#i feel like i talk too formal on this blog..

[nots0nu]

I should make a personal blog and a info post and pin it..but that's so much work..

[gojorgeous]

arranged marriage! gojo heacanons

pairing: gojo x fem!reader synopsis: just some headcanons about arranged marriage gojo! headcanons do follow a linear plot content: MDNI (18+ONLY), nsfw & sfw content, arranged marriage, p->v, oral (fem!receiving), pregnancy, breeding, not proofread because i'm lazy!!! a/n: i had a request to do a sort of expansion/sequel/prequel (?) on my business or pleasure fic, so... this is that. enjoy! and remember AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!! divider credit to: @cafekitsune wc: 2k (that's so much headcanon lmao)

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who reluctantly agrees to an arranged marriage when the clan decides it’s time to secure the lineage and make a new heir.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose jaw nearly drops when he sees you for the first time as you’re walking down the aisle. No way you’re that hot… 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s practically rocking on his feet waiting for the minister to give him permission to kiss you. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who drags said kiss on a little (a lot) longer than he needed to and spends the rest of the night wishing he’d dragged it on even longer.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s actually really pissed that there are so many damned guests at his wedding. All of them want to talk to him when all he really wants to do is talk to you!!! 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who only gets about three words into you the whole night and feels like pouting every time someone pulls him away from your arm. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finally relaxes a bit when the party’s over and he finally gets you alone. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who has a hard time keeping his hands to himself on the drive home. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who can’t help but stare at your lips as you answer his silly little questions about your favorite color and your favorite food.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who has to restrain himself from literally pulling you out of the car and up to his penthouse. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who suddenly finds himself a little nervous when he finally has you to himself. It’s his wedding night and he has to please his wife, right? 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who revels in tearing away your dress until he sees the lacy little white set you have on underneath.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who pins your wrists to the bed just so he can admire the way you look beneath him. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who nearly comes with no warning the first time he hears you moan his name. He decides it’s his sole purpose in life to make you moan like that as much as possible. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is somehow both gentle and rough, who peppers you with kisses but rocks into you so good he has you seeing stars. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks he ascends when you come around his cock and then ascends again when he remembers he married you and gets to see it for the rest of his life. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes sure to cum inside you and give you every last drop. After all, you have to make a new little Gojo heir, right?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who holds you tightly to his chest until you drift off to sleep with your head atop his heart. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who takes the next two hours to be able to fall asleep himself, too hyped up on all the endorphins he’s feeling.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose brow furrows and stomach drops when he wakes the next morning to you not in his arms. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who scours the house for you and finds you in the living room reading, already having been up for hours. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart fractures a little bit when you greet him soooooo formally and tell him that there’s some breakfast in the fridge. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends far too long in the shower, letting the water run over him and trying to figure out where he went wrong. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who comes to the conclusion that he just needs to win you over a little more slowly, who smiles and thinks he knows exactly how to do it. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds you still reading on the couch and tells you to get ready to go out– you’re going shopping. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who takes you to every designer shop he can think of and buys everything your eyes so much as graze over. Even if you tell him you don’t want it– he doesn’t care. You’re getting it. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart flutters in his chest when you smile at a pretty little necklace he buys you. It’s not the most expensive thing he’s bought you by far, but it makes you the happiest nonetheless. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s confused as to why you keep thanking him so profusely on the way home. His money is your money now… do you not know that? 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes a stop at the bank on the way home and gets you a flashy black credit card with your name (and new last name hehe) printed at the bottom. He loves the way your eyes widen and your lips part when he tells you there’s no limit. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who asks you what you want to do that night. Fly to Paris for dinner? Pack for a vacation to Bali? Maybe just a fancy meal at Tokyo’s most exclusive restaurant? He’s shocked when you say you’d prefer takeout and a movie on the couch, but all too happy to oblige.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who orders half the menu at your favorite ramen restaurant that he’s never heard of. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes go wide when he takes the first bite and tells you it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who stares at your lips when you laugh and ask him, “really? The best?” 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s suddenly tugging your skirt down your thighs and burying his face between your legs. He takes one long lick and moans, saying that the ramen is now only second-best. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks he could fuck you for hours on his couch, but stops after just a few rounds. He doesn’t want to tire his little baby out. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who savors the way you let him hold you after sex. Why couldn’t he hold you like this all day? So what if you’d just met– you’re his wife??? 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who buries his face in your neck to memorize the moment, dreading the second you pull away from him. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who almost protests when you wrap a blanket around your body and pad off, saying you’re going to take a shower.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who debates cornering you in the bathroom for another round, if only so he can hold you again, but thinks better of it and cleans up your forgotten ramen instead.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is completely exasperated when you never return to finish the movie. He finds you sitting in your shared bed, reading again. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart drops when you only look up long enough to give him a small smile instead of tumbling straight into his arms. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds himself once again in the shower contemplating his existence. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who decides he’ll win you over one way or another, even if it takes longer than he originally intended… 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who climbs into bed next to you and slings an arm around your waist casually, like his heart isn’t hammering in his chest when he buries his face in his pillow. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who doesn’t truly fall asleep until you turn off your bedside lamp and lie down beside him. His heart does little skips when you don’t wiggle out from under his arm. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who wakes first in the morning this time to find you curled so tightly into his chest he’s sure his pounding heart is going to wake you. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes turn into little hearts when you wake blushing after you realize how closely you’ve curled into him. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who tells you it’s okay and pulls you back into him and smirks when you can't see his face.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends the next few weeks buying you every knick and knack, every snack and meal, and bending you every surface in the house. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes light up whenever he sees you wearing that little necklace he bought you on that very first shopping trip. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who buys you another necklace… this one with his initials dangling from the chain. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes you ride him so he can see his letters swaying from your neck as you come on his cock. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends every waking moment with you on his mind, who gets in a sticky situation while fighting more than once because he’s waiting for you to text him back or remembering all the nasty things he did to you last night. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finally takes a look at the pages of those books you like so much and realizes the pure filth his dirty little wife reads right beside him every night. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s not angry or put off, but rather excited. He uses it as a manual the next he has you under him and when he repeats a line verbatim from your book he laughs so loud at your shocked little blush that he’s sure you’re both getting a noise complaint in the morning. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes every effort to find out what you like (beyond reading smut) and buys you front row tickets to a concert for a band that you both happen to love. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds out your favorite movie series and takes three (unapproved) days off of work just to have a marathon with you. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is having his morning coffee (full of cream and sugar and caramel sauce, of course) when you make your way into the kitchen with your lip pulled between your teeth. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes blow wide when he sees a stick with two little pink lines and realizes he’s managed to knock you up on the first try.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who simply has to have you right then and there, bending you over the counter and groaning your name when he slides inside your cunt. He’s gentler this time, though. Can’t be too rough when his wife is pregnant, right? 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who goes overboard with his excitement and buys a new car the same day he finds out you’re pregnant. It’s practically a tank with all its safety features. He says you’re only allowed in that specific vehicle for the foreseeable future. Get used to it. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s all over you now. Whatever restraint he had before is gone now that you’re carrying his baby. He touches you… everywhere. All the time. It’s like it pains him to not have at least a smidgen of his skin on yours. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who keeps trying to win you over in the following weeks. He needs you. Not just your body, but your mind and your soul, too!

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who just lets it slip that he loves you when he’s balls deep in your cunt. Doesn’t even get embarrassed or flustered about it, just keeps pounding into you and whining about how much he loves you over and over again while he’s filling you up. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who lets the floodgates open after that. He tells you he loves you at every opportunity. It gets to the point where those three little words don’t even fluster you anymore, but you haven’t said them back. Not yet. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who waits patiently. He knows he’s getting to you, little by little. He’s sure he’ll hear you say it back soon. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s blindsided despite having convinced himself he’d be able to play it cool. He’s got you on the couch, wrapped up in his arms with his head on your tummy (he gets to hold you as much as he wants now hehe). You’re braiding his hair when you tell him that you love him. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who flushes the deepest shade of pink you’ve ever seen and pulls down his blindfold like he needs to see you say it again.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who begs to hear it again and again and again until he’s smiling so wide it's literally blinding. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks his arranged marriage was definitely the best thing to ever happen to him <3

taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

[tarotofhope]

PAC: ♥︎♡ The Moment they realize they are in love with you ♡♥︎

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

💛 All dividers on this blog are provided by @uzmacchiato 💛

Masterlist | Paid Services

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

♥︎ Pile 1 ♥︎

Cards: 9 of Wands, The Devil, The Tower, Empress, 2 of Swords.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. Your partner is aware of their feelings because they can feel that it is different with you. There are aware of your struggles, both past and present. You can meet them when you're out of a tough period in your life, when you'll be beginning to stand on your own and when you'll start clearing up all the previous mess, your previous issue can be related to finances, romantic or platonic relationships. See, not every love story is going to be the same because not all people are lovey-dovey and so they cannot express their feelings in a romantic manner. Also, there's not always going to be a specific time of realisation for everyone, for some people it's an everyday process. They feel it everyday when talking to you, being in your presence. I think you see them, talk to them or hang out with them everyday, and if not, very frequently. It is going to be a slow and steady process, nobody is going to be impatient here. They see you shining brightly in your light, they think you're very brave and beautiful and they have so much respect for you. It doesn't matter if you guys decide to get married or not, but I can say that this is going to be a long term relationship. They will let you know but in the most subtle yet assuring of ways, because they don't want to scare you, you would be feeling the same for them, but you might hesitate because of past experiences, so they might be the one to let you know first. You might also be very indecisive and doubtful about this connection in the beginning, but with time you'll become sure and confident.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

♥︎ Pile 2 ♥︎

Cards: 2 of Pentacles, Queen of Cups, Strength, The Sun, Empress.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. Your partner and you could be work colleagues or your relationship could somehow be work related. There's a lot of stress and pressure, or it could involve a busy schedule but they see you thrive in that environment. You are unfazed. You're unbreakable. They see so much emotional maturity in you, so much inner strength and determination to earn what you deserve. They see you everyday at work and they're in awe of you everyday. They're just somehow too scared of you, to let you know. They think you might reject them. They're also someone to keep their feelings bottled up, and also because you have a professional relationship with them so they think they can't just hop towards you with a romantic proposal, it might not look appropriate. You guys might not be getting time for yourselves, to open up more or hang out much. They think you're very beautiful/handsome and they really like your habits and work ethics and so you would make a great partner. It can be so that, in the beginning, they only get to observe you, admire you and your work from afar and then maybe you both get a project to work on as a team, or they get to talk to you at office parties or meetings(not the usual formal office talk)..something like that, and then you get to know each other better, you start going out together by taking out time from your busy schedule. Somehow, other people at work might get the hints, you won't be able to keep this relationship a hush for a long time. Office romance is forbidden in some places, so you guys might be careful. They will let you know that they love you when you've gotten far into the relationship, but otherwise, they'll express in other ways through their actions. I think even you are this way and because you guys are the same, there is this silent kind of love and you're both okay with it.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

♥︎ Pile 3 ♥︎

Cards: 3 of Wands, Kings of Swords, Queen of Swords, The Hierophant, 4 of Pentacles, 8 of Cups.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. You might be someone who lives far away from your family due to work. They think you're very free and independent. Nobody can tame you. They like your free spirit. You come across as very intelligent, smart and clever. You guys could be in a long distance relationship. You both don't get to catch up a lot or if this is not a long distance relationship, you guys might be travelling together everywhere, you look like best buddies more than romantic partners to other people. You guys could be childhood friends or just friends before becoming romantic partners. So this connection is far deep rooted or there is a lot of familiarity between you two. You both would come closer to each other one step at a time, realising you're both compatible and inseparable. You could be very unconventional but rooted deeply in your culture or if not this, you could be unconventional and firm in your beliefs, whatever your beliefs may be, you don't like others telling you what to follow and what not to. They like how you speak and stand up for yourself and others. The King and Queen of Swords both came up means you both have smart and sharp minds and open-heartedness towards different cultures and religions, you guys also like to communicate and debate a lot. You guys might even like to pull pranks on each other. You're both fun loving. You both respect each other's beliefs and need for space. Whether or not you know each other for a long time, you guys still seem to have gotten along well too soon in the beginning. There's a lot of friendship and mutual respect between you two, you both match each other's freak very well. Even if you go your seperate ways, you might still choose to stay friends.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

♥︎ Pile 4 ♥︎

Cards: The Moon, King of Cups, The Empress, The Devil clarified by 6 of Cups, 2 of Cups.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. You guys could be leaving a toxic person or an unsuitable career behind when you meet this person. You guys could both be divine masculine and divine feminine partners in this union. They love your femininity because it doesn't matter what gender you belong to, the cards are showing too much feminine energy here, which belongs to the person reading this pile while your partner has a lot of masculine energy. They love how you're mysterious, secretive, intuitive, emotional and sentimental. You wear your heart on your sleeve. They must've been impressed by you at first glance itself. They'd think that you're just their type, you just fit their criteria of a desried partner. You look well put together, well dressed and they'd think you're cute too. You might have short to average height and some of you might even have a curvy figure or a round face which they'd definitely adore. I'm getting so many 18+ messages in this pile, but I can't mention them here. They love how you both look so well paired up when you stand besides them, like you were made for each other. They love how you're nurturing and caring and they'd like to be the provider. You both give yourself equally into the relationship, it would look like a proper traditional couple. I'm also getting marriage vibes from this pile, this relationship can end up in a marriage if you guys want that because I can see that at least one of you is interested in creating a family with the other. You both like children and/or pets.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

♥︎ Pile 5 ♥︎

Cards: Ace of Swords, The Emperor, 9 of Swords clarified by 2 of Pentacles, The Hanged Man clarified by Death.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. They started falling for you when you both talked, your very first conversation might have made them think deeply about you afterwards. It's the way you speak, clearly and genuinely, with no extra sweetness nor bitterness, neither cringy nor too loud/soft, just perfect, to the point. You don't talk to impress, you just talk what's on your mind and in your heart. They also love how you think before you speak, you don't just blabber anything. They admire your intelligence and smartness. They might even love your voice. They love to communicate with you, all the things that you like and dislike, because they like to see your gestures and expressions, your hand movements, your body language, the way different emotions pile up on your face according to the nature of your conversation. They think that you're also very knowledgeable about many things. They love how you're not a people pleaser, whatever you feel comes out on your face, you don't entertain people who don't value you, you don't play pretend/you don't play mind games either. Whether you put all your cards on the table at once or not, whatever you tell them about yourself is genuine, your compliments, your love, hatred, everything. You come off as very assertive and honest to them while you may appear arrogant or rude to others when you speak in a straightforward manner. You might have been pressed in life a lot, which made you the way you are now. You might have been stripped of your self-esteem and self-confidence, you might have been stuck and trapped in a mentally traumatic situation, which eventually made you direct, stubborn in your beliefs and straightforward, after so many efforts, and you won't take this down for anybody and they respect this.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ HOUSE OF BALLOONS (richgirl!yn | chaewon x reader )

richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing ⭢ take your mask off ⭢ carmen ⭢ untitled

— BONUNS CHAPTER | the dark sides of the moon family- the tales of the three young moons on a power trip (or slowly loosing their minds) the lost media of the young heirs that can never be found

SEPTEMBER 1st 2016

ARTICLE HEADLINE—“RICH KIDS GONE BAD??”

“a deeply unsettling video featuring moon yn, a first-year high school student, and her older brother moon jae, now in his final year, has started circulating online and it’s sparking serious concern.” click the video below ⭣

the shaky footage, clearly taken in secret, shows the two siblings in their school uniforms, each wearing a distinct chanel brooch. but this was no time to admire their luxury.

the video begins with a girl standing nervously in front of them. jae has his hand under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. his words are too quiet to hear, but his body language says enough, sharp, intimidating, and cold.

he lets go of her chin and moves his hand to her shoulder in what looks like a comforting gesture, until he begins applying pressure, pushing her down until she’s sitting against the wall. he lets out a low laugh and walks away, leaving yn standing over the girl.

yn kneels in front of her, mimicking her brother’s earlier gesture. she lifts the girl’s chin again, but where jae’s aggression was clear, yn is harder to read calm, collected, and unreadable in a way that makes your skin crawl. she says something too quiet to hear, then smirks.

as she straightens up, she turns her head, looking directly into the camera. there's a soft gasp from behind the phone as the person filming realizes they’ve been caught. the video cuts off abruptly.

the internet explodes… and then goes quiet

but as quickly as the clip emerged, it vanished. users began reporting that links were broken, posts were mysteriously deleted, and accounts sharing the video were suddenly locked or suspended. some claimed the file had been “scrubbed” from search engines entirely. a few who claimed to have saved the video reported their files becoming corrupted.

with no formal statement from the moon family and no official media coverage, the moment began to fade from public memory. a handful of reddit threads and obscure blog posts remain, clinging to what little evidence is left, but for the most part, the world has moved on.

those who still remember are left with questions, unease, and an unsettling silence.

but who they to question what’s going with the moon family? whatever yn and jae did was completely warranted obviously.

THE VIDEO IN THIS ARTICLE IS NOW UNAVAILABLE.

OCTOBER 31st 2016

ARTICLE HEADLINE—“WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT THE YOUNGEST WOULD BE LIVING UP THE MOON NAME THE MOST?”

“a voice audio of who seems to be moon yn the youngest of the moon family talking to a teacher has people thinking only one thing, her father sure did raise her.” click the video below to hear the audio⭣

it starts off soft.

“sir…” her voice is sweet, almost delicate. “I’ve been feeling like this for a while, and my brother’s noticed it too. it seems like you’ve been treating us a little unfairly… because of our name? would i be correct if i said that?”

there’s a pause before the man responds, calm and condescending. “yes, you would.” his voice is firm, too confident. “the moons need humbling, and you prove that every day. I’ve been doing this since your oldest brother was here. he took it. so did jae. now it’s your turn. moons don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt, so suck it up, young lady.”

“oh…” she sounds hurt. quiet. small. but don’t be fooled.

“that’s too bad,” she says, and there’s a shift. some faint shuffling. her tone sharpens, losing its sweetness. “but here’s the thing… I’m not like my brothers. take that as a mental note.”

he doesn’t respond. silence.

“but anywho…” she sighs, fake and theatrical. “I should get going. it’s a shame we couldn’t come to better terms.”

then, her voice lowers to a near whisper. “but I guess everyone’s gonna love to hear about how much you like your female students.”

the laugh that follows is soft. too soft. and then, the audio cuts.

as of now, moon yn, is rumored to be a trainee under sm entertainment. insiders claim she’s been groomed for the spotlight her whole life, and based on this clip, it’s clear she knows how to perform, even when no cameras are supposed to be rolling.

but just like the infamous school hallway video of the moon siblings, this audio has vanished from the internet.

accounts that posted the original clip were suspended, links broken, files corrupted. forums discussing the audio were locked or mass reported. even users who claimed to have saved it privately say the file mysteriously disappeared or won’t play. no trace remains, and most who've heard it now speak of it like an urban legend, something you had to be online at the right time to witness.

and now, another piece of moon family history is buried.

but hey, she was so right, who was he to mistreat a moon?

THE AUDIO INCLUDED IS NOW UNAVAILABLE.

FEBRUARY 5th 2017

ARTICLE HEADLINE — “ALL THREE MOON SIBLINGS CAUGHT IN DISTURBING LATE NIGHT FOTAGE.”

a leaked clip of daeun, jae, and yn leaving an exclusive bar has resurfaced whispers about the moon family and this time, no one was laughing. click the video below to watch ⭣

it’s dark, filmed from across the street, blurry, shaky, and obviously taken in secret.

the video opens with the glowing sign of the club, an exclusive bar only frequented by chaebols, heirs, and politicians' children. entry is invite only. drinks are never cheap. and minors are never allowed.

but in the video, all three moon siblings step out of the building. daeun, the eldest and the only one legally allowed to drink, walks out first in a sleek designer coat, jaw tight with exhaustion. jae follows, swaying slightly as he pushes his hair back and looks like he’s trying to hold back a glare. and yn the youngest walks behind them both, not stumbling, but not exactly steady either.

the three of them look like they’re falling apart in silence. no one speaks. no one smiles. the air is thick.

a black car pulls up, but none of them move toward it.

daeun turns to jae and says something low. he flinches. daeun throws his cigarette down. yn leans against the wall, staring at the pavement like it’s talking to her. none of them look like they want to be there. none of them look like they want to go home either.

and then, jae lashes out, not violently, but enough to startle. he kicks something near the curb, mutters something at yn that makes her roll her eyes, and she finally snaps back. it’s silent on video, but the way they speak, no hesitation, no filter, it’s clear the masks they wear in public aren’t on tonight.

daeun rubs his temples. he looks older than ever.

the three eventually pile into the car. the door slams shut. and the video ends.

why was this ever online?

the footage appeared online late one night under the caption “are the moons okay?” and in less than an hour, it was reposted hundreds of times. viewers weren’t shocked by the drinking, they were disturbed by what it revealed.

“daeun looks like he’s seen hell.” “yn isn’t old enough to drink and she looked the most checked out.” “jae’s energy is always so off. the way he moved… i can’t explain it but it made me sick.” “why did they just stand there like that for so long? they looked so… broken.”

and then it was gone.

just like the school hallway video. just like the teacher audio. accounts were suspended, posts wiped, and copies of the video corrupted or removed. users now speak about it like some sort of cursed file — if you didn’t see it when it dropped, you probably never will.

some believe sm’s legal team got involved now that yn is a trainee. others say the moon family themselves had it buried. and a few claim it was never supposed to exist at all.

THE VIDEO INCLUDED IS NOW UNAVAILABLE.

[sknyuz]

hi :)) i LOOOOOOVE your writing, you do all the boys so much justice. i was reading the intimacy one and saw you wanted requests for gotak 👀👀

this ideas been festering in my head so walk with me (or don't, that's also fine.)

new student!reader who comes to class and has a small run in with juntae (similar to how he bumped into sieun) and thinks he's adorable so they kinda just naturally becomes really close friends with him. gotak heard news about the new student and also started to hear juntae talk about them so he lowkey tries to swindle juntae into introducing all of them. juntae being the cutie (but also not naive!) he is decided to introduce them and gotak is taken back by how close they are and gets mildly jealous (for what reason 🤔😏).

sorry for the ramble and also that went no where but it's been in my head for sooooo long 😭😭😭

pairing — go hyuntak (gotak) x gn!reader (ft. bff!juntae) genre — fluff, comedy, f2l warnings — mild language, injury (minor sprain), sieun being an instigator, baku being a headass word count — ~2.1k

note: omg this took soooo long to post because of my break !! i finished this actually a week ago lol i just had lots of prior requests to get to so i never got around to posting it. alas, let us all welcome gotak’s debut on my blog !! the people have been waitinggggg and asking for this one !! and finally... !!

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

to put it simply, if you hadn’t turned the corner right at that moment, you don’t know how the rest of this school year would've turned out.

new school, new people, new everything. you had a map in your hand and maybe two brain cells left when someone rounded the hallway a little too fast and bumped straight into you. papers went flying. both of you froze.

“oh no—wait, i’m sorry, that was me,” he said, already crouched down to gather the mess like it was his life that had been scattered across the floor.

you blinked, surprised. he had soft eyes and glasses sliding halfway down his nose and this slightly panicked look like he thought you might cry.

“it’s okay,” you told him. “honestly, you might’ve saved my life. i was about to walk straight into a locked door.”

he smiled, awkward and kind. “my name is juntae. seo juntae. you’re new, right?”

you nodded. and just like that, he offered to walk you to class—it was the easiest decision you’d made all day.

juntae was the type of person who made space for you without ever making you feel like a burden. he brought you snacks during lunch and showed you where to hide out when the hallways got too loud. he also talked a lot about his friends, and one afternoon—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he said, “oh, you should meet sieun. you’d like him.”

you did. he was quiet and careful with his words, but funny in a dry way that caught you off guard. he’d glance at juntae like you really brought them here? but still offered you a spot at the table. he even let you steal a fry. so you counted that as a win.

after that came baku—loud, sunny, fast-talking. he practically tackled you into a high five and said, “juntae’s new bestie? you’re in good hands,” before dragging you into some debate about what counts as a sandwich.

somehow, you ended up kind of... just around. like a ghost that turned real. people knew your name before you introduced yourself. baku waved whenever he saw you. sieun always made room for you on the bench. and juntae, sweet as he was, forgot to formally introduce you to one person.

“yo,” gotak called, wiping sweat from his neck as he tossed the basketball to baku. “who’s that?”

baku looked up from tying his shoelace. “huh?”

“over there,” gotak nodded toward the sidelines, where you were doubled over laughing next to sieun and juntae. “they’ve been hanging around a lot.”

baku blinked, “that’s y/n.” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

gotak simply stared, as baku tilted his head. “you know them. don’t you?”

gotak looked back at you. you were teasing juntae about something, eyes crinkled, whole face lit up. juntae said something back that made you shove his arm, half-laughing, half-gasping.

gotak frowned, “i’ve never met them.”

baku paused. “wait. what? i thought juntae introduced you already—he told everyone else. dude. even sieun knows her.”

gotak narrowed his eyes. “so why didn’t he tell me?”

“damn,” baku grinned. “someone’s feeling left out.” as he threw the ball to his chest, a little too roughly to snap his friend out of it.

“shitty pass,” gotak muttered under his breath, passing the ball back to him.

baku snorted. “you sure you’re mad about the ball and not the fact that your bestie got a new bestie?”

gotak didn’t answer. but later that day, when he caught you waiting for juntae outside the gym, he slowed down.

you waved, and he waved back. maybe a little delayed, a little thoughtful.

maybe a little curious.

he hesitated like he was deciding something, then crossed the space between you with that awkward confidence some people carry when they’re not used to starting conversations but do it anyway.

he scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down before landing on yours. “hey. uh... y/n,”

you smiled. “hi.”

he nodded, like that helped him keep going. “i’m also juntae’s friend, in the basketball team. with baku.” you tilted your head. “oh yeah—go hyuntak, right?”

he blinked.

you shrugged. “baku mentioned you once. and you were on the court earlier.”

gotak looked a little caught off guard, like he hadn’t expected you to know his name. then his mouth twitched, the smallest upward curve. “...right. that’s me. call me gotak.”

you stood there for a beat, quiet.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said.

he glanced up, then back down, like he was working through a million thoughts at once. “yeah. you too.”

just then, the gym doors creaked open behind you.

“y/n!” jun-tae called, jogging out with his bag slung over one shoulder. “sorry—got caught up helping the coach—oh, hey gotak!”

gotak stepped back half a pace, nodding. “hey.”

juntae looked between you, confused for half a second. “wait—did i never introduce you guys?”

you and gotak both said, “no.”

juntae blinked. “...oops.”

you laughed. gotak didn’t, but his shoulders relaxed a little as he looked over at you again.

after that, he finally had an excuse.

or maybe it was just that now you were officially introduced—he started showing up more. like how he always just happened to walk by your classroom when it let out. or how he’d offer to carry your stuff from your locker even if it wasn’t heavy. he’d still act casual about it—mumbling something about "heading that way anyway"—but the look in his eyes always lingered a little longer than it used to.

you started showing up to practices more too. usually with a water bottle in hand. eventually, two.

then four.

baku started calling you their "hydration manager" and gotak rolled his eyes every time, but he’d take the bottle from your hands like it meant something, every time you handed him his bottle, your fingers would brush. lightly. deliberately. like a habit you weren’t in a rush to break.

he wasn’t loud about it, but as the days passed, he found himself looking for you more often than he meant to—your voice across the court, your laugh when juntae said something stupid, and the way you stuck around even when no one asked you to.

he didn’t say it out loud, but your presence became something he... liked. something that made the world feel a little softer when you were around.

and sometimes, when you laughed a little too hard at juntae’s jokes, gotak would glance over without meaning to. once, he got so distracted that baku shot the ball clean over his head and it smacked him right in the back.

“yo!” baku shouted, rushing over. “you good?!”

gotak muttered, rubbing the side of his head, “i wasn’t looking.”

“clearly,” baku huffed. “what were you looking at?”

gotak didn’t answer. just glanced back toward the sidelines, where you were sitting, completely unaware.

you weren’t exactly subtle either.

at first, it was just a glance. maybe two. maybe three, if you were feeling brave and he was too focused on the court to notice. there was something about the way he moved—steady, grounded, all quiet strength and furrowed brows. you’d never really watched basketball before, but suddenly it was your favorite part of the afternoon.

whenever he scored, you clapped a little louder. a little quicker. maybe even stood up once, under the excuse of stretching.

juntae caught you once. leaned over and whispered, “you cheer louder for him than for baku.”

you blinked. “no i don’t.”

he grinned. “yes you do.”

you smacked his arm. “shut up.”

but the next time gotak glanced toward the benches after a point, your hands were already mid-clap, eyes already on him.

he met your gaze.

just for a second.

you looked away first.

the more you saw of gotak, the more you saw him. it started with the little things—running into him by the vending machine after class, both of you reaching for the same pack of chips at the same time. you laughed, unsure of who should take it first.

“you can have it,” gotak said, smiling, though you could swear there was a flicker of something in his eyes. something that felt... not exactly like embarrassment, but not entirely casual either.

"no, it’s fine, you take it," you said, holding your hand out. "you reached first."

he paused, just staring for a second, before he gave a small shrug and grabbed it. “you sure?”

“yeah.”

you both took your snacks and stepped aside, awkwardly aware of how close you’d been. as you tried to avoid eye contact, you were almost certain your heart was racing. had he been looking at you like that... or was it just your imagination?

the awkward encounters started happening more often, though. a lot more often.

you’d bump into him in the hallway. near the library. at the school gates. suddenly, you felt like you were always in his orbit—and not just you. everyone noticed.

“you two are weirdly always in the same place at the same time,” juntae pointed out one day while you were grabbing lunch. “it’s like you’re following him around.”

you choked on your drink. “what? no. no, i’m not. i—he just happens to be there. i’m—just minding my business.”

juntae fixes his glasses, shrugging it off with a playful grin, though you could tell he wasn’t completely convinced. “alright, y/n. totally.”

and of course, baku caught on too. one day, while you were standing at the sidelines during practice, watching gotak and baku scrimmage, he glanced over at you, then at gotak, then back at you. then gotak. then you. he raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

“hey,” baku said casually, tossing the ball to gotak. “you two are like, besties now, huh?”

gotak froze, looking at him, and then glancing over at gotak to avoid meeting baku’s gaze. “what? no. we’re not—”

“uh-huh,” baku grinned, spinning the ball on his finger. “sure, and i’m top of the class.”

during practice one afternoon, it happened.

gotak went up for a dunk, but his foot slipped awkwardly when he landed, and he crumpled to the ground with a loud thud. your heart dropped as you watched him clutch his ankle, wincing in pain.

“gotak!” you shouted, rushing to his side.

he grimaced, leaning against the floor, clearly in pain.

“dude, what happened?” baku called out, rushing over too. “you good?”

“i’m fine,” gotak muttered, trying to push himself up, but his face twisted in discomfort. “just sprained it, probably.”

sieun was quick to appear by your side, his usually calm demeanor shifting slightly as he assessed the situation. without missing a beat, he turned to you, a rare glint of something in his eyes. “maybe y/n can take him to the infirmary? we still have to clean up here.”

you blinked, unsure how to respond. “huh?”

sieun shot a pointed look toward baku, who was still oblivious to what was going on. his lips curved in the smallest, lopsided smirk. “baku doesn’t need your help right now,” he said, almost too casually, before giving a side glance at you.

you noticed baku didn’t catch the hint, just furrowing his brows at the situation. “wait, what? you seriously want y/n to drag him to the infirmary? you do realize that guy’s gonna crush ‘em under his weight, right? y’know gotak’s been having too much chicken—”

sieun’s eyes flickered with something that might’ve been amusement, though his expression stayed neutral. “go on,” sieun said, motioning to gotak, tone soft but firm. “help him out.”

you looked down at gotak, who was still struggling to stand, and it dawned on you that he was huge—much bigger than you. and the thought of dragging him all the way to the infirmary alone? absurd. awkward.

but you couldn’t exactly say no, not when everyone was watching and not when he was looking at you like he needed your help.

“you okay to walk?” you asked, kneeling down next to him.

“i think i’ll survive,” he grumbled, clearly embarrassed by the situation.

you offered him your hand. “come on, let’s get you there.”

he took your hand, and you tried not to notice how big his hand felt wrapped around yours. you both started walking, and although you tried to make it seem like a casual walk, every step felt like you were carrying the weight of his entire body.

sieun watched you both for a second, his gaze unreadable. the smallest of smirks tugged at the corners of his mouth.

the walk to the infirmary wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, though you were still struggling to act normal when you finally helped gotak sit down on the clinic bed. his ankle was already wrapped up, but he kept fiddling with his fingers, looking down at his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

you sat across from him, the silence stretching for a moment as you both just sat there, waiting.

“uh, thanks for this, y/n,” gotak mumbled, his voice quiet in a way that was almost unlike him. he kept glancing at you, then back at his hands.

you tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “no problem, seriously. i told you, i’m happy to help. anything for you,” you said, maybe a little more casually than you intended, your heart racing just a little.

he met your gaze then, eyes wide and slightly soft, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “anything?” he asked, teasing, but there was a hint of something more in his tone.

“well, yeah,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “you’re my friend. i’ve got your back.”

there was a beat of silence as you both just looked at each other. gotak’s gaze lingered on you, his fingers still fidgeting, though a little more nervously now.

“you’re…you’re a really good person, y/n,” he said softly, his eyes lowering to his hands again, as if he was unsure of how to put his feelings into words.

you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warm at the sincerity in his voice. “thanks, gotak. that means a lot coming from you.”

the moment stretched longer than it probably should have, but neither of you seemed to want to break it.

finally, he cleared his throat, looking up at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “so, uh…if you’re willing to do anything for me…”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah?”

he shifted a little, suddenly a little more serious, though his usual playful grin still tugged at the corners of his lips. “you think you could—i don’t know—not make me fall for you?”

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you swore you didn’t breathe. his words hung in the air, the playful edge still there, but there was something different about the way he said it. something that made your heart flutter in that puppy-love way that only people in the early stages of affection could understand.

“w-what?” you stammered, unable to hide the rush of warmth that spread across your cheeks. “you’re—you’re falling for me?”

he raised both eyebrows now, the teasing gone from his voice, replaced with something more earnest. “maybe,” he said with a small, sheepish grin, his gaze never leaving you. “maybe it’s too late for that. i think i’m already halfway there.”

you blinked at him, unsure how to respond, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. the air between you was suddenly thick with something you didn’t quite know how to define.

you broke the silence with a nervous laugh, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “well, i guess it’s not so bad to meet you in the middle if you’re already halfway there.”

gotak chuckled, his lips curving into that genuine smile you’d come to look forward to. “yeah, i guess it’s not, huh?”

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[strawberrystepmom]

ready to eat

pairing: Yami Sukehiro x F!Noble Reader

word count: 4.9k

contents: NSFW - minors and ageless blogs dni, I will hard block you. Takes place in canon universe, there is a slight age/experience difference insinuated between the pairing but reader is at least 25, reader has named magical ability (movement magic), so much banter, oral sex (f receiving and finishing and it's sexy)

cw: mentions of marriage and misogyny, virginity (reader is a virgin)

notes: brain rot has proven to be fatal so here you are. this is open ended and i would not consider it a oneshot bc i'd love to write more about these two. hope you enjoy! thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3, divider by @cafekitsune

you can find more about these two here, here, here and here 🖤

Nighttime is your time, a lesson you taught yourself independent of your instructors many years ago. 

Movement magic allows you the luxury of blending in with your scenery, rushing unseen toward a capital district that is on the opposite end of where your family has made their name. Nobody here would recognize you even if you were less discreet, cloak gathered around your face and obscuring any unidentifiable features, and the freedom is indescribable; better than every sunny day or freshly made tea dessert. 

You are free to be yourself. Unmarried, unattached, unimportant, it doesn’t matter. You stumble into the usual inn you make your domain until the sun rises, ready to watch the way people you have little in common with live. If anyone knew you’d get reprimanded, probably rightfully, though you have never quite understood the scandal that lies in being a well informed woman. Your mother was a gossip and isn’t that another way to become informed? 

It’s society's acceptable way, anyway.

You slink into the corner table, away from the crowd gathered nearer the bar, and slip your hood off of your face. No glances of recognition from anyone else, too engrossed in their own drinks and their own conversations, and you sink down against the back of the chair you’re sitting in. It’s nice to be anonymous, you decided months ago when you began doing this. You aren’t certain you want to continue being so inconspicuous when you remind yourself why you’ve been doing this to begin with - to gain even the slightest bit of the life experience that continues to elude you. To love and laugh and feel joy that you’ve been told only comes with marriage, something you are too apprehensive about committing to. 

It’s why you come namelessly into a district that does not belong to you or your kind. You hope that someone will find you interesting, a beaten path off their life’s track. Someone to laugh with or tell stories to. It’s all you’ve ever really wanted, a romantic to your core despite the decidedly unromantic life you lead. Caretaking, getting earfuls from your father about being a responsibility that the family no longer wants to have when taking your age and failed proposals into consideration. So lost in your own thoughts, you barely notice when a man slides into the chair next to you, glancing down at your hands and then at your face.

“You need to stop wearing whatever is making you smell like that.”

The interruption to your quiet evening makes you jump, no longer dissociating and now in the present. You recognize the man sitting next to you, a captain of a Magic Knights squad. Their faces are plastered all over the capital and you’re shocked that he stumbled into such a low brow establishment though getting a look at him up close convinces you that he may not be in the entirely wrong spot.

“Captain Sukehiro,” you offer politely, formal as ever. “I regret having to request clarification from a man as esteemed as yourself but what do you mean?”

The captain snorts, shaking his head in response to you as though your manners are piteous instead of a courtesy that should be extended to all. 

“Don’t call me that, Yami is fine.” He sniffs, stuffing a cigarette between his lips. “I’m talking about the shit you’re wearing that is filling every corner of this place. People don’t wear things that make them smell like bakeries around here.” 

Scrunching your nose, you lift your wrist to your nose for a sniff. He’s referencing the perfume you spritzed on after bathing and the way it sticks to you, the smell wafting around the table with every move you make. It hasn’t caught any eyes yet, thankfully, but he can see how this will end if you don’t correct your mistake now. 

“What are you doing around here anyway? I figured women of your, uh, breed or whatever stuck to their own districts.” 

Bristling slightly at his insinuation that you find yourself too good to hang out here, you square your shoulders and clear your throat. A low chuckle rumbles in Yami while he lights his cigarette, raising his brows and eagerly awaiting whatever argument you are clearly cooking up in that little head of yours. 

“I’ll have you know that I enjoy exploring parts of the city that I rarely see. I am out here thanks to my own curiosity.” Your eyes shift from Yami toward the rest of the tavern, a small smile on your face watching the patrons laugh amongst themselves. “I think it’s really wonderful that people are happy no matter how they were born into this world and I’m thankful to be able to experience this side of life too.”

The captain could spend all night laughing at your naivety if you’d let him but he doesn’t wanna let you dig any deeper of a hole than you’re already finding yourself in. You’re clearly a fully grown woman, even the doll-like roundness of your eyes and cheeks can’t convince him you’re under 25 judging from the way you carry yourself. You aren’t the first noble girl he has ever seen sneak off in an attempt to find herself yet it strikes him as hilarious you clearly believe it.

“So you aren’t like the other nobles? You see people as people?” The brusque individual takes a long drink from the mug in his hand, Adam’s apple bobbing while he swallows, your eyes fixed on the sheer size of his neck and throat. “What do you want? A prize?”

Even the enticing muscles of his body (how can one person have so many muscles bulging off of them anyway?) cannot distract enough to forget that he’s insulting you. You place your hands in your lap and fiddle with the edge of the cloak that covers the simple nightgown you are wearing, covering it enough that no one is suspicious about why you’re wearing nightclothes in the first place. 

“No, I’m simply telling you what I’m doing here because you asked.”

Sipping from his mug, the man glances you up and down. He swallows and squares his shoulders.

“Okay? That still doesn’t tell me what you’re actually doing here, you’re only talking about feelings and shit.” Another sip and he places his ale down. “So what are you doing here? Isn’t it a little late for your type to be out with the rest of us?”

He considers you for a moment. Not bad looking. Pretty, even. Not plain in the way some overly manicured noble women can come across and you clearly aren’t using magic to enhance anything about you or else he’d notice. He’s a pro at sniffing out transformation magic in women having seen so many who have taught themselves to dabble in the arts to subtly tweak their appearances. You sigh and he finds it impressively naive to do so, your shoulders pinching in while you exhale sharply out of your nose. 

“I’m looking for someone to help me.” Now this is interesting. He raises a brow, glancing you up and down. You lean toward him, creating a veil of intimacy in a crowded tavern, elbows resting on the table rudely. “I, um, I fear I’ll be woefully unprepared for my marriage bed once the time arrives and I want to avoid embarrassment. I’m already too old to be considered marriageable to most and my heart could not take physical rejection from my husband as well.”

“You’re a virgin and feel weird about it and now you’re makin’ it my problem.”

Gasping, your eyes widen and you shake your head rapidly. Yami smirks when he senses how quickly your heart is pounding beneath those layers of fabrics most in this place could only ever dream of seeing much less feel against their skin, curious enough that he won’t just tell you to get lost at this point. 

“Please do not repeat my predicament so loudly, Captain Sukehiro.” You whisper hiss, fighting the urge to kick him beneath the table as you do the rest of your fathers’ unruly issue you are the eldest of. “It’s not something I’m terribly proud of.”

The captain scoffs, humming to himself and adjusting his posture so that he’s leaning toward you instead of on the back of his chair, cigarette dangling from his fingers. You’ve captured his attention, at least for now, and he’ll give you all of it that you can handle. Pursing his lips, he glances around the bar for a split second before focusing on you, gray eyes locked on your pouting mouth.

“Then why is it your situation in the first place? Thought you nobles were too proud for your own good.” He flicks the lighter in his pocket. “And don’t call me that. Yami is fine.”

You should find it very rude that you are being asked so many questions and being made to suit so many demands made by a lesser born to begin with but the curiosity feels like deeply personalized attention, causing you to bloom in response. Hunched shoulders stretch out, the graceful posture you’ve spent what would amount to months of your life if you stretched the hours out perfecting appearing. No one at home is this curious about you outside of when you will no longer be around to tend the younger children your father continues to spawn and it feels different to be the center of a man’s attention. 

Not a weak, defanged little noble whose only function is to act as an additional limb for his father. A man with rough hands and battle scars and overgrown hair down his neck. 

“I haven’t felt a spark with any of the men I’ve been introduced to. They’re lovely individuals with proud lineage but it has always felt so…” you search around the room, lifting your hand to your mouth to idly nip at the cuticle around your thumbnail. “Forced. I don’t want to be with them and they do not want to be with me. Four men and none of them made me feel like I could spend the rest of my life with them.”

Once again, Yami chuckles at your predicament. Your cheeks heat in response, ears tingling and burning as that familiar feeling of being mocked encourages you to retreat inward. The awareness that you do not have to put up with this kind of treatment from a man beneath your station 

“Sounds like you’re hard to impress, kid.” A plume of smoke is blown over your head, the cigarette he was holding now dangling from his lips while he examines you with narrowed eyes. “Little darling won’t settle for less than a fairytale.”

Retreating further into yourself, you move your hands from your lap to fold your arms over your chest.

“I’m no child, obviously.” 

Your retort is as petulant as your posture and the man smirks, the corner of his mouth jumping, tenting his fingers in front of him and leaning toward you. Despite himself, he likes you. Your willingness to shit here and just shoot the shit with him has impressed him but not enough to let you off easy. 

“You’re here beggin’ for attention like one so I dunno about all that.”

Scoffing, you shift in your chair but make no effort to get up. You won’t be picked off by him that easily. 

“You know nothing about me, sir.” You raise your brows and shift your head to emphasize your point, arms still folded. A grown woman behaving like a little brat shouldn’t draw a man like this in yet he considers himself intrigued, stamping out the nearly depleted butt of his cigarette on the edge table in front of him. 

“Can’t argue with that. Keep talking.” 

He leans back in his chair and sizes you up, boots stacked on top of each other where his ankles are crossed and his long legs are extended out in front of him. It’s one thing to be keeping him here against his will because you won’t stop talking, it’s another when he is a willing audience. Your mouth runs dry and you gradually unfold your arms, placing them above your knee so you can subtly rid your clammy palms of the prickling sweat across them.

“I want to experience the things that a husband and wife are to experience together though I do not have anyone to enjoy them with.” Even the way nobles describe sex is stuffy and uncomfortable, Yami realizes, brows raising slightly. He lets you continue speaking before butting in, letting his arms dangle from the sides of the chair. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to believe it will change my luck but I won’t change my mind. I have to know how to…perform.”

Perform is such an interesting choice of word. All of the sex the captain has ever had has been far less of a performance and more of a two person dance, locked in repetitive motions and tangled up as one form. He isn’t much for the sappy, intimate shit you’re clearly insinuating you’d like though he feels like he could help you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he starts, leaning back toward you and closing the distance to once again grant you some semblance of privacy. “I can show you how a man should treat a woman but I can’t promise you it’s how a husband will treat his wife, you understand?”

Your eyes widen and you nod once, picking up on his meaning immediately. Impressed by your sharp wit he smiles although it’s nearly as unfriendly as the ones exchanged at court and only slightly less smug. Leaning in toward him, your brows knit together, and you bunch your skirt up in your fists.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for, you know…” you trail off, frowning slightly. He pretends like he doesn’t understand what you mean, shaking his head and staring vacantly at your mouth. “I don’t know if I’m ready for you to take me.”

Another snort from him and your face heats like a wildfire. The two of you remained locked in this strange posture, whispering but not quite, discussing the terms of whatever is occurring here. Blood rushes from your face to your chest to your stomach, a familiar tense feeling between your legs making you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“The only one who would be doing any taking in that scenario is me and you don’t have to worry about that tonight.” He tips his mug and finishes off the last droplets of his ale, sliding the empty vessel across the table top where it stops just short of you. 

“What if we never see each other again after tonight?” That sappy shit he was right to assume you wanted has surfaced earlier than he expected. He shrugs flippantly, arching a brow. “Then we never see each other tonight but at least you can say you know how it feels when a man takes care of you.”

Inhaling loudly, you weigh your options. 

You can always get up and go home, turn tail and run to where you will always be viewed as something akin to a decorative sconce on the wall instead of a human being. Your opinion matters not, you’re a glorified caretaker for your younger siblings, some of who are your fathers rightful heirs thanks to the boyhood the Gods so mercifully granted them. You can retreat and continue wasting away waiting for a man who thrills you enough that you can ever see him as someone deserving of being your equal. 

Or, you can consider Yami’s offer. He’s rough around the edges and speaks with no formality or regard and you like it. At least you think you do. He doesn’t care who you are any more than the others around you do yet he makes you feel the most seen anyone ever has. He’s interested in your words, your ideas, and even your pleasure - a realization that makes the knot in your stomach tighten further.

“Okay.” You concede. “I think that I’d like that.”

The man rises from his seat, smirking, tossing some coins down on the table in front of him for the drink. 

“I know you will,” he finishes, words dripping with honesty but not arrogance. 

He begins to head toward the stairs that will lead the two of you upstairs and your breath catches when he looks over his shoulder and raises his brows, signaling with a wave that you should follow him. You toss a few more coins on the table in front of you, uncertain of how much a room in an establishment like this would cost to begin with, and rush to follow him with your cloak pulled tightly against your body.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

This room is nothing like your quarters at home where everything around you gleams in gold and marble and silk. It may be decidedly less impressive though it’s twice as cozy if you’re honest. 

The bed is barely large enough for two and there’s a well loved desk pushed against the wall, magical light flickering from the wall. Shutting the door unceremoniously, you swallow and feel the captain at your back, a large palm covering the entirety of the space between your shoulder blades. You don’t recall him seeming so imposing downstairs, glancing upward to meet his eyes. He can tell you are inexperienced solely by how skittish you’ve become beneath his fingertips, an intriguing shift from who you were sitting opposite him.

Boldly asking a man to pleasure you has told him everything about the person you are beneath the skirts and the trappings of society. If he waits long enough he knows that hungry girl will once again show her face to him and while he isn’t particularly patient, he believes it would be worth his while to wait. 

“Go sit on the edge of the bed.” He instructs right above your ear and gently shoves you toward where he’s commanded you be. 

You follow directions and sit, legs dangling off of the edge, unfastening your cloak and letting it rest on the bed. The knot in your belly remains tight, keeping you on edge with all of your movements while your walls throb weakly, arousal and curiosity bearing down on you with similar weight. Sukehiro towers over you, slowly unfastening his belt and cloak, leaving the leather goods and his katana on the desk. 

“I’m going to lick your pussy. Do you know what that means?”

Cheeks warming, once again surprised by his lack of decency, you nod once. You have read about this particular act more than once and have also heard about it secondhand from some of the married women you call friends although their reviews have been mixed. Books have always made it seem far more interesting, an exchange in the same way a kiss is between a man and the paradise between a woman’s legs. 

“Good, at least I won’t have to explain all the technicalities.” He approaches you slowly and squats down, now face level with your middle. You glance down at him and wonder if you should touch him, if he’d like it, if he’d want you to. “Lift your hips.” The next command gives you reprieve from overthinking and you do as asked, raising them enough that he can pull your nightgown from beneath your thighs, spreading them to fit between.

“If you don’t like something, speak up.” He glances up at you, holding your nightgown halfway over his face. “If you do like something, speak up and I’ll keep goin’.”

The linen of your nightgown stretches and tents in the shape of Yami’s head and shoulders when he pulls it over himself, too big to be fully covered by the fabric. His back is curled into a C shape and the muscles ripple while he positions you, hands that you can feel but cannot see gripping the outside of your soft thighs to keep you from deciding at the last minute you are feeling shy. 

It’s too late for you to fall back on the shy act now, your panties dangling off of one of your ankles. Even if you attempted, you know the man currently fixated on spreading you open with his fingers would surface from beneath your skirt and laugh at you. Your heart simply could not take the open derision and ridicule, already feeling overextended thanks to this evening’s excitement.

“Alright, you’re about to feel something different,” he warns kindly, puffs of his breath fanning out against the slickened skin of your labia. The low rumble of his voice sends another rush of wetness seeping out of your cunt, excitement mixing with terror while you await the pleasure you were promised. 

Your hips shift impatiently on the edge of the dingy inn bed, legs on either side of his still dressed torso. His tank top is untucked from his pants and he no longer wears his belt, discarding the unnecessary while remaining firmly in control of the situation. There isn’t much that makes his mouth water but the sight of warm and just for him pussy is doing just that, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

His thumbs massage the outside of your thighs, keeping you as relaxed as possible, and he leans in to kiss the temptation he can no longer deny himself. A simple smack, loud enough that you can both hear it, yet the moan that escapes you is positively sinful. High pitched and breathy and immediately obscured, clapping your palm over your mouth to keep yourself quiet. 

“Nope,” he simply responds from beneath your nightgown, hand reaching up to remove yours from over your mouth. “What’d I tell you? Half’a the fun is hearing how much you like it.”

One of the thumbs that was rubbing circles into your thigh now does the same on the back of your hand, calloused digit occasionally catching over the surface of your smooth skin. It’s no shock that your hands are soft like your body and your hair and your eyes, it’s what your life was meant to be like the minute you assumed the role of it.  Soft and easy, no roughness to throw you off track.

Yami chuckles and lets his tongue feel you this time, dragging the wet muscle through your folds, rewarded with another of those breathy moans. You do not rush to cover this one, tilting your head backward and letting your eyes flutter shut to focus on the sensation of another lick. He takes his time to get to know you slowly, brushing the flat of it over your hole and dragging the arousal he receives as a reward upward toward your clit.

He doesn’t release his skills on your sensitive bud so quickly but a simple brush of the side of his tongue against it is enough to make you squeal, shoulders rounding in momentarily. Repeating the motion, you squeal again and arch your back, thrusting your hips forward into his face and dragging every bit of you he can see across his mouth.

“W-what are you doing to me, Yami?” You ask breathlessly, elbows propping you up on the bed and keeping you grounded. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Your head swims with unfamiliar pressure, sparking a line from your brain to between your legs, all connected and you fight the urge to slump back onto the bed, too curious about the way that the light linen covering the man between your legs shrouds him. 

“Eating, obviously,” he mumbles against your body, tongue lapping against your clit. Your body reacts to each touch, thighs tensing on either side of his face, hips slowly bucking in pursuit of the feeling again and again. Your back arches and your moans are staccato babbles, elbows finally failing to hold you up when he gives your clit full attention.. “Oh my, wh–,” your back arches off of the bed before you can finish your thought, another rough lick to your throbbing clit followed by the warmth of his mouth while he sucks it between his lips, flicking the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. 

There is no denying that you may be prissy and perfectly pampered but he was clearly correct in his assumption about you being more than meets the eye. The way your body responds naturally to his ministrations, hips grinding and toes curling and lips keening, tells him every little secret you’re too demure to spill. You want to have sex for enjoyment, to chase your own pleasure and have your own fun. 

He’ll never fault someone for that although he believes he can get you to admit it’s the truth. Maybe not tonight but eventually he’ll convince you to drop the “good wife” act. If he weren’t enjoying himself so much he’d grumble about considering a future where the two of you will meet up for this again, too lost in his own enjoyment of your pretty noises to realize how unreasonable this was to begin with.

“Please keep going,” you beg, a tearless sob thickening your voice. 

Yami doesn’t look up, well aware of what he is capable of, but he keeps his hand over yours and continues rubbing gentle circles into it. You flip your hand and face your palm upward, loosely tangling your fingers with his, your hips now dragging across his lips wildly. It’s messy and you are dripping like a peak season fruit, drenching his chin and sending little droplets down onto his tank top and chest. Moans increase in pitch when his tongue dips inside of you, lapping at your sweetness and drinking it down with satisfied grunts, though he can tell you’re close solely by how you ride his face alone.

You lack the words to describe how you feel, not that you are a stranger to self pleasure, but it’s different when someone else is showing you the maximum of how you can feel. Every inch of you buzzes with a pleasant awareness, nerve endings sparking like celebratory fireworks, and you lift yourself up with your elbows to glance down at the man making you feel more than you ever thought possible, your nightgown no longer around his head. You were so lost you didn’t even realize he shifted to holding your nightgown up above your belly button with the hand you aren’t keeping occupied, those astute eyes appreciatively watching your chest heave and face twist.

“Yami, I think,” you start and he chuckles, sucking your clit between his lips again, sending you over the edge and effectively making sure you know how exactly it feels when someone else makes you cum. 

Dots of light spark in the corners of your vision and you slump down onto the bed, too spent from the strength of your orgasm to remain upright. The perpetrator of your current state untangles your fingers from his wordlessly and he rises to standing, leaning over your exhausted body and propping himself up with his forearm.

“Good as you thought it would be?” 

Giggling, you nod. It’s all you can think to do, truly left wordless and thoughtless, grateful that what you read on the pages of the books you hide amongst your more chaste picks were somewhat accurate to how the experience feels. There has been no insinuation that he expects reciprocation so you don’t bring it up, quietly glancing up at him and noticing that the distance between your face and his decreases every few seconds.

“Now taste.” 

He closes the little distance left, tongue pressing against the seam of your lips. You grant him entrance and whimper when your mouth fills with the taste of his tongue, a mixture of acrid tobacco and ale and something you could only recognize as yourself. 

“Pretty good, right?” All you can do is nod dumbly, still splayed awkwardly across the bed. Should you leave? Should you stay? Is that pesky reciprocation going to come into the conversation now? Yami glances down at you with something you’d almost mistake for warmth in his cool irises, rolling onto his back beside you and folding his arms over his chest. “Are you going to head home now or what?” 

You shake your head, letting your flipped up skirt rest against your belly, the air of the room cooling your heated skin. “No but I’m not going to expect you to stay if you have other business to attend to. I will stay the night and leave before sunrise.”

It’s what’s polite. You did pay for an entire night, after all, and your raising will not allow you to be rude. Pushy and precocious at times but never outright disrespectful. The man next to you sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, turning his face to look at you. 

Maybe you are as pretty as he originally thought. It could be all the blood rushing from his head to his dick, a problem he is attempting to solve mentally by envisioning anything but the satisfying contractions of your cunt while it cums for him, but you glow even in this low light. 

“Only thing I have to do is go downstairs and drink and then I’ll just end up running my mouth and losing money.” 

You giggle at his honesty, turning your face to look at him. The gruffness only adds to his aura, as unrefined as a man can be, yet you really do like it. Even if the two of you sit here in silence for the rest of the night, there’s much you feel you can learn by simply gazing at him, a quiet battle of wills unfolding between the two of you like the mist that fills the city on a summer morning. 

Permeating, inescapable, potentially trouble.

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Words: 8k (Because apparently I lack self control)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: References to disappearances, kidnapping, threats, and emotional angst. Explicit sex (reader is taught a couple of things). The calm before the storm.

Your stepfather is spreading rumors like wildfire, pushing Tommy to consider his options. Polly tries to prepare Tommy for what's coming soon. You're still awake when Tommy gets home late after a long day of business. You surprise him.

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.

The dull roar of conversation and the sound of clinking glasses filled the Garrison’s packed front room. Music from the old upright piano came from somewhere in the background, a few drunken voices rose in song, and boots scuffled against the floorboards. It was Friday night, and Small Heath drank like it needed to forget its many troubles for one night.

But behind the frosted glass of the Shelbys’ private booth, the mood was anything but festive. Here, the air was filled with cigarette smoke, tension, and quiet calculation. Tommy Shelby’s eyes scanned the manifest in front of him—half reading, half somewhere else entirely. Because truthfully, he wanted this meeting over with. The logistics, the dock delays, the endless talk of cargo and contacts and who needed reminding of which alliance—he could recite it all in his sleep. 

He wanted to get through it quickly—to get back to the quiet of his house, to the girl sleeping upstairs in his bed right now. Each day, she seemed to feel a little better, refusing the laudanum after the third night. In the last week, he'd managed to take a couple of his meals there with her, enjoying the fragile bond that was forming between them.

It was more than that. She’d been calmer in his presence. There was trust in her eyes, in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Each night she fell asleep on her side of the bed, and he woke up with her sprawled across him and his side of the bed early the next morning. Fortunately, she never woke when he did before dawn. It spared her from seeing the state their newfound intimacy left him in every morning.

Everything was still going according to his plan and he reminded himself of that in those moments when impatience got the best of him. Soon, Small Heath would learn the lesson he wanted to teach them. He'd have himself a nice young bride, all that was left were the formalities the way he saw it. Maybe he'd have her brother too as an addition to his crew.

All he knew was that it made him want to leave the ledgers behind, push the folders across the table, and walk out the door without a word. But for now, he focused on the task at hand —because business came first, and nothing could look out of place.

"Tom?" John's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

The three brothers and Liam were seated around their private table. The door was closed, the whiskey untouched, and the air held the kind of tension that meant money was moving, and so were men. The ledgers were open, papers spread across the table—manifest lists, customs logs, coded letters from France. Tommy scanned a page in silence, a cigarette between his fingers, while the others waited. 

“Imports from Marseille docked two days behind,” he said finally. “Customs was paid off, but someone held the cargo. You and Liam’ll see who’s sniffing around the docks,” he told John without looking up.

John nodded. “We talking bribes or trouble?”

“Could be both,” Tommy said flatly. “But we find out before they do.”

Arthur was still nursing a hangover from last night. He wasn’t talking much—just watching, brooding, his eyes red and tired. Liam took notes quietly, nodding when assigned to shadow the dockmaster, handle payouts, and verify the goods hadn’t been tampered with. It was business that had to be dealt with. The kind that kept the guns loaded and the books nice and clean. 

At least, it was—until John mentioned the whispers from the street. “You hear what they’re saying about us down by the canal?”

Tommy didn’t look up. “They're always saying something.”

“No,” John said, a little firmer, leaning in now. “This is different.”

That caught Arthur’s attention and he tensed. 

John continued in a low voice. “Sean O’Grady’s running his mouth about the coin toss he had with Arthur. He's complaining that the Shelbys took more than they were owed. Says the girl’s gone—vanished.” He glanced sideways at Arthur. “People are saying he took her and didn’t return her.”

The words hung thick in the air like smoke that wouldn’t clear. Arthur’s jaw locked. That old, familiar twitch started just below his eye—the one that usually came right before something got broken. No one spoke in that moment. Even John, who’d just delivered the news, went still. He watched carefully, knowing he just lit a fuse.

Arthur abruptly rose, color flooding his face. “Fuckin’ bastard,” Arthur muttered, fists already curling. “Talkin’ like I’m the one who crossed the line.” He was breathing harder now, pacing like a caged dog trying to burn off the anger in his blood. “I didn’t even touch her. I passed out cold, just like he planned it. And now my name’s getting dragged through the muck while he—” Arthur gestured to Tommy without finishing the sentence.

The tension was thick. John looked between them, like he was waiting for someone to throw the first punch—or stop the second. Tommy stayed in his seat. He pinned Athur him a stare. This wasn’t just about Sean O’Grady’s lies. It was also about Arthur’s pride.

And the Shelby's control in Small Heath.

“Arthur,” Tommy said.

But Arthur was already marching for the door. He didn’t slam it, but the click behind him was louder than any shout. 

John leaned back as he watched him go, whistling low. “That’s not gonna be the last time we hear about it.”

Tommy stubbed out his cigarette, lit another one.

John swirled his drink in its glass. “Apparently no one’s seen O’Grady’s wife in days.”

That got Tommy's attention. “What’s that?”

John shrugged. “Could be nothing. Could be she’s embarrassed. But Polly heard the mother’s beside herself. Grieving, crying. Not taking jobs.” He paused. "No one's really seen her."

Tommy exhaled slowly through his nose, smoke curling upward in a lazy spiral that drifted toward the low ceiling. Their room fell silent again, just the din of the rest of the bar in the background. John and Liam sat still, watching him. They knew what had happened. They’d been part of it. John had helped move the girl. Liam had been there that night too—a silent shadow keeping things tidy while the rest played out.

It wasn’t a secret. Not between them. Tommy didn’t lie to his own—not about business. Not when it mattered. And did he care that they knew? Not really. They were family. They understood the difference between personal and strategic—how sometimes the lines blurred when power was on the table. Besides, he hadn’t asked for approval. He didn’t need it. They might whisper when he left the room, might wonder if this one girl would shift something deeper inside their brother—but they’d still follow orders. Still fall in line. Because Tommy Shelby didn’t ask for permission. He moved pieces. And they knew better than to question the hand that moved the board.

Tommy hated rumors. Not because they were lies—he could handle lies. Lies were useful. Lies could be shaped, steered, crushed under a boot or fed back to the streets with a smile and a drink. But rumors… rumors had teeth. They spread without control. They bred in silence, passed from one mouth to the next until truth didn’t matter anymore—only perception. And perception was power.

The Shelbys thrived on it—on the fear, the respect, the sharp silence that followed their name down every alley. But now the whispers said Arthur Shelby couldn’t finish what he started. That the girl had vanished. That the Shelbys were hiding something—or someone. He could feel it coming. There would be glances that lasted a little too long. Men would lower their voices when he passed. They were watching. Waiting. And Tommy knew—that couldn't stand. Not because his pride demanded it. Because power demanded it. And if Small Heath thought for even a second that the Shelbys could be questioned, that a drunk like Sean O’Grady could take a swing at their name and walk away unbloodied—then everything he was building would begin to rot from the inside out.

And it was more than just the bloody rumors. It was about damage control. Arthur’s pride, dented and dangling in front of the wolves like bloody bait, was a match in a powder keg. His girl’s safety, and the fragile hold Tommy had on the peace she was beginning to settle into, was at risk. It was about the next move in a game Sean O’Grady didn’t realize he’d already lost.

Tommy leaned back slowly in his seat, tipping his head back as thoughts layered one over another. He considered her mother who no one had seen in days. Was she truly ill? Or had Sean raised his hands, punishing her for his shame? Polly described the woman was delicate, quiet. The type who would break easily in silence.

Then there was Rory. The lad had steel in him—enough to walk into a Shelby-owned betting shop with a weapon tucked in his coat and a question in his heart. If he’d seen his mother bruised, broken… would he act on it? Would he go for the knife this time instead of turning it over in his palm? Tommy’s fingers tapped against the edge of the table. If Rory made a move now, it could really throw a wrench in his well-laid plans.

And then, his thoughts shifted  to her. She was still unsure, but inching closer to trusting him. She didn't know about the rumors nor her stepfather's public slander. She didn't know about her mother. He had to keep it that way. She’d bolt if she found out and run straight back into danger.

Stubbing out his cigarette, Tommy regarded each of them slowly—John, then Liam. Arthur was gone, and letting him stew wasn’t the worst thing. He needed to burn some of that fury off before Tommy could use it properly. But these two—they were still here. Still waiting. Time to make a move. Before someone else did.

“We don’t let this drag,” he said finally, voice low but sharp enough to cut through the silence.

John sat up straighter, already keyed in. “You want him silenced?”

Tommy shook his head once. “Not yet. Silenced men can’t suffer. We make it slow.”

Liam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak.

Tommy continued, eyes narrowing. “Find out where he drinks, who he’s talking to. Find the wife. I want eyes on her, too.”

John nodded. “You think he’s laid hands on her?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. “We make him nervous,” Tommy went on. “Not dead. Not yet. Let him feel the breath on his neck. Then we remind him what it means to put the Shelby name in his mouth.”

He sat back again, lighting another cigarette with quiet finality.

“And if he sends anyone near the house…” John didn't finish the sentence.

Smoke curled from Tommy’s lips as his gaze met John's. “We send them back in pieces.” His kept his tone casual. It wasn't a threat. It was a fact.

John didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. He just gave a single sharp nod.

Let them whisper about wagers. Let them question Arthur’s name, the girl’s disappearance. But if anyone came near that house, near her, if Sean O’Grady so much as looked in that direction—the response would be surgical. No negotiation. No second chances.

Tommy tapped ash into the tray, slow and steady. “If they test us,” he said, eyes still on John, “I want the answer to be so clear they never ask again.”

Then he looked away, finally, his attention shifting to the window and the distorted shapes of the Garrison beyond the glass. Because the game had changed. Now it was personal. And that meant it had to be handled… perfectly.

Tommy took a long drag from the cigarette between his fingers, as the others absorbed what he'd said. But even as he laid out the next steps—another name edged back into his thoughts. 

Rory.

The lad had held it together the first time. Had come to Tommy instead of spilling blood. That had earned him a measure of respect—and, more importantly, a stay of consequences. But this was different. Sean’s name was in everyone’s mouth now. The girl’s absence wasn’t just whispered about—it was noticed. The mother had disappeared, and if Rory had seen what Tommy suspected he’d seen, his temper would be at a rolling boil. And Rory Flynn, for all his quiet strength and good intentions, was still young, desperate, and dangerous.

Tommy sighed, the thought twisting in his chest like a nail worked loose. He couldn’t risk Rory doing something stupid. Not just for the boy’s sake. Not just for hers. But because if Rory acted out of emotion now—if he laid a hand on Sean—he’d throw the whole balance off. It would disolve into chaos.

Tommy turned to Liam. “Find Rory Flynn. Tonight.”

Liam straightened. “Want me to bring him in?”

“No,” Tommy said. “Just watch him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything... irreparable.” He tapped ash into the tray. “If he starts sharpening a blade, I want to know before the first drop spills.”

John leaned in slightly. “Think he’ll go for O’Grady?”

Tommy stared at the swirling smoke in front of him. “He wants to... But he won’t. Not yet. He’s smart. Smarter than people give him credit for.”

John leaned back in his chair, one arm slung casually over the backrest, but there was a flicker of something sharper in his eyes—curiosity, maybe. Or caution. He took a sip of his drink, then asked, “So… are you givin’ her back?” John didn’t say her name.

The question hung in the air—blunt, bold, and only something one of his brothers could get away with. Liam looked down quickly, pretending to reread the papers in front of him.

Give her back? As if she were borrowed. As if she were something he’d taken on a whim and could now return like a misplaced coat. No. That wasn’t how this worked.

Now, when the meetings dragged too long or the nights stretched thin, he thought of her. Not as leverage. Not as property. As someone. He thought of the way she looked at him—guarded but watching. Waiting to see if he was a man or just another monster in a sharper suit. He thought of her voice when it softened. She'd stopped flinching when he entered the room now.

Tommy wasn’t used to being someone people trusted. Feared, yes. Respected, when it counted. But not trusted. She made him want to be that man. Even if he didn’t believe he could be.

So no—he wouldn’t give her back. Not to Sean O’Grady. Not to anyone.

Tommy turned his head slowly, met John’s eyes with a cool, unwavering look. “No,” he said simply.

John nodded, like he expected that answer. “Didn’t think so.”

***

The house was quiet and still when Tommy returned. It was well after midnight. Only the soft tick of the grandfather clock echoed as he hung his coat  and cap, running a hand through his hair, weariness clinging to him like smoke. 

Everyone was in bed—except Polly. She waited in the archway to the sitting room with her arms crossed. The dim lamplight cast deep shadows across her face. “We need a word,” she said, not asking.

Tommy didn’t argue, just followed her inside. She poured a splash of whiskey into a glass—just one—and handed it to him before sitting.

“Arthur’s melting down.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were sharp. “Everything coming from O’Grady’s camp is eating at him. He’s not just angry, Tom. He feels betrayed. By you.”

Tommy didn’t drink, just stared down into the glass for a moment. “I know.”

“What do you plan to do?”

The answer wasn’t simple. Arthur was fire and glass—burning and breakable all at once. You couldn’t just scold him into sense or soothe him with empty reassurances. He didn’t respond to softness, not when the damage ran deep. The weight of what had happened—the lie, the shift of control, the humiliation of having his name whispered through pubs like he’d lost his edge—that didn’t sit quietly in Arthur’s chest. It twisted, boiled, curdled into something worse. He’d trusted Tommy and followed his lead, even when it meant swallowing his pride and taking a step back. And now he was being painted as the weak one, the fool who’d made a deal he couldn’t finish.

It was the sort of thing that festered in Arthur. He’d take it in for a while, laugh it off, drink it down. Until something snapped—and then, it would come out in a burst of fists or a broken bottle or a body left in the wrong alley.

And Tommy couldn’t afford that.

Arthur needed to be managed—not with orders, but with truth. And maybe, this time, Tommy would have to give him more than he usually did. A glimpse behind the curtain. A reason not to burn everything down. Because if Arthur went off the rails now, they’d all feel it.

And Tommy was already holding the line tighter than anyone realized.

“I’ll talk to him,” Tommy said at last. “Soon.”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “We also need to talk about what I’ve been hearing from O’Grady.”

Tommy’s gaze lifted, sharp and immediate. There was a different edge to Polly’s tone—one that meant it wasn’t gossip.

Polly nodded grimly. “His wife hasn’t been seen in days. Word is, she’s taken to her bed, worried. I doubt that. O'Grady's a brute. Always has been. He used to beat his first wife black and blue. She died with the child she tried to birth. After that, many of us hoped he wouldn't marry again, but...”

She trailed off, lips pursed in quiet contempt.

What a bloody waste.  That Malachy Flynn’s family had fallen into the clutches of a bastard like Sean O’Grady. He'd died a war hero. And what was the fate of his family? His daughter, bartered like livestock. His wife, left to rot under the bruising hands of a man who never should’ve been allowed to lay claim to them. And he’d left behind a good son, too. He’d walked in ready to take on the Shelbys, not because he was stupid, but because he was desperate. Because he loved his sister. Because someone had to protect what was left of their family. His were the actions of a man. Malachy would’ve been proud of that. Would’ve wanted better for his boy. Better than the factory lines. Better than a household soaked in silence and bruises. Better than being forced to carry the weight of a man like Sean O’Grady.

It sat wrong in Tommy’s gut. Not just as strategy—as a man.

He downed the rest of the whiskey and set the glass down hard enough to rattle. “He should’ve been buried with his first wife.”

Polly just nodded, grim and silent. “It’s getting out,” she continued, folding her arms. “People are talking. They’re saying the girl disappeared after the wager, and that her mother’s sick with grief. And O’Grady?” She gave a humorless laugh. “He’s unraveling, but still loud enough to make it sound like we’re the villains.”

Tommy didn’t speak. He moved instead—slow, deliberate—rising from the chair and walking to the sideboard. He poured himself another measure of whiskey, let the bottle clink softly back into place. Then he turned, lifting the glass, taking a slow sip as if he were thinking it over—but he wasn’t. He already knew.

O’Grady was shifting public sympathy. Playing the wounded father. Painting himself as the man whose household was ripped apart by Shelby greed. And worse—people were beginning to listen.

“The pity changes things,” Polly said quietly, reading the same map Tommy was. “When they start feeling sorry for the girl, for the mother… the pressure builds. They’ll want answers. And they’ll come looking. Eventually, someone’s going to try and find her.”

Tommy stared into his glass. “Then they won’t like what they find.”

It was going the way he’d planned—for the most part. The girl was safe. Hidden. The message was building. The streets were talking. Good. Let them wonder. Let them whisper. Let every man in Small Heath who’d ever tossed a coin and wagered a woman’s dignity feel the cold edge of consequence tightening around their throats.

But what he hadn’t counted on… Was O’Grady attacking Arthur. Not with fists—but with whispers. Spinning the story. Playing the victim. Rewriting the wager as a betrayal. Painting Arthur as the man who couldn’t keep his end, stealing more than was owed. And worse—people were starting to believe it.

Because Arthur, loud and volatile, always wore his shame on the outside. And Sean O’Grady? He knew how to bleed in front of the right crowd. A drunken brute turned grieving stepfather. It was clever. Cowardly, but clever.

And now Arthur was fraying at the edges, his temper boiling just beneath the surface, and if he broke—if he snapped in public— everything Tommy had set in motion would come undone.

He'd put men around the house, unseen but there, until everything was done. To keep his family safe and to protect her.

“She can’t hear it,” he said flatly. “Any of it. Especially not about her mother. Not until I know the truth.”

Polly nodded, lips pursed. “So you do care what she thinks of you.”

Tommy didn’t take the bait. 

“She’s feeling better,” Polly said, shifting gears. “Restless. Getting underfoot a bit. She reminded me that she worked as a seamstress and can do sewing or mending if we have any.”

Tommy looked up at that. He remembered. That's how he met her, taking his coat for mending. But she hadn’t said anything to him about sewing. Not a word. He thought back—how she’d been quiet, polite, cautious, always watching for signs of what he expected from her. How she’d never asked for anything more than what was given. And even then, only what she thought she could return in silence. A bitter taste rose in his mouth at the thought of it—how little she must expect from the people around her. How small she still made herself, even now.

He could see it clearly in his mind—the old Singer sewing machine tucked in the corner of one of the guest bedrooms, covered with a cloth no one had moved in years. It had belonged to his grandmother.

And those dresses she now wore. Ada’s old clothes—well enough for a temporary fix, but they weren’t hers. They didn’t fit her right. They didn’t move like they belonged to the woman who now walked his halls. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like that she was walking around in someone else’s shape, like she didn’t deserve her own.

“If she wants to sew,” he said at last, voice low, “let her. Make sure she sees the machine.”

Polly tilted her head, watching him. “We're in agreement then. Good. She’s not asking for much, Tommy. She's barely asked for anything since she got here.”

“Then give her what she needs.” Because if she was going to stay—and she was—he didn’t want her patching together the pieces of someone else’s life. He wanted her building something new. Something that was hers. 

Polly watched him, reading more than he gave. “She’s not just sewing, Tommy. She’s looking for something to do. Somewhere to belong.”

He downed the rest of the whiskey in one drink. “Then she’ll have it.”

And he meant it. Whatever came next—Arthur’s temper, Sean’s trap, the girl’s questions—it would all be dealt with. Because keeping her safe wasn’t just about the outside world anymore. It was about keeping her whole, even if he wasn’t.

Tommy just stared into the fire, thumb slowly circling the rim of his glass.

Polly sighed. “You do realize that she doesn’t know.”

His gaze shifted, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Not really. Not the truth of it. She thinks she was caught in a bad deal between men.” Her eyes narrowed, voice low but cutting. “She doesn’t know you were the one who steered Arthur into making that wager. You had her delivered. That you drugged him just to keep her untouched until you could step in.”

He didn’t flinch. But he knew she saw it anyway. 

“You created the entire bloody scenario, Tommy. Don’t pretend it was all about sending a message to Small Heath. You used that to justify your reasons.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice softer but sharper now. “You did it because your eye fell on her. And you decided, in all your brilliant, broken logic, that you were going to have her.” She let that sink in. “What happens when she finds out?”

He looked away, only for a second. When his gaze returned returned to hers, it was steady. Polly wasn’t accusing. She was warning.

“You think she won’t? That someone won’t slip up? That she won’t put the pieces together herself?”

Tommy’s grip tightened on his glass in his hand. Polly was right. She would find out. And when she did, he’d have to face more than her fury. He’d have to face the possibility that she’d never look at him the same way again. And that, more than anything, unnerved him the most.

Polly watched him closely, her tone softening slightly. “I can usually hear you at night, you know,” she said. “From across the hall. When the nightmares come.”

Tommy didn’t look at her. 

Polly continued, her voice low, matter-of-fact. “You thrash. You shout. Sometimes you cry out names you don’t remember in the morning. Sometimes you don’t sleep at all.”

The darkest visions from the war visited him often at night. The nightmares didn't come from the bullets or the blood, but from the silence between the shell blasts—the moments when he had time to realize he was still alive while better men were not. Now that Polly mentioned it, he hadn't had a single one since he'd moved her into his house, his bed.

Polly waited, but he said nothing.

“But since you moved her into your room…” She paused. “Well, I've heard some things... But not your nightmares.”

The truth settled between them like smoke.

“She calms something in you,” Polly said, quieter now. “And maybe you don’t want to admit that, maybe you can’t… but it doesn’t make it any less true.” She straightened, blowing out an exhale as she studied him. “So the question isn’t if she’ll find out what you did to get her. The question is what you’ll do when she does. Because if she walks out that door, Thomas…” Her gaze was sharp, but not cruel. Just honest. “You won’t sleep again.”

And with that, Polly turned and left the room, leaving him alone with the fire and the weight of everything he hadn't yet said.

***

The moonlight spilled across the floor in soft pools of light, casting long shadows across the floorboards. You sat in the window seat, knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them, chin resting on the crook of your elbow. The night was quiet and still. But your mind wasn’t. Your eyes followed the curve of the moon as it rose over Small Heath, pale and full in a sky smeared with clouds. You hadn’t meant to stay awake this long—had tried to will yourself to sleep—but your thoughts wouldn't quiet.

When the door opened, your fatigue evaporated.

Tommy. He looked tired tonight—shoulders tense, tie loosened—but he smiled when he saw you.

“You should be asleep by now,” he said, voice low and warm as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“I tried,” you admitted. “But it’s hard… It's like my mind won’t stop when it gets quiet.”

He said nothing at first, just watched you for a moment—like he understood more than he was saying. 

But you had another reason for staying awake. You wanted something. You lowered your knees until you were sitting normally at the window, fingers twisting gently in your lap. It was worth a try. The endless days of being confined to Tommy's house with nothing to do were wearing on you. You were prepared for his answer no matter what it was. But a needle and some thread to do any mending they needed wasn't a lot to ask for. 

And if he wanted something in return? 

Tommy had been so kind to you for the last week during your monthly. To your surprise, he hadn't demanded anything at all. Your mother had once explained that keeping men happy in a marriage was one of the few cards women had to play. Granted, you weren't married to Tommy, didn't know if you'd ever be married to anyone now. But you'd already been intimate with him. It was only a matter of time before he turned his attention back to that, right? Someone as powerful as him wasn't doing any of this out of the kindness of his heart.

But sometimes... it felt like he was.

No, you had to stop thinking like that. As soon as Tommy got what he wanted from this situation, you had some plans to make. You'd need to go somewhere else and pray this scandal didn't follow you.

But first, you had to get through tonight. If he wanted something... Honestly, it wasn't too unpleasant, especially the second time. You'd even enjoyed some of it. But what kind of woman did it make you to be thinking like that? Shaking your head at yourself, you sighed, battling your anxiety.

“I actually stayed up because… I wanted to ask you for something,” you admitted, wilting under his steady gaze. 

He raised a brow, moving closer now. “Go on.”

You glanced back out at the moon for a breath, gathering yourself. "You probably remember that I help my mum with sewing for people. Mending and repairs. I can even make clothing. Nothing fancy, but… if there’s anything in the house that needs stitching or patching, I’d like to help. If you'll allow it." Your gaze met his. “You told me to ask you. So… I am.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Just stood there, painted by the soft gold of the lamp by the bed. His eyes stayed on you—unblinking, unreadable. It made your breath hitch, the way he could go so still. You looked down again, already regretting it. Maybe it had been the wrong time. Maybe he thought it was foolish. Maybe—

“Alright,” he said, simply.

You blinked, glancing back up. His expression had softened, just a little. Enough to make your chest tighten. 

“You’ll have what you need,” he added. “Thread, fabric… whatever Polly hasn’t already set aside.”

You could only nod, the relief flooding through you too quickly to find words. He stepped closer, slow, and crouched a little to meet your eye level.

“That wasn't so hard. I'm hiding you from Small Heath right now.” His voice was quiet but firm. “But in this house, you're not invisible. You're allowed to ask for what you need."

You swallowed hard, trying not to look too moved by the kindness in that—because it wasn’t just approval. It felt like permission to exist. Your lips parted. A quiet, shaky, “Thank you.”

He stood again. 

Then, without quite thinking, you added, “I think about my mother, and Rory, every day. This will help keep my mind busy.”

His shoulders stilled, just slightly. Tommy looked at you with something close to understanding—and something else, too. Something fierce and quiet. "I’ll see to them,” he said. “When the time is right, you’ll know everything. You'll get to see them.”

And strangely, you believed him. Not because he said it gently. Because he said it like a vow. You thought him saying you'd "get to see them" was a little odd. Once everything was over, you'd be going back home, right?

You watched him in silence as he moved about the room—shedding the weight of the day one layer at a time. Jacket off. Waistcoat next. He rolled his sleeves up with practiced ease, every movement smooth and unhurried. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this—quiet, tired, thoughtful—but there was something different about tonight. Maybe it was the way he paused slightly, glancing over his shoulder at you as he unbuttoned his cuffs. Maybe it was the way his brow lifted just a little—curious.

“You got your answer,” he said casually, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Was there something else?”

You shifted your weight slightly, embarrassed to be caught lingering. "I'm sorry," you muttered, rising from the window seat and moving to the bed.

He didn’t say anything as you crossed the room—just followed you with his eyes. You climbed onto the bed, keeping close to your side, careful not to take up more space than necessary. The sheets were cool, the pillow soft, but your skin tingled with awareness. You turned to your side, back to the wall, knees drawn slightly up. It was habit by now—putting a little distance between yourself and him, even if he’d never asked for it.

Still, you couldn’t help it. You watched him. Tried not to, but you did.

He finished unfastening his shirt, pulling it off with a fluid motion before draping it neatly over the back of a chair. The soft lamplight caught the lines of his back—strong, lean muscle shifting beneath skin marked by old scars. Pale against the shadows, silent testaments to a life that had never been gentle. He moved with a kind of quiet confidence, not trying to impress or intimidate—just existing in the way only a man who'd seen too much could.

"If you're going to keep looking at me like that," he said, "I might start wondering about your intentions."

Your breath caught. You were caught. Still, your gaze lingered just a second longer before you turned your eyes away—but it was too late. He'd seen it.

And when he crossed the room to join you, it was with a quiet, self-assured ease. He stretched out on his back beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loosely across his abdomen. A small smile played at the corners of his lips—not smug, but amused. 

“Something else you wanted?” he murmured, tone casual, teasing.

The hint of amusement in his voice was unmistakable, and it made your stomach flip. You looked over at him, just briefly, then back toward the ceiling. 

What were you doing? He'd given you the answer you were hoping for and he wasn't asking for anything in return. Maybe he was just being kind and not wanting to bother you during your time. Men had no idea how any of that worked. Or maybe... You didn't like the small voice whispering in the back of your mind that maybe he didn't want you anymore. Maybe once his business was settled with your stepfather, he wouldn't need you anymore and you'd be on your own. Maybe he already had what he wanted from you.

Those worries lingered but didn't feel quite right.

"Someone's thinking very hard over there," he mused, still with that note of teasing in his tone. 

Just sleep. Tell him goodnight and go to sleep.

No, you couldn't. Because you wanted an answer to that question. You needed to know if you were reading too much into things.

He was the most powerful man in Birmingham. If he hadn't been trying to use your stepfather to get his point across, would he have even looked at you twice? Was it just the wager? You'd never seen him with anyone but if he ever had a woman on his arm, you'd expect her to be beautiful, sophisticated. You were neither of those things.

Still, it was the random moments when you were alone together that made you wonder if there was more to it. The way he could be caring. Those rare smiles he'd flash. Was it only in your head?  

With no idea what you were doing, you sat up in bed. His gaze stayed on you, the look in his pale-blue eyes pure intensity. You moved closer to him, your hand trembled as you raised it, sliding it along his cheek. Tommy held completely still for you as you held his face in your hand but his expression shifted. The amusement faded, replaced by challenge and desire. How easily the man could burn you down with a single look. 

You leaned in close, feeling like you couldn't breathe but unable to turn back now. You just brushed your lips against his at first, soft and seeking. Tommy wasn't stopping you. He held still and you took it as permission to continue. You kissed him again, more insistently. You weren't sure what to do with your tongue so you shyly ran it along his bottom lip as you went. From there you weren't sure what to do next, and started questioning yourself on what you were doing to start with.

The moment you hesitated, his arms closed around you tightly, hauling you against him. He claimed your mouth with a kiss that sent your heart flying. One hand clutched the back of your gown, the other clutched in your hair. Your hands landed on his bare chest, your fingertips smoothing over muscle and warm flesh. He smelled of sandalwood and whiskey. His warm breath pelted against your face as he pulled back, his gaze searching yours. 

Apparently he found no lie, no duplicity. He smiled, it was just so gorgeous, so genuine that it had your heart shifting in your chest. "Is this what you were after, love?"

You didn't know what to say. You just wanted him to keep smiling at you like that. You nodded. And for good measure, you slid your arms around his neck and kissed him again. You were learning. The deep moan you pulled from him with that kiss made your entire body tingle. Your lips danced together feverishly as his hands yanked up your gown with haste. He only broke the kiss to pull it over your head, to reveal you to him, leaving you only in your drawers. Yes, you were exposed and didn't like the vulnerability it brought, but the heat in those pale blue-colored eyes as his gaze moved over you, froze you to the spot. 

"I called you pretty before," he whispered, "but I changed my mind... You're fucking beautiful." 

He left you no time to react to that. His rough hands skimmed all over your body as he tantalized you with his kisses, seeking out the places that would make you tremble. Your nipples were so tight they hurt under his palms. Tommy pulled you onto his lap as he kissed you but arranged you so that you straddled his body, the center of you just above his muscular thighs. He left you panting when he broke the kiss, his hands going to the front of his trousers, pulling them open and pushing them down his slim hips. Tommy laid back then, taking himself in hand. You watched how his hand moved, the carnality of the act fascinating you. 

"Touch me," he whispered, his voice rough. Impatiently, he grabbed your hand and guided you to wrap your fingers around him. He felt like warm velvet under your fingers as his hand closed over yours, showing you what he liked in gentle, easy movements. Once you picked up the rhythm he wanted, his own hand fell away, landing on your bare thigh. You must have done something right because his eyes slid closed, his jaw slack like the only thing he wanted in the entire world was your hand on his cock. 

"I've thought about this for days," he whispered. "Could barely focus on my meeting earlier, thinking about you."

You knew he was only talking about sex but you couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat, hearing that he thought about you at all. You kept your hand moving on him, trying to be careful. When you squeezed him just a little, his breath huffed out. He hardened in your hand. You made your grip a little firmer and he moaned, a deep sound that you felt everywhere. It had your own body clenching in need, weeping for him.

"You're a fast learner," he muttered, his eyes slitting open to watch you. "Now, put your mouth on me."

While you had no experience with men before Tommy, you had heard of what he was asking for before. Your mum's best friend had a daughter named Anne who was only a couple of years younger than you. Once when your families visited each other, she told you about what she got up to with the local boys. How she drove them wild. She hadn't been instructing you per se but she told you enough about her exploits that you had an idea of how it went. 

You pressed a kiss to the head of him, shiny and smooth. Then another. You jerked a little at first, to feel his hand on your head, not moving you but there. When you swiped at him with your tongue, he sucked in a breath. You froze. Was that a good thing or had you hurt him? A quick glance at his face showed you that amazing eyes were on you, watching you as you teased him with your mouth. 

When your lips spread around him to pull the head into your mouth, you tasted him. Slowly, you kept going, wrapping a hand around him at the base while your mouth teased the top. You got braver, working more of him into your mouth as he watched. You kept your tongue moving around him, kept your teeth away. Tommy's hips moved with you now, a silent demand for more. All the while he watched, color flooding his face, that blue-eyed gaze on you so intently. Now the hand on your head did guide your movements, urging you to continue.

"Such a good girl." Tommy was breathless. "Feels fucking amazing."

You carried on but within seconds, both of his hands were on your head, urging you to stop. Tommy was panting above you and when your gaze met his, you were so confused. Had you done something wrong? Had you hurt him?

It was like he could see the question in your mind, his expression softened. "That's good. Too good... Not the way I want to end though."

You weren't sure what that meant and you didn't get a chance to think about it. His hands darted between your thighs, fingers sliding into the drawers you wore, sliding easily on all the wetness he found there. He groaned, grabbing your hips and moving you up his body, positioning you over his cock. You didn't understand what he wanted until he pulled your drawers to one side, creating a path for himself at your entrance and you were shaking. Him pushing into you while your drawers were still on was indecent, had your heart pounding in your chest. 

He was inside you but this time you were on top and you weren't sure what to do. Tommy realized that, holding onto your hips and pushing up into you. It felt different, hitting new pleasure points inside you. His movements had you leaning forward, your hands on his chest. He started rolling his hips up into you, using his hands to pull you down on him at the same time. 

"Ride me," he whispered as he kept moving you on his cock, his thrusts speeding up until it felt like he was punching the air from your lungs. 

Changing the position of your legs, you found a way to move on him, helping him along. Your walls clenched around him and you tried circling your hips on him as you moved. 

"Fuck, yes." The heat in his gaze letting you know you were onto something.

You kept going, moving in ways that you hoped made him feel good. It definitely made you feel good. Your nails raked over Tommy's chest as those sensations built in your lower body. Your gaze locked with his as you were joined as one, both chasing relief from the heat and the lust rushing through your veins. When you leaned closer to him, each thrust hit your most sensitive point. You were shaking as all that sensation came for you, and when it hit, it took your breath away. Beneath you, Tommy went faster, his grip on you almost painful as he came. 

Your arms trembled and gave way, leaving you to collapse over him, both of you struggling to breathe as if you'd run a mile. His heartbeat was so loud as you lay sprawled over him and his arms wrapped around you. You liked the way his fingers drew lines over your back, the way his damp skin felt against your cheek.

He pressed a kiss into your hair. "Ever used a sewing machine?"

"No," you replied. "Always wanted to. Mum and I once thought about trying to put some money back each week from what we made to try and save up for one. There was always something more important that came up, that we needed the money for."

You didn't mention that your stepfather with his drinking and gambling was the reason you could never save money, why you struggled to put food on the table.

"We have one," Tommy said. "Polly will get it for you tomorrow, along with any sewing notions we have for you to use."

You lifted your head in excitement, your gaze meeting his. "Really?"

"Really," he said, the corners of his mouth curving up. "Tomorrow. It's after midnight right now. Get some sleep."

You were sleepy, and happy to have something to do tomorrow to keep from worrying about your Mum and Rory every waking moment. And your future.

You fell asleep in his arms, unaware he stayed awake for a while, just watching over you. Polly's words ran through his mind, haunting him.

@outlanderuniverse

@alyssajunelle

@gothic-chinadoll

@sparda1234

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Hello Nicholas!

If you don't mind me asking, why did you choose the name Nicolas? Idk I just like learning why people who've picked their own names made the choice they did

(I have the incredibly silly reason of "it was given to me in a Minecraft server because it was shorter than my username and the movie Life of Pi had just come out." So now I'm Pi, and I have been for like 12 years. I didn't even like the movie that much, and the friend group all went their separate ways after high school. Fun fact, the guy who ran the Minecraft server was in my class, and he went by Link. His "real" name is Nathan. Even the teachers called him Link, and that's what was on his assignments. It was too the point where we had a substitute who did attendance, and Link almost got marked absent because he didn't realize that the sub had called his name because it said Nathan on the paper. Which is valid and honestly I'd love to reach the point where my deadname is so detached from me that I don't even realize somebody is talking about me. Also, he was Link because he loves Legend of Zelda)

Oh ho, it's Nick Lore time!

I don't internalize my own name. My inner monologue doesn't work like that. Never has. Dunno if that was from dysphoria or the autism. So, what to call myself has always been strange.

When I was a little kid, I masculinized my birth name of "Jamie Nicole" to "James Nicholas" because it was convenient. My nickname was actually "James", and this made me gender euphoric, even though the name didn't fit me.

My first real "secret boy name" was Garet, after the Weapons Master character in the Shannara book series. I just thought he was cool. I was a teenager and still into edgelord fantasy characters. It's kind of funny how in fantasy, this is a stock "rogue" name.

In college, I started toying seriously with what to call myself. It's no secret on this blog that I love the All Creatures Great & Small book series. I saw a lot of both myself at the time and who I wanted to be in the character of Siegfried Farnon, and wanted to take his name. But I also felt it might be a Bit Too Much, and tried his brother's name - Tristan - on for size. I liked it a lot. I was ready to commit.

Family and friends... did not take my coming out very well. Not with violence, but with either lukewarm reception or a desire for it all to just Go Away. Even the "supporters" at the time felt the need to tell me they didn't like my choice of name. It was devastating. I couldn't bear the thought of the name, Tristan, anymore - what should have been joy became shorthand for my rejection. I think that's a big part of why I pushed this particular piece of comfort media away for many years, despite it being so formative and literally sanity-saving to me as a kid.

So, I stuck with my gender neutral birth name (and sucked up having a feminine middle name) for ages. Until I was in my 40s. Then it become too much to bear. Hearing my birth name felt like the death of a thousand cuts.

I will admit I compromised again a bit in the end. I went back to a masculinized birth name, I just switched the order to "Nicholas James". I wanted to assert myself to my mother (who wanted me to be "James") and I did genuinely like "Nicholas". I like having a name structure where there is a formal ("Nicholas"), informal ("Nick"), and diminutive version ("Nicky") in the name. There's also a fictional Nick that I love (Nick Valentine from Fallout 4.) I won't lie, I still think it'd be fun and affirming to go back to Tristan or commit to Siegfried, but I don't want to go through the entire social and legal process again, especially because with the former I know I will get shade for being the sort of autistic that is a sponge wrt fictional character traits, and with the latter, I worry it will put me on government Lists. I do like being called Nicholas/Nick -- it is affirming and it does finally feel like my own name. And hey, "James" is the name of another character I loved in my precious book series, so I have that box checked as well.

I still don't call myself anything in my internal monologue, though. Brains are weird.

But the tldr; here, which I think you have also alluded to, is that how we name ourselves doesn't have to be seen as cringe and it's very easy to just roll with someone's choice. And god knows parents name their kids after fictional characters and random concepts all the time. Naming yourself is both affirming and vulnerable, not just along the cis/trans axis. So, don't be a dick when someone tells you they want to be called [name].

[fallenbratfiction]

shared desk part 3 ~ bucky barnes x f!reader

This is part three of shared desk! You can check out the prior chapters on my masterlist!

A/N: I have kept you waiting for so long for this!! here you go the official date date!! I don't even know what to say, its gone off the rails completely. I just couldn't stop typing.

mentions: lots of flirting my dudes, unprotected sex, p/v, couch sex my dudes on a really awful couch, I guess some slight angst or vulnerable moment between reader and bucky. If you think I'm missing any important mentions let me know

minors dni. if you're under 18 don't interact with this fic or my blog. I'm not responsible for what you choose to do.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

as always, i hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this! no fr, I hope you do enjoy this.

The next morning, he’s already at the desk when you arrive—unusual for him. There's a cup of coffee waiting beside your chair.

"I didn’t know what coffee you like, so I just… went safe," Bucky says with a soft chuckle, his eyes not quite meeting yours.

You smile, taking a sip. "This is good. I like it."

He nods, relief flickering across his face before both of you settle into your usual rhythm. The clack of keys, occasional sips, the faint hum of low conversation and machines around you. Comfortable silence.

But something’s shifting under the surface—bubbling just beneath—and you can feel it coming before he even says anything.

"Hey…" he blurts, breaking the silence. “Can we talk about the kiss?”

You glance up, fingers pausing mid-sentence in your email. “Yeah. What’s up, Buck?”

His hand runs through his hair. Nervous. “I mean, we can talk later if you're busy—”

“It’s just an email. Tell me.”

He hesitates, then exhales. “I didn’t plan on doing it—it just happened.”

Your brow lifts. “Oh shit. Was that not meant to happen? You wanna pretend it didn’t?”

“What? No. No, nothing like that.” He shakes his head quickly. “Just… in my mind, I’d planned it differently.”

A beat.

You lean back in your chair, coffee in hand. “Well… sometimes things come out even better unplanned.”

That stops him. You see it in his eyes—how the words hit and settle. He looks at you like he’s thinking about kissing you again, right here, right now. But he just nods, slowly.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah. You’re right."

It goes back to silent. You finish the email and he goes back to his work except he blurts out again.

“So… listen,” he starts, clearing his throat. “My idea was, uh… to walk you home, of course. So you don’t get murdered late at night.”

A small laugh escapes you, the kind that tugs at the corner of your lips despite trying to keep it cool. He keeps going, nervous energy in full swing.

“But really—I just wanted to ask you out. Like, actually out. A proper date. A nice one. Or not formal, if you’re not into formal. It doesn’t have to be, I just—something that’s not a coworking lunch. Though those are nice too. I like those. We can still do those—”

“Buck,” you interrupt, amusement dancing in your eyes, “you’re going off.”

“Right. Sorry.” He exhales, cheeks a little pink. “I just wanted to do things right. In order.”

You raise a brow, playful. “Didn’t know you were a control freak.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? You didn’t notice ‘til now?”

You both laugh—and it’s a little too loud for the quiet, focused vibe of the coworking space. A few people glance over. One guy near the printer gives you both a look that definitely says get a room.

After a beat, you lean in just slightly, your voice soft but sure.

“So this proper date… is it still in the plan?”

He looks at you like he’s been waiting to be asked that exact question.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

After the laughter settles, you both ease back into work. But it’s different now—there’s this buzz in the air. Something warm and giddy threading through the glances you sneak at each other when you think the other isn't looking. He catches you once. Smiles. You smile back.

When noon rolls around, it’s almost expected—you pack up your things at the same time, exchange a casual, “Lunch?” and head toward the elevator like you haven’t done this a dozen times before. Except this time feels different.

Inside the elevator, it’s quiet. That kind of intimate quiet where the silence isn’t awkward, just full of potential.

A strand of hair slips into your face as you look down at your phone.

He reaches out, slow but certain, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers graze along your jaw as he does it, featherlight.

“It was in the way,” he murmurs.

You arch a brow. “Control freak.”

“Guilty,” he says, not even pretending to deny it.

You both laugh again, a softer one this time, as the elevator dings open.

The day ends earlier than expected—his work got rescheduled, your deadline moved. There’s no real reason to head home together… but he waits anyway. You walk out side by side.

“You really ate this hero role up, huh?” you tease as you cross the street. “You won’t let me walk home alone from now on?”

“Not if I can help it,” he says, simply.

Your heart tugs a little.

The sun’s lower in the sky now, casting a soft gold light over everything. It’s quiet when you reach your door. That moment again—lingering.

You turn to him, voice low, a smile tugging at your lips. “So… what’s this proper date you’ve got in mind?”

He leans in slightly, like it’s a secret only for you.

“That depends. You like Italian?”

“I do.”

A small, satisfied nod. “Good. Friday? I’ll pick you up.”

And just like that… the not-a-date lunches are officially retired.

Friday evening 

Across town, Bucky’s staring at his reflection like it owes him money.

He holds up a button-down. Frowns. Too formal.

Switches to a basic black Henley. Classic. Safe.

Switches again. Tries it with a jacket. Then without. Then back again.

“You are spiraling,” he mutters, annoyed with himself. “It’s just dinner.”

He shuts the door and heads over to your place—though not before stopping by a flower shop to pick up a small bouquet.

———

You’re in your room, chaos at full volume.

Half your closet is on the bed. Your hair’s half-done. Your playlist is jumping between calm and hype like it’s trying to match your heart rate. You hold up two outfits—one a bit flirty, one a little more classic.

You go with the flirty one. You stare in the mirror and re-apply your lip gloss twice. You mutter to yourself, “It’s just a date. Not like you haven’t seen the guy every day this week.

Bucky rings and it’s go time. You answer through the machine that’ll be down in a second.  

Still, you check the mirror one more time before heading out. 

———

“Hey,” you say with a smile that is both confident and quietly nervous.

He looks at you like you just stepped out of a dream. “You look… wow.”

You glance him over and grin. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He offers you the bouquet, a little awkward but sincere. “I, uh… got these. Figured flowers were required.”

“They absolutely are,” you tease, taking them. “Good to know you’re a traditionalist.”

He scratches the back of his neck, still trying to recover. “So… I have some news for you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He gestures toward the curb. “We’re going on my motorcycle.”

You lean out to look. And there it is. The beast. Matte black. Loud. Aggressive. The opposite of what you pictured when you heard “nice Italian dinner.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh… oh no no no.”

“I have a helmet for you,” he says, holding up the one he brought.

“This could’ve been a nice warning, Barnes.”

He gives you that half-grin, the smug one. “You would’ve canceled.”

“Damn right I would’ve.”

He sets the helmet on your head—your perfectly styled hair that you spent a reasonable amount of time on.

“It’s going to ruin my hair,” you grumble.

“Impossible,” he says without missing a beat.

But somehow—you don’t. Somehow, minutes later, you’re on the back of his bike, clinging to him like your life depends on it. (It might.)

“Hold on,” he calls over his shoulder.

You tighten your arms around his waist, muttering, “Believe me, I am.”

The engine growls beneath you, a deep rumble that vibrates through your bones. The city blurs past—neon signs, headlights, the fading pink of sunset melting into dusk.

Your arms are wrapped tight around his waist, and you lean in close, yelling over the noise, “I HATE YOU!”

He doesn’t respond.

But you know.

You know he’s smiling.

You can’t see his face, but you can feel the grin spreading across it. That cocky, smug little smirk he wears when he knows he’s won.

Your hair whips around you, wind cutting past your cheeks like laughter, and despite yourself… a laugh escapes your lips too.

It’s terrifying.

It’s exhilarating.

And it’s a little bit too much fun.

You pull up to the restaurant, a cozy little Italian spot glowing warmly on the corner. As you take the helmet off, hair a mess, you glare at him.

He holds up a hand, gesturing—may I?

You nod, and he gently runs his fingers through your hair, trying to fix the damage the helmet caused. His touch is light. Careful.

“I still hate you,” you mutter, breathless.

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Didn’t hear you complain back there.”

“You couldn’t hear anything over my screaming.”

He opens the door for you with a little bow. “C’mon. I’ll make it up to you. There’s pasta with your name on it.”

———

Inside, the restaurant is warm and low-lit, all exposed brick and hanging lights. It smells like heaven—garlic, fresh herbs, something sizzling in a pan.

The host greets Bucky like he’s a regular. You raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me this is your go-to first date spot.”

He smiles innocently. “Would it be a red flag if it was?”

“Depends. How many helmets do you carry around?”

He laughs, head tipping back just slightly, and gestures for you to walk ahead.

Once seated, the waiter leaves a bottle of wine and two menus. You both open them at the same time… and neither of you looks down.

You’re watching each other instead.

“You gonna pick for both of us too, or are we back to equal rights now?”

“You’re welcome to order for me, if that’s your thing.”

You hum, pretending to think. “Something with anchovies, then.”

He looks horrified.

You grin. “Power shift complete.”

He’s still smiling when he pours the wine.

The pasta arrives, steaming and rich, and for a few quiet seconds, it’s just the clink of silverware and shared smiles over wine.

“Okay,” you say, after a sip, “you’ve told me your favorite band. But what’s your comfort movie?”

He lifts his brows, chewing thoughtfully. “The Great Escape.”

You blink. “Really?”

He shrugs, grinning. “There’s something satisfying about the plan. The tension. Also—motorcycles.”

You laugh. “Of course.”

You keep going—music, food, things you’d never eat. He tries to pretend he isn’t picky, but you catch the face he makes when you mention oysters.

Then, in a lull, you glance over at him, playful but curious.

“So what was your plan?”

He blinks. “Plan?”

“You said you had one,” you remind him. “With me.”

He exhales, chuckling softly. “God, yeah. I mean—there were rules. No kissing until at least the second date. Keep it casual. Let things unfold naturally.”

You smirk. “And how’s that going?”

He looks at you like he wants to say something smart—but then just admits, “I wrecked it the second I met you.”

The silence after that is warm, charged.

Then he blurts, almost without thinking, “Which, statistically, is ridiculous for someone my age.”

You blink. “Your age?”

He winces, realizing what he’s done. “Shit. No. I didn’t mean—forget I said that.”

You lean in, eyes narrowed. “What, are you older than you look? What are we talking here—mid-forties? Fifty?”

He mutters something.

You lean closer. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He sighs, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m… technically… one hundred and seven.”

You stare at him. Then you smile, slow and wicked.

“So if I asked for your birth year, would I need to use Roman numerals?”

He groans, but you see the corner of his mouth twitching.

You add, “Do I need to puree your food from now on?”

“Okay, enough,” he laughs, covering his face with one hand.

The table shakes with your laughter. And underneath it, his hand finds yours. Warm. Solid. Grounding.

“Are you going to let me pay this time?” you ask, tilting your head.

He shakes his head immediately, brows furrowed like you just insulted him. He gets to the check before you can even pretend to reach for it.

“What kind of gentleman would I be?” he says, almost scolding—but there’s a warmth behind it.

That makes you blush. The way he says it. The way he means it. He is a gentleman—truly. The kind you’ve only read about. The kind that makes you pause and wonder if this is real.

He’s folding the receipt away when he glances up and catches the look on your face—just for a second like you forgot to hide it. Like you're lost in a thought you didn’t mean to let show.

“What?” he asks gently, a trace of amusement in his voice. “You’re looking at me like I just grew another metal arm.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just… you’re kind of unfair.”

He tilts his head, curious. “Unfair?”

You nod. “Too good. Like you stepped out of some daydream or something.”

His eyes soften. No teasing this time. Just honesty.

“I think that about you,” he says quietly, “all the time.”

Then, even softer—almost like he’s admitting it to himself more than to you. “Which is probably why I keep messing up my plan.”

 After the check is paid you step outside into the crisp night. The city hums around you, but it all feels muted—like you're wrapped in some kind of bubble.

He hands you the helmet.

“Still worried I’ll fall off?” you tease.

He just smirks. “Not worried. Just prepared.”

You take it, slide it on, and glance up at him through your lashes. The helmet’s too big and makes your hair puff awkwardly, but you’re smiling—and that smile hits him like it always does.

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes crinkling. “Come here,” he murmurs, stepping closer.

His hands reach up—one warm, one cool—and gently adjust the strap under your chin. He’s careful and focused, thumbs brushing your jaw as he fastens it just right.

“There,” he says, voice low. “Wouldn’t want you flying off and blaming me.”

You’re close enough to see the flecks of gray in his stubble, the softness in his eyes, the way he lingers just a second too long.

Too good, he thinks. Too good to be mine.

You swing your leg over and wrap your arms around his waist. There’s no joking this time, no pretending you’re terrified. You just lean in. You breathe him in. He feels it.

And for the ride home, it’s quiet. The wind against your jacket, the rhythm of the engine beneath you, your cheek against his back.

He feels your arms around him, your grip tightens slightly on turns, and it’s… grounding. Intimate. It's almost like he could believe he belongs somewhere.

When he parks outside your building, you swing your leg off and remove the helmet, hair mussed and cheeks pink from the wind.

He watches you, that same quiet look in his eyes as always.

You hand him back the helmet. “You wanna come up for a second? You said you needed to use the bathroom, remember?”

He hesitates—but only for half a second. “Right. Yeah. Bathroom.”

Inside, the apartment is dim and calm. You flick on a low lamp in the corner and start to gesture toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s just—”

But you don’t finish the sentence.

Because when you turn, he’s already looking at you.

He steps forward. “I had a whole plan, you know.”

You smirk. “Yeah? How’s it going?”

He’s close now, one hand finding your waist, the other brushing your arm. “Totally wrecked it.”

And then he kisses you.

Slow. Focused. A little desperate—like he’s been holding it in for too long and something just gave way.

You reach behind you, fumbling the door closed without breaking the kiss. Shoes half-kicked off, jackets forgotten. You both laugh softly as you stumble over your bag and bump into a table, don’t care.

You barely make it past the entryway before you fall into each other again.

The kiss grows hungrier. Your back hits the couch, or maybe his back—you’re not sure who landed first. All you know is you’re straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, your breath uneven.

His hands roam—your waist, your thighs, your back. Yours are in his hair, his jaw, gripping the edges of his shirt like it might anchor you.

Then his vibranium hand slips into your hair—cool and sure. He tugs, just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the line of your throat.

His mouth finds your neck.

You gasp, fingers tightening in his shirt. He exhales against your skin, and it sends another shiver through you. His hands grip your waist firmly.

“You’re really bad at following plans,” you murmur, breathless.

He grins against your throat. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.” His hands find your zipper and pull it down—slow, careful.

You stop him—not to push him away, but to shift.

Wordlessly, you slide off his lap and stand in front of him.

He watches you with eyes dark, hungry, locked in place—like if he blinked, he might miss it. Like you’re something he’s been starving for.

You let the straps of your dress slip from your shoulders. Let it fall in one clean motion, pooling softly at your feet.

You stand there in your underwear—bare skin kissed by the soft lamp light—and for a beat, he just stares.

Like you’re something holy.

Then he reaches for you. No hesitation. No teasing. Just raw, reverent need. He pulls you back onto his lap, your knees on either side of him.

His hands are everywhere—your thighs, your waist, your back—gripping, grounding, like he still can’t believe you’re real.

His voice is low, almost wrecked.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

And he says it like it’s killing him. Like it’s been on the tip of his tongue since the moment he first saw you.

You reach for him, fingers finding the edge of his jacket. He lets you pull it off without a word.

Then comes the shirt—your hands slipping beneath the hem, dragging it up over his chest, his shoulders, and finally off.

And—holy shit.

You blink.

Fuck me.

Why was he hiding all of that under his clothes?

Defined, scarred, solid. Like he was carved from something real. Something earned.

Your breath catches. And suddenly? The whole “I’m a hundred” thing feels like absolute bullshit.

“Seriously,” you mutter, eyes wide. “There’s no way.”

He raises a brow, amused. “No way what?”

“That you’re a hundred. Bullshit.”

He laughs, soft and a little breathless, but you’re not really listening anymore.

Your hands find his chest, running slowly over warm skin, the lines of muscle, the scar on his shoulder—faint, but deep—and the place where metal meets flesh, the seam where his vibranium arm connects. You pause there, not to inspect, not to question—just to feel it.

You’re not studying him. You’re admiring him.

Your hand lifts, soft, fingertips brushing along the edge of it. Just to feel. Just to understand.

And that’s when you feel him shift.

Not visibly. Not loudly. Just a subtle change in his breathing. A tension in his jaw.

You glance up—and his eyes are on you, guarded now. Watching you watch him.

Like he’s waiting. For judgment. For you to flinch. For the part where you see the damage and pull away.

Like he’s had people look at him like that before—and it never ended well.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t pull back.

Your fingers trace the line where metal meets flesh, soft and slow. You look at him—not with pity, not with fear. Just… awe.

“You’re not a monster,” you whisper. “Not even close.”

He exhales, shaky. Like he didn’t know he’d been holding his breath.

You press a soft kiss against his lips —hands pressed to his chest, your body close—he kisses you back like something unlocked inside him. Like he’s not afraid of being seen anymore.

The kiss deepens, slow but intense, your mouths moving together.

His hands return to your body—warm, solid, reverent. One curls around your waist, holding you steady. The other, vibranium and sure, cups the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, closer, like he still doesn’t believe you’re really here.

You shift against him, your thighs straddling his hips again, and he groans into your mouth—quiet, rough, needy. It unravels everything.

The heat grows. His hands explore—your back, your sides, under the edge of your bra, then, with a smooth flick of his fingers, he unhooks it with one hand. Effortless.

You blink, breath catching. “Show-off.”

He grins against your skin. “You’re welcome.”

You grind down against him and he groans—low, sharp, like he’s unraveling beneath you.

“Won’t this mess up your plan?” you murmur against his lips, breath shaky.

He pauses just barely, eyes flicking open, dazed.

“…What plan?”

His voice is ragged. Like he genuinely forgot it ever existed. Because you wrecked it.

“You sure you want this?”

He groans when you nod, like the permission undoes him.

You barely get the word “yes” out before he’s kissing you again— It’s messy now, deep and heated, his mouth hot against yours, all tongue and teeth and hunger.

Your hips grind against his and he gasps, hands flying to your waist, gripping tight like he’s barely holding it together.

You tug at the waistband of his pants and he helps—shoving them down without grace, without care, because nothing matters now except skin and friction and you.

He curses under his breath when you sink down onto him, head falling back against the couch, eyes blown wide.

“Fuck,” he breathes—raw, reverent. “You feel…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s too busy watching the way your mouth parts in a moan as you move—slow at first, teasing, and then faster, harder.

Your hands are everywhere—his chest, his shoulders, the edge of the couch for balance. He fills you completely, and the stretch has you gasping, clinging to him as you move. Your hands claw at his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle. He loves it.

Your pace quickens and so does his grip, guiding your hips with both hands like he needs this to last but knows it won’t.

His grip on your hips is possessive, guiding your rhythm, dragging you down harder with every roll of your body.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growls, voice hoarse, head tipping forward to nip at your collarbone, your jaw, your shoulder.

You tug at his hair, and he groans again—louder this time, shameless.

The couch creaks.  The room’s too hot, too perfect.

He shifts, hands gripping your thighs as he flips you—your back hitting the cushions, legs still wrapped around him as he settles between them.

Now he’s on top. And he doesn’t slow down.

He thrusts into you deep, steady, relentless—his eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch the way you fall apart.

You arch beneath him, breath shattered, hands gripping anything you can—his shoulders, his arms, the couch cushions, your sanity.

He lowers his head, mouth trailing hot across your collarbone before his teeth sink lightly into the curve of your neck. Not too hard—but enough to make your breath hitch, enough to mark.

His hips snap harder. His grip tightens.

He’s groaning against your skin, biting, licking, losing it as your moans rise in pitch, your nails dragging down his back.

You feel it building—fast and sharp.

“Bucky—” you gasp, voice breaking.

“I know,” he growls, voice wrecked. “I know—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

And you don’t. Neither of you do.

You come together like a crash—loud, clinging, uncoordinated—his mouth still on your neck, your back arching, both of you trembling through it.

The couch groans in protest, a final creak under the weight of your bodies and everything that’s been boiling over between you.

And then—

Silence.

Except for the sound of your breathing. His heartbeat against your chest.

And the way neither of you dares to move just yet.

He collapses onto you with a low groan, forehead damp, breath still catching in his throat.

His weight is heavy, but not crushing—just solid. Comforting.

He rests his head against your chest, cheek pressed between your tits, one arm draped lazily over your waist.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment. Just breathing. The sound of it filling the room as your heartbeats slowly, slowly return to something almost normal.

You brush a hand through his hair—sweaty, soft, a little wild—and smile to yourself.

“So,” you murmur, voice hoarse. “Still think you’re too old for this?”

He groans into your chest. “Don’t start.”

You laugh softly. “No, seriously. Should I call a medic? Or a chiropractor?”

He pinches your hip, but he doesn’t move. “I hate you.”

“Liar.”

He hums, lips brushing your skin. “A little.”

The couch creaks beneath you again and you both wince.

You look at the state of it—cushions everywhere, throw blanket on the floor along the rest of your discarded clothes. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “So we definitely killed the couch.”

Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even lift his head.

“You wanna move to the bed?” you ask, fingers lazily tracing circles along his spine.

“Can’t,” he mumbles.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

You grin. “You’re seriously going to pass out on my tits?”

“Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

You giggle softly, but you don’t push him off. You just let your hand keep stroking his back, slower now, as his breathing evens out and the weight of him starts to feel like something more than just exhaustion.

Like comfort. Like trust.

Like maybe he’s safe here.

You shift under him, trying to get comfortable—but there’s no hope. The couch is broken, cushions askew, and your back is already protesting.

Still, you don’t move.

His head is still tucked against your chest, one arm slung heavy around your waist, and his breathing has slowed into the kind of deep, steady rhythm that says he’s out.

You stare at the ceiling, the room dim and quiet around you, the air still thick with sweat and warmth and everything you didn’t say out loud.

You try to wiggle your leg. Nope. Trapped.

You sigh.

It’s the worst sleep you’ve ever had.

Your shoulder aches. The couch dips weirdly to one side. Your neck’s at a horrible angle.

But his arm tightens slightly in his sleep.

You smile. Close your eyes.

And fall asleep anyway.

Hope you enjoyed your read just as much as I enjoyed writing this for y'all, let me know what you think!

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[fatal-blow]

How to Fix Your Foot Pain (And A Bunch of Other Pains While Youre At It)

so foot pain is a pretty ubiquitous problem, and part of the reason it's so common is that it all comes from roughly the same source, barring more exceptional conditions. foot pain is also the source of a whole slew of problems that occur further up the body--properly addressing foot pain can make a huge difference in chronic pain throughout the entire body.

so source of 99% of foot pain cases is something known as morton's foot syndrome, which is known by many other names including my own name for it: neander foot. if you want to look into it yourself, search for morton's foot syndrome (not to be confused with morton's neuroma) or take a look at some of the posts i've made about it on this blog, but for the rest of this post i'll be referring to it as neander foot.

i won't go into what exactly neander foot is or why it's so common in this post, but the short story is that neander foot makes the feet and ankles unstable. think of it like a tower with a sinking foundation. unlike a tower though, the human body has muscles that can compensate for a shaky base.

however, this is how pain develops throughout the rest of the body. compensating for neander foot isn't good for the muscles in the long term, and especially in a society that overworks its people, the strain can cause pretty severe disability over time.

a quick disclaimer before we get to the meat of the post: you won't find many people who talk about neander foot the way that i do. posts like these are pulled together from a combination of formal research, personal research, observation, and experience. but i know what works, and i have high hopes that it will work for you too.

--

there are four ways that people compensate for neander foot:

toe walking - weight primarily on the toes.

heel walking - weight primarily on the heel.

bracing - rolling the foot outwards to walk on the outer edge, keeping weight off of the big toe.

collapsing - rolling the foot inwards to keep weight on the big toe.

most people use some combination of these. the easiest way to tell which is by looking at the uneven wear on shoe soles, but the muscles you treat are all pretty much the same regardless of which compensation method you fall into.

first, you NEED padding under the big toe. either some diy with moleskin from the pharmacy section (make sure it's thick enough! bare minimum you want 3mm of padding, ideally up to 6mm) or you can buy insoles specially made for neander foot here (this is the only place i know of that makes them correctly, you can't get away with walmart insoles). this will help restore some stability to the feet and make walking and standing easier.

--

next, you need to treat the overworked muscles, which all lie in the outside of the calf: the gastrocnemius, tibialis anterior, fibularis longus/brevis, and soleus muscles.

if you take a moment to squeeze these muscles while you're sitting down and relaxing, they will most likely feel firm and tense, like trying to squeeze a bouncy ball. they might be sore, and the muscles themselves might feel like thick, fleshy rods. this isn't how relaxed muscles should feel! muscles that feel like have been overworked!

fortunately, it's pretty easy to treat overworked muscles using heat, massage, and stretches (typically in that order). within a couple weeks of regular massage, there will be a world of difference.

one of the easiest massages for the calves is using your opposite knee. don't be afraid to apply extra pressure with your hands, the broad surface of the knee means you don't have to worry about injuring yourself. it might hurt or feel like you aren't getting very far at first, but keep it up for a few days and see if you notice any positive changes.

(depending how fucked your shit is, you might need to go easy while your body takes time to heal. don't be surprised if you feel tired the day after a session.)

another method is to take a tennis ball in your hand or use the opposite heel as massage tools, especially for the tibialis and the fibularis muscles near the front of the leg. do your best to massage the full length of the muscle, from the ankles to the knees.

--

stretching is best done after massage. personally, i keep track of where i feel discomfort or pain when stretching, and massage those spots as i stretch. keep in mind that stretching the right muscles will be difficult--part of the reason compensation patterns arise is from the body subconsciously avoiding stretching these muscles, because its difficult and it hurts. it takes time and effort to lengthen these muscles again after they've been tensed up for so long.

below are some stretches for the calves, but it's not a bad idea to search online for stretches that target each of the muscles i discussed earlier.

--

and finally, i'll leave you with an exercise that will help restore the foot itself

by pointing the big toe down and pulling the outer foot upwards, you can begin to build strength in the associated muscles--because they counter the compensation patterns of neander foot, they get weak and underused compared to other muscles in the leg.

Ideally, you wont need to do these stretches forever. One of my greatest issues with recovery had always been that stretching as maintenance did not keep up with my body's breakdown--precisely because the core of the problem (neander foot) hadn't been treated. I could do all the stretches in the world but it didn't make up for the rate at which the damage was occuring. so i hope you feel better after trying this treatment, and whether you succeed or fail i'd love to hear from people, because i'm always trying to learn better ways to treat neander foot so that it can help as many people as possible.

if the subject interests you, i'll add links to resources both made by me and by people who i've learned from as i reached these conclusions.

Resources

Triggerpoints and pain

How to relax

Uses of Heat and Cold

More Info on Neader Foot

Info about neander foot from people who aren't me

[s7-evermore]

My Heart Stays With You | Leona Kingscholar x Mistress! Yuu/Reader

NOTE: Hey, so I can’t find the FUCKING fic I was talking about in this post and despite all my desperate searching I STILL can’t find it so I’m WRITING MY OWN VERSION OF IT until the author of that fic MESSAGES ME AND GOES “EYO DUDE WTF THAT IDEA WAS MINE” so I can search their blog and finally read the fucking story cuz istg I can’t focus on my schoolwork with that fic weighing on my mind like a curse that’s been placed on my family for 40 generations.

EDIT: someone in the comments lovingly told me who the author of the original one was and it was @/kiwibirdmother but all their posts disappeared so 🤡 fuck. LUCKILY tho I used the wayback internet thing and I managed to read them again :D if you guys want a link to it I’ll share thru dm cuz I’m too lazy to post something about it rn ejdkskxkskx

SYNOPSIS: Leona had been forced into an arranged marriage with a noblewoman, but he had already been in a relationship with Yuu. They loved each other too much, and both of them weren’t willing to let each other go. So in their own selfish ways, they stayed together despite the ring shining on his finger.

The two of them never thought it would get to this.

Leona had hoped that he would at least be able to make her his officially. All he needed to do was graduate and introduce her to his family, as reluctant as he was to let her into the royal life for the fear that she would have to carry the weight of it, he was far too selfish to let her go.

But Yuu didn’t mind at all. Just like him, she was far too selfish to let him go.

. . .

. . . .

. . .

When the news came to her that Leona had no choice but to push through with the arranged marriage, he rushed to her room in Ramshackle Dorm to hold her in his arms.

“Stay with me,” He begged that night, holding her in his arms with all the strength he could muster. “Please stay with me.”

It felt out of character for him to say those words with such strong emotion, but in the years they’ve been together, as she approached her fourth year in NRC, Leona slowly learned to lower his walls around her.

Only around her. Just her.

“Stay with me. I won’t do anything with her. I promise.”

“But…”

Hearing her strained voice and her choked sobs as she cried on his shoulder broke his heart. His heart… that he had given to her all those years ago when she accepted him with all of her being…

How unfair could the world get?

“I won’t. You’re the only one in my heart,” he stated firmly, a promise that he would hold himself to for the rest of his life.

“That stupid marriage is only for formalities. A political convenience. That woman and I don’t even have to do anything, and I don’t intend on giving myself to her. Not my love, not my mind, not my body.”

He looked into her eyes, furrowing his brows with intensity. When Yuu looked at them, she could feel the fierce heat of his love for her and his unyielding devotion.

She understood his place. He really had no say in the marriage, it had already been set in stone. Leona knew this well, and yet he couldn’t help but feel guilty… she had been so kind to him, so understanding…

“Yuu…” his voice was molten gold, and it seeped through the cracks of her heart.

“I love you. Only you. Please stay with me.”

“I will,” she said without hesitation.

He kissed her the moment she said those words, and a night of passion between them followed.

That wouldn’t be their last.

The night before his wedding, Leona drove to a villa some distance away from the palace.

It was distant from other residences and a little more solitary. Leona knew it would be perfect for Yuu, so he bought it immediately before anyone else could so she could live there with Grim after their graduation.

He knocked on the door, and it opened within a few seconds.

He felt his heart beating rapidly when he saw her face. For a moment, Leona felt at peace.

Yuu smiled, looking just as relieved, “You’re here…”

He moved to embrace her.

Ever since the arranged marriage, it was the first thing he would do whenever he visited her. An act of reassurance that he would forever be hers.

“I came just as I said I would,” He said.

“It’s tomorrow,” she quietly muttered.

“Will you go?”

“I promised I would.”

“It would hurt you…”

“It would hurt you just as much…” she said, her voice breaking, “I…I promised you that I would…always be there to comfort you…”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable any more than I already have,” he sighed. His woman was far too kind to him. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she tried to be a little petty.

“I think… I think it would make me more uncomfortable not seeing you, knowing that you would be with her…”

Leona knew that his brother was aware of his distaste for the marriage, but the will of their father, even as he lay sickly on his bed, had to be followed.

“Leona…”

He knew what that tone in her voice meant.

He looked down at her slightly, immediately noticing her half-lidded eyes and her sudden shy but sensual smile.

“Will you stay with me a little longer…?”

She didn’t even have to ask.

He pulled her to her bedroom. And there, they lost themselves into each other’s arms, wrapped up in the heat of their love.

. . .

. . . .

. . .

“Did you meet up with your friends?”

The question came to him as they basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking. She had her head against his chest, his arm around her as he slowly traced shapes on her skin.

“Jack said that you asked him and Ruggie to escort me…” she said, recalling her meeting with her friends from NRC the past week.

Leona had taken it upon himself to invite some notable people from NRC, especially those he knew she would be close with. Most of them also knew of the relationship they kept going through with, as dangerous as it was.

Vil Schönheit had actually been the one to visit her first. He was invited as Leona’s acquaintance and former school “friend”, according to Leona himself. Vil was one of the few people who knew about their continuing relationship despite Leona’s arranged marriage, and out of respect for Yuu (who Vil was clearly fond of) agreed to keep it a secret.

Kalim and Jamil were invited as well, under the pretext of Kalim being the first son of House Asim and Jamil as his servant. When they came to her home, they reminisced on old times and agreed to keep in touch.

As she told him about their visits, she remembered another thing.

“I didn’t expect you to invite Malleus to the wedding…” she said.

“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

“Yes but…”

Although she continued writing to malleus, as he was her cherished friend, she knew that the two of them hardly got along.

“A lotta random royals, nobles and celebrities are invited out of formality, so I thought that I might as well invite someone you’re familiar with. Kalim, Vil, Idia, and Malleus came to mind at first.”

He looked down at her as he stroked her hair, “I’m sure you’ll be fine with their company. If you’re around people like them then no one should be able to bother you. I made sure to tell them all to visit you before the wedding.”

Malleus didn’t come alone, of course. Lilia, Silver, and Sebek came there as the Briar Valley prince’s attendants.

Those four weren’t daft by any means. She knew that they had probably already figured out that they were keeping their relationship a secret from the public.

“Are you alright with this?” Sebek had asked her, his voice strangely reluctant and…soft.

“We both aren’t,” she admitted to him, “But this is… the only way we could live right now.”

Malleus sighed, lamenting how unfortunate your circumstances are.

“If you need a place to belong, let us know,” He told her. “Briar Valley will welcome you with open arms.”

“Thank you…” she smiled kindly at her friends, “But I belong with Leona.”

“Leona, congratulations on your wedding.”

Leona watched as Vil approached him with Yuu around his arm.

Vil turned to the bride with a practiced smile, “and to you as well, my lady.”

“Congratulations, both of you,” Yuu said with a smile that made Leona uncomfortable. He hated her fake smiles.

He hated this. He hated all of this.

“You truly are fortunate, Lady Aisha,” her words pierced his heart like a bullet. His hands were itching to hold her in his arms. “To be wed to Leona… well, it might not be easy but…”

Yuu met his eyes, something profound shining within them, mixed with hopelessness and pain.

“I’m sure…he’ll be a very wonderful lover.”

The bride noticed the look Leona was giving the human girl while pondering the meaning of her words. With a strained smile, clearly masking her irritation, Aisha intertwined her arms around Leona’s and smiled at her.

“Oh I am well aware of that,” she says with a sickeningly sweet smile, “he is always so good to me.”

Yuu didn’t mean to take her words too far, but despite the bitterness in Aisha’s words, she smiled like a flower in bloom, masking her pain like it was nothing.

“I wish you both happiness.”

. . . .

. . . . .

. . . .

“Kifaji.”

The royal family’s long-time aid turned around at the sharp call of Leona’s new bride. Her features were marred with irritation, unbefitting of the occasion.

“Yes, my lady?” He acknowledged her calmly, ready to take every complain she has.

“Who is that woman?”

Kifaji looked at where she was pointing only to see Leona chatting with Yuu.

The aid’s expression softened at the sight of them. Leona’s eyes were unguarded as he spoke to the young woman, seemingly taking in every word she was saying. Yuu, on the other hand, despite the occasion simply seemed happy to be in the presence of the second prince.

It was the same scene he had seen quite a few years ago, when Leona brought her along with some other schoolmates for Tamashina-Mina. She was a darling little thing— she was beautiful. She got along well with their friends and Leona cared about her more than he liked to admit. But it didn’t escape Kifaji’s eyes when he saw Leona buy her a gift. A necklace the same color as his eyes, just as she requested.

“You should have chosen one with your eye color instead.” He heard Leona say to her.

“No,” Yuu shakes her head, “I like the color of your eyes better.”

She was sweet and by no means a push-over. She knew how to keep Leona in place without being pushy, and it was clear to anyone that Leona favored her greatly.

Kifaji had…hoped that he got to see Leona happy with her.

If it hadn’t been for the arranged marriage that the two princes’ father wanted… then maybe… maybe then the second prince would finally smile for the rest of his days…

“That is Miss Yuu, a long-time friend of his Highness,” he told Aisha calmly. “Prince Leona is quite fond of her, as is Prince Cheka, please do get along with her.”

“They look too close to be friends,” she quipped.

Kifaji could only do what he could for the Prince he had taken care of…

“I would not worry about that,” he said, expression unchanging, “I am certain that they are only friends.”

The lady huffed before fixing her wedding garments and going back to the party, Kifaji could finally breathe.

It was 12 AM at midnight, just two hours after the wedding and the reception ended when she heard something park itself on her driveway.

Before she could get the chance to look out the window, someone immediately knocks on the door.

In a rush, she opens the door only to see the lion that had been plaguing her thoughts, feeding the shadows whispering in her mind.

Large arms wrapped themselves around her in a warm embrace.

“I drove here as soon as everyone was asleep.”

She returned his embrace, feeling the beat of his heart against hers.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“I can’t stand it. She was so annoying…” he buried his nose against her hair. “All she did was complain when all I did was nap on the bed.”

Lady Aisha must have gotten angry that Leona wouldn't touch her on their wedding night... She thought to herself. The thought of Leona sharing a bed with another woman made her heartache. She wanted to erase the image in her mind..

But she couldn’t do much now, can she? He was a married man now, but it wasn’t to her… no, it was to someone else.

However…

“Aren’t you gonna welcome me home?”

He will always return to her. Never touched and never kissed by anyone else but her.

She chuckles, looking up at him with pained eyes.

“It’s your wedding night, you know…? You could at least…”

“I told you, I ain’t touchin’ her.”

“You…you don’t have to… but it might make your family mad if you suddenly—“

He places a hand under her chin and forces her to look at him before stroking her cheek.

“I don’t care,” he says with finality. “I don’t care about that stupid wedding. I don’t care about her. I don’t care about any of them.”

His forehead touches hers, a tear escapes her eye.

“I care about us.”

And he kisses her with more love than he could ever give.

Another night passes, and Leona is once more entangled in Yuu’s arms.

[signedkoko]

Howdy! I have to questions, one is that I was wondering if I could be 🎧 anon? Secondly I was wondering if could request Stolas x Reader and like a blurb of reader becoming a parental figure to Octavia?

Stolas X Reader [Romantic]

In which Stolas introduces you to his daughter, and how your relationship with Octavia blooms.

Stolas and you met around the same time as his divorce was going through its first stages

You yourself were getting a divorce and had recommended to him the attorney you had for handling settlements, as well as offered the support of 'hey, at least we aren't alone!'

Later, he ran into you at a formal gala, where you both indulged in getting to know one another; you joked about how your divorces went and updated one another on life

Stolas found you so easy to talk to, and he found himself a lot less stressed when he was able to share his thoughts with someone more level-headed

Your dating life comes slow as you both work around your past and try to forgive yourself for where you've ended up, but it all feels so much easier having someone with you

You are the one to make things official, inviting him to a private dinner where you confess

Even though you told him you'd wait till he was ready, Stolas was ready right then and there and gladly accepted

He is noticeably happier and has much less trouble when Stella tries to ruin his mood

When it comes to his daughter, though, he doesn't want to rush her into meeting you, and you are more than fine staying away from his home until she is ready

Stolas mentions that he is seeing someone and tells her he won't take it any further until she gives him the right of way

When she does ask to meet you, you make sure it's just the two of you and go out for brunch at a cafe you think she'll like

Octavia is also pretty harmed by her mother, so she is very reluctant to open up to you, but she knows she likes you

You are calm, never in a rush, and always go with the flow

She likes talking to you about her parents because you never seem jealous or rude, and meeting up with you eventually becomes a habit

You really win her over when you buy concert tickets and say, 'Accidentally got a second, so you really would love if she could come with you! Oh, wha! Its your favourite band? Mine too!'

You have an amazing time, and Stolas is overjoyed to see her come back chatting you up and excitedly showing off her merchandise

He hadn't seen her like that in so long

Octavia is more than happy to have you as a parent

The first time she calls you mom is an accident

It happens on your birthday when she gifts you a record of the album you both heard at your first concert together

She never stops calling you mom after, though

Author's Note - I love Octavia sm she deserves a NICE HAPPY AND HEALTHY HOME RN!! RIGHT NOW!!! And welcome to the blog anon!! I added you so long ago and I feel so bad for the wait you had to go through,,,plz forgive me,,,,

[bambisturns]

Never thought they day would come where ive had to clear my name and make a post like this. But here we go.

1. I am not a liar. Yes i did make this post.

Yes this is me. I made this post bc literally 30 mins before i made this post i was INFORMED of the things that happened at the show last night. I should have clarified it in the original post that i didnt see nor hear these things and thats my fault.

2. I later than started to respond to the reposts where i clearly stated i DID NOT have footage or anything of the show. I didnt even remember there was a show Last night. I genuinely did not think that this post would get as much attention as it did. Its my side blog i usually get 0 to no interactions on this blog.

Anyways this is my formal apology to sturn tumblr i did not mean to throw you guys into a frenzy this morning it was not my intentions. I should have done a little more research before making my post. But i will never not believe my friend. She told me tumblr was mentioned and that there WAS a tumblr fic ss in the gc seg. Once again i am sorry for throwing everyone into a frenzy but all the indirect shit talk and calling me a liar is crazy. Call me a liar frl. @ me. I can assure you it wont hurt my feelings. This post is mainly for my mutuals/friends and people that follow me bc the last thing id ever want to do is set sturn tumblr off. Soo with that bekng said dueces. My head hurts and tumblr is too much sometimes. This being a prime example.

[tmasc-confessions]

you use fancy words in a lot of your responses i feel like you’re lying about not speaking english. i bet irl you’re some racist white boy from weho who talks like he’s black

Usually I wouldn’t post anon hate but this one in particular is extremely funny to me so I wanna post it. What the fuck are you talking about.

Reason I speak formally is because, this is a support blog?? When people talk to me about how they were abused or bullied or anything else I’m not gonna respond like “omg bro F in the chat”.

I’ve never, EVER said that I don’t speak English?? I had the best markings in my entire year every single time on every single exam. I was always placed two or three years ahead of my actual one on the Oxford scale. I’ve been confused for a Brit a couple of times in my life.

It’s just not my native language. And when the text is really long, ADD kinda makes my brain clog up and I have a really hard time processing it so instead I Google Translate it to Spanish, a language that;

Does not have neutral pronouns, so it makes reading even more confusing because it just kinda picks whatever ones it feels like picking.

Doesn’t make the distinction between “female” and “woman” or mixes the words up so it gets even more complicated.

Sometimes just fucks up random grammar for no reason.

Which is why while reading large blocks of text sometimes some stuff gets caught up in translation. Does it usually work? Yes! But sometimes we have incidents like what happened with that ask where I was accused of TERFism.

Also… what’s that last line?

Also yeah I have my phone in English because I hate the Spanish localisation. That’s so incredibly specific??? Who did you have in mind while writing this. Who in what is very obviously your own personal life do you think I am because that is too specific for you not to have anyone in mind. 😭

As for the racist allegations I don’t even know what to say. No??? Like that’s all I can say. I’m not??? What even gives you the idea???

Wait, is this who TRFs think I am?? Did they make up a strawman (strawdude??) and now this is who they think I am and they treat me like an urban legend of sorts. My goodness. I’ve reached cryptid status.

[myraniellejkelly]

A Bitterness Welcome

╰┈➤ Suguru Niragi x Reader

Part 2

Author’s note: This is my first blog post, got this idea out of nowhere after reading too much related to this sick and twisted bastard. But I don’t support his actions and don’t know why they casted a fine actor, love Dori Sakurada. Anyways, I am planning on part two soon.

Another note: English isn’t my first language (per se), all images aren’t mine, had proofread it several times, grammars ahead, this may not be an accurate depiction of a therapist, Y/N is a female, mainly each part is focus on Y/N’s story.

Warning: vulgar language, smoking, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, and angst.

Summary: In the real world, Y/N dealt her struggles as a therapist during her time working until an unfamiliar guy nearby suddenly spoke to her.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

At the morning Y/N prepare for her session meeting by each one of her patients, day by day talking about their own personal problems and struggles. She was sitting on the armchair with a note pad on her lap: re-adjust her glasses, fixing her coat, and messy bun. Y/N was observant and calm about her previous patients as much as she cares about some of them. She offered them relaxing tea, treats, or tissues sometimes during their session.

Sometimes, she wishes things would’ve been more simple for her patients to arise or heal from their past experience. It felt like Y/N did a horrible job in keeping her patients alive and moving forward, instead it become backward as if the past hadn’t gone away from everything. She had wasted her days feeling grief. That time was so dark when all she could do was to stare blankly at a sight of one of her previous patients: Ami, Fumiko, Aoi, Kenji, Kaito, and the others.

Looking at their graves as much as she brought flowers for them, whenever she might visit them or remembering when they last spoke of from their last session. Y/N wears in a formal attire: a brown trench coat and a mask with a ponytail in sneakers; another day, she has her hair down; wearing in all black clothing: trench coat, turtleneck, and pointed-toe heels. Y/N briefly sigh, while holding up a bouquet of flowers as she place it beside by the grave of Hayami Sato, then she stare for a moment. Shakily breathing from her lungs as deep as she had to hold out her tears from her eyes. The time she couldn’t resist faltering in the eyes of her new patient, who had died five days ago.

Despite this, the only rule did Y/N broke was not get too attached to your patients that you only just met. She clenched her hands firmly, resisting to shake from her body until Y/N collapsed to the ground, much as she tried to hold it, she couldn’t. She. Couldn’t.

Y/N fall down to her knees while the swell of her eyes begin to fall from her face, clenching her teeth in anger and cried while screaming. Clenching the fabric from her black buttoned shirt by her chest, then she keeps hitting against her heart while crying. Y/N couldn’t control her emotions that fled her to feel agonize, she felt like a child who witness seeing their own dead mother after their last breath.

At home, Y/N was looking down, hugging her knees while sitting on the couch in the living room. Her father came by and said, “Dear, are you alright?”

No response.

Her father heavily sigh and sat next to her, “You’ve been holding a lot after you work with your patients.”

“I don’t know, dad, did I did everything right?”

“Of course you do, you helped as many other people as much as you tried to be. The possible thing you do is that you tried your best.”

As her father wiped her tears but her face end up with a tear stain; Y/N looked at him in tiring eyes after she cried for four minutes, she sniffs after she was in pain. “Everyone made mistakes, just don’t work too hard on yourself, ay?” said by her father.

Y/N scoffed and sniffs for a moment, “Really dad?” as she lifted her eyebrow at him. “Like, come on, just bright up the mood and don’t think too much about them,” he said, wrapping his hand around her shoulder and pulled her in. Y/N lay on her father’s shoulder while he looked at her in the eyes, “It’s been a while seeing you cry since the last time you see your mother, one last time.”

She changed her expression very quickly and glare at him. “What I meant is… you shouldn’t be bottling up your emotions, dear,” he said, and didn’t mean to interpret in an offensive way. He meant that she hadn’t cry for many years, after his daughter saw her mother passed right in front of her. After seeing her glare, Y/N just doesn’t feel like living or so want to express her emotions openly to anyone, “You’re allowed to cry and it’s normal to feel this way.”

“Well,” as she rolled her eyes, “not at work and it’s a weakness, dad, how should I keep myself in calm and cold for all my life?”

“You can’t do that, Y/N, we’re human-beings and it’s our way of expressing.”

“Oh really?” asked Y/N, as she thought her father’s words were just nonsense to her, then she get off the couch and stand up. Looking down at him in glare, the eyes shows that she drastically change, wiping off her tears. “Since you’re also a goddamn doctor, how can you manage to follow up to your expectation to your patients? I mean… the only thing I hated about being a therapist, is that I get too attached all of a sudden as if they were my friends.”

No response from dad.

“I’m trying to resist everything in control because as a therapist, I shouldn’t care about the single fucking thing about their experience. And… and maybe I should’ve been more professional instead of acting like this!” and then she walked fast to her room as Y/N slammed the door. Her father sighs after trying to make her feel something, and that she should try to be herself not become someone different. She rapidly made a mess in her room: sheets, pencils, notebooks, and books about human psychology scattered on the floor. She was furious.

Y/n frantically panting with wide cold eyes, she had became more nonhuman who resisted in being a human; she who hated herself and had thought no other reasons but to maintain and control herself as it goes on. Then she squat down, covering her ears, and struggle in able to control how emotionally hurt she was. A moment later, she looked down at the photo of her and Hayami Sato: her hands were shaking and eyes twitching while clenching her teeth, then she stopped after staring at that photo. Her body was so still and realized she had to retain herself from showing the parts of herself.

⋆♤˚⟡˖ ࣪🃁 🂺 ˖⟡˚ ♤

At work, Y/N zone out and stared down at a blank notepad, she was sitting down quietly on the armchair. “Y/N?” as someone been calling her but she unable to focus from thinking, “Y/N? Y/N!” then she finally snapped out of it and looked at Arisu for a brief moment.

She cleared her throat and forgot what she was supposed to do, “Sorry, did I stopped right there?”

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

Y/N lay her head down on her palms and sigh, looking at him merely upset, “Y/N?” as she looked at the clock but is too lazy to tell from it. She asked, “What time is it, Arisu?”

“8:45,” he answered.

After realizing that she had wasted her time, staring down blankly and that she groaned in distress. Arisu was worried about Y/N as she couldn’t bear to be stable all the time while working. “Huh…” then she heavily sigh while she hissed and fixing her messy hair, which caught Arisu’s attention with a worried expression on his face. “You came at 7, right?”

Confused as he might be, instead he nodded and that it makes Y/N more frustrated. “Fuck…” she mumble, “why?”

“Y/N.”

“Arisu,” she looked at him tiredly. “I’m sorry, I’ve wasted your time talking to me… I should’ve… I should’ve focus my time talking to you about your struggles.” Y/N get up from her armchair and place the notepad on her table, then take her glasses off, “You should be leaving by now,” as she walked away but Arisu caught her wrist and then she turned to look at him.

“Y/N.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked in glare at his hand grabbing on to her.

Arisu reacted immediately as he removed his hand away and stand back a little. “O-Oh, I’m so sorry,” as he bow down multiples times in his deepest apologies. “I shouldn’t grabbed by the wrist like that and shouldn’t interfere with you.”

“Right…” she nodded, “…who couldn’t thought,” as Y/N put her hands on the pockets of her coat, then looked at the window and saw people walking by in the streets

“It’s just… you were always upset, Y/N,” he said, as it made Y/N pinching the bridge of her nose, casually making her stress even more.

“Arisu, I’m not your friend,” she said calmly, looking at him in the eyes. The fact she doesn’t see him as a friend, rather she was too focus about him being her patient, “I’m your therapist and you’re my patient.”

“Y/N, we’re neighbours and you’re my friend. You know I’m worried about you and you’ve been working all day. Isn’t it too much for you?”

The eyes of a child who has issues with his family, that it made her reminded of herself. She remembered a while ago; the last time she moved in next door to the Arisu family, unlike Y/N who never talk to him that time and that she was too shy to talk. Until now, Arisu showed up right in front of her and that was the only thing she ever remembered the first they ever met.

Everything changes, Y/N change so much that neither Arisu could see that look on her face; she become more cold and distant after a few years, Arisu couldn’t believe that a cheerful and happy neighbour he once met, became so serious and indifferent.

She sighs, reflecting back to her senses when she heard the word ‘you’re my friend’ and that it made her feel ashamed, to let him see her like this. “Just because we’re neighbours, doesn’t mean we’re either friends or whatever you referring to. The point is that I understand that you were trying to be nice to me and that you do care, alright, why not go and hang out with Chota and Karube?”

“What about you?” as he approached to her, hands on her shoulder as it caught her off guard about him, “You haven’t been in it with us for more than a month now.”

Y/N slowly took his hand away from her shoulders, yet Arisu just bow down so awkwardly in apology, “God, desperate much? Because I have responsibility and had a work to do here, Arisu.”

“Just take a break,” he said with complains, and he is really desperate because she hadn’t been with him for a year now, including his friends.

Y/N sighs and slowly said, “Fine,” as she walked away, feeling the weight of her guilt and hadn’t even thought about hangouts for more than a month. It felt like more than six months already. The silence felt awkward between them. “So, is that a yes?” as Arisu is still here standing there at her office.

“Arisu, get out of my office.”

“So, it’s a ye—”

“I said get out!”

Arisu brings his hands up in the air like he’s been caught, as he slowly moved backward towards the door as he touched the doorknob and left her office. Y/N crossed her arms and sigh in frustration, then she looked outside in the window. Arisu was down there just waving and smiling like a child, making her roll her eyes and that he was excited. She sighs and said, “God, no wonder why he learned that from irresponsible grown-ups, assholes.”

Twelve minutes later, Y/N was out at the street corridor after she’s done with her work; burning some photos of her previous patients, as she had to move on from everything that she’s been holding on for so long. Y/N watches the photos being burned to ashes by the fire bucket. She lays a cigarette on her mouth as she lastly placed one photo from Hayami Sato. But then she noticed the back of the photo and see it was written:

Dear, Dr. Y/N

Before you know it, I am dead, I’m trying to heal and move on from the past mistakes I made. But I didn’t intend to think beforehand, and that I didn’t mean to make you feel overwhelmed about the things I did. That you tried to stop me from hurting myself, you gave me an advice to ended but I still care so much about my important relationship. Don’t blame him, it was always me who I started it, and that I’m struggling to maintain of how much I hate the feeling of pain. I am still love, yet I was naive and stubborn to even listen, but the thing is you don’t know who I truly was. I may not been the slightest bit of things but it was fun being around and talk to you. Our first laugh, our first hang out, our first kind-of-friendship. You know, if I were still there more than five days, I would’ve gone to a trip to Thailand or maybe you would too. I wanna say, thank you for being there with me at all times.

Sincerely, Hayami Sato.

P.S. I miss you and please don’t forget about me :)

Y/N sighs with an upsetting look on her face as she throws the last photo, as it burns to ashes along with the others. Then she removed the cigarette from her lips and said to Hayami at the sky, “I missed you too… of course, you’ll never be forgotten,” as she sighs and put back her cigarette towards her mouth, grabbing a lighter from the pocket of her trench coat. She laid her back against the brick wall and tried opening the lighter, but her lighter runs out; Y/N was infuriated and hissed in attempt to open up the lighter, but still hasn’t lit up her cigarette.

Until a man spotted her as he lit up her cigarette with his lighter, Y/N inhaled as she was relax after removing the cigarette from her mouth, and blows as she sigh afterwards. The man was slender and tall in comparison when he stands next to Y/N. He put his hands on his pockets, while she glares and didn’t turn to look at him and said, “Thanks.”

“You seem a little stressed today?”

“What do you think?” she spoke back to him, looking at the sky.

The man leaned back against the brick wall as he sighs. “What are you doing out here?”

“Trying to relax until someone arrived just to give me shit.”

The man cockily grinned and laughed while Y/N wasn’t very focus on his face on what he may might look like. “Ooh~ someone has a hard time working today, the kind of woman who bitches me all day,” as he laughed again and that made her annoyed.

“Oh fuck,” Y/N facepalm as she laughs it off and said of an insult, “looks like someone are like those fuckers who keeps fucking and go all the time, aren’t you?”

“How would you know, if you’re not looking at me?” he asked and glance at her.

“Take a guess of what job I’m at, dipshit.”

The man looked at her top and down with a filthy grin, “Oh shit… you’re that therapist nearby.” As if then he mocks about her, “Ooh~ doctor, can you fix me by any chance? I’ve been dealing my shit for weeks. Maybe give me an advice?” he proceed to laugh.

He tilted his head just wanting her attention to look at him, but she couldn’t face him as he sighs, which it makes him frustrated over her and that he keep his hands down while he stay calm. “You look nothing like those therapist who tried to help with a bunch of assholes.”

“Hmm… I think I know what job you were, nearby, you’re a gaming engineer right?” she fake laughs, “I’ve heard so many games but they’re aren’t really to my taste, except from my neighbour who’s addicted to video games and not finding jobs for himself.” She inhaled her cigarette with furrowed eyebrows.

“Oh you know when to talk, who do you think that little friend of yours, hmm…? I wanna meet him besides he is better off without you anyways,” he said, the man was annoyed and maybe a little surprise about her friend. Maybe, if he were to meet him, he would’ve pushed Y/N away from him and take him instead because he is much of a better friend than her; the other reason is that he is a little irritated about her, talking back to him with such confident descriptive insults to say, rather than simply saying, ‘Fuck you,’ or ‘Motherfucker.’

Of course, the man would’ve thought about it but it just grabs his interest about this therapist nearby at his work: her presence was enigmatic and unknown. The man smiles giving the creeps, that Y/N would’ve been disgusted about him beside her, if she were to go face to face of what he might look like.

Y/N scoffed and looked away with a forced smile that she has to put on and to deal with it. “It’s none of your fucking business, he’s not my friend, just my neighbour and besides I care,” but deep down she does see Arisu as her friend, even though it’s hard for her to even express her thoughts about him. “I always keep thinking, if a guy shows up then that means you wanna ask a lady to go out with you, is it?”

“Huh?” as he slowly nodded with amaze of her guesses, and curiosity is now shown from his face as his sharp gaze falls towards her. He couldn’t believe that she put all that together in five seconds, and didn’t expected that she would figure out. “Aren’t you as sharp as a quick-witted woman,” said the man, smiling at her, “are you some kind of psychic nerd or something?”

Y/N wasn’t so sure and just shrugs her shoulder as she doesn’t know about being called a psychic. But admitted and nodded without any shame of being called a nerd but sense something off about him. But quickly ignores it anyways, “I’m fine being a nerd, not so much about being called a psychic.”

As the man laughed, “Hey doc, I can’t quite catch your name by any chance?”

Y/N scoffed with an annoyed smile and said, “Oh go find a better girl to talk to or go fuck with.” She was about to leave in a second until he caught her arm, but she quickly turned her head and grabbed him his wrist and twisted his arm. The man grunts as he was shocked, looking at her cold gaze looking as deadly as it may appear to him; Y/N is too focused on beating him up that she didn’t even recognize his face, then she squat down and kicked his legs off and fall to the ground, and that the man got hit in the face.

She fixed her trench coat and moved the dust off from her shoulder, then walk off normally with her heels tapping away from him. The man felt surprise by the looks of her cold gaze and her beating him easily, as he doesn’t know when to expect about her. As if it brings him flashback when he was in high school, and he never thought a therapist could be a cold-blooded fighter.

But now, he snapped out of it and was pissed as he looked down, then hissed in anger after he was hit in the face, “Bitch!” he said, feeling his nose as he check the piercing from his nose.

After she walked away, the man smiled as he scoffed at the sight of her ignoring him; but for him, he can’t clearly ignore her nor move on about the way she interact with him. It made him want to see her again, he moved when he get up then sat against the brick wall; leaning his head back and cover his eyes from his arm, then moved his arm away as if now it’s on to his forehead while looking at the sky for a moment.

Then he moved his arms on to his knees and fixed his hair, the man remembers the ID that’s been sticking out by the left side pocket from her trench coat, as he snap his fingers and figure out her name was, “Y/N,” he said, and repeated again and again, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…” then he lastly said out slowly, “Y/N L/N…”

He laughed and covered his eyes while smiling, hearing from her voice makes him feel crazy that he start having this urge inside of him; he seem to be getting very obsessed with her, Am I having feelings about her? he thought, his hands were on the side of his forehead, Oh shit… oh my fucking god… I do have a crush on her, that cold feisty chick.

The man slide off his hands away from his forehead, arms now back on his knees. He felt it. He felt it from his chest; It felt like a stab as the wound never goes away at the thought that he never forgets about her. “You really are something… doctor…” he said at the thought of her, licking his lips as the piercing of his tongue was shown. The man slowly nodded, looking down at the ground and sighs, “You’ll be back… you will be back.”

[devildomwriter]

Dancing With the Devil | Diavolo x Reader

AFAB! Reader | 5.5K Words

This takes place during the first year of the exchange program. MC is shy and a little awkward around their long time crush, Diavolo only to find his feelings are fully reciprocated in a dance of passion

CW: Explicit sex

*If this story is familiar I had it on my previous blog and it’s on my wattpad*

"I'm sure I can get some kind of sexual gratification just by staring if I try hard enough," you mumbled as you leaned on the palace counter gossiping with Asmo.

He laughed and patted you on the back.

"I've been trying for that one for a while," he sighed, admiring the prince, letting his eyes linger over his v-line.

"Such a sexy outfit, too," you sighed, and Asmo nodded.

You and the brothers and other exchange students were attending a spring ball at the castle, watching Diavolo laugh with Lucifer, Barbatos, and a few nobles you didn't recognize. Beelzebub entered the kitchen then, and you quickly shut up about your little crush on the prince; however, Asmo did not.

"Each time I get cuddly with him, Lucifer brings out his whips."

"Oh yikes, ...you think he'd...?"

"Use them on you? I'm sure he'd only do that in the bedroom," he grinned wickedly, and you slapped his arm.

"You always say stuff like that about your own brothers, you weirdo," and he began to laugh while Beelzebub dug trough the fridge behind you both.

You turned around and watched him as he began stuffing things in his mouth.

"Umm...Beelzebub don't you think Lucifer will get mad?"

He turned around and tried to speak with his mouth full of food, but neither you or Asmo understood what he was trying to say.

"Beelzebub finish chewing first please," Asmo sighed, and Beelzebub swallowed everything down in one gulp, which was mildly impressive if not also terrifying.

"Whatcha doing in the kitchen with MC, hm?" Mammon asked as he strutted towards the three of you.

Beelzebub stood up, and Mammon jumped a little, having noticed his other brother from behind the kitchen island.

"Geez Beel, ya know yer gonna get in trouble with Luci-"

"What are you four doing in here?" you heard Lucifer growl, and you turned around nervously to look at Lucifer, Diavolo standing with an unamused face behind him.

"Uh-"

Before Mammon could finish talking, Lucifer glared him down, and Mammon ran from the room.

"Talking with my dear MC," Asmo smiles innocently, tilting his head to the side.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as he looked at Beel.

"Beelzebub? What makes you think you can steal the food from Lord Diavolo's fridge?" He growled, and Asmo took your arms and led you from the room.

You nearly brushed Diavolo's arm as you passed, and he glanced at you for a moment. You could feel his eyes on you as you were lead back to your table.

Solomon, Simeon, Luke, Leviathan and Belphegor were sat at the table. Solomon was observing people while Luke and Simeon talked, Leviathan played on a portable game device, and Belphegor snored next to his plate.

"Beel's gonna eat full, huh?" Mammon asked, appearing from nowhere. Asmo glared at him and took his seat next to you, stroking your arm gently. Mammon was pissed off by this and sat on your other side, tugging your arm to lean into him, and you sighed.

"He really couldn't wait a few minutes until dinner was served, huh?"

"That's Beel for you," Belphegor murmured, half awake.

Levi nodded, not taking his eyes off his device.

You glanced back to where Diavolo has been and noticed he was no longer by Lucifer's side but welcoming latecomers.

Who would dare arrive late for a royal event? You rolled your eyes as he bent over the succubus's hand and kissed it as a formality. Hopefully, it was just a formality.

Lucifer dragged Beelzebub out from the kitchen and marched to your table while the other brothers tensed up at his arrival.

"But it was really good-"

"That is no reason to steal from his majesty," Lucifer barked, and Beel looked at the ground moping while Belphie rubbed his shoulder.

Lucifer turned his attention to you, sat between Asmo and mammon.

"This is not the seating arrangement, return to your seats," he ordered through grit teeth, and Mammon and Asmo reluctantly returned and waited in the right seats while Lucifer glared them down to make sure they all stayed in place.

"MC, Simeon, Luke, Solomon; my lord requests you dine at his table once dinner is served," Barbatos said with a bow as he approached the table.

Luke looked annoyed, but Simeon smiled as he was used to speaking with Diavolo. Solomon smiled, eyes closed as he likely plotted something, and you turned beet red.

Asmo snickered, and Lucifer glared.

"What is so amusing, Asmodeus? Is there something I should know about?" He interrogated, and Asmo raised his hands and shook his head.

"Of course not," he said sweetly and flicked his eyes to meet yours for a moment.

You felt your ears burning and tried not to express your nervousness. You were always able to disguise your nervousness around Diavolo. He was an amazing friend to you, but you couldn't deny the way he made you feel when you were in private.

Every time you saw him, you wondered if it would be your chance, if you ever got one. Unfortunately, tonight it would seem you'll be sitting by the angels as well, and you'd feel a lot worse for thinking such things about the future demon king when around them.

Lucifer looked surprised by his lord's request as it wasn't originally planned but sighed and turned to you as you got up slowly and made your way to Diavolo.

Diavolo made the announcement dinner would be served, and everyone made their way to their assigned seats.

You weren't sure which one to take this time, but Diavolo pulled out the chair next to himself, and your heart skipped a beat as you sat down.

You smiled up at him and mouthed 'thank you' as he addressed the audience.

Barbatos announced what was being served, and there were whispers of excitement around the room as the butlers and kitchen servers walked out in line to bring each table its meal.

Everyone resumed their conversations, and Diavolo smiled at you. You smiled back, hoping you weren't blushing and your eyes lit up in excitement as the food reach your table.

Diavolo chuckled, and you gave him an inquisitive look.

"And just what’s so funny?" He teased.

"Your eyes light up exactly as Beelzebub's do whenever you are served food here," he observed, and you blushed.

"Well who doesn't like food?"

"Everyone likes food, MC, you just like it a lot," Luke agreed, and you sighed in defeat.

Simeon and Luke silently prayed over their meal while Solomon, Diavolo, and you dug in. "The last time we ate here, Solomon nearly killed us," you reminisced, and a shiver went down everyone's spine, even Diavolo looked disturbed by the memories.

Solomon just chuckled to himself, still smiling.

"And Asmo didn't even warn us," Luke mumbled.

"Speaking of Asmodeus, MC, you seem quite fond of him?" Diavolo asked.

"D-Diavolo?" You gasped and Simeon laughed.

"What? Is it not common knowledge?"

You turned to the others and asked, "does it seem like Asmo, and I are fond of each other?"

They each nodded, as did Barbatos when he approached to take his seat in Diavolo's other side.

"What? No way we aren't like that at all? He's like a gal pal sort of person to me. He does my hair and nails and we gossip and talk about boys and stuff - it's really nothing romantic at all-" you explained hurriedly, and Simeon laughed.

"So you talk about boys you've met here in the Devildom then?" Solomon pressed, and your face was visibly red.

"Well-I-"

Luke seemed annoyed, but the others were amused. You turned around and mouthed 'Hel͏p me' to the brothers' table where most of them were watching you intently.

Asmo gave a thumbs up, and you wanted to murder him; that was such a clear sign he knew something about one of the men at the table, and Diavolo caught onto it as he gave you an amused grin.

You facepalmed and stuffed your face with food to avoid the topic.

Diavolo asked Simeon, Luke, and Solomon about purgatory hall, studying methods, people at the school, everything you would normally ask an exchange student. So why did he ask you something so blunt? Was it just because it came up?

As soon as you heard Diavolo's hearty laugh, you were filled with an intense desire. This time purely romantic, he was so hot and so adorable, how could you possibly keep yourself away from this man.

"MC, I'm quite surprised I must admit that the brothers have not attempted to claim you in some way?" Diavolo suddenly brought up, much to everyone else’s surprise.

"What the-? If I may ask my lord why is it you seem so curious about my love life or lack thereof," you nearly choked on your food as the other watched in amusement, including Barbatos, who gave a knowing grin.

"You are our only,” he glanced at Solomon “…regular human exchange student, so it had me quite curious is all, especially since they've all changed so much since meeting you," he excused. Solomon gave him a confused and offended look but he ignored him in favor of watching your reaction.

Once your meal was finished, you awkwardly made your way back to the brothers, where Lucifer intercepted you and pulled you to the side out of sight.

"What were you speaking of with lord Diavolo," he demanded to know.

"For some reason my love life-"

Lucifer was red with anger, "why would you discuss such a thing!? Honestly MC I expected better of you-"

"He brought it up!" You exclaimed, and he was taken aback.

"What?"

"Yeah, and he kept bringing it back up, trust me I tried to avoid it."

"Why would he do such a thing, how was it brought up?"

"He said Asmo and I seemed close; I don't know?"

He hummed to himself, looking to the side and spun around, making his way to Diavolo, who smiled seeing his friend, and his face became confused when he saw how upset Lucifer seemed to be. You weren't sure what was said, but he simply laughed at his friend and patted his shoulder while Lucifer seemed to be angrily relaying what you'd said. You sighed, hoping you didn't seem like a tattletale. Just then Asmo linked his arm through yours and dragged you even deeper into the shadows of the empty hallways.

"Asmo, what the heck?"

"He so likes you!" He whisper shouted, and you blushed.

"Huh!?"

"I can tell these things MC you know that, you so have to do something. I can't believe you could totally get laid by the prince tonight!"

You turned red and jumped, slapping a hand over Asmo's mouth.

"What the hell, Asmo!?"

"Don't think I forgot about what you told me earlier; sexual gratification and all that, my charm may not work on you, but I know it's what you desire," he teased and smirked leaning in closer to you.

"Asmodeus, MC," you heard Diavolo's voice boom loudly through the halls though he spoke normally. Lucifer followed him closely and glared daggers at Asmodeus.

"Asmo, a word," Lucifer hissed, and Asmo winked at you and pranced after Lucifer.

You were left in the shadows alone with Diavolo, who smiled down at you.

"Did you need to ask me something?" You ask nervously, unsure of what else to say.

"I thought I'd tell you how lovely you look tonight, MC. I'm sure many will be eager to dance with you at the ball."

You blushed and looked away.

"Probably just the brothers like last time, or Solomon..." you thought aloud, and he smiled.

"You've done so much for this exchange program, and for the pillars so far, I cannot think of many ways to express my gratitude but perhaps sharing the first dance of the night with me could prove it to you in some way," he offered, and you gasped.

"R-really? But I have no idea how to dance, I'll be humiliated, and you'll be embarrassed by me-"

"Now why would I be embraced by you, MC, I'm quite proud of you, actually."

"You are?"

"Of course. Did I not just mention how much you've done for the brothers?"

You looked away shyly, extremely happy on the inside, and nodded.

He laughed at how cute you were being and held out his hand for you to take. You took it without questions, and he led you to an empty room.

"Where are we going?"

"The piano room.”

"You have an entire room for a piano?"

"But of course. Where else should I put such a prized possession?" You laughed at his surprised face, as if it were very common to have a room specifically for an instrument.

"So..."

"Why are you going there?" He read your thoughts, "the first dance does not start for an hour. I thought perhaps we could practice our dance to ease your nerves. Quite frankly, I'd also like to get to know you better, and I believe this is a better place to do so then somewhere people will circle around me or in a long dark hallway."

You chuckled and agreed and noticed his eyes light up a bit when he heard your laugh. The same way you always reacted when you heard his. Was it stupid to think whatever feelings you had could come to fruition? This man was ruler of the demons, the next devil himself; and you...you were a struggling human college student with a lot of issues.

After turning through many corridors and climbing several stairs which admittedly exhausted you, especially in heels, you reached two large doors and were surprised by the interior when he pushed them open.

"This isn't the piano room," you stated, and he blushed.

"I did intend to bring you there, but...I believe the view from my balcony is a much better place to dance and to talk." He said, seeming a little embarrassed, and you walked by his king-sized bed and to his balcony through two huge glass doors.

He was right. The view was breathtaking, and you smiled in awe. He watched you adoringly as you twirled, attempting to look innocently beautiful, but instead, you fell over.

He rushed to your side as you laughed at yourself to stop you from crying for embarrassing yourself like that in front of your crush.

"MC, are you alright?" He asked and lifted your dress to check your ankle. He looked it over and determined it wasn't injured in any way.

He helped you to your feet, and you hid your face in his chest, still blushing like mad. He laughed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"As much as I'd love to dance with you, I'm way too embarrassed to do something like that in front of everyone..." you mumbled sadly.

He detected the sadness in your voice and nodded, understanding your decision. Humans could be so fragile and so easily embarrassed; it was a little entertaining.

"There is still an hour until my presence is required, is there something else you'd like to do? Perhaps we could take a stroll in my garden? Or I could show you the view from the highest point in the castle," he suggested.

"I don't understand why you're being so kind to me, Diavolo. Shouldn't you be meeting with nobles and hosting and such," you trailed off, and he tilted your head to look at him, cupping your cheek and smiling sadly.

"I've done so for thousands of years. I can afford to miss an hour," he comforted, and you brightened up.

"Okay, if you're sure," you smiled, and he nodded and took your hand in his leading you away from the balcony.

"Then what do you have in mind, MC?" He asked with a somewhat mischievous smile, and you felt the butterflies doing backflips in your stomach as you stammered.

"I-I don't know. Is there something you'd like to do?"

"Why, yes, there is. Though I'll need your consent," he smiled, and your heartbeat erratically.

"Of course," you agreed, not a hundred percent certain what he'd ask but hopeful.

Every second you'd spent silently pining until that moment was worth it as he leaned into you, eyes closed, and sealed your lips together.

When you parted, you stared at him with joyful surprise, and he seemed relieved you weren't opposed.

"D-do you think we could do that again...for maybe like the whole hour?" You joked nervously. He laughed and agreed, this time leading you to his bed.

You sat on the edge heart beating out of your chest, and he sat next to you and brought your lips back to his.

You eased into the kiss, and he wrapped his arm around you to support you as he deepened the kiss. Your lips would only separate a brief moment before reuniting desperately. Diavolo's hand squeezed your waist, and you could feel his long black nails as he pushed you backwards into the mattress. You let his tongue slip past your lips, wisely giving him immediate access. The prince was likely never denies anything, and besides, you didn't want to deny him. This was heaven in the middle of hell.

As his tongue tangled with yours excitedly, he reached one hand to the waist of your dress and hiked the skirt up enough to reach for the waistline of your tights and began slipping them off. That's when you could confirm this was going to be more than kissing, and your thoughts began to race uncontrollably as your tights and heels came off together. He wasted no time in slipping off your underwear, and you shivered at the cold air against your inner thighs. You gave him a confused look, and he laughed lightheartedly.

"I assume you don't want to wear wet underwear for the rest of the night?" He chuckled, and you turned red and agreed as he brought your lips back to his. He slid his hands under your dress and held your waist, pressing it against his.

He was still fully clothed, and you didn't find it fair. As if he could genuinely read your mind, he transformed back into his demon-self, his natural self. You admired his silky red hair and, for some reason, very sexy horns as he continued to kiss you. He bit your lip playfully and left a trail of kisses from your mouth to your neck, sensually kissing about the collarbone, sucking, licking, and biting the exposed skin.

You moved your hands to his bare chest, feeling his muscles and sift skin and purred happily to yourself. He left your mouth for a moment, just long enough to remove his fur infinity scarf and his jewelry, placing them delicately on the dresser by his bed where he retrieved a condom. He looked back and you and stared before you realized you were still spreading your legs completely exposed.

"D-Diavolo," you stuttered, and he chuckled to himself and slid off his leather boots and baggy pants, revealing his demon form had no underwear underneath, and you bit your lip staring at his firm ass.

"Why don't we remove that dress before it gets ruined," he suggested though it was more of a firm request.

You nodded and unzipped the back enough to slip it off. He crawled back onto the bed in front of you and placed you on his leg, bringing his lips back to yours as he unhooked and slid off your bra.

He threw back the covers and covered your exposed back with a sheet. The curtains were closed, and the door was locked, but he still seemed precautious with you. Just in case Lucifer angrily threw open the door, suspecting you both.

He placed one hand in the small of your back, and the other held the back of your head as his lips trailed back to your neck. His hands began to roam your body and feel your curves, squeeze your hips, delicately brush the pads of his fingers down your spine. You were surprised how delicate this giant of a man could be, and you realized he must have experience. You grew hotter at the idea and began kissing his neck as he left hickeys on yours. Your lips let slip a soft moan, and his grip on your hips tightened as he flipped you over, underneath him again, chests mere inches apart. He was trying to control his breathing, but his heavy breaths were an indicator he was struggling to hold back instead of taking you immediately. But he knew this wouldn’t just be painful in general but would be even worse for a fragile human. His fingers brushed over your cheek, and he turned his attention to your chest. His eyes lingering for several seconds before he supported his weight with one hand and used the other to lightly massage your breast. His wings flapped for a brief second, giving away his excitement, and you moved your hands to the back of his neck, bringing him closer to you. He met your eyes; his were serious and curious. He was concentrating hard on not harming you and looking for any signs of fear or hesitation in your expressions, but your smile was enough to ease him. He moved his mouth to your chest careful not to hit your face with his protruding horns, and you tilted your head back to avoid them as you ran your hand through his hair, massaging his head as he began trailing his tongue around your tit, squeezing it lightly with his hand before taking it in-between his teeth.

You squirmed and whimpered, and he looked up to make sure you weren't in pain, but your gentle moans as he continued reassured him you'd be fine.

You were so caught up in the way he made you feel you realized you weren't verbally encouraging him or telling him what felt best, which would likely help him instead of him cautiously taking each step so slowly. "Diavolo," you moaned softly, face heated, and he paused.

"Don't stop, you feel so good," you encouraged, and his small bites around your tits became a bit harder before he moved to the breast that'd been left unattended. Normally he'd massage one while licking the other, but his weight was too much for a human. He switched hands and twirled his thumb around the areola as you continued to moan his name.

"MC," his voice deepened as he moaned, and your heart leaped. For so long you wanted to hear him moan your name, now you were under his sheets, your bodies entangled as he moved his hand down between your thighs.

You felt his finger brush against your opening and moaned, body pleading for more contact. He let your squirm and laughed as you did so, entertained by your neediness. He inserted a finger slowly and was pleased to find you were already very wet.

"Do you want me that badly, dear?" He asked, and you blushed but nodded, biting your lip. He found this sexy and keeping his hand between your legs he kissed your lips, propping himself up as he pulled back the sheets to get a better look at you. Hit by the cold air again, you shivered and moaned. He moved his eyes over your body before looking at himself, hoping you'd follow his eyes, which of course, you did.

You weren't just surprised by his size but legitimately scare and full of many questions.

"Umm-that's?"

"Will you be alright," he asked teasingly, and you nodded, red-faced.

It had to be a little more than twelve inches in length, and you weren't sure how much you were even capable of taking in. His dick was a sight to behold, and one reason was it certainly wasn't human, the veins were thick, and the shaft had small circular bumps that acted like barbs. Once he was inside of you entirely, he wouldn't be able to pull out until he came. The condom he'd grabbed earlier would likely prevent this, but of course, you couldn't tell. Each time you opened your mouth, all that came out was a moan.

You nearly formed words until he inserted a second finger inside of you, and his other hand pushed your head into his chest. You ran your hands over his pecs and left small kisses on his collarbone and chest. A moan built in his throat, and he rested his head atop yours as he made a scissoring motion with his fingers. You squeezed your legs together, and he grinned as you squirmed in his embrace. He tightened his grip around you and inserted a third finger. His fingers were long and large, and the pointed black nails scratched lightly against your inner walls in all the right places. As he inserted a fourth finger, he moved his thumb to your clit and began massaging it in circles. You were a mewling mess in his grasp, and he let out an instinctive grunt.

He was desperately holding himself back as he pumped his fingers in and out quickly. He moaned your name into your hair and kissed the top of your head, gritting his teeth together, pumping faster and faster until a wave of heat ran through your body, and your eyes squeezed shut in the intensely pleasurable warmth. He felt you cum over his fingers and grinned wickedly. He held your stare as he raised his fingers to his lips and sucked off your juices, you blushed furiously, shocked that the prince had this kind of side to him. His grin was loving but also a little sadistically curious. Probably because he was about to fuck your lights out. He licked his lips and moved his hand back between your legs, still holding your gaze lovingly.

"MC," he began in a husky voice that made you shiver.

"Y-yes?"

"Do you think you can take me within you now?" His words were drawn out and held back an anxious growl.

You nodded, though you were unsure.

"I see," he smiled and sat up quickly to retrieve and roll the condom over his length, though it didn't cover his shaft completely it would be enough to stop most cum from pouring into you, and the idea had you becoming wet again already.

Diavolo's eyes darted to the clock on his wall to make sure he had enough time and was pleasantly surprised he had more than enough time to make you squeal and scream beneath him.

He admired your form. A small human brave enough to let the demon prince slam his cock inside of them. They likely didn't know how hard it could be for them or the pricking pain of the barbs, but they were ready nonetheless. He moved over you and spread your legs apart, he admired your throbbing pussy and looked back to your trembling body, nervous but desperate for him, and he moved his hips to yours, the head of his dick pressed against you. He used one hand to spread your entrance apart enough to fit his head inside, and he mumbled to himself through grit teeth, "You're so tight-."

He slowly moved his dick deeper inside you, taking deep breaths not even halfway in to stop himself from suddenly bucking into you. He was big enough to make you bleed, and that's the last thing he wanted. He'd wanted to do this with you for so long, and seeing you completely unaware of Asmo's attempts on you that night made his temptation too much to hold back any longer. He wanted you himself, and he finally had you. This thought unintentionally made him buck his hips, his cock much deeper inside you now, and you let out a gasp that turned into a moan as your body instinctively bucked towards his.

Diavolo slowly began to pull back, pumping into you slowly at half-length, he used one hand to pinch and roll your clit between two fingers, making you wetter than you already were. You reached for him, and he blushed and leaned into you, finally ramming his hips into yours. You threw your head back and instantly came again much to his surprise. But he immediately gave you a playful smirk that had you the shade of blood in embarrassment. You moved your hands to clutch his hair, and he focused seriously again, moving back and forth slowly, pumping in and out, mumbling about how tight you were until his pace and strength picked up enough to throw your body forward. You were held against his hips as you and the bed shook with every thrust, the bed frame beginning to hit the wall loudly enough to echo down the halls. He spread your legs further apart, reaching deeper inside as he grunted and moaned, slamming his cock in and out of you as your body contorted in the sheets, nails digging into his head. Unable to properly grip his hair, your hands moved to his horns and kept them there.

You could feel the small barbs of his dick as they sent you to heaven and back, you could feel every vein as he pulsed inside you.

Your vision blurred for a moment as you screamed his name, unable to control yourself. Hips bucking together hard enough to bruise and break, you were a wailing mess beneath him. His movements became sloppy, and when he watched your face twist in pleasure as you came again, his delight sent him over the edge, and with one final buck of his hips you gasped for air as the barbs stopping scratching, and he slowly pulled out, condom overflowing with his semen.

You both paused a moment, breathing frantic and held each other's gaze. Diavolo reverted to his human form and crawled next to you, laying on his chest, hugging his pillow as he watched your pink face struggling to breathe. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your hair more tangled than a bird’s nest as your chest heaved, taking in as much air as it could while you came down from your high.

He chuckled as he watched you, unsure of what to say. He'd just completely broken his composure, he'd ignored his title and interfered in his own exchange program just to get a taste of you. But he still wanted more of you. He ran his hand through your loose strands of hair and moved them out of your face. He sat up and threw the sheets off his bed, leaving you exposed again. You struggled to sit up but fell back into the bed. He helped you up and carried you in his arms to his private bathroom. He sat you underneath the showerhead and left the room to get something. He came back with your folded clothes and sat them on the sink next to his.

"My hair and make up," you mumbled, and he laughed.

"That's an easy fix, dear," he soothed you and turned the warm water on as he joined you in the shower, washing off the sweat and everything else. He admired the bruises and bites he'd left on your skin and helped you stand up, leaning into his chest, he held your hips as you were unable to stand on your own.

You felt the water run over you, and Diavolo comb his fingers through your matted hair. You were both silent, not sure what to say.

"So..." you trailed off, hoping it'd prompt him to speak.

"So..." he replied, taking a moment to think of what to say next.

"Did you enjoy yourself," he asked, already knowing the answer but wanted to hear it from you as you nodded shyly in agreement.

"Ye-yes," you stammered, and he hugged you closer as he ran a bar of soap over your arms.

"Good, we should do this again soon," he added, and you jumped in surprise.

Really? Lord Diavolo, your crush, a future demon king, wanted to have sex with you?

"Really?"

"Yes....But can we agree on one thing," he asked as you finished washing.

"Yes?"

"Lucifer can never find out."

You both laughed and nodded before sweating at the idea of what he'd do to you both. Diavolo rubbed your back and helped you to the sink where you dried off, and he used a spell to redo your hair and makeup as it was, though he didn't bother hiding the marks he left on you.

You both returned to the party a few minutes before he was to make his entrance, but when people asked for you to dance, you had to decline even though Mammon seemed depressed at rejection. This was only because you'd done enough dancing that night. Just not the kind of dancing anyone expected.