just get it out of here!" With that, Denji steps back, anticlimactically tossing the bug into the toilet and flushing it away just as quickly as it came. He makes his way back to the sink, a proud grin on his face. "Wash your fucking hands you degenerate." You bark. Denji rolls his eyes, doing as he's told this time.

"See? Was that so bad? You could've flushed the thing yourself, y'know." He laughs as you slide your way off the sink. You adjust your towel once again, realizing that you're still completely nude underneath. Denji has had this in mind since the beginning. "Now, can I get my favor?"

"You want to cash it in already?" You groan, still blushing from embarrassment. "You should save it for something important. It's not every day you get a favor from me." Ddenji shakes his head, turning off the sink and drying his hands. He actually washed them well enough that you don't have any complains.

"I wanna use it now." He says, hungrily looking down over your frame. Your bare skin is still slightly wet, droplets of water clinging to your skin. Your hair is drooping over your face. This is the rawest, most vulnerable state he has ever seen you in. "I want you to take off the towel."

Silence. Even the birds outside stopped chirping. You blink a few times, hoping this was a joke, but it's not. Your face grows redder as you cling to your towel for dear life. You're speechless. What kind of perverted request is this?

"Y-You... You weirdo!" You yell, turning your face away from him. "That is not a favor! That's just... It's just... You're so gross!" You turn to leave the bathroom, but he graps your wrist, holding you in place. You're about to knock some sense into him, but he begins to speak, and you surprisingly listen.

"Look, I'm not trynna be creepy or anything, okay? I don't mean to offend you. It's just like... you're... untouchable. Y'know? You're the amazing devil hunter everyone looks up to. At the same time, seeing you like this... It's like a reminder that you're human. A pretty one. It makes me think we're not so different. I could be as awesome as you someday, I guess. I still... respect you a lot. Whether you fulfill the favor or not."

Your demeanor softens as he rambles. Denji sure says a lot of things that piss you off, but this touches your cold heart a little. You sigh, pulling his hand off your wrist and opening the bathroom door. For a second, Denji seems dejected, thinking you're about to leave. However, you simply peek through the hallway, making sure nobody else is home before shutting the bathroom door again.

"Fine." You grumble. You did owe him a favor, after all, and you're a woman of your word. "Just for a second, okay?" Denji's face lights up, and he nods vigorously. You roll your eyes. The hands that once tightly gripped your towel drop. Your towel drops along with them, bunching up on the ground. You'll have to get another as soon as Denji is finished oogling you.

But Denji isn't gawking like you thought he would be. He's observing, respectfully. His eyes are scanning over your chest, looking as though he will need to remember this for the rest of his life. Studying you. His gaze drops from your chest, making sure he gets a good look at everything. He lifts a finger, rotating it, indicating he wants you to turn around. You scoff, but comply, shifting so that your back is facing him.

"Are you done yet?" You huff, looking into the mirror to see what he's doing. He's still analyzing your body, taking a step closer to get a better look. You can't help but feel embarrased. Nobody has ever seen you like this before. You've never had time for romance or silly relationships. You've always been too busy being the best.

"You're beautiful." Denji exhales, his eyes glimmering. You turn around to face him again. He's much closer than you remember him being. Your heart picks up and you feel the heat rush to your face again. "Can I... touch?"

"That was not part of the deal!" You groan, but his compliments have softened you. Besides, it's not like this will ever happen again, so why not let him have his fun? You shrug, lifting your arms ever so slightly. "Whatever. Knock yourself out, buddy."

Denji licks his lips, lifting his hands until they're nearly touching your chest. He pauses for a moment, looking back into your eyes for another sign of approval. You roll your eyes and nod. He smiles, his large hands finally grasping your breasts. At first, he's a little rough, and a squeak escapes your throat.

"Ah- Gentle." You whine. His touch lightens as he continues to massage. Between his fingers, he suddenly pinches your nipples. You gasp, jumping slightly at the sudden sensation. "D-Denji-?" He groans, getting down onto his knees and pushing your back into the bathroom door. Suddenly, his lips are locked around your right breast, his tongue swiping around the tender area.

You want to scold him. You want to remind him that this was not part of the deal, but somehow, you don't mind it too much. You're actually enjoying this a little too much. Denji's left hand is still planted on your right breast, kneading it lightly. His other hand begins to travel down your side, pausing at your waist. His thumb rubs circles into your bare skin, which goosebumps are now forming over. With a small pop, lip mouth releases you.

"Is this okay, Miss Y/N?" He says, barely above a whisper. "You can tell me to stop." Surely, he must know what he's doing. He must know the conflict he's causing in your mind. With him on his knees, kneeling in front of you and looking up with such pleading eyes, you feel so drawn to seeing what he does next.

"N-No. It's fine. This is fine. You can... continue." You say, embarrassed. He smiles, his sharp white teeth flashing at you before he lifts you by the waist. Both his arms are wrapped around you, and you grip his hair to stabilize yourself. "H-Hey! Woah-" You're about to complain, but he sets you down at the edge of the sink, his hands finding your thighs.

He caresses you so delicately. It feels comforting to be treated gently. So many people assume you're so tough, and you can handle not being treated softly. Denji felt different. He carefully spread your legs, peppering kisses up your thighs. You bite your lip, growing anxious and embarrassed.

"Relax, Miss Y/N. I don't bite." He smiled, his hands sliding up your legs and finally reaching your wet core. He pushes his thumb against your clit, a little too hard. You jump, grapping his wrist. He nods, easing his touch and rubbing circles on your sensitive bud. "Better?"

"Mhmm..." You hum, releasing his wrist. His head lowers between your thighs, pausing for a moment before his tongue presses against you. For a moment, you wonder how this escalated so quickly, but it's difficult to think while Denji laps up your arousal. Your legs squeeze his head as he continues.

You bite your lip, trying not to let the whimpers and moans fall from your throat. It's embarrassing. It's all just so embarrassing. You can feel how warm your face is. In a way, it's a little difficult to fully enjoy the moment with how your mind races. Maybe he noticed this, because he lifts his head, spreading your legs apart so he can lift himself further to meet your gaze.

"You can relax, Miss Y/N." You find yourself in such a position so that now, his clothes hips are pressed between your legs. His strong arms are wrapped around you, landing on your upper waist while he decorates your neck in kisses and marks.

"Calling me Miss makes me sound old. Just Y/N is fine..." You exhale as he finds your sweet spot, licking and sucking on your soft skin. Suddenly, you feel the press of his sharp teeth on you, piercing your flesh. You yelp, slapping his shoulder. "Hey! I thought you said you didn't bite?" You grumble. He chuckles, his hot breath brushing your shoulder.

"I'm sorry Y/N, you just feel so delicate like this..." He licks up some spots of blood from the bite mark he just created. "I never would've dreamed I could have you so vulnerable like this." His voice suddenly seems so low, and husky. Usually, this comment would've tremendously offended you, but it was true. You'd allowed yourself to be exposed to this man, who you had considered an immature annoyance only an hour earlier.

"Y-Yeah yeah don't get used to it. I'm feeling generous today." You flush, turning your warm face away from him. Although you never imagined yourself being intimate with someone, you never could've fathomed that you would be so submissive. Anyone who knew you saw you as a dominating spirit.

"Well, if you're feeling generous, let's see how much I can get away with..." Denji teased, leaning in closer to you for a kiss. You hesitated for a moment. You've never kissed someone before. What if you did it wrong? No, not possible. You were always the best at everything you did. Still, why did your heart race so rapidly? Why were you so anxious?

You gulp, leaning into his lips. They're surprisingly soft. There were awkward moments where your teeth bumped together, or your rhythm was off. It was definitely a learning curve, but soon, you were synced in a passionate kiss. Your fingers intertwined with the strands of his hair, tugging on it slightly. He groaned, pressing himself into you further.

Your arousal was soaking through his pants, only causing the prominent bulge beneath them to ache and twitch more. His hands explored your body as if he would be tested on it, studying every part of you. Suddenly, he pulled away from the kiss, his cheeks pink and eyes filled with desire.

"Y/N." He whined your name, sending shivers down your spine. It seemed rather unfair that you were completely nude in front of him, and he was still fully dressed. You began to unbutton his shirt, his well-built chest slowly revealing itself to you.

"Yes?" You whisper, pulling his shirt off and allowing it to land on the partially wet floor. It could always be washed later. Right now, all you wanted was for him to get undressed. You reach for his belt, and he watches as you fiddle with the buckle. Slowly, but surely, all his remaining clothing is left in a pile on the floor. He matches you in your nudity.

"I've never done anything like this before." He admits. You smile, grateful that at least you aren't alone in your newness to the situation. "I respect you, a lot. Like, a lot a lot... I want you to feel good."

"I haven't done anything like this either, if that wasn't already obvious." You say softly. His eyes widen with surprise. This only makes you more nervous. He wouldn't back out now, right? He'd better not leave you high and dry.

"R-Really? I wouldn't have expected that from someone as awesome as you." Though there were so many ways you could've interpreted that, you chose to take it as a compliment. Besides, you were growing impatient.

"Really... Now... Can we change that?" You ask, your legs wrapping around him, bringing his cock to your core. He was already twitching and oozing with desire for you. He nods vigorously before gripping your hips. His nails dug into you slightly, but you didn't care. You were too focused on how he lines himself up with you.

"Are you super sure, Miss Y/N?" He asks. You appreciate how much he seems to care about getting your consent. You nod, your hands finding a comfortable resting position wrapping around his neck. "Say it."

"I'm sure." The way he demands verbal confirmation from you makes your heart skip a beat. Before you can say another word, he pushes himself all the way into you. You gasp, a tinge of pain pinching through you. You felt stretched; Filled.

You didn't need to tell him to give you a moment to adjust. You could tell it took a lot out of him to hold himself back. He couldn't contain his twitching, which caused you to shudder every time. You saw the beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he focused on his breathing.

Fortunately, the pain was quick to fade, and suddenly you couldn't imagine feeling as empty as you did before again. You shift your hips slightly, feeling his tip press against a particularly sensitive spongy spot inside you. His breath hitches and his nails press harder into your hips.

"Y/N..." He growls, warning you that if you continue to tease him with your little movements, he wouldn't be able to hold back. Maybe that's exactly what you want. You continue to roll your hips, baiting him with your small motions. "Fuck. Y/N."

You felt him draw out of you a bit, leaving you missing the feeling of being full. However, just as quickly as he had pulled away, he thrusted back into you. This time, you felt nothing, but pleasure. He repeated this motion, pumping deep inside you continuously. Your grip on him tightened as you brought yourself closer, raggedly breathing in his ear.

He chuckles, pulling out of you fully, and picking you up off the counter. You have a moment of confusion before he sets you on the ground, turning you around so that you're facing the mirror. He pins your hands behind your back, your chest pressed against the counter as he pushes back inside you.

You see your lewd expression, and the blush spreading your cheeks. You also see Denji's expression, full of pleasure and a hint of something... possessive? He continues to pound into you, the sound of slapping skin echoing in the room, along with the muffled moans you're trying to contain.

"C'mon princess, let me hear those pretty noises." Denji growls. It feels so out of character for him, but it only makes you more desperate. You allow your moans and whimpers to spill out, seeing just how much he enjoys it based on his face in the mirror. "That's right. Such a good slut for me."

With one hand still holding your wrists, his other travels to your scalp, grabbing a handful of your hair and tugging it back. As your head lifts, you can really see yourself in the mirror. You can see the way your body bounces with every thrust. You can see the bites and hickies on your neck. You don't even have the mind to think about how you'll cover them later.

"Ngh, you're so beautiful like this." He groans, his moans growing louder alongside yours. He releases your wrist, allowing you to use your hands to stabilize yourself against the counter while your legs tremble. Now, another slapping sound fills the room as he smacks your ass, causing you to jump and tighten around him. He gasps, repeating the action. "Fuck. You're so tight... Squeezing around me... You're so good Y/N..."

Your name and the praise rolls of his tongue so naturally, He struggles to get the words out, groaning and huffing as you could tell him release was coming close. You smirk, glad to be bringing him so much pleasure. His mind must be under the same fog yours endures. Denji frees your hair from his hand, bringing his chest down against your back, reaching a whole new angle as he picks up in speed.

His grip finds its way around your throat as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You feel a pressure building inside you, coming closer and closer to that pressure releasing with every pump. You feel light, your moans growing louder and louder, encouraging Denji to continue.

"A-Ah- Denji- I can't-" You begin, the words barely falling from your lips between your bodies colliding. He lets out a whine, his thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier. This doesn't matter, though, as you've already come so close to the edge of your climax.

"G-Go ahead. Cum for m-me, good girl~" This sends you over the edge the pressure finally releasing. Your breath quickens as the feeling washes over you. With a couple more thrusts, Denji pulls out of you, finishing on your thighs.

He lets go of your neck, only to wrap his strong arms around your waist as you both catch your breath. You see his tranquil expression in the mirror, eyes shut as his chest heaves. You can see yourself too, disheveled hair and marks across your neck. This was definitely more than your deal entailed, but you don't mind. You don't regret a single moment.

"Wow. That was... radical." Now he's back to being irritating. You roll your eyes, pushing him away from you as you search for where your towel went. He watches you tremble as you pick up your towel, wrapping yourself in it carefully. Your whole-body aches now, and you remember his cum dripping down your legs. You groan with annoyance, debating taking another shower to wash it, and the sweat, away.

"I hope you know this was a one-time thing. This won't happen again." You grumble. Despite your behavior, you were actually quite pleased. It was almost as if this washed away a weight of stress on your shoulders. Little did you know, this would most definitely not be a one-time thing.

"Y-Yeah. Right. Of course." He looks down, seemingly a bit disappointed. "...Was I... at least satisfactory?" He asks, a nervous grin on his face. He was definitely more than satisfactory. This was obvious with the way you shook as you walked. Still, you nodded. In some situations, a little praise was necessary to keep him motivated. This felt no different.

"Yes. You were... Satisfactory. Thank you, Denji." It felt awkward to say, and suddenly your mind brought you back to all the praise Denji had been whimpering in your ear. You blushed again, looking away from him as he began to dress himself again.

A comfortable silence filled the bathroom as he dressed himself, and you tried to clean yourself with some tissues. In a way, you were grateful for the cockroach showing up when it did. You were grateful that Denji happened to be home. You were grateful that Aki and Power were out. Just as you finished your thought, a loud pounding began at the bathroom door, and you jumped.

"Are you guys done fucking yet?!" Power's voice bellowed through the door. Your face grew pale as you flashed a shocked look at Denji. From the look he gave you, he also had no idea that Power was home. "I need to pee!"

"What the fuck Denji. I thought you said Power wasn't home!" You hiss, turning your attention to the door. "Be out soon Power! We weren't... We weren't doing that! Denji was just helping me with a cockroach!" You explain, which is half true.

Through the thin apartment walls, you hear Aki chuckle. Dear god, he was back already too? Denji is finally dressed, and you are wrapped in your towel when you open the door, met with a skeptical looking Power.

"You so totally were fucking. I could hear you!" She pushed past you and Denji, shoving you both out of the bathroom and slamming the door. You rack your brain for more excuses you could make, but then Aki appears at the end of the hall.

"We both could. These walls are quite thin, you know." He complains, looking you up and down. "Denji, your shirt buttons are unaligned." He sighs before meeting my eyes with an annoyed glint. "Y/N. Your neck." He turns, presumably making his way back to the kitchen he came from.

You shoot a look at Denji, who is nervously checking his shirt. You groan, brushing past him to get to your room. You just hope to God that news of this doesn't make its way to anyone else, especially not Makima.

[gyaruhana]

Would you consider writing thanos from squid game with like a dog hybrid reader? I know that sounds weird 😭

Thanos/Choi Su-bong - Dog Hybrid!reader headcannons

Synopsis: sfw + nsfw headcannons of thanos with a reader who's a dog hybrid

A/N: this is a cute lil idea i mess with it

Warnings: smut content, ear and tail tugging,

SFW

➠ thinks your a cutie from the moment he saw you honestly

➠ immediately flirted with you and holy moly when your tail wagged he found you 10 times more adorable

➠ constantly petting playing with your hair and ears

➠ actually likes to touch your tail sometimes too

➠ you're soft tail is highkey a stress reliever for him😭😭 he pretty much does it subconsciously after a while

➠ love love loves having you in his lap all the time

➠ sees you as his precious little puppy honestly so don't be surprised if he baby talks you a little bit

➠ If you get jealous when he's talking to someone and growl, his heart literally melts

➠ when he gets jealous, he has a tendency to grab you by the back of your neck and pull you away from whoevers flirting

➠ calls you good girl/good boy all the time

➠ does mess around with you from time to time by throwing a ball and telling you to fetch

➠ (which you do go and fetch it)

➠ Overall, loves how cute you are and can't keep his hands off you.

NSFW

➠ mocks you all the time in bed because of your whining

➠ Really loves taking you from the back so he can pull at your tail lightly

➠ literally obsessed with making your ears twitch so he always over-stimulates you

➠ every time you whine he gets even harder somehow and only goes faster

➠ so rough it's crazy like you will be crying/whimpering and it will make him laugh

➠ actually likes making you ride him sometimes but you have to do all the work

➠ He will scratch behind your ears as you try to ride his cock and he will have the most evil smirk on his face ever knowing you're struggling to keep up the pace

➠ If you don't want him to cum inside then he'll pull out and jerk off till he releases on your tail instead

➠ that being said he really does like fucking his cum into you because he'd love to breed you full (even if you can't give birth he still fucks you full because he loves it)

➠ genuinely might bite your ears lightly if he's feeling really mean

➠ Overall, really rough in bed and likes pulling at your ears and tail

"C'mon.. keep riding me, baby. Or can you not handle my cock? Is it too much for your little puppy heart to handle?" He speaks as he looks up at you with a mocking pout - pretending to be sympathetic to your struggle. You let out a whine in response as you slowly lifted yourself up before dropping back down on his cock. The cry you let out made him laugh as he gently pinched your puppy ear that he had originally been scratching gently. In a moment, he pulled out before flipping you over onto your stomach and immediately shoving his cock back inside you with one solid thrust. "Fine. I'll breed you with my cum for you, slut,"