#my window is 4 floors off the ground and my front door is 4 floors away from being accessible to passersby. im arboreal baby!

[mothmvn]

i can't fathom living in a stand-alone single family home. ive been alone in them and i felt lost; every noise that wasn't mine was a tense discovery waiting for me in one of the rooms i couldn't see, if not a potential intruder from the outside world. no wonder americans keep making movies about haunted houses! i wouldn't survive, not even with a pet to write off the noise. i need the comfortable cacophony of shared walls, floors, ceilings, to know there's other people around me and not just other ghosts, to know someone else is alive nearby, continuously affecting my life with theirs and perhaps even vice versa

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 9

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8

• ··········· • ············ •

You walked to the Academy's reception, grabbed a visitor’s badge, and made your way to the lab. The choice between waiting outside or unlocking the door and snooping around was easy to make.

It was silent in the school, still too early for the actual classes to begin. Only the birds and the staff could be heard from where you stood in front of a window, Piltover’s skyline starting to shine with the rising sun. Hate it or love it. Topside sure was beautiful in the morning.

You heard the door handle rattle and quickly moved somewhere you could watch whoever it was entering the lab. It was all fun and magic until you were arrested for trespassing... Again.

Viktor walked in, his eyes narrowing because of the light difference between the lab and the corridor. He was trying to balance a dusty old brown messenger bag on one shoulder, a stack of books and papers in the other, holding the cane, and opening the door. You spotted a square of what looked like a piece of bread embedded with jam in his mouth. Sweet tooth and with an actual appetite. What a difference a dimension makes…

You also noticed from your not-so-hidden hiding place that, although his breathing was labored, the endless cacophony of coughing he would be having after walking through the Academy with that amount of weight, in another universe, was absent.

It was endearing the way he slowly took off the bag first, making sure the strap didn’t dislodge his breakfast, smirking as he accomplished his little mission. Once the bag was secure on the coat hanger, he grabbed his walking aid and slowly made his way to the table, dropping the books carefully on it, toast still between his lips. 

Inspecting his work, he finally took a bite of the toast and nodded, walking back to the door to close it.

“Hello.” You said brightly. “Blue balls of Hextech!!!” He jumped, grabbing both his chest and the edge of a table for support, his cane falling to the ground with a clank. “It’s funny because it’s true.” You made your way towards him and grabbed the cane from the floor, giving it back to him with a smile.

He grabbed it hesitantly, looking around the room puzzled, back at the door, and then at you.

“How did you get in here? I locked the door when I left.” His brows frowned slightly, and his eyes unfocused, trying to find something in his mind. You could see his gears turning. 

“I opened up a teleportation portal in my room and just reappeared here…” His eyes widened, a mix of fear and enthusiasm. You snorted. “The door was unlocked.” “Oh…” The disappointment was palpable.

It was the truth, actually. You were going to unlock it through magical means, but when you touched the handle, the door just slid open. You had poked your head in and saw no one, so you made your way inside. 

“I am certain that I locked it yesterday when I left.” “Sky maybe?” You shrugged. “No, no. Sky only works in the afternoons.”

Both your eyes locked onto each other. But you had a feeling his reasons were different than yours. Sky was alive. The hex-core hadn’t consumed her. You shifted your gaze to his leg, his cane, and his two very pale hands. Very pale and human hands. Was the corruption non-existent or just hidden?

“How do you know about Sky?” He asked, revealing the reason he had looked up to you. “I crossed paths with her at some point.” You half lied, having crossed paths with his assistance, just not in this dimension. “Maybe Jayce was here.” You leaned your hip against the table and shrugged.

Viktor walked around the lab, inspecting the tables and the tools. Making sure nothing was out of order. He walked to another large door that you knew was the storage and pulled at the handles. Locked. 

That’s where the hex cores were kept.

You knew that the room you were standing in was just a workroom; everything here was, in a very roundabout way of putting it, junk. Expensive and very valuable junk, but not what the lab’s main bread and butter was. That was locked in another room that, if it was anything similar to your side, was a mess of failed projects, almost finished projects, and the case with hex cores inside.

“Yes…maybe…” He walked back towards the table and stood in front of you, on the opposite side. “Please don't enter the lab when no one is around.”

His tone dropped, showing his seriousness, and you nodded. Even if it hurt, given your previous experience, it made sense. You were a stranger to him, and although you both seemed to get along well enough, you were still an unknown to him. You were sure that if you asked, he would probably show you the room, but that didn’t mean he’d allow you to be there unsupervised.

“Sorry.” 

‘I’m still getting used to not knowing you,’ you wanted to add but didn’t.

“No harm done. I’ll warn Jayce not to leave the door unlocked… again…

Viktor hooked the handle of his cane on the table and sat down with difficulty, a grimace on his face as he shifted his weight to the hand on the table and then almost plopped down on a stool.

“Your back?” You asked, sitting down in front of him at the table, and nodded. “Sometimes it gets worse, but… such is life… all pains and aches.” He gave you a crooked smile and bit his toast. “Should we start?” “Do you want me to show you the runes? The magic? What?”

He grabbed his brand-new notebook from the pile of books on the table and opened it. It was already filled a couple of pages in, his neat handwriting contrasting with the ivory pages. When he looked up at you, you could feel the enthusiasm coming in waves from his amber eyes—the eagerness to find something new.

“I thought we could start with a couple of questions…” He grabbed a discarded pen that was on the table and looked at you. “That way I can compare notes in the future, and we will get to know each other better.”

It was one thing knowing and acknowledging this; it was another thing when he spoke it out loud. But despite the little tear in your heart, you nodded.

“When did you find out you could do it?” He asked, eyes shifting to the page. “When I arrived at Piltover.” ‘The second time around that is…’ you added in your head. “When was that?” “A few weeks ago.” “Mm…Could you be more specific?” He looked up. “The night of the rocket attack.” “Ah…” He looked down. "How do you do it? The magic that is.” “Hmm, I write the rune. I set a purpose for it and push it forward.” “Fascinating.” He wrote it down.

You opened your mouth to say something, and he looked up immediately, probably hearing the small intake of air in the otherwise silent room.

“Yes?” “Hum…” You looked at your hands on the table. “I know that face." He placed the pen down and raised an eyebrow. "What face?" "I do feel the need to remind you..." He tapped the notebook with his finger. "You did agree to be truthful.” “They are becoming easier to use." You sighed, "Which I understand is normal because of usage, but now it doesn’t need a specific prompt; it just…knows…”

Viktor frowns, crossing his arms on the table and leaning into them.

“Example…” he asked, and you got up from your stool.

Without much thought, you walked to his bag, grabbed the keys to the lab that he kept in a little side pocket, and locked the lab. You looked at him and turned the handle, showing him the door was in fact locked. He narrowed his eyes for a moment but nodded. You moved back to the table, grabbed a white paper, and drew the rune.

“This is the unlocking rune…don’t judge the naming…I’ve been making them as I go.” “No judgment here…According to Jayce, I am, and I quote, ‘excruciatingly bad at naming anything', to the point he is scared of any child I might have in the future.”

That was adorable. Another difference between your Viktor and this one… the naming was usually left to Viktor, seeing as the only good name Jayce had ever come up with was ‘Hextech,’ and after that… everything had to have a Hex before it. Hexgate, hex-core, hex-hammer. At some point, the Atlas Gauntlets were to be named HexGauntlets. Branding he had said, eliciting an eye roll from Viktor and you and a threat to recall any funding from the Rainemours.

“I’ve seen it do two things: unlocking things and showing me other runes.”

You drew another rune. This was the most familiar.

“This one is the move rune.” You looked at him to see if he was in fact judging you, but he was gazing at the runes.

“Ah! We’ve seen this one in the hex core.” He said excitedly.

“That would make sense. It’s the starting point of a breeze or gust of air that moves things away from it.” You took a deep breath. It felt good to talk about this. “In the beginning, both had very...broad...results. This…” You pointed to the unlock rune. “Would open anything locked in my vicinity, and this... it would just work in a straight cone-like formation perpendicular to me.”

You opened and stretched your arms to make a small V shape with them in front of you, showing Viktor what you meant. He noted something in his notebook and rolled his pen to push you to continue.

“Now…” You touched the rune with your gloved hand, the paper’s corner shook, and in a second, the front door clicked. Viktor’s head snapped to it and then back to you. “And…”

You touched the other rune, and one of the pages of his notebook flipped over. His head snapped again from the door to the papers.

“They’re reading my mind or something. I don’t know…” a beat. “So?”

No response. “Viktor?” You called him softly.

He was staring, unblinking, at both used runes in front of him, his long fingers touching the papers.

“Vik?” You went to pull a strand of hair out of his forehead, a normal gesture between you and him, but before your hand could reach him, he looked up at you, and you stopped the movement.

If anyone asked you what wonder looked like, you’d describe Viktor’s expression right now. His eyes were bright, almost made of liquid gold, high cheekbones painted a soft, healthy pink, and his mouth curved crookedly upwards. His index finger taps on the papers.

“That was magic. Actual magic.” He told you, his voice cracking with excitement. “Hmm, yeah…” “No hextech needed.” His eyes shifted and his brows twitched, and now the gears were turning. “Magic…one person…with no hextech…” “Alright...You need to breathe, buddy...” you noticed when you saw his chest rising and falling erratically. His damaged lungs won’t enjoy this exercise. “It’s not the first time you saw magic.”

“It is the first time I see it from beginning to end... With hextech, you need to calculate fluctuation, get the frequency just right, and have a million tiny pieces work together… but this… this is… I’m dizzy.” “You’re hyperventilating…” You place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you have your medicine with you?” “No…My inhaler is at home. It’s alright…” And took several deep breaths, placing a hand on his lower back. The movement of deep breathing clearly took a toll on his back.

Your Viktor at this point would have probably fainted, but this Viktor seemed overwhelmed, breathing with a little wheezing, but his eyes were bright and his expression painless. Ecstatic even. 

“Alright.” You slid your hand to his forearm and squeezed.

“Alright…” he wheezed, calmer, grabbing his notebook. “I don’t think my body can handle any more excitement right now.”

Smiling, you nodded at him and sat down, scrunching the paper with the runes in your hand.

“Oh... and... they are not reading your mind. They are, simply put, you.” He grinned, like someone with a secret he was about to share, and you raised your eyebrows. “According to some, the runes are just another language in Runeterra. That means that you are basically learning to speak.”

“I thought they were external to me…like the world was making the magic go through me…or something. Like a prism. Light comes in and a rainbow comes out.”

He shook his head, rolled his chair towards the stack of books he had brought, and rolled back towards you, quickly searching the texts for something. A little ah escaped when he found the text.

“Magic comes from an individual's ability to speak the runes, and once spoken, they become intrinsically assimilated by the rune speaker.” He looked up from the book.

“Like playing an instrument.” You grinned. “Once you know which note to hit, you naturally know that every time you hit it, it’ll have the same result.” Viktor nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yes! The more you play a note, the easier it becomes to strike the chord, and…the easier it is to put it in a melody…”

The morning was spent with him asking you questions and you simply answering without much trouble. It was nice to know that Viktor from this side was just as curious and perceptive as your own. It was obvious he knew about runes; he used them for hextech, but he was still flipping at the thought of having you there with the ability to… conjure them…

Nearing midday, someone opened the door, and both of you jumped as Jayce walked in. You stopped the sketch of the rune you couldn’t make work, and Viktor, who was fully leaning into the table and putting his weight on his elbows, snapped his head to the door.

“Jayce!” He squeaked, startled. “Viktor?” The Tallis man stood, hand on the door handle, looking at both of you. “Jayce.” You managed to say it with a more neutral tone.

He said your name with the same tone he used for Viktor. He closed the door, and Viktor took the second he had his back turned to snatch the rune sheet and shove it in the middle of the pages of his notebook.

“I wasn’t aware you would be stopping by today.” Viktor limped towards his friend, and you stood straight, hands behind your back, trying to hide the very obvious, very unnatural, and very illegal glowing blue hand.

“I wasn’t, but…ugh…we—we need to talk.” He turned to Viktor and then you. He had a very grave and urgent expression. “They found... would you mind? This is Hextech business.”

He turned to you, and you shook your head, clearing your thoughts and restarting your brain. 

“Yes! Of course. Sorry.” You turned to Viktor, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. “I…I’ll tell Mother the commission is coming along just fine.”

“Yes, please do.” You blinked and looked back at you, nodding.

“It was great to see you, Jay-Councillor Tallis.” You started to make your way to the door when Viktor called out your name, and you turned. “Don’t forget this.” He slid his notebook towards you. “I’m sure your mother's notes will be safer with you.” “Ugh… Yes… Goodbye…”

You hurried back out, nodding back at Jayce. The grave look on his face was enough to get your brain thinking about what was so important he couldn't let you know. But then again, much like Viktor, he didn't know you.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth

[running-with-kn1ves]

Drunken Stupor

A/N: this is based off of that drunken yan gangster idea that I couldn't get out of my head. I might rewrite it or do it differently but this is 4 u my 1 gangster lovin' anon for now!

OG Yandere Gangster Drabble (nsft) w/ da Yan Gangster Ramble

TW: kidnapping, drunken yandere, noncon kissing (no nsft), threats, toxic behavior, 

Puzzles, accompanied by whatever news channel you could get through. Paint-by-number pictures, and shitty DVD’s from another time. Horribly thin sheets and an aching back--- you were completely, utterly, and seemingly irrevocably, isolated. The tight handcuffs around your feet only allowed you to hop around the house, barely making it to the front door before you tripped over the rug and nosedived into the cold, black floor. 

How long has it been? When was the last time you felt the spring wind on your face? You weren’t even allowed to open the windows, out of your captors fear of you screaming for help, even with him right next to you. He gave you countless things to keep yourself entertained, whether they be knitting grandma-like sweaters or taking up a different artistic hobby, anything that could keep you in one spot for long without the need to move or the option to hurt yourself. 

You were tempted to scream, to throw your half-finished puzzle at the wall and destroy the nice room set up for you that once belonged to the lone bachelor-- who, was much later than usual tonight. Your throat was too sore to keep up with the screaming however, and you pushed it to the back of your mind to try again tomorrow. If he came home all of a sudden and found you screaming at the ripe hour of 11 PM, he might do more than just threaten with one of his switchblades. 

You hated being around the bastard, feeling so terrified and weak like maybe today would finally be your last-- but at this point, you were going insane being by yourself for so long. Even a nice screaming match with him until your voice finally left you would more desirable than watching another 80s thriller that would haunt your dreams, alone. For someone who wasn’t home very often, he certainly had an extensive collection of old gangster movies, romcoms too even. But you couldn’t put Sixteen Candles on again without wanting to rip your eyes out-- not even one of his five million copies of The Godfather. Who needs that many copies of the same movie?

Your exhausted, beaten-down brain jolted at the sound of someone jerking at the door handle. The door practically thumped with the lock against the wall, dust raining as it was violently ripped back and forth. But then came the familiar jangle of an overloaded key ring, one you had heard most nights for what you can only assume has been the past month. 

Finally, your spiked anxiety crashed when you saw those familiar, much-too-shiny-for-a-gangster-to-be-wearing black leather shoes thump inside. You peaked your head out from your sitting position near the opened bedroom door, trying to get a glimpse without getting up and alerting him of your presence. It was inevitable for him to come to you, his kidnapee, but you tried to postpone the smothering for as long as possible. Maybe now was the time to chuck that puzzle. 

“You reallyyy gotta hold *hic* on mee…”

Mismatched footsteps trudged, stopping first to hit the corner of what you could only assume was the livingroom loveseat.

“Move outa ma way, couch! ..Even though you… treeat me *hic* badlyy..”

You heard the raking of fingernails on the couch cushions, the clink of a bottle rolling on the ground back and forth. You didn’t dare look back through the door crack. Maybe you should shut it? Lord knows what that would cause him to do, though. 

“You still gotts’a hold on me…” 

The sing-songy voice came closer, belonging to the madman you dreaded the return of. Within the crack of the door you saw a dark silhouette, the TV casting a face-shadowing glow that made you just an inch more terrified. 

“Hey, baby…” He hiccuped. 

“Well that’s new,” You started, looking away from him back to your puzzle. “When did I become your ‘baby’?” 

He moaned thoughtfully, thinking about your rhetorical question. “After you kidnapped me, I suppose?”

Maybe it was wrong to poke the beast, especially because he smelled like dirty whiskey and had three buttons too loose on his dress shirt, showing a deep scar betwixt his faint chest hair. A vulnerable image he’d never let you witness soberly. 

“Hrmmm….” He pushed his entire weight on the door, letting it creak open as he looked at you with a smile. 

“I dunno…maybe.” He laughed a little, giving a small snort like a schoolboy hearing his first nasty joke. 

You rolled your eyes. Damn, as if you weren’t on edge before, now you were going to have to deal with the equivalent of a murderous toddler who’s been threatening to hurt you ever since you were first brought here. Drunken fools were best left at the bar. 

But your icy demeanor didn’t sway his unsettingly good mood, the gangster opening the door all the way to flop onto your (unwillingly) shared bed. He dug his face into the sheets that smelled like you, looking at the back of your head that was pressed against the edge of the mattress.

“Was thinkin’ bout’cha…” He murmurs, tugging at a strand of your hair from behind. “Couldn’t stop talkin’ to the boys, ‘bout how pretty you are..” 

The short yanks at your hair to get your attention were becoming annoying, though you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of glaring face-to-face. 

“Told em’ how nice you look when yer sleepin’, when ya brush ya teeth, sayin’ that they’re not allowed to have ya....”

You hummed in response, trying to bend away to get closer to your puzzle. But you could sense the bubbling in your stomach, could feel that something was coming. Whether it’d be a bunch of slobbered kisses or your early demise, you couldn’t tell. 

“Oh really?” You asked, knowing he’d been adamant on not saying a word or letting make a peep about your existence in his gang-funded condo. 

“Yah, I did. Don’t believe me? Said i’d cut their fingers off, like boss does when some’n fucks up. I’d slam into em, make em watch while I...” 

He went quiet, and you thanked whatever made him. Whatever he said, you didn’t want to know; you’d already had enough of an unwilling look into his violent thoughts. 

“Well, doesn’t matter now, right... ‘cause now I gots’ya here. Mmph,” You hear him kick his shoes off, his face coming up to bury in your hair. “Smellin’ so good, lookin’ so nice fr’ me… wanting you so bad.” 

The sound of him inhaling you, his nose pressed to your neck as he shimmies his head deeper against you like a cat is uncomfortably warm. You feel two hands creep up, looking for your shoulders to push you back and make you more accessible. 

The gangster wasn’t normally so affectionate, so quiet and simple when he spoke. You were waiting for it to be replaced by his normal, angrily resentful behavior, the type that’d pull you by the hair to kiss you, that’d rant about the idiots he’d had to deal with for the day at you. But maybe, just maybe, you were in the clear for now?

“You’re acting weird,” You try to jerk away. “I’m not in the mood to entertain you, okay? Just, let me do my puzzle in peace. Go take a shower or something.”

He’s quick to respond, wrapping veiny arms around your shoulders and dangerously close to your neck. 

“Nuh huh, not unless yer comin’ with me, wanna show how much I loove you,” His head pops up closer to yours, the stressed crinkles under his eyes making him look older. “Cuz’ baby, you reallyy gotta hold on mee..” 

“Stop stop stop.” You couldn’t take the second-hand embarassment of listening him to try to sing again, horribly off key and far too confident in each drawn out word. “What do I have to do to stop you from singing again?”

“I can’t hold it in though. Love’s too strong for you, love.” His disheveled hair, once slicked back in an oily black, now strewn about across his forehead as it nearly covers his eyebrows. He presses his forehead towards you. “Lemme kiss. Told the boys you give the best kisses, lemme prove it..”

“Prove what-- they’re not even here!” You try to go under his arm-barricade, only to be stopped as he practically puts his full weight forward, dragging him with you each time you move. 

“Lovin’ you for so long, jusst a kiss, just one kith..” He reaches for your cheek with his lips, ignoring how you whip your head around in retaliation.

“No, no! You stink like a bar and ciggarettes, get off me.”

He grunts in frustration, biting down on his lower lip as his dark, full eyebrows furrow together. 

“Let me kiss or i’ll.. I’ll gut you like a fish, my lovely..” 

You stopped at that, looking out of the corner of your eye to his pink-tinted cheeks and strong neck that sweated at the sight of you. 

He puts a ringed knuckle to your cheek, huffing as his eyes go half-lidded. His suit was all wrinkled from rolling around on the bed, dirty with the day’s work and bar-stench as he forced you back against the end of the mattress. 

“C’mon, don’t make me say stuff like that just for a kiss…” He whined, scooting closer. “Maybe I’ll start singing again, y’knoww, if y’don’t come close.” 

“Please just… don’t hurt me.” You mumbled, trying to avoid that blank, dark look he often held that came crawling back a moment ago. You didn’t want that sober side right now; this was somehow easier to handle, even if it meant losing your dignity. 

“Don’t wanna, never will,” He hums, staring unbothered at your lips, as if he wasn’t holding you tight enough to suffocate. “S’just kiss me, need it bad..” 

You looked around, as if there was anyone else looking, trying to avoid the task that made you shiver inside. 

But you didn’t get a chance to reject the drunken gangster again, his wet lips coming against the side of your face. He poked the tip of his tongue out, flicking against your lip before going tongue-first into your surprised mouth. 

Anytime he had tried to kiss you, to do anything overtly intimate, the most he released was the silent huffs of a man too wrapped up in himself to let you hear anything of pleasure. But now, you witnessed the lewd shlops of his lips against yours, the neediness of the back of his throat, groaning to be deeper inside of you. 

One of his heavy hands cradled the back of your head, his stupor not caring (or rather, not noticing) how little you moved, how you seemed to be backing into his large palm that massaged your hair. 

“Loved’ya forever, so happy you were so stupid…” He mumbles between licks to the corner of your lip, diving back into the sticky warmth of you. “What kinda… mph, idiot, doesn’t..hugh, report to the police..?” 

With his arm once wrapped around you, the gangster takes your limp wrist to his collar, bringing it to hold his loose tie. He makes you drag him closer, guiding your slow and frowning lips in his one-sided makeout session. 

“Not’ma fault, making your life so much better now.. N’now, you’re mine.” He grins, a stupid little grin from the alcohol and delusion swarming his head as he consumes you, fingers coming to fiddle with your cotton T-shirt as he draws lines down your chest. “My sweet sunshine, all mine, forever n’ ever.” 

[scarlethexelove]

hey! lemme just say first that I love your Agatha fics, it's so on character <3 I read your fic the other night and I can't stop thinking about it. Is there part 2 for 'Why are you here'? If there will be, I was thinking if you could put how Reader went to Agatha's house that night and she (Agatha) fulfilled her promise to her by fucking her in different positions until she's overstimulated. and then she breeds her full of her cum just because she's possessive :D

You Came

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Maximoff!Reader

Word Count: 2238

Warnings: Smut, Legal age gap, Dom!Agatha, Sub!Reader, Enchanted Strap, Cum Strap, Breeding, Degrading, Possessive!Agatha, Blow Jobs, Rough sex, Dark!Agatha at the end, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Slight bondage, Squirting, Marking.

Pt 1, Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5

A/n: I had enjoyment of writing this. Of course while writing I had the thought of Agatha having darker ulterior motives but like she still wants Reader either way. Just a bit of a motivation to have them.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

The window squeaks as it slides open. You grimace at the noise hoping that no one heard you. The darkness and silence around you leads you to let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. You carefully climb out the window, your foot catching on the window seal before you face plant into the ground. Your hands going out trying to catch you but failing miserably. “Son of a bitch.” You groan as you get up and dust yourself off. You’re thankful that after the commotion earlier in the day your mom as she profusely apologized used her magic to heal you. She normally never did that but she felt so guilty for being the one to cause you pain that she made an exception. You know she never meant to hurt you so all was forgiven, but now you're sneaking out to meet up with a woman that your mom despises. 

You look around making sure that no one heard you yet again. Sneaking out past the front window. You can see your mom the glow of the tv in the dark room illuminating her sleeping face. You feel bad for sneaking out to meet Agatha but the woman is so enticing. You shake the thoughts away as you make your way next door. 

You raise your hand balling it into a fist ready to knock on the door when it swings open. You gasp in surprise at the much older woman standing in front of you wearing nothing but a lace lingerie set. You frantically look back behind you turning your head in multiple directions scared someone will see. Your head whips back to the woman a smirk on her lips as her hand is planted on the edge of the door. “What the fuck do you think your doing?” You whisper scream at Agatha. She grabs the collar of your shirt, balling her fist there and pulls you in, shutting the door behind you before pressing you against it. Her hand snaking around your neck and squeezing. “Who do you think you're talking to like that little girl? Hmm did your mother never teach you manners? Don’t worry bunny, I'll teach you.” You can’t help the whimper that slips past your lips. 

Agatha licks her lips. Your wide eyed innocent look is driving her insane. She can’t wait to destroy you. She pushes you down to the ground hard. Your knee’s connecting with the hardwood floors causing you to whimper from the pain. Sure that you will have bruises there later. You look up to the woman confusion crossing your face as a sinister grin spreads across her. Purple swirls around the both of you before a strap appears around her hips slapping you in the face. Your clothes are also gone in an instant. You blush a deep red trying to cover your body but Agatha has no part of that. Your hands are instantly bound behind your back purple magic wrapped around them tightly. 

Arousal starts to coat your thighs as Agatha takes her strap in her hand, jerking it a bit and moaning before slapping it against your cheek a few times. “I want you to suck my cock. Put that dirty mouth to good use.” You open your mouth to talk back but instead Agatha shoves her strap down your throat causing you to gag. When she moans it that is when you realize that the strap is enchanted. You can feel it pulsing in your throat as you look up at the woman with tears in your eyes. 

Agatha’s hand cups your cheek wiping away the tears that fall. “So pretty when you cry.” She thrust the strap in and out of your throat. Her hand moving from your cheek up to your hair. Gripping harshly and pulling you all the way down on her cock. Your gags fill the room as more tears fall down your face. She leaves you there for what seems like forever before pulling you off. You cough, catching your breath. But she only gives you a short amount of time before she is back to fucking your throat with her strap. The only sounds in the room are of your gags and her moans. “Fuck if your throat feels like this I can’t wait to fuck your pussy.” She groans her hips already become more erratic the longer she thrust. 

Arousal drips out of you, your thighs coated as it slowly drips to the floor. Your mind is already turning to mush as the woman uses you. Her hips are jerking and you think she is about to cum but then her hips come to a stop. Pulling you off of her and pulling you up by your hair. You whimper as your scalp stings her grip tight. You’re soon face to face with the woman but not for long. She waves the restraints away and pushes you back against the door. Her hands moving to the back of your thighs signaling for you to jump. You do as she wants she catches you as you wrap your legs around her waist and she pushes you further into the door. Your chest slightly heaving as your still trying to catch your breath from the brutal throat fucking. 

“God, you're already dripping all over me. Are you so much of a whore that fucking your throat gets you off?” Agatha’s words are condescending. “I-” She cuts you off as she thrust her strap into your waiting hole. You let out a loud moan as she sheaths herself in you. “Mmm fuck.” You groan, your head falling back on the door. She starts a hard and face pace pounding into you. Your mind goes blank as the only thoughts in your head are of her. Her name is already falling from your lips like a chant. 

You hate how embarrassingly fast she is building you up. Perfectly angeling her hips hitting that spot deep inside you as her fingers dig into your hips. Her lips move to meet your neck leaving her mark behind as she pounds into you. You know you will be covered by the end of this. Nipping and sucking along her neck and chest. “Please.” You whimper out the only word your brain can form. “Please what bunny?” She smirks against your skin. She knows exactly what you want but why not toy with you a little more. 

You struggle to find the words. Her hips jackhammering into you erratically and you can tell she is just as close as you are with your walls clamping around her tightly. “Pl-please wanna cum.” You have more tears in your eyes. You try and look down at the woman begging with your tear stained face. Your arms wrapped around her back as your nails dig in leaving angry red lines in their wake. 

“Cum with me.” Agatha pecks your lips. With a few more thrust her hips stutter and you can feel a warm sticky fluid filling you up. You cry out as it triggers your own orgasm. Coating her strap in your juices as she continues to fuck into you. But she doesn’t stop there she continues to pound into you intent on keeping her promise to show you just how much she can make you cum. “Oh fuck!” You gasp. Her hips continue to drill into you faster if that was even possible. 

Agatha kissing your neck and mumbling against your skin. “This pretty little pussy is mine. No one can have you. No one can touch you, not even you. You understand me, little girl?” She grunts with every thrust. You shake your head, pleasure clouding your mind as your second orgasm nears. “I’m going to fill this pussy over and over again. All mine.” She is like an animal claiming her prey as she bites down hard on your neck. You cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain. Your orgasm unexpectedly washing over you as you cum again all over her strap. Your body arching, pressing your chest against hers as your legs shake around her waist. If she wasn’t holding you against the door you know you would be on the floor. She moans, feeling you cum again following soon after. “Mine. My little breeding bitch.” Her fingers dug in more.

You expect Agatha to slow down but she doesn’t. She continues her pace. You’ve lost count of how many orgasms you have had. Your neck and chest marked with reddish purple marks, bruises forming on your hips and thighs and she relentlessly fucks you. Your cheeks are tear stained and you’ve become a drooling whimpering mess. She fills you up again but this time when you’ve come down her hips still leaning her forehead against your shoulder. Both of you panting heavily and bodies glistening with sweat. You have no idea how she is still holding you up like this but you're too dumbed down to really care. 

When your breathing finally evens out a bit she shifts causing you to whimper. You're so overstimulated as the strap still buried inside of you moves. “Too much.” More tears stream down your face. But you can see a flicker of desire and that primal need to fill you once again. 

Agatha carries you over to the back of the couch. Her strap slips out, making you whimper more. She places you down and your legs would have given out if it weren’t for her hold on your waist. She quickly turns you around pushing your upper body over the back of the couch. “No more.” You whimper out. “Come on, bunny, just one more for me. I need to make sure you're full of me.” Her fingers trace your red puffy pussy all of your combined juices leaking out down your legs. You squirm at her actions. Your body is telling you no but your mind is begging for more. Just like she knew you would. “Okay.” Your weak voice comes out. 

That is all Agatha needs to shove her strap back into your hole. Still somehow so tight even after all the orgasms she has pulled out of you. She pulls your hands behind your back holding onto your wrist using them as leverage to pound into you. You’re both so sensitive that your orgasms are building quickly. She leans over still rutting into you and whispers in your ear. “What would mommy dearest think seeing her little girl getting fucked into oblivion but her enemy. What if I get you pregnant with my child? Poor mommy would be so mad, wouldn’t she?” Your mind reels at her words you love your mom more than anything and would never want to do anything to hurt her. But in this moment you feel so good and fucked out that all you can do is nod. 

Agatha darkly chuckles as she stands back up her hips already jerking as she comes close to filling you up again. If her spell works right you will be pregnant with her child by the end of the night. She will get her revenge on Wanda and destroy her perfect little family. Smirking at the thought of how your mother will react when she finds out you're pregnant and when she finds out just who the other parent is. Her thrust becomes rougher and digging her nails into the skin of your wrist. Her plan unfolding perfectly with as she fucks into you. So pretty and perfect the perfect puzzle piece to her plan. But even after this she thinks she will keep you. You're too perfect and pliable to let go to waist on some stupid girl. 

Agatha’s free hand reaches under your body, snaking her fingers down to your swollen clit. Pressing into it hard and pinching. You cry out form her actions but you push back none the less, helping to fuck yourself back on her strap. The pleasure is borderline painful as you become way too overstimulated. You can’t hold out much longer as Agatha toys with your clit pounding into your soaked pussy. A mix of whimpers and moans leaving your lips as grunts leave Agatha’s. 

All at once your body shakes under her. Your walls are squeezing her strap tight as you cum hard. Squirting everywhere making a mess of yourself and Agatha. She moans as your cum squirts out of you, vigorously pounding into you and circling your clit until she is emptying her load into you. Black spots start to invade your vision as Agatha rides you both through your highs. Soon the spots expand and your vision goes black and your body goes limp under her. Agatha slows to a stop before pulling out of your still spasming hole. Taking a minute to admire the cum leaking out of your gaping hole. 

Agatha picks up your limp body moving around the couch and laying you down. With a flick of her wrist you're cleaned up and so is she. She leaves your form naked admiring her handy work. She leans down next to your sleeping body. Placing her hand gently on your stomach, magic flowing through her fingers. She smiles when she feels it. Her plan worked. You’re pregnant with her child. She leans down kissing your head as her thumb rubs gently over your stomach. You’re now hers forever. 

[dex0s]

💋MY DEAD HEART • ZOMBIESukuna X Gn reader WARNING: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT , NON-con/rape, main character death, cannibalism, humiliation, bad ending, public?, gore, animals, DARK CONTENT, age-gap, small plot/smut, violence mention, lazy ending, not proof read, MDNI 18+

A/N—hello.. how have u been.. that’s good. Bye! *disappears for 4 months*

You had studying subject 01 King of Zombies or what he calls himself Sukuna with some other scientists and as you can imagine it not a pretty sight to see. Like the normal things you would think of a zombie is he will human or animal flesh but yet he can be picky with it or he can do something disturbing to the flesh.

Flashback

You were walk to subject 01/ Sukuna test area. It was a huge metal door about 8ft tall with electrified bar along side with talismans all over.

“Good morning Mx.name” one of the security welcoming you, “you doing a check up on subject 01 today?” Finished the guard.

“Yes you are right. I have to check out what that 01 did with our experiment…” walking towards the door, one of the guards scanned his badge unlocking the door to the lab room. Yet before you could take your first step the other guard turned to you a said, “ I would be care in there even if there’s another door… the night guards told me that they heard some freaky shit coming inside.”

“Well thanks for the warning” you finished, walking in the lab the door closed behind you. Looking at the window in front of you the fake forest seems empty but you know better. Getting closer you can see a deer and when examining closer you can finally see what that disgusting creature did… it fucked the deer to death.

Cum spilling out of it hole, the poor hole was stretched on the unimaginable size, you can also see bites taken revealing the flesh underneath. Writing down this information not knowing the something so sneaking up on you.

*boom*

Quick turning to the sound you can see subject 01 smiling at you and what you assume to be deer blood on his face and hands.

“Do you like my master piece doc?” Sukuna asked. Going back to you notes you continue writing. After a few seconds Sukuna started to get annoyed that you were responding, “you think you can just ignore me doc!? I know you can hear me! Don’t go thinking your better then me, I’m the king and you are the peasant—just wait until I get out of here, you are going to be my first victim!?”

End of Flashback

You still remember the way he spoke to you—hate and disgust. Yet that didn’t stop you from coming back to work. The pay was good and you can live your happy ever after.

Parking in your spot. You walk up to the building, once you give in the doors you see no one at the front desk. Looking a around seeing if you can find someone. You captures something you wouldn’t want to see in a million years.

Over the counter of the desk, there lay a woman with bite marks and a chuck of her head bitten off. “I- what the hell happened here?” You asked yourself. Going around the desk you check the body, yet before that the body started to shake violently. Moving away and hiding you behind the desk. Trying to stay quiet you can hear movement then sudden silence.

Hearing Growling on top of you, quick looking up you can see the “woman” looking down at you with a hungry look. Quickly getting up u run towards a door that requires your key card. Looking back the “woman” is running at you full force.

Scrimmaging through your lab coat you found it. Briskly you open the door and just how quickly it opened it quickly closed. Hearing the bangs behind you. U decided to move away before that thing breaks in. With red lights going off and on you can somewhat see that all the subjects doors are open. Due to that u started to walk quietly. Once you get to subjects 01 door their are body’s littering the floor.

Before u can get away you get slam to the ground. “Look who we have hear” you know that voice… that’s the same voice that said that you would be their first victim. Feeling your clothes getting ripped off u try to break out but you know that wouldn’t happen.

Before you can even start to think Sukuna slam his two cocks in your ass/pussy. Hollering and screaming you kick your feet. Grabbing your feet he saids “I told you that u would be the first and then I will move on to the next women/male/person. Enjoy this time while you can because after this your time will be over”. Moaning in pain you can feel Sukuna bit down on your neck.

Feeling that harsh bite you scream due to the agonizing pain. Not thinking straight you see him eating something. Skin. Your skin. With Sukuna still thrusting in you and the pain from your wound you can feel yourself about the black out.

Around you hearing of feet pattering u see subjects looking at you. Laughing at your pain, laughing at your tears, “look at that you have a little crowd laughing at you” Sukuna mocks you. Not able to hold your bladder is piss on his cock/stomach. “Ew did you just piss on me?!” Making sure the people around you can hear. The laughter starts to get louder and louder.

Crying is all you can do, you can’t yell for help because nobody cares, you can’t get out of Sukuna hold because your weak, feeling your end approaching. you called out forgiveness for your sins hoping that when you see the golden gate that you will be forgiven. Closing your eyes for the last time your ears pick up something…

“see you in hell bitch” was the last words Sukuna said before cumming his load in you.

[lis-likes-fics]

A Deal’s a Deal (Pt. 2)

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Gold!Reader Word Count: 10.4k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, spoilers, swearing, smoking, death, angst, phone sex, masturbation, age gap (Tommy is late 30s, Reader is late 20s), oral (f!receiving), heavy praise, breeding kink, Tommy is nice... A/N: So I decided to write a second part to show a completely different side of Tommy bc of course. This is not filthy as it is angsty. This contains spoilers for seasons 4 and 5 if you have not already watched them. I hope you enjoy this part, I put a lot of time into it! Thank you!

You wrapped Tommy’s jacket around you, draping it over your shoulders and admiring the weight of his scent wrapped around you. He’d just left you in the bedroom, left only in a bedgown as you waited for him to return to you after dealing with business that had shown up on the front lawn. But you were curious.

As you ventured toward the window, where the blaring lights from the car out front were shining through, even from the height of the first floor, you looked over the chaos of muffled shouts and cries. You tilted your head as you continued to quietly observe, trying to figure out who it was causing such a disturbance here so late in the night.

When you realised that you recognised the person yelling at Tommy, you were out of the door in seconds, panicked as you rushed through the hall and down the stairs. Once at the bottom of the stairs, you caught Charlie trying to peek out of the door in search of the situation which had caught his attention.

You knelt in front of him, offering a kind smile as you focused his attention on you. “Hey, Charlie,” you said in a sticky sweet voice. “Why don’t you come sit down while I go see what your father is up to, eh?”

He looked at you, only half interested. “Screaming,” he spoke in his tiny voice, referring to the men arguing outside.

“I know. Isn’t it just so annoying?” You stood and took his hand, leading him away until you could hand him off to a freshly woken Mary to take elsewhere. With Charlie out of the way, patting his head as he departed, you went back to the front door. You didn’t leave yet, choosing to stay there with the gun hidden underneath the table by the door and watch the men argue.

Aberama looked a mess, covered in blood and sweat. He was hysterical, and you could not understand a single word he was saying. Johnny Dogs was by the car, just as hurt as your father seemed to be, though less frantic as he clutched his side in pain. All you could hear were threats, loud, desperate threats spouting from Aberama’s mouth in Johnny’s direction garbled by anger and something deeper.

“Listen to me!” Tommy shouted, trying to catch his attention as he cradled his head and attempted to hold him still to get him to calm down. He forced him to look at him as he spoke.

“How can a one-armed man avenge the death of his son, eh?”

Your heart dropped in your chest and then leapt to your throat. The ground shook and the air stood still. You swallowed hard, wide eyed and not entirely sure you were still breathing. The word came out of your mouth but it was muffled in your ears as you took a step out of the door with breath caught in your lungs.

“Dad?”

Everything stopped as they all turned their gazes on you, a variety of emotions crossing their faces before settling on sudden realisation. You stared your father in the eye, ignoring the sting of tears as you took it all in—the suffocation, the shock. When did the world become so blurry?

Aberama looked away from you, his grief deepening as he turned his gaze back on Tommy with a new kind of rage. “They crucified my son…” he huffed, “for you.”

You felt paralysed as you stood there, helpless to find a way to fix all of this. You were supposed to fix it. You were the older sister, the family’s caretaker. You had to fix it, but you didn’t know how.

You were ripped from your spiral at the struggling grunts your father made breaking away from Tommy and grabbing the firearm discarded on the ground. He stumbled away to stand between you and Tommy, pointing the gun right at him. “You stay away from my fucking daughter!” he shrieked.

The blasting sounds of bullets shot into the air and stopped everything. You hadn’t even realised you were the gun shooting until words were leaving your mouth and you felt the tingling of blood leaving your hand from being held in the air for so long.

“Put down the gun, Dad,” you said, calmly at first as you stared him down with eyes that had not yet caught up to your body.

He looked at you and mumbled your name, nearly defeated as he watched you. The next words to leave your mouth were not so calm as they scratch at your throat with the force you used to scream them and aimed your gun at Aberema with an anger to be reckoned with.

“I told you to put down the fucking gun or I’ll shoot it out of your hands!”

He hesitated, taking you in before obliging. Slowly, he set the gun down and put his hands up to show peace. You didn’t lower your own weapon, though your hands shook and your jaw trembled with barely contained tears. Everyone stood still and watched you try not to unravel.

You took in a shaky breath. “Yes or no…” Your sigh was watery as you closed your eyes to steady yourself before looking back at your father. You licked your lips, “...Is my little brother dead?”

Aberama’s hands fell to his sides, swinging there as he let them go limp. His gaze broke from yours. He was slow to respond, not quite present but not as dazed as part of him wished to be. His voice was low, nearly inaudible. He opened his mouth, struggling to speak, “...Yes.”

You closed your eyes and gaze a silent sob one breath to escape. The tears that had been piling in your eyes finally slipped out. One, two, three slid down your chin and dripped to the gravel beneath your feet. You inhaled again, composing yourself again.

“Are my sisters safe?” you asked.

His eyes could only meet yours for a half second. “They’re with family.”

“Do they know?”

“Not yet.”

The sound of gravel crunching under someone’s shoes has you turning toward the sound with the precision of a trained marksman as you aim the barrel of the gun at Tommy, glaring at him trying to come nearer to you.

“Tommy, I swear to God, if you come any closer, I’ll fucking shoot you.”

He assessed you, taking in your anger, your pain, and deciding from there whether your words were empty. With another step, you gripped the gun tighter, but made no move with the trigger. He approached you slowly, testing you and your threat. By the time he was standing in front of you, you had done nothing but stare at him with a shaky grasp and breath. He placed his hand on the gun, pushing it down and snatching it from your hands. Emptying the barrel, his eyes didn’t leave yours as you watched him limply.

When his arms wrapped around you, the fire in your bones ignited. You were so much like your father in that way—your brother, too—a fighter, all of you. You fought him, you kicked and screamed and punched as you tried to get him to get off of you. Your brother was dead, your baby brother was gone, and you could never get him back and Tommy was standing here trying to hold you to him when you could never hold your brother again?

The touch was much too warm, the confinement stifling. You couldn't breathe, couldn't get the air to your lungs as your gasps made your throat hoarse and rough. The fight left so quickly as Tommy endured against your fight, keeping you locked in his arms until your anger relinquished and you dissolved into nothing but sobs into his shoulder. He held you as you stopped screaming, held you as the tears soaked his clothes. He held you as you trembled, too exhausted to keep fighting. Your legs were on the verge of giving out. He was the only thing to hold you up as you broke down against him.

“He’s dead, Tom,” you sobbed, finally putting your arms around him and holding him tighter than you ever have, your nails digging into him for something to hold on to. “He’s fucking dead. My baby brother’s dead.”

“I know, I know,” he shushed. Tommy cradled you as you rambled, trying to soften your cries as he listened and felt your sentiment too close to heart. The wounds of his own little brother’s death burned in his chest, and he hated you going through it as well. “I’m sorry about your brother. Really, I am.”

Your hands tightened around him, your nails digging deeper until your eyes met your father’s, watching the both of you with a look you couldn’t identify. Your grip on Tommy loosened, and you remembered yourself—the oldest, the caretaker, the voice of reason among voices pleading reparation and revenge. You let go of him, parting with a new numbness as he watched the anger, the emotional agony, disappear into a stone cold mask you’d pulled over your face to offer your father in accompaniment of his pain.

“I need to be with my family,” you said after a moment, your voice already sore and scratchy, your words full of frail strength.

Tommy watched you walk away from him and into your father’s arms, laying your chin on his shoulder as he pulled an arm around your back and held you. You didn’t reciprocate, you couldn’t. Not right now. Aberama held onto you for strength, and Tommy felt like he could see it draining from you by the way your shoulders began to sag.

Anerama’s cold, fiery gaze bore into Tommy, one full of despair and ruthlessness. Tommy sighed, raising a finger toward him. “If you want to take on the Billy Boys, you need me alive,” he warned, looking between the both of you with a variety of thoughts flashing in his head. “Everyone fucking needs me.”

You pulled away from your father, placing your hand on his shoulders and dragging your gaze along him. He was hurt. So was Johnny Dogs. You needed to take care of them. “I’m calling an ambulance,” you said, your voice a monotone droll of duty first. “Hold on, both of you.”

You supported your father’s arm around your shoulders, pulling him into the house to get him cared for as Tommy moved to do the same with Johnny.

~

Flames rose high, making the air around it dance from the heat and life rising with it. Your sisters, tucked under each of your arms, clung to you as they watched their brother's wagon burn, reduced to ash and dust of a life once lived.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you watched the fire rise and rise, sucking the tears back in as you remained strong for your grieving sisters. You turned your chin, resting it atop the youngest's head. You glanced away from the fire, and your eyes caught a much darker figure lingering further from the scene, cap pulled over his head and cigarette between his lips as he watched you.

You both watched each other for a moment, neither moving or looking away. By the time your eyes were averted, you'd already made your decision.

When the fire had not roared so wildly and your sisters' quiet sobs were gentler tears, you passed them over to one of your aunts watching the fire burn. Your father was still recovering in the hospital, too hurt to move too far from the bed but too upset to sleep as he sat in bed and watched the time that marked as his son's funeral ticked away minute by minute. With a nod, she gestured you away to take care of them for the moment while you spoke with your mysterious visitor.

Tommy Shelby stood silently where he was as you joined his side. Neither of you looked at one another, your eyes still fixated on the flames. It was silent for a while. You stuffed your hand in the pocket of your jacket and hugged it close for a comfort you felt selfish for wanting.

"They killed him."

Your voice was nearly strained as you spoke, quiet and nearly raspy with the overuse of crying—or keeping from crying—over the past week. You were still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that it had been the first week in the rest of your life without your baby brother.

Tommy cleared his throat, taking his cigarette from his lips. He rolled it between his fingers, considering a response before he gave it. "Your brother will be avenged, Y/N." He flicked it away into the grass, stomping on it with the tip of his shoe to put it out. "I promise you that."

You sighed, late to a reply as you shook your head at his promise to you. "Do what you want, Tommy." Your eyes strayed where they always had, right back to your sisters huddling to your aunt, stricken with grief. You shook your head again turning to Tommy as you swallowed thickly. "But don't make me lose any more family. My sister's stay safe, my father's life or death will be left to his hands or mine."

He turned to you, tilting his head and raising a brow. "You don't want me to keep him alive?"

You looked down at his shoes, thinking for a moment to get your thoughts in order from the messy hurricane they had been in the past week. "Before Bonnie died, I was dreamin' of a big, black bird. Then he did die, and I thought, 'This was it. It got what it wanted, now it'll leave us alone.' But when I managed to sleep that night… that bird was staring me down, much bigger and much louder than before."

You let out a shaky breath, steadying yourself before you continued. "Someone is goin' to die again, Tom." You nearly shuddered at the idea, meeting his gaze. "Don't let it be my sisters."

Tommy looked over you—your well-hidden grief of concealed red-rimmed eyes, trembling lips, messy hair. You were so good at hiding it all, he realised, well-versed in composed disposition.

But you couldn't hide all that pain from him. Reading you was like looking in a mirror.

He took a small step closer and reached down to brush your fingers with his, swiping his thumb over the back of your knuckles momentarily before letting go of you and nodding. "Your sisters will be safe. You have my word." He looked your face up and down. "No black bird will come for them."

You stared at him and blinked once. With a short nod, you looked away from the intensity of his eyes. He lingered there for a moment, your warmth mixing together for a few seconds in the cool air. Without a word, he turned to leave you.

He'd gotten a few steps away before you spoke into the air. "Tommy."

He looked back at you again, waiting expectantly for you to continue.

You swallowed hard. "Stay alive."

His eyes bore into your own, staring as he processed your words. He began walking back over to you, digging his hand in his pocket as he invaded your space. He took your hand in his big palm, setting something in your own and closing your fingers around it before you could see what it was judging the object only by the feel of it in your hand.

He turned and left, didn't spare a single word as he strayed from you.

You opened your hand and stared down at the penny he'd left you with, finding a ghost of a smile in your mind but not yet on your lips as you turned around to rejoin your sisters.

-

Things changed after that. With your brother gone, you realised all too suddenly how fragile this family of yours was.

Throwing yourself into work and family was the easiest part. Your kids at the school were important to you, your sisters even more so. The children kept you tender, kept you from hardening with the loss of your brother as you held on tight to your joy in life. Your sisters, impossibly dearer to you now, were cherished and loved and you made sure of you. The older of the two got married and was working on her first baby. The younger was joining you as a teacher, which meant she stayed closer to you. That made you very happy.

The hard part was separating from Tommy.

It wasn't intentional. Your late nights with him became more and more scarce as time went on. Being with Tommy, basking in the throes of passion with him during the darkest parts of the night, wrapped in his bedsheets and screaming his name, was a joy you couldn't match with anything else in your life. He was a guilty pleasure, an escape from reality that allowed you to fulfil the darkest desires within your heart that could not be found anywhere else.

You'd tried, once or twice, to push Tommy from your mind by finding another man. You were known to be Gold's prettiest daughter, there were men lining up to have a chance with you, but they were frightened off of it when Tommy Shelby had staked a claim. Now that he wasn't so dominant in your life, they had chances.

And you gave a couple of them chances—you needed someone else, someone safer. But he had his claws so deep inside of you, buried in your body and bitten into your flesh, like he had fired that bullet and left himself permanently marked in your soul.

There was no man like Thomas Shelby.

Slowly losing him was not just a physical thing, though. You hadn't realised how deeply you'd attached yourself to him until he wasn't around as much as he used to be—especially when he'd gone away to America on business. Finding excuses to see him every once in a while included your father meeting him for business and you following after, you wandering into the pub some evenings when you were feeling especially lonely (or simply just missing him) on the off chance that you just might find him there…him calling you late at night desiring you in his bed once more…

He'd called you one night.

You were just getting ready to go to bed, muscles aching and feet sore from working. Just as you were pulling the comforter from your bed, the trilling ring from the telephone screamed through the night air. You sighed, a tired moan slipping from your throat as you dragged yourself to answer.

You picked it up, a soft answer of your name through the line encouraging the person to speak. He hadn't realised how much he missed the sound of your voice until he'd heard it.

"Hello, Miss Gold," he said, his voice deeper, rougher than usual.

You held your breath and felt the sparks of delight in your chest at the sound of his voice. "Tommy…" you breathed, holding the phone closer and sinking into your chair.

"Did you miss me?" he asked. He sounded cocky. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke to you.

You nodded gently. "I still do…" He hummed, and the sound made you shudder. Your eyes flicked to the clock on your wall. "It's the early hours of the morning for you, isn't it? The sun isn't even up yet. You should be asleep, darling."

He hummed again. "Sleep was never really my friend."

You breathed a sigh. "You sound like you just woke up… Was it a nightmare, Tom?"

He didn't answer that. Instead, he let silence linger for a moment before he sighed. "I've been thinking about you."

You licked your lips slowly. "Me, too." You smiled a little. "But I think America is a little too far for me to go just to share your bed." Your smile faltered slightly. "I'm sure you could find some other woman to fuck tonight. A man like you has got plenty of options."

You weren't hostile as you spoke. Your voice remains gentle, if not dismayed by the proposal. Tommy supposed you sounded almost jealous.

"Maybe," his voice came. You swallowed thickly. "But none of the women here seemed to know how to fuck me like you." You heard him sigh. "None of the women here come close to you."

It was oddly comforting, but not comforting enough to be rid of your unreasonable agitation that he has, in fact, been with other women there. But what else did you expect? He wasn't going to stay celibate for you.

You brushed the fabric of the hem of your nightgown between your fingers, licking your lips. "Are any of them pretty?"

"Not like you."

The way he said it, his voice so soft and deep, brushed against your heart some kind of way. You found yourself wishing you were in his bed, not moaning with your back arched, but resting with your head against his chest. You wanted to feel your skin against his, his heart under your hand, his breath on your skin.

"I wish we spent more time together, you and I," you whispered, your voice soft as the whispers of wind. "I'm sorry we fell apart. I miss you." You didn't care how desperate you probably sounded repeating yourself like that. You let your eyes close, imagining him close again.

"Don't apologise," he said. He didn't go further, he simply left it at that with the implication that you knew what the rest of his meaning was. And you did.

"I want to be there with you." But my family needs me.

"I know." And I care so much that I am willing to wait.

You wanted to kiss him. You needed to kiss him. But you were oceans apart, and there was no getting past that quite soon.

You closed your eyes, inhaling the silence. "Say something to me, darling."

He sighed gently on the other side of the lines. His voice spoke in a way that made you shudder, absorbed in the depth of his timbre.

"I think of you every night, dove… I think of your body in my hands and your lips on mine."

If it weren't for the tone of the line, it'd almost be like you were right there with him, watching him stand over you as you listened to him speak. "What else?" you muttered.

"I think of your legs around my waist and your breath in my ear," he continued. "My name on your lips…"

The slightest whimper escaped you at the sound of that. You breathed in deeply, flattening your palm to your belly. "What would you do to me if I was there with you right now?"

"Oh, I'd fuck you," he put it bluntly. He hummed, and the sound rolled in his throat. "I'd push you against the wall, lift you up, and fuck you until you couldn't stand."

The idea made you weak already. The thought of him taking you rolled in your gut and whispered at your cunt as you clenched around nothing.

"And I wouldn't stop there," he continued, controlling your body with nothing but words as you buried your hand between your thighs and rolled your hips into it. "I'd throw you to the bed and spread your pretty legs apart. I'd taste you, feast on you until you came so many times, you shook. And then I'd fuck you again."

You whispered his name, your breaking trembling.

"I'd put you on your hands and knees, and I'd fuck you into the bed until my name was the only word you knew."

Your breath caught on a moan. You rubbed your finger over your clit, massaging it as you imagined him fulfilling his words. "Would you use my mouth?" you asked breathily.

"Until you could no longer speak."

You cursed under your breath, craving his touch all the more as you fed on the filthy images he put in your head. "I need you, Tom," you whimpered, chasing a high you could not achieve well enough without him.

"I know," he husked. "Keep moaning like that for me."

You did, pleasuring yourself as well as you could. You heard a quiet grunt in his voice across the line and smiled. "Are you touching yourself, Tommy?"

He huffed a breath, listening to you whimper again. "Yeah," he groaned. "Yes, I am, love. You make it hard not to with sounds like that."

You spoke between moans. "I am, too." Obviously, he knew that, but the admission made it all the more erotic. "My hands aren't as big as yours and my fingers aren't as skilled…" You sighed gently, "But your voice is enough to get me off."

Your fingers plunged inside of you, not half as fulfilling as Tommy's as you worked at your clit. "What else would you do to me?"

The sounds of his hand pumping his cock, fast and wet, reached the phone as you listened to the slick sound behind his sighs and groans. "I'd hold you down," he said. "I'd hold you down and shove my cock so deep inside of you." He cursed under his breath as your moans became a little louder, your limbs tingling with a daunting release. "I'd make you fucking scream for me when I hold you down and fill you up."

You moaned loudly that time, so close. Just brushing the edge of pleasure. "Tommy," your voice was insistent, higher-pitched and desperate. "Fuck, Tom."

He was breathless as he listened to you. "I'd fucking breed you," he whispered. "I'd fill you up and breed you, and you would carry my child."

You muffled a rough moan before gasping for breath. "I'm gonna cum, Tom. Fuck, I'm gonna cum for you."

"Then fucking cum."

Your release hit you then, washing over you like a refreshing wave. Not half as powerful as his hands would have made it, but certainly not discontented. His name fell from your tongue again and again as you came, clutching the phone tightly in your grip and wishing it was him.

"That's it," he rasped, his breath choppy. "That's right. Say my name, love."

"Oh, Tommy," you sighed.

You listened to a dark groan rumble in his throat, your brain becoming dizzy with the sound of his panting breath as his own orgasm burst through him. Your name was the word falling from his lips, as if your hands had been the one wrapped around his cock (as you wished they had been). Your heart pounded in his chest as you listened to him cum.

Silence settled as your highs subsided and your breaths steadied. The buzz of pleasure dulled until your hazy mind was cleared enough to think straight.

You were the one to break the silence, to long for his voice so much that the comfort of the quiet was not pleasing enough to keep you from feeding your addiction.

"When are you coming back, Tommy?"

He sighed. There was a pause. "When business here is done."

"When is that?"

"Soon," he said. "Soon." He almost seemed as dismayed by the answer as you.

Your chest ached. "I miss you." That was the third time you said that, bringing far too much truth and desperation to the words as you both let it settle in.

"Just keep talking," he spoke, his voice taking on a different kind of depth as it became soft once more. "Tell me about school. How are the children?" You heard the sound of Tommy's lighter as he flicked it on for a cigarette. "Or your sisters, how are they?"

Your eyes wandered to the clock again. "But it's late, darling, and you need sleep."

"I don't need to sleep right now," he dismissed.

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, you do."

He paused, and the silence built for just a moment before he spoke again. "Why don't we flip a coin then?" You raised a brow. "Heads, and I'll go to sleep. Tails, you tell me about your sisters and the school. Deal?"

Your lips twitched in a tiny smile, and you sighed. "Okay. Flip a coin, then."

You listened to some rustling for just a moment, and then relative silence on his end. When he spoke again, he seemed to be smiling. "What is it?" you asked.

"Tails."

"Are you lying to me?"

"Yes."

You laughed, actually laughed. He called you pathetic when you were moaning underneath him, but there he was lying to keep you on the phone for the pleasure of your company. And, although he'd never admit it, he was definitely the pathetic one when he was weak at the sound of your laughter.

"Okay," you said once your laughter eased to a small giggle. "Well, my littlest sister has officially started at my school. She's teaching the year beneath me. I'm so proud of her."

Tommy sat there and listened to you talk, keeping you there for hours. Every time you suggested it had been too long, he found another excuse to keep you talking, and you complied because you couldn't think of anything you'd enjoy less than ending your call. He may have been selfish, but so were you.

Even as the morning sun was beginning to bleed through his curtains, he listened to your voice. He listened to it slow, dragging behind as the exhaustion creeped in more and more. He listened to your words becoming quieter and quieter until you no longer finished your sentences. And when your words stopped altogether, he stayed back a little while after that to listen to your gentle breaths.

Then he hung up and pushed himself to his feet. He had business to take care of.

-

Fire and ash and dust. That's all your family seemed good for at this point.

Aberama Gold was dead.

Your father was dead.

Granted, a lot of people died that night but fuck. You'd lost your brother, and now your father has joined him in that shithole of a death and left your sisters in your care. Again.

It had been three years of relative peace. You had thought that maybe—just maybe—he would die a normal death. Tommy had returned from America after the stock market crashed, business got bad and foes entered the arena again. Your father, naturally, went to his side. You'd begged whatever cruel gods there were that what took him would be something natural—old age or fucking illness.

To be murdered the way he was… He wasn't supposed to die that way, he wasn't. You hadn't taken care of your family as well as you had for both your brother and father to be so violently killed.

Now the flames licked at the remains of his life, engulfed in fire and likely damning his soul to hell.

You were so tired of losing people. You hoped and prayed for it to stop as you tried to sleep that night. You begged for it all to end when you met that bird in your dreams once again after three short years of silence, feeding off your grief like a vulture.

Tommy had never seen you at such a low.

He'd seen the blaring lights of your car in the front, watched them shut off through the window. He didn't know, at first, that it was you. He just assumed it was someone coming for business—despite the hour—and that he would handle it when he got to it.

But when he heard voices in the main room, voices that were very clearly not from any man and wouldn't be from his sister, he stood from his desk and went to meet it.

He found you there with Charlie, holding one of his toys and laughing when he laughed as you played with him. Tommy watched, fine at first at the way you handled him, so gentle and sweet, a natural caregiver. Charlie's enchanted by you and your sweetness.

But something was off, and he knew it. You'd just lost your father and now you were here, likely waiting for him.

"Mary," Tommy called gently. You only noticed he was standing there then as you turned your head and gave him a wide smile. Your eyes were droopy and glazed over as you slouched where you sat.

Mary arrived quickly, awaiting instruction. "Take Charlie to bed please." She did, walking up to the little boy with a smile as she took his hand. He waved at you, and you waved back.

When Charlie's gone, you stare off in the direction you left with a sigh. "Your little Charlie's so sweet, Tom," you smiled, turning to face him for a moment. You sighed and let your hands fall to your belly, "I want one of me own one day."

He hummed, walking over to you. "Until then," he leaned down and lifted you to your feet, "you need your sleep."

"No." You shook your head quickly. Your words slurred together. "No, no, I don't need to sleep." He walked with you down the hall, and you fought him (although not effectively, just insistently). "If I sleep, I dream. If I dream, I dream of a big, black bird."

You turned around and started walking the opposite way down the hall as he tried to usher you toward the stairs. He followed after you, wrapping his arms around your midsection and holding you there as his lips lingered behind your ear. "The black bird came and went."

You shook your head, leaning your head back on his shoulder and staring at the ceiling with a far off look and a smile that didn't match your grief. "He's still there, darling." You sighed shakily. "Gets bigger every night."

He stood there for a moment with his arms around your waist before dipping down to pick you up in his arms, carrying you up the stairs like a bride. "No one is dying, Miss Gold," he ensured. "Not your sisters and definitely not you."

He carried you all the way up as you turned to face him, worry in your face. "And what about you, Tommy?" You stared at him as he continued down the hall. You raised a hand to his cheek cradling it for a moment. "Are you dying?"

He stared at you, standing in the doorway of his room. He could smell the liquor on your lips, he could see the glaze in your eyes as they stare at you, unfocused. He shook his head. "No," he said. "Not today." He licked his lips and walked farther into the room, closing the door behind him. "My work isn't done yet."

You chuckled, brushing your fingers along his jawline. "The black bird comes for us all." Your smile turned sour as you stared at him before your eyes dropped to his lips.

Tommy sighed. "Not tonight." He lowered you onto the bed, grabbing the covers to try to put over you. "Now go to sleep."

You pushed the covers off you, sitting up on your knees and taking his face in your hands. "I don't want to sleep, darling."

He held his hands to your waist. "No? What do you want?"

You put it bluntly, your words sticky and attempting sultry seduction. It's harder when you're drunk.

"I want you," you moaned, kissing his lips briefly as you speak. "I want you to fuck me. Want you to pin me to the ground and shove your cock in me, sir." You leaned back on your elbows, spreading your legs for him. "Take my mind from the pain in my heart and put it on the pain in my knees."

Tommy watched you. He leaned forward and cupped the side of your neck in his palm. His dark eyes looked up and down your face, lingering on your lips as you smiled at him. He shook his head, "I'm not going to fuck you." Your smile fell, and you looked like you would cry. "Not until I know you're okay, and right now, you need sleep."

He shifted you to lay back against the pillows. You still wouldn't comply, placing a hand on his chest and keeping me back. "Don't make me sleep, Tommy." You seemed almost desperate, but the fatigue was still etched in the expression on your face, there in the depths of your eyes. "Please. I can be such a good girl if you let me."

He was unyielding, urging you back with gentle hands. "Be my good girl and lie down." He kicked his shoes off, undoing the top buttons of his shirt to pull it over his head and unfastening his belt.

"Tom," you mumbled, still refusing, even if your movements are becoming weaker by the second.

"Come on, next to me," he said gently, settling into the bed with you as he pulled you close to him.

"Thomas," you whispered.

He shook his head, "Sleep now." He pressed his lips to your forehead, trying to soothe you. You shifted and kissed his lips, moving your leg over his body to sit on top of him as you smoothed your hands on his chest. You reached down to undo the button of his pants.

Tommy wasn't having it. You wouldn't be getting your way tonight if he could help it as he grabbed your hands. He rolled you over onto your back as he now hovered above you. His hands held your own at either side of your head, keeping you pressed into the bed as he stared down at you.

Your eyes bore into his own and you held your breath as he leaned forward. You lifted your head as much as you could, wanting to meet you in the middle. His face stopped just out of your reach as he shook his head. "Sleep."

He moved off of you, laying down and pulling you onto his chest. He took your hand in his, holding it as the other one rubbed soothing into your back.

You stared at him as he eased you to sleep, and he did the same. He watched your eyelid grow too heavy for you to keep open. He listened to your breath even out. He felt your body go limp against him as finally…you fell asleep next to him.

He kissed your forehead and rested back to do the same.

-

Breath filled your lungs as the bite of consciousness nipped at your heels. Your eyes fluttered open and you looked around, finding yourself in a familiar place with the familiar feeling of Tommy Shelby's chest under your cheek.

And for a split second, you forget everything. You forget the death of your brother, the death of your father, the grief of your sisters and yourself. You forget it all in favour of this moment with Tommy, peaceful and undisturbed.

But then it all came back, and you were shoved back to the reality where your family was dying and you still had to hold it all together.

Your mind was clearer now, the alcohol had washed away and made the weight of it all heavier to bear. You were tired, you were miserable, and all you wanted to do was wade off into the stream and sleep.

Your breath caught in your throat and shook. The pain in your chest and in your stomach twisted, wetting your face and encouraging the tiny sob you tried so hard to keep in. You didn't want to disturb, not when he slept so peacefully next to you with an arm tucked around your body. But your cries, however quiet, roused him from his rest.

He eased up to look down at you. Shushing you softly, he pulled you in closer and placed a hand to your cheek to have you look at him. His thumb wiped your tears away as it came, smearing them on the skin of your cheeks as he placed a tender kiss to your forehead. You want to cherish it more—tenderness is not a word associated with this man—but you can only lean into it and nothing more.

You buried your head into the crook of his neck, hiding your face there. "It hurts, Tommy," you breathed.

"I know it does," he said. He stroked a hand along your head, rubbing your back. "Go back to sleep."

You shook your head. "I don't want to sleep."

He sighed, pulling you from his neck to stroke your cheeks as he looked at your face, streaked with tears he wiped away. "Maybe not, but you need to."

You shook your head, placing a hand over his chest. "I want to feel something else, Tommy," you confessed. You smoothed your hand up the length of his chest, up the side of his neck as you cradled him. "I want you. I want you to take me like you did the first time." Memories of that night flooded into you. "Be rough with me, Tommy. Be hard and mean, make me cry."

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his as your eyes fluttered closed. He leaned into you, slotting your lips with his as the kiss sank into a depth he knew too well with you, a depth he knew he shouldn't have had with you but did anyway. You sighed at the feeling of it, and he did the same.

As the kiss broke with a tiny smack, he cradled your cheek in his large palm. He sighed, "No."

You frowned and ducked your head against his chest. "Please, Tommy," you whispered, broken and helpless.

He lifted your face again, pressing his lips to yours once more in another very slow and very soft kiss. The warm feeling washed over you and provided a comfort you find it hard to keep. "Don't worry, love," he said as he pulled away. "I'll make you cry."

He sat up, turning over so you laid on the sheets and he leaned over you, his hands on either side of your head in the pillows. "But I'm not going to hurt you," he kissed your lips, "and I'm not going to yell," your jaw, "and I'm not going to call you names," your neck. His hand stroked up your chest, and you thought he'd clasp it around your neck. Instead, he held his palm gently against the side of your neck and kissed you again. As he pulled away, he stared into your eyes, his piercing blues and little less piercing and a little more soothing. He looked at you like you were the stars.

"I'm going to make love to you."

He leaned down and kissed your neck again, tilting your head away to give him more access to press his lips against the skin of your throat. They slid down, not a trace of teeth, only lips and tongue and a kind of tenderness that made you shiver.

One of his legs, buried between your thighs, shifted up to ghost over the ache there. You bit your lip, a small mewl slipping between them at the feeling of your pleasure.

But you didn't want tenderness. You didn't want him to make love to you. You wanted him to shove you to the floor and fuck you like you weren't worth anything. You wanted him to take you over his lap and smack your arse. You wanted him to make you take his cock down your throat and keep it there until he decided it was enough.

But that was not what he did.

Tommy kissed you and kissed you. He ghosted his hands over your body and stroked your skin like you were made of glass. He slipped your clothes off of you and set them neatly to the side, doing the same to the rest of his own. He grazed his lips along your body and let his tongue adore the flesh he could reach. He tasted the sweetness of your skin. He filled your body with pleasure and intimacy and so much care.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke. "You're alright, love. Let me take care of you."

You couldn't take it. It was too gentle, too fond, too much filling that ache inside of you that had become so permanent in your life, you'd forgotten it was ever even there. Even as you tried to press his head closer, he was gentle. Even as you moved your hips up to meet him, he was gentle. Even as you dug your nails into his skin, wanting to rile him up until he forgot his care and took you like a dog, he was gentle.

Because you needed it.

He lifted your thighs over his shoulders, settling between them as he darted his tongue out and licked a long strip up your pussy. You sighed when his lips closed around your clit and he suckled on it. His tongue licked you up in slow, soft laps, dipping between your folds and curling.

"Tommy, please," you begged, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging. The feeling was too nice, too kind. It writhed in your gut, tingled in your fingers. You needed the burn, you needed the fire. But he would only give you the warmth and closeness that made your throat tight.

His finger played at your pussy, coating him in your slick before slipping into you, a slow thrust in and out as he pushed it in deep. You watched him, whimpering pathetically and hoping your weakness will make him dangerous.

That's how it goes right? Taunt a beast with fresh blood and he'll attack?

But Tommy didn't seem to be holding the values of a beast tonight. His kind fingers filled your pussy and stroked inside of you. He licked and kissed and stroked until you began to tighten around him. His thumb pressed to your clit, rubbing slow, sure circles into it to build you higher and higher.

You were so used to his cruelty, the way he brought you to your pique with gentle hands was so foreign as you moaned. The pleasure wasn't blinding. It unfurled in your belly and then spread over the rest of your body. It loosened all the tension in your muscle and bone, it soothed your blood and lessened the crushing weight on your shoulders. You opened your legs wider, spreading yourself open for more as you keened for his touch.

"Good girl," he whispered to you, his fingers still working away. "Good, breathe." He didn't stop, even as you were coming down from your high. His fingers kept at it, his lips kissed the slick from your folds and whispered praises to you that you never thought you'd hear from him. "I'm right here. You're not alone."

"Tom," you huffed, cradling his cheek in one hand. "Thomas."

Your breaths filled your lungs, made you dizzy with him, surrounded by his scent and his touch. "I know, love," he said. "You're doing great."

His lips met your clit again. His tongue delved into your cunt and licked the wetness off of you. He kept you spread open wide for him as he painted his empathy into you.

He continued to whisper to you as he stroked your clit through to your second orgasm, watching your back arch and your chest expand and listening to your breath shudder through your weak moan. The pleasure washed over like waves on the shore of a beach.

Tommy let your legs down and kissed your belly, an open-mouthed kiss that let's his tongue graze your skin. He moved back up your body, aiming to kiss you again before stopping at your breasts. He took one of them in his hand, squeezing gently and brushing his thumb over your nipple.

Shivers rushed down your spine at the feeling, even more so when he leaned forward and took your nipple into his mouth. His tongue flicked it, hardening it to a peak as he licked the tip into your nipple. He rolled it in his mouth, playing with it in the way only he knew how, feeding off your sighs of pleasure.

When that one was hard enough, he switched to the other side, giving it the same treatment as he rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger. You brought your hands to his hair, your grasp much looser as you held onto him.

"Tommy, please kiss me," you sighed as he spent too much time away from your lips. He relented to you, roles reversed as he moved to do exactly that. His lips were warm and plump against yours, still tasting of your slick as his tongue brushed your own and he sucked gently on your bottom lip.

He pulled at you, staring with pupils wide as dimes. His knuckles grazed along your jaw. "Do you want my cock, love?" he asked.

You nodded, crossing your arms at your wrists above your head and wrapping your legs around his waist. "Yes, sir," you nearly begged. "I want it rough."

It was a last ditch effort.

But Tommy shook his head, taking your wrists and pulling them back down to kiss. "No," he said. "You're not getting it rough." He moved your arms around his neck, and you held them there.

Your frown deepened. "Please, sir."

He shook his head. "Use my name."

"Sir?"

"Use my name," he said again, his voice holding a whisper of the dominance you were used to while remaining the soft and gentle whisper you weren't. "What's my name?"

"Thomas Shelby." You were really just trying to get a rise out of him. Again, last ditch effort. Maybe he'd break and fuck you like you wanted it. So hard, you forgot everything that had been hurting you.

"What is my name?" he repeated himself. You felt like it was the last time he would.

"Tommy," you whispered, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. He did the same, kissing your lips quickly.

"Do you want me?"

"Badly."

"Then I'll give me to you. I'm going to make love to you," he lined himself up with you, stroking the hard length of himself a couple of times. "I'm going to be gentle," he kissed your lips, "and I'm going to be slow," he pressed the head of his cock at your folds, "And I'm going to make you cry."

With one thrust of his hips, he pushed himself inside of you, splitting you on his cock and filling you with his length. A deep sigh slipped out of both of you as your eyes fluttered. He pressed himself all the way inside of you, buried to the hilt and lingered there.

"I'm going to do this because you deserve it," he continued, his voice strained with a slight grunt. His hips eased back, pulling out slowly to the tip before pushing back in. "Because you are gentle," he rolled his hips into you, "and loving," he pulled out to the tip again, "and you don't get nearly enough of it back." He filled you again, you gasped.

His body weight on top of yours was a comfort. He didn't drop all of his weight on top of you, but what he did give was a pleasant pressure on your body. You wrapped yourself as tightly around him as you could, trying to bury your face in his shoulder and being stopped when he pulled you back to look him in the eyes. He stared at you, gazed into the depths of your eyes as he continued to speak, his words a whisper and his tenderness a salve to a broken heart.

"You deserve so much," he grunted. The drag of his cock inside of you was intoxicating, and you wanted more. But he did not change. His pace was slow and steady and filled you with so much emotion, you felt you were going to burst. You were struggling to hold it all in.

"You're beautiful," he said.

You shook your head, "Stop."

"You're lovely."

You tried to turn away, he kept you looking him in the eyes. "Tommy, please."

He held your jaw, still kind, and gazed into your eyes like he was afraid you wouldn't hear him otherwise. "You're fucking perfect."

You broke into a sob, quiet but all-consuming. His hips didn't stop, he kept thrusting in long, deep strokes, grinding his hips into yours and wiping your tears. "You hear me? Eh?" he said, kissing you again. "You're fucking perfect."

His praise was too much for you. He was too nice. You were too used to nice, but kindness coming from a person like this—a man who had fucked you into the floor and called you a filthy whore, a man who had bought you with a penny and used you like a toy—it gave a kind of pleasure you couldn't quite explain as he stroked your cheeks and wiped your tears and told you that you were perfect.

"Anyone who tells you different is a fucking liar," he whispered in your ear, grinding in deep. "You're fucking beautiful and you're lovely and you're perfect. I need you to know that, I need you to know how fucking perfect you are."

You cupped his face in your hands, cherishing him as he spoke, as he thrusted into you, as he filled you with his care and praise and promise. "Do you hear me?" he asked as you closed your eyes shut, overcome by your tears. "Open your eyes and look at me. I need you to see me when I call you my fucking girl."

You whimpered, sighing with every thrust of his hips and holding him to you with your legs and arms. His breath shuddered as he pressed himself deep inside you, your bodies pressed flat together, and rolled his hips into you, stroking that deep part of you that had you gasping for breath.

"Thomas, ahh," you keen, your breath catching on a moan.

He was pressing kisses into the crook of your neck, ghosting his lips where he could reach pressed so closely to you. Your breath shook and your eyes fluttered as you focused on nothing but Tommy, being his girl, being his. You wanted it more than you wanted to admit.

One of his large hands pressed to your cheek as he turned you to look at him. "You said you wanted a baby of your own, eh? I'll put one in you right now. I'd have you growing round with my fucking child." His hips jerked once, a stuttered thrust pulling a moan from you at the idea. "The perfect mother for my child."

A broken sob pulled from your chest at his words, the thought of him having such a claim on you intoxicating you with warmth. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you still pulled him in closer as your bodies were pulled flush together.

She watched him above her, his eyes not quite as cold and piercing, his lips two kisses from swollen, and his cheeks pink with the blood rushing through his veins. His hands on your hips tightened as you met his gaze. Then he let go of you, and you missed the warmth of his palms until his finger intertwined with your own and his thumbs brushed the meat of your palms. He pulled them above your head, pulling both hands into one of his and burying his other hand between your thighs to play with your swollen clit.

"Thomas," you whispered, your voice shallow and breathy and teetering on a moan. You whispered his name again, and again, and again as you felt the pleasure building within you.

His rhythm began to falter, his hips not as steady as before as your whispers of his name beckoned him closer to his release. He cursed under his breath, his chest heavy with breath and something else.

He felt as your pussy tightened around him, squeezing and warming his already hot cock as you grew closer to that tender embrace of ecstasy. "Fuck," he muttered. "Cum for me, love. Let it all go."

And you did. Your back arched and your jaw went slack, your muscles tightened and you fluttered around his cock as you came. A loud moan rolled out of you like the tidal wave that washed over you. You stuttered out his name as you felt him bury his cock deep inside of you as he ground his hips, groaning roughly as he finally came with you.

You wrapped your legs tighter around him as he spilled inside of you, filling you with his cum and making the warmth of it all spread throughout your tired limbs. "Tommy," you whimpered, your voice caught in the pleasure. "Fuck, I love you."

It was a string of words that left your lips in a rush, a fantasy that clawed its way to the surface and revealed something you weren't quite sure you knew yourself. It took you a moment to even realise what had left your mouth, you were so drowned in the dreamlike state he put you in.

Tommy's thrusts slowed to a stop as he stared at your face, his lips parted and plump. He didn't pull out of you or say a word. He lifted a hand to your cheek and brushed his thumb over your skin. You stilled as you stared at him, your heart pounding in fear of his response.

He still didn't speak for a while, watching your face and wiping away the fallen tears streaking on your skin. He licked his lower lip.

"Say it again."

Another tear slipped as you watched him, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I'm sorry," you murmured. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it. It's nothing."

He lifted his chin slightly, rolling his thumb on your bottom lip before releasing it gently. "So you don't love me?"

You didn't respond. You couldn't lie to him, even if you tried. You had only just realised it yourself, only just succumbed to your rogue subconscious and blurted out a secret thought in the heat of the moment. A thought too true for you to deny as you stared at the blue eyes you had spent months—years—memorising, the plush lips your own had kissed a million times over.

"Do you love me?" he asked, his face barely an inch from yours once again. "Hm?"

You swallowed thickly, your voice was hardly a whisper. "Yes."

"Then say it again."

You sighed shakily and licked your bottom lip. "I love you…Tommy."

He closed his eyes and breath in deep, letting it out slowly and softly as he repeated the words in his head like a broken record. You waited in anticipation of his response.

He leaned forward and met your lips with his own, the kiss slow and soft and endearing, brimming with care.

"Good," he whispered back, his voice rough and quiet. "Because I love you, too. Right here, right now, without a doubt… I love you."

You brought your hands to wrap around his neck and pulled him in. He thought you were going to kiss him, but you just held him tightly against your body as you closed your eyes and cried. For the longest time, with your bodies pressed together, with his cock still snug inside of you, with your tears slipping down your cheeks and into your hairline, you cried.

He petted you, stroking his hand along your hair and holding you to him. He let you cry without interruption, without shushing you and telling you "it's okay". He let you sob against him with all the love and grief and care and anger in your heart.

And when your cries subsided and you were able to breathe again, he rolled onto his side and brought you with him as he kissed you again, just as tender and loving as the ones before.

You laid your head on your chest, sniffling gently as your finger smoothed along his skin. "Do you really love me?" you asked quietly.

He nodded, thinking on the way holding you right then made him feel, the nostalgic feeling that filled his homes at the reminder of a love he'd once held in the past, one that still haunts him to this day and only eased with the idea of you. "Yes."

You nodded gently. "You ever been in love before?"

He was a little more hesitant this time, but he still nodded once more as his hand stroked your shoulder. "Yes." He glanced down at you, "Have you?"

You shook your head, "Not like this…" He didn't reply, and you swallowed thickly. "Do you…" You let out a tiny breath. "Do you think I'm going to have a baby now?"

He looked at you and grinned, a look that made you warm. "Hopefully," he chuckled. He leaned back again and closed his eyes, "Gives me an excuse to put a ring on your finger."

You sat up and looked at him, surprise written across your face. "A ring? Already?"

He opened his clear eyes again, still smiling. "I've already decided I'm not letting anyone else have you. So, yes, already." He leaned forward, meeting you halfway in another kiss. "I'm marrying you, love."

You smiled slowly, letting it grow and grow and grow until your cheeks hurt and then after. Glancing away from his face, you let out a tiny chuckle. You eased your way out of the bed, out of his embrace, and went to his coat where you fished a coin from his pockets.

Slipping back into bed next to him, you fiddled with the coin between your fingers. "I'll flip you for it," you smiled. "Heads–"

He took the coin from your hand. "Heads, you marry me. Tails, I marry you. Either way, we're getting married, we're having that baby, and you're stuck with me forever." He tossed the coin away so it landed somewhere on the floor where you couldn't see it with a loud drawl.

You bit your bottom lip, failing to contain a beautiful smile. You nodded, "Okay." You kissed his lips, grinning still as you just kept nodding. "Okay."

"Good," he said, holding you close again and stroking your side. "You're mine, Mrs. Shelby."

You couldn't hold in the chuckle that slipped from your lips. "Well," you sighed happily. "A deal's a deal."

Peaky Blinders taglist: @lyarr24​ @runnning-outof-time​ @goblinjnr @papichulo120627​ @globetrotter28​ Tag yourself here...

[jjtheresidentbaby]

regressuary day 4: new caregiver

» for @regressuary & link to bingo card here

» rg!jayce & cg!viktor | on my ao3 | wrd count: 2k+

» summary: it’s snowing out and viktor finds jayce regressed in the lab, thrusting him into the caregiver position

» tags: classification au, hurt/comfort, jayce’s childhood trauma making an appearance, crying, pet names

Jayce glances back up at the window across the room from him, the shade has been pulled as far down as it goes but he still knows what happening behind it. It’s snowing. Hard.

The weather this morning had predicted some light rain but now Piltover is covered in a thick layer of white and has snowflakes falling down so rapidly Jayce is worried it’ll never stop. It’s been three- no five- hours of the storm and of him not daring to step foot outside the lab.

Viktor had gone home before the snow started, which eased Jayce as it meant he had zero chance of getting caught in it, but it also leaves Jayce alone. Alone and slowly slipping into his headspace. He’s fiddling with a prototype of a hextech device that he can’t even remember the purpose of, he just knows it’s something he’s supposed to be doing. He is not supposed to be regressing at work, or even be here anymore with everyone else having gone home or off to their own rooms in the building to sleep.

The gadget drops from Jayce’s hand with a clash as it collides with the floor and a shiver runs down his back, he’s cold. The device is broken in a bunch of pieces across the floor and he’s shivering and- and he’s crying. A small whimper escapes Jayce’s throat as he moves to the floor, collecting the pieces from the prototype in shaking hands, but quickly abandoning the task when he hears someone walking outside the door.

He recognizes the step pattern but knows it isn’t the security guard, it’s not uniform enough. In a moment of panic and his little side coming out more, Jayce backs himself under the work table and clutches the metal parts in his hands up to his chest. He tries to be quiet. It might be a snowy monster, his childlike brain supplies, only making Jayce feel more alone and helpless. He wants his mom, or Mel, or Viktor, or even Heimerdinger, anyone that would be able to protect him from the monster outside.

“Stupid door.” The person mutters as the large door opens then closes, Jayce instantly registers that it’s Viktor. Rather than feeling relieved like he assumed he would at the thought of not getting eaten by a snow monster, he’s suddenly panicking more. Viktor is going to find him regressed. Oh god.

“…uh Jayce?” Viktor asks hesitantly, slowly approaching the table Jayce is halfway hidden under. Jayce flinches back into himself, trying to curl up smaller but his physical size betrays him and he isn’t able to do much.

The tears he had forgotten were there suddenly reappear and he tucks his face into his knees in an attempt to cover them. So sensitive, he remembers being chastised as a kid by the teachers in school. He doesn’t want Viktor to see him as sensitive or anything like that. He’s supposed to be big and smart and help Viktor with hextech, not a baby. The thoughts only make him feel worse and a small sniffle leaves him, he hears Viktor pause in front of him at the sound.

“Jayce what’s going on?” The cane Viktor uses gets propped up against the table before he somehow gets himself on the ground in front of Jayce. He can hear the sound of Viktor muttering to himself about his leg being stiff, the clink the metal brace makes against the hard floor, the worried sigh he lets out once he’s situated.

“S’cold out.” He mumbles as a reply, not caring that he’s leaving out the vital information that he’s slipped into his little space. He isn’t sure how Viktor will react to him being a little, they’ve never talked about classification before aside from Viktor offhandedly mentioning that he’s a caregiver.

“Yes it is snowing pretty hard, I wasn’t going to come out but I forgot my notes and wasn’t feeling tired enough for sleep anyway.” It’s rare Viktor sleeps more than four hours a night and there’s been plenty of times he’s come in afterhours to the lab or even just simply not gone home but Jayce almost always leaves on time. He doesn’t have the best sleep schedule, but he enjoys being home with his mother and helping cook or whatever tasks she needs done around the house. And he’s never here this late.

“I don’t like snow.” Hesitantly Jayce shifts to let Viktor see him above his knees. There’s a furrow of worry in Viktor’s brow when he notices the tears and red rimmed eyes Jayce has.

“I remember you telling me what happened when you were a child.” Jayce’s eyes water at the words, brain instantly replaying the memory of almost losing his mother so young. Viktor looks regretful of his words as soon as he sees Jayce’s reaction.

“But you’re safe now Jayce, everyone’s safe.” A hand is gently placed on Jayce’s shoulder, Viktor scooting forward to be closer but still looking unsure of his actions.

“I don’ wanna go out in the snow.” There’s a naive edge to his tone he knows Viktor hears.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Now Jayce… are you feeling um.. small?” Again, Jayce’s bottom lip wobbles and tears drip down his cheeks as he nods guiltily. He hates that Viktor is seeing him like this.

“That’s okay, no reason to cry. You are allowed to regress, especially when you’re emotional.” It was always preached in school that being emotional was a sure-fire way for little’s to drop and that it was best to encourage this behavior as the side effects could be severe if a little didn’t go small enough- Jayce has just never been convinced these rules apply to himself.

“Bu’ at work.” He clumsily wipes his eyes and untangles his legs a little to show the broken prototype in his other hand.

“M’sorry Vik.” He blubbers when Viktor simply stares at the pieces with an unreadable expression, but Viktor quickly shushes him when he catches onto Jayce’s distraught state.

“It’s okay, you didn’t mean to, yes?” A nod and Viktor offers a small smile.

“Then no harm done. We can fix it up tomorrow, when you’re ready to.” When he’s big again- Jayce hates his brain for feeling so guilty about dragging Viktor into this mess.

“Can’t go home, too cold.” If Viktor came here for notes then he probably came here to work on something but Jayce knows if he even tried to walk out that door he’d send himself into a full panic attack. He can’t leave, as much as he dislikes Viktor seeing him like this.

“I wasn’t saying you had to. Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable?” There’s nothing in the lab that would be considered comfortable but there is the community room on the west wing that has couches and a coffee machine that would probably be better for both of them. It’d at least be warmer. But-

“Other people?” Other sounds more like ‘Ofer’ but Jayce thinks Viktor understands. He doesn’t need the whole council to see him in this state.

“Nobody else is awake, it’s alright darling.” The assurance is oh so soft and Jayce instantly feels calmer hearing it. This may be the first time he’s had Viktor look after him but he trusts him like he would any other day, now that the initial panic has passed that is.

-

Somehow they stumble down the to the east wing and all but collapse onto one of the large couches that is much comfier than the hard ground in the lab. Viktor leans behind them to pull the shades down when he catches Jayce staring outside- the storm isn’t any better, if anything it’s worse and Jayce is nearly ready to go hide under the lab table again. He hates winter.

Why does it have to be winter? Why can’t it be summer forever?

Unintentionally, Jayce curls up against Viktor’s side and clutches a hand to the loose sweater he has on. It’s not his normal vest and dress shirt, instead a warm coffee colored knit sweater that Jayce has only seen a handful of time but has always been entranced in anytime Viktor’s worn it. It looks incredibly soft and feels even better now that he’s got his fingers tangled in it.

“Jayce? Are you alright?” A lanky arm wraps around Jayce’s back to pull him in closer to Viktor’s side, encouraging him to cuddle in for warmth.

It’s not that Jayce runs cold- quite the opposite- but snow storms somehow leave him shivering and shaking no matter what’s going on or where he is. There was even a point where he couldn’t watch videos of the winter weather or he’d start to shiver and slip into his small space.

“Wish it was summer.” He barely even likes fall on bad days and on good days he spends his time day dreaming about summer to the point that he can almost forgets it’s even cold outside. It doesn’t always work.

He tries it now, closing his eyes, laying his head on Viktor’s chest, trying to imagine the summer breeze and birds chirping, but he gets nothing. Just snow swooshing through the air and the picture of his hands so cold they turn red and have to be held in warm water before frostbite sets in. Viktor pets a hand at his back that reminds him he’s safely inside and nobody is freezing, but Jayce is still trembling like he’s about to turn to ice.

“I’m so sorry, little one. Do you have a caregiver I could contact?” No. He doesn’t even let his mother watch him, he always avoids the slightest mention of his classification with her, forever scared she’ll look down on him for it. Which is ridiculous with how proud she is of him and how much gushing she does about him, it’s still there though and Jayce hasn’t been able to convince himself to stop thinking that way.

“Jus’ myself.” It’s mostly fine for Jayce to look after himself, he has a system: lock himself in his bedroom and take out the couple of toys he allows himself and spend a few of hours in there, that’s it. That’s all he’s ever given himself.

“It’s very encouraged for littles to have a caregiver.” He knows that but it’s never mattered too much to him. But- it is nice to have Viktor here. He’d probably still be shaking under that table if Viktor hadn’t showed up.

“No one to look after me.” Jayce rubs his cheek against Viktor’s shirt and can hear the thump of his heartbeat from this angle, it’s calming and he hooks an arm around Viktor’s middle to try and be even closer to him.

“What about your mother? Or possibly Mel?” It’s a soft question, Jayce still scrunches his nose and shakes his head against Viktor in disapproval.

“Don’t wanna bother them.” Or be that vulnerable around them. He can be open about a lot of things but opening up about his little side is something Jayce struggles with more than he’d say the average little in Piltover.

“I don’t think you would bother them. They love you and are both caregivers, I’m sure they’d have no problem watching over you when you needed them to.” That was another conversation he briefly remembers having with Viktor, that both his parents were caregivers, he assumed that would be enough to convince him that Jayce was a caregiver too without him having to explicitly lie- that’s out the window now.

“Can’t you watch over me?” It slips out of Jayce’s mouth before he can even try and think it through. Not that he thinks he’d have much luck, he’s starting to get sleepy and his headspace is making thinking hard.

“Uh- Jayce I- I’m sure there’s a better option-.” Viktor stumbles over his words in shock and Jayce merely huffs.

“Wan’ you.” There’s a response but Jayce is passed out asleep before he can fully catch it. He’ll have to ask Viktor about it in the morning.

[shinningdance]

No mercy

Chapter 3

The sound of footsteps echoed through the long empty halls, three pair but each carry a different energy.

One pair of footsteps are measured and deliberate, each step echoing with subtle gravity. There’s an undeniable sense of purpose in the rhythm, but it’s never hurried or overly forceful. The sound is soft yet firm, like a distant thundercloud that looms without needing to roar. Their stride is steady, unbroken, as though every movement is calculated, and the world adjusts around them in quiet recognition. The silence between each step carries an invisible weight, as if the ground beneath them knows the importance of who treads upon it - Price

The other person's footsteps are purposeful and deliberate, echoing with quiet authority. There’s an unshakable confidence in her stride, each step firm yet controlled, as though she carries the weight of responsibility with ease. The sound is measured, sharp but not hurried, like a steady march in pursuit of something important. Her presence fills the space, not with loud force, but with an undeniable clarity that commands attention. Each footfall leaves an impression, not just on the ground, but in the air around her, as if those near her instinctively know that she’s someone who doesn’t need to raise her voice to be heard. - Kate

And your own.

Your footsteps are steady and purposeful, each step measured with quiet confidence. There’s a calm awareness in your stride, never hurried, always attuned to the surroundings. The sound is soft but deliberate, as if every movement is made with careful attention to the world around you.

Every now and then you spot a soldier, more rookies than anything else, who make way for their captain. He pushes open a door at the end of the hall, revealing a small but cozy office. A large wooden desk decorated with small trinkets and a picture frame, sadly the picture itself is unknown to you, turned the opposite direction. One chair behind the desk and two in front. The office has a lively look to it, thanks to the small plants near the window. To top it all off, a mid-sized couched pushed against the wall.

"Make yourself at home." His words cut through your mind, freeing you from your own thoughts.

"Don't need to tell me twice." You huff and drop your backpack on the floor next to the sofa, you drop your entire weight on it and sigh. You hear someone chuckle in your direction, properly Kate. You move your face to the side to look at them and you were right, the blond woman is smiling at you.

"You must be wondering why you're here." Price speaks once more, eyes turned to you.

"For a mission, correct?" you hum out, burying your face back into the pillow.

"Correct." Kate confirms and sits down on one of the chairs in front of the desk. "You'll be helping John and his team out. No pay, im calling in my…favor."

The last word catches both the attention of you and Price, judging by his face, he doesn't know a thing about this, good.

"4 years and you finally use that favor? Must be pretty serious." With a huff you sit up straight, eyes focused on the blond.

"Favor? What favor?"

"It is serious." Kate answers, ignoring the question from the captain, she tosses you a folder with what you assume is everything you need to know about this job. "Look this over then you'll understand why we need your help."

"got it..but since i don't get paid im assuming im staying here?"

"Correct." this time it's Price that confirms you question. "We got you a nice barrack, your own with a private bathroom attached. Since you're a special guest it seemed right to spoil you a bit."

"That's nice...thank you." you nod at him and immediately you see a smile on his lips.

"i'll show you, come on. You properly need some rest before you meet the others."

After a small tour you were able to crash in your bed, could be better but you're not complaining.

The room itself is also nice, big space giving it's a barrack in a Military base. A single bed pushed in the corner facing the door, a small closet next to the door with a small cabinet next to it.

The bathroom is small, but enough for you. A sink next to the toilet and even a shower in the corner.

After unpacking your looking forward to finally get some real sleep, sleeping on the plane is something you haven't mastered yet. Seems like the universe has other plans, the knock on your door makes you groan. You get up and open the door, locking eyes with the man in front of you.

a/n: which one of the guys is making the next appearance?? Take a guess bc i also don't know yet... also not proof read

divider credits: ♡

[optimist-pine]

Dream

Summary: in which Daryl discovers something about his heart

Warnings: Typical TWD content

Word Count: 1,021

Era: Season 4, the Claimers

A/n: The most selfish thing I've ever written - but also my favorite <3

Wooden boards creak beneath the soles of his boots as he climbs the stairs of the cozy cottage. Beside the front door, using the wall as a brace, he toes off mud-caked shoes, adding them to the pile of others, all smaller than his own. Dried clumps of dirt scatter about, some falling through gaps in the porch to join the barren ground below. The lanky old tomcat abandons sunbathing to rub lazily against his pantleg with a purr, and Daryl appeases him with a good scritch under the chin.

The screen door is unlocked as always, and as he crosses the threshold into the home his heart settles into a comfortable lull. A breeze flows in through open windows, ruffling faded curtains and artwork made by tiny hands taped to walls; fluttering the pages of a book laying open and knocking over pieces of a board game strewn about the floor. It fills the space with the gentle sounds and smells of early summer. Blooming flowers and birdsong.

He sets his kill down as he passes through a kitchen that bears the remains of freshly baked muffins, few left intact in an abundance of crumbs. Out of a cooling teapot wafts a pleasant blend of lavender, cinnamon, orange, and clove.

He pauses for a moment before the back door, listening as laughter and high-pitched squeals echo just beyond it. Then, pushing his way to the other side, his heart leaps. He's barely taken a step when he's bombarded.

"Daddy!" Voices shout as a tangle of little arms entrap him, tiny bodies clinging to his legs and stepping on his toes. A baby's happy shrieks add to the clamor of giggles as he ruffles sun-warmed heads, attempting to tug his feet forward.

But then they get him down and he lands with an 'oomph' in the soft grass, sharp elbows and knees clambering across him like he's a new piece of playground equipment to explore. The dog's licking his face, and the baby's hands clap excitedly and now everyone's laughing.

"Woah woah woah, time out." And there you are. You lean over the chaos with a grin, the sun framing your silhouette as tree branches sway behind you. You smell like spearmint and lily of the valley, cheeks pink from working the garden, and as your hand comes to rest on the slight bump of your belly he knows he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Did ya leave somethin' dead on my table again, mister?" You question, hands moving to your hips in an attempt to be stern.

There's no getting away with denying it, so he'll plead his case instead. "Ain'tcha gonna help me out 'ere?" He asks, reaching a hand up to you.

You ignore it with a shake of your head. "Guilty men must pay for their crimes." With a sharp nod, you turn to the children. "Show 'im his punishment." You instruct, bare feet making way to gather up the baby who's beginning to feel left out.

Those itty-bitty fingers are too good at finding every secretly ticklish spot, and he can only hold out for so long before he has to wriggle away from their assault.

On his feet again, he reaches out and spins you toward himself breathless and spirited. "Guess if 'm already a criminal I migh' as well steal'a kiss." He says, moving his hand to cradle your bump and the little one growing inside.

"Might as well, huh?" You repeat, the smile on your face so radiant that when your lips touch an overwhelming contentment courses through him. A soft, pudgy palm lands on his cheek and the two of you pull apart to the wide eyes and dulcet coos of the baby. He cups his other hand around the little head, placing a tender kiss on top.

The little rascals waste no time returning to their ruckus, tugging at him to follow. "Daddy, c'mon! We gotta show you somethin'!"

"Yeah! C'mon, Daddy!" The voice cries.

But he's stuck in place, unable to move as everything begins to fade away.

... No... Daryl can feel consciousness pulling at him, roughly dragging him into a new day. He begs his mind to stay; to linger. He never wants to leave this moment, a memory of something that never happened - that would never happen. But he can't stop it and he wakes on the cold cement, eyes opening only to focus on the bloodied floor where a man took his last breath a few hours ago.

He knows now. He can't stay with these people. The desperate ache in his chest reminds him of everything he'll lose if he gives up now. Even if all he loses is a dream. It would be too much.

That night, ready to make his move and depart from the men while they're distracted, he hesitates, just for a second, his heart dropping suddenly into his stomach. It's Rick, and Michonne, and... you. Sitting on a log right there, so close, face illuminated in the flickering firelight. Even in the darkness, he can see the swell of your abdomen holding his future - your future.

Your eyes find him at the same time that the barrel of a gun is aimed at your head. He's never felt a fury like he does now, all-devouring and consuming...

When it's over, you pull him close, burying your face into him like you can hide away in the folds of his clothes and the beat of his heart. His arms wrap around you so tightly, and oh - how he wishes he could keep you right here, where he knows you'll both be safe and protected. But he can't.

You pull away slightly, just enough to whisper, "We're okay. We're gonna be okay."

He nods, one hand on your belly and the other bringing your head back to his chest. Just for one more moment. He desperately wants to tell you his dream. To tell you that he believes that too. But he settles for, "I love you."

Your voice echoes back, clear and true, "I love you too."

[number1jeonginstan]

HEYYY

My first time sending in an ask as an anon to you...sorry I haven't sooner.

Can we have a skz fluff (as your bf-established relationship) reacts to girlfriend who is a dancer (preferably ballet but if it's hard to write for if you don't do it, it can be general) who overworks herself trying to get something right, but she just can't get it and is getting irritated? Possible angst if some of the argumentative boys wanna argue her instead of comfort.

TYSM AND I LUV UR WORK

A/N: I’m so glad I could write for you!!! I really hope you like it, I tried doing my research and using my amazing ballet skills (aka watching the Nut Cracker since I was little) to try and describe it more!

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: None, just fluff and a bit of angst, but everything gets resolved!

Chan: 

You were in your studio, trying to perfect a sissone sur le point, and you kept messing up. As you slid onto your pointe, you kept slipping and you were frustrated. As you tried again, you fell to the ground, eliciting a groan from your lips. 

You had been at it for a while, barely taking a break to even drink a sip of water. You had no idea truly how long it had been as the only window in the studio was secluded. It wasn’t until you heard a knock on the door. “What!” you yelled, still frustrated from not getting it. 

“Y/N, are you okay? You’ve been in here for 4 hours.” It was then when you registered truly how long you’ve been practicing for. “Oh, I didn’t realize” you sighed, finally taking a sip of your water. “You can’t be doing this, it’s not healthy” he sighed kissing your forehead. 

“I don’t really think you should be talking Channie, you are usually cooped up in your studio working and barely ever sleeping,” your voice coming off a bit more condescending than you meant it to be. 

“Hey, I know I do that, but at least I take a break. You haven’t been on your phone since you entered here, I should know, I texted and called you multiple times.” 

“You did?” you asked, not believing til you checked for yourself. “Yes, now please take a break, eat something with me. You won’t get it unless you take a break and reflect, and get something in your stomach.”

You just nodded, taking his hand as you both exited the studio. You were grateful to have him to make sure you don’t overwork yourself, hugging him from the side and kissing his cheek. 

“What was that for?” he giggled, placing a peck on your lips. “Just because,” you grinned. 

Lee Know: 

You had spent at least two hours in the studio trying to perfect your gargouillade, you were struggling, constantly annoyed by how you were doing it, but it wasn’t looking clean. Again, you told yourself, and you could feel your muscles tensing. You just had to perfect it by the end of the day and make it look clean, but you kept failing. 

You gave up, laying on the floor, tired of exerting your body for two hours straight. Anger was ridden on your face. Minho entered the studio giggling, holding a container filled with japchae for the both of you, only to see the anger on your face. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked, setting down the food next to your bag on the bench. 

“No!” you shouted, still not wanting to get up. “I don’t know why I can’t get it to look good” you groaned, placing your hands on your face. 

“Maybe you need a break, overworking yourself will only make it worse baby,” he said while kissing your head, “not to mention so sweaty.” 

“But I have to get it perfect, I don’t know how you get your dances perfect the first time you try, it’s so unfair.” 

“Y/n, first off I don’t, secondly, I practice a much different medium than you. Yours takes much more core strength, and to build that,” he runs over, bringing the japchae with two forks to you, “is to eat good food.” 

 “Don’t worry, you will get it, I believe in you, now please eat.” He held a fork of the food in front of your face and you caved in, taking a bite as he fed it to you.

Changbin: 

“YAH!” you heard a yell from behind you, “do you know how much you’ve been overworking yourself?” 

Before you could even say anything, Changbin had thrown you over his shoulder, stopping you in the middle doing your hops en pointe. “Put me down!” you yelled, smacking Changbin’s ass in hopes he would. 

“Nope, take a break, your muscles will get too sore if you do this!” He yelled back, placing you in his lap. Before you could protest, he began massaging your calves, eliciting a groan from you. 

“See, I told you your muscles are tense, from now on you should listen to me” he grinned from ear to ear as you just nodded. 

Maybe all you needed was a quick break and a massage from your loving, but loud boyfriend. 

Hyunjin: 

You were on the floor, practicing your arabesque penche, trying to make sure you were not falling or tilting to either side. Your body needed to be stable, and you couldn’t possibly get it down. 

Hyunjin came into the room clapping for you, causing you to fall down. “What was that for!” you yelled, not meaning to raise your voice or your temper.

Hyunjin looked startled by your reaction and profusely apologized. “Shit, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“No, I’m sorry I’m just really frustrated” you sighed, walking over to him and peppering his face with kisses. “It’s okay, I understand, now go back to dancing, I want to draw you looking beautiful” as he took out his sketchbook and pencil eliciting a giggle from your lips. 

Jisung: 

You were frustrated out of your mind, unable to complete your move properly, making you a bit angry. You just wanted to curl into a ball and never do ballet again at that moment. Han had decided to enter the studio at that exact time. 

He saw you curled up and decided to lie down next you. You didn’t notice he was there until you opened your eyes, flying back to see him. He erupted into a fit of giggles, “I didn’t mean to scare you, baby,”

It caused you to start laughing as well, being next to him while you both erupted into giggles was exactly what you needed to take your mind off of everything.

Felix:

“I can’t do this anymore!” you groaned while Felix came in beside you. “I’ve been trying for hours and I haven’t gotten it down.”

“What if I dance next to you, I bet I would look really good in tights,” Felix said, trying to imagine himself in a pair. “What, you don’t have to do that?” you quickly replied, not wanting him to struggle with you.

“But whatever we do, we do together, right? So come on, let me do this with you, or you can do it perfectly now and we can go home and eat brownies.” 

That was all the motivation you needed to try one more time, and you got it. “Felix, I finally did it!” you shouted, running into his arms. “I told you, you can do anything, you just have to get out of your head at times,” he said, kissing your face with a smile.

Seungmin: 

“If you don’t want to do it anymore, you should just quit. It’s only 16 years of your life down the drain,” Seungmin told you, watching you struggle. 

You had been complaining for hours that you couldn’t get your sissone sur le point to look right. It was too difficult and very few people could do it perfectly. “I can do it, stop bringing me down,” you groaned trying it once again. 

“Come on, you are the one who said you just wanted to quit, so quit.” Seungmin said out loud, trying to get a rise out of you “I don’t know why you are trying if you know you are going to fail anyway.” 

That was all the motivation you needed, you needed to prove him wrong. You had tried once again, finally successfully doing it. “Ha!” you screamed “In your face Kim Seungmin!” 

He just laughed “Finally, now can we please go before we miss our movie?” 

Jeongin: 

“Can I try with you?” he asked. “Are you sure, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You were confused, you were stuck on the same move for days, constantly crying to Jeongin about how you couldn’t get it down. 

“Just show me one more time, please?” 

You did, landing perfectly. “I did it! Wait, WHAT!” you yelled, tingling Jeongin’s eardrums. 

“I told you, sometimes you just have to leave that pretty brain of yours.”  

[bookworm551]

Take the Edge Off | Part 3 | Stress Relief

Your week hasn’t been going so well, so you decide to seek out something that can help remedy your stress.

A/N: I’m gonna try to keep rolling these out every week, but forgive me if I’m inconsistent. I’m a busy gal, but Miguel is always on my mind. Love y’all <3

Warnings: fingering, oral f-receiving, overstimulation.

Word count: 4.6k words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

You tumbled into your apartment from the fire escape window with a loud grunt. You sat up slowly as you held onto your sides. It had been a rough day for Spider-woman. A rough few days, really. There had been one particular rogue who was causing you more trouble than you expected, and you had paid for it with your time and energy.

You sat on the floor of your tiny apartment for a few minutes staring absently at the floor before pushing yourself up with a grunt. You shrugged out of your suit and bra and changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. You opened your fridge to find that you had hardly anything left. You had been so busy that week, you'd forgotten to get food for yourself.

You sighed and ran a hand over your face. Taking one of the two slices of cold pizza you still had left, you closed the fridge. You sat down on the edge of your bed as you ate, replaying the events of the week in your head. You knew your body was going to be bruised, and you decided it would be best to take something to help knock you out for the night.

You went to your bathroom cabinet and reached for a bottle of painkillers, only they weren't there. You stood there for a moment as aggravation washed over your body. Of course it wasn't here. Where the hell did you put it?

You closed your eyes with a heavy sigh. You had left it in your apartment on Earth-928 after your last mission left you covered in bruises, much like you were now. You pinched the bridge of your nose. Now, you had a choice. You were tired and didn’t want to do any more traveling for the night, let alone cross-dimensional traveling, but at the same time, you were in pain and don’t want to deal with it.

You closed the medicine cabinet and shook your head. Turning on the sink faucet, you splashed water on your face to revive yourself. The cool water was refreshing against your skin, and after a moment, you turned the water off and wiped the excess water off of your face. You stared at your reflection for a second and noticed the fading puncture marks on your neck.

You paused as the memories of Miguel’s body against yours replayed in your head. An idea formed in your mind as you thought about how good he could make you feel. Maybe you could get more than just painkillers while you were in Earth-928. Maybe you could get a little stress relief, too.

That made up your mind. You left the bathroom to find where you hid you gizmo and typed in the code for Miguel’s dimension. The portal appeared in front of you, and when you stepped in, you arrived in the heart of the compound.

Even as late as it was, there were still countless people around you. You navigated your way through the maze of halls back to your apartment. Inside, you found your little bottle of painkillers on the little dresser by your bed. You popped two of them in your mouth and swallowed before walking back out into the hallway.

You couldn’t be sure where Miguel would be, but you figured you’d start where he usually was. The control room wasn’t too far from your apartment, so that’s where you headed. You received several greetings from various Spider-people as you walked through the halls. It was strange being there without your suit on, but you figured that with what you hoped was going to happen, it would be easier in your civvies.

The door of the control room slid open, and to your tremendous relief, Miguel was standing in front of his many monitors with his back turned towards you. His platform was set on the ground for once, and thank goodness, too, since you hadn’t brought your web shooters and wouldn’t be able to swing up to him. Miguel didn’t bother turning around to see who was disturbing him. You stepped into the control room and began walking towards him.

“Burning the midnight oil?” You called out. At the sound of your voice, Miguel turned his head slightly in your direction. “The phrase is ‘burning the midnight wick,’” he corrected. “And it’s not even midnight.” You reached the edge of the platform and stepped up beside him. “Maybe in this dimension, it’s ‘wick,’ but where I’m from, we say ‘oil,’” you told him. “And even if it’s not midnight, it’s still pretty late.”

You pushed yourself up to sit on the desk beside him. Miguel’s eyes glanced away from his screen to look at you briefly. He took in your appearance, and you noticed how his eyes lingered on your bare legs for a second before returning them back to the screen in front of him.

“This needs to be done tonight,” he told you flatly. You hummed, glancing at the screen to see what could be so important. Line after line of clinical language covered the screen, and you only read a few words before growing bored.

“This seems tedious,” you commented. “Maybe you should take a little break.” “I don’t need a break,” he told you evenly. He continued typing away with focused silence, and you watched him as you tried coming up with a new angle to get what you wanted.

“Still,” you continued, “maybe you should anyway.” He looked at you briefly with an unimpressed expression before turning back to his work. “I’m used to late nights,” he told you.

You let out a quiet sigh. He wasn’t giving you what you wanted, but he also wasn’t annoyed at your presence and demanding that you leave him in peace. For Miguel O’Hara, you could almost say that he was in a good mood.

"I thought you were staying in your dimension this week," he commented, breaking the silence between you. You closed your eyes and released a heavy sigh. "Things just aren't so good there right now," you mumbled. When you opened your eyes again, Miguel was watching you with one eyebrow slightly elevated.

"So, you're running away," he concluded. "I'm not running away," you said defensively. "I'm just...taking a break, that's all." Miguel hummed indifferently, and his eyes returned to his screen. "You're taking a break," he repeated slowly, "in my workspace?"

You gave a little huff. You knew why you came here, and you'd hoped he'd know why as well. "I'm just trying to distract myself," you told him, watching him carefully. "Trying to alleviate the stress a little, you know?"

Miguel's fingers paused for a moment, and his eyes glanced at you before returning back to the screen. "And what do you want me to do about it?" He asked, his voice impassive. You knew what he was trying to do. He wanted to hear you say out loud what you wanted from him.

Even though you weren't embarrassed to say it, you felt that being direct made you seem needy. You watched him type away at his reports stone-faced as he waited for your response. He wouldn't get it quite so easily.

"I don't know," you sighed. "You seem busy."

"I'm always busy," he stated evenly.

You hummed. "Well, in that case," you continued casually, "I think I'll go distract myself with someone else. Say, do you know which room Ben Reilly stays in?"

Miguel's eyes flashed away from the screen to your face, and you caught the barely-perceptible furrow of his brow. He didn't answer you, so you said, "That's okay, I'll just ask Lyla. Goodnight."

You pushed yourself off of the desk and began walking away. Faster than you thought possible, Miguel grabbed you by your arm, causing you to halt in your tracks. His grip was firm, tight even, and he jerked you closer to him so that his face hovered inches from your own.

"I said," he began in a low, quiet voice, "what do you want me to do about it?" You felt the corner of your mouth curl upwards. So, he had a bit of a jealous streak. Good to know.

Your eyes fixed on his lips for a moment before glancing back up at his dark stare. "I want you to make me forget about my shitty week," you told him. He studied your face without response before releasing your arm and bringing his hand up to your face. His finger gripped your jaw firmly as he tilted your head up to look him straight in the face.

His stare made your heart start to speed up, and your breathing quickened. Miguel noticed your reaction, and you could see a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "What do you want me to do?" He asked again, eyes fixed on your lips. His face was neutral, but you could hear the smugness in his voice.

Your jaw clenched for a moment as you thought about all the things you wanted him to do to you. So many places to hold, to touch, to kiss. It was a long list, but it all boiled down to one thing.

"I want you to fuck me," you said quietly. "Right here, right now."

His eyes raised from your mouth to meet your gaze, and the ghost of a smile formed on his lips. "Do you now?" He asked, feigning a look of mild surprise. You rolled your eyes. "I can still go find Ben," you huffed, but his grip on your jaw tightened, and he looked down at you with hungry eyes. "I think we both know that's not going to happen," he murmured before pressing his lips to yours.

You smirked against his mouth before his tongue slipped between your lips, and you slowly brought your arms up around his neck. His hand released your jaw and slid down to your neck. He had you backed up and leaning against the desk, and his other hand pushed between your legs.

You gasped softly as the heel of his palm pressed against you. You closed your eyes at the sensation as he moved his hand just enough for you to feel it. You even moved your hips a little, your body involuntarily moving to seek the pleasure you knew he could provide.

"How badly do you want it?" He asked with a low voice. You blinked your eyes open to look up at him. His face was impassive as he stared down at you with his dark eyes.

You scoffed quietly. "Do you want me to beg for it?" You asked. Miguel's deadpan expression didn't change, but one of his eyebrows raised marginally, and the hand around your neck tightened just a little bit.

"I'm a busy man," he told you, his voice like silk. "I need to know how badly want it. Otherwise, maybe you should go find Ben." Your jaw ticked in annoyance. You wanted him badly, and he was calling your bluff. Unfortunately, he was right—you both knew you weren't going to find Ben.

Instead of responding immediately, you lifted a hand up to his chest, looked up at him through your lashes, and gave him a little pout. "You don't want me to do that, do you?" You asked him sweetly. You could see Miguel's jaw tense as he stared down at you, and you hoped that you could charm him into forgetting his question.

He brought his face so close to yours that your noses were touching. There was a faint look of amusement that gleamed in his eyes, and you knew he wasn't falling for it. 

"I want you," he said slowly, "to tell me how badly you want it." He began moving his hand against you more forcefully, and a groan escaped your lips before you could think to hold it back. He knew what he was doing, and his deep voice made you restless for more friction between your legs.

You tried moving against him to increase the pleasure you felt, but Miguel moved his hand back away from you. You let out a soft whine as he took away the very thing you wanted, and you realized that Miguel had complete power over you.

He was looking down at you expectantly, one eyebrow still slightly elevated while his eyes were fixed on your lips. "Well?" He asked in a low voice. "I don't have all night, cariño."

You were defeated. Whatever semblance of pride you still had after seeking him out evaporated at his words. You rubbed your thighs together to try to give yourself relief from the throbbing between your legs, but you knew only Miguel could give you the satisfaction you were needing.

"Please," you said quietly, your lips brushing against his. "I want you so much, it's making me ache." He hummed thoughtfully, the corners of his lips turned ever so slightly upwards in triumph. He placed his hands on your hips and moved them slowly up under your shirt.

"I like when you say please," he murmured as his fingers brushed across your torso. "Say it again."

His tantalizing touch was making your breath shaky, and your desperation was rising. You tried to kiss him, but he pulled his head back a fraction of an inch out of reach. "Please," you whispered against his lips. "I want you to touch me."

That seemed to satisfy him. With a smirk, Miguel breathed, "So needy," before he brought his lips down on yours with ravenous hunger. His tongue danced against your own, and you moaned softly into his mouth. His arm scooped around your lower back and picked you up onto the desk behind you. One of your hands ran up the back of his neck and through his soft hair as you pulled yourself as close to him as possible.

His hot kisses trailed down to your neck, earning shaky gasps from you, while his hands explored your body further. "You still have your souvenir from last time," he noted smugly as his lips pressed down over the bite mark he had left before. "Should I give you another one?"

You wanted to respond, to let him know exactly what you wanted, but his hands had reached your breasts, and his eager grasping stole your ability to speak. Instead, you sighed loudly and leaned into his touch. Miguel was amused by your powerlessness and enjoyed every little sound you made.

He finally decided that he was tired of feeling without seeing, and his hands lifted the shirt up your body and over your head. His eyes moved down to admire your body, and he froze, his expression hardening. You followed his gaze and saw the colored bruising that had formed on your torso.

Oh yeah, you had almost forgotten about that.

There was a beat of tense silence as he stared at your body. "Who did this to you?" He finally asked in a low voice, his eyes fixated on your darkened skin.

You sighed thinking about how you got those bruises. "Just some villain of the week," you told him quietly. Miguel's eyes moved from your torso to your face, and you averted your eyes before mumbling, "It's been a shitty week."

The was a quiet pause as he assessed your body with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. You shifted uncomfortably under his stare, feeling self-conscious of the mottled bruising across your skin. Miguel must have realized because his eyes moved back up to your face, and he placed a slow kiss on your lips.

"Only I can mark you," he whispered, his hands moving across your body again. "Got it?" You smiled as you kissed him back before murmuring, "Yes, sir." Miguel gave a low growl in the back of his throat at your response. "If you keep saying that," he began, "I won't be able to control myself."

You smirked as you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer. "That's the point," you said smoothly. You traced the edge of his lips with your tongue before adding, "I want everyone in this compound to know what you're doing to me."

Miguel responded by kissing you hungrily and taking your bottom lip between his teeth. You gasped as he bit down just hard enough to not hurt you. He let go after a second and whispered in a hoarse voice, "By the time I'm through with you, there won't be a person who doesn't know."

As he spoke, his hand pushed you down by your chest, and he traced his fingers down your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. Your breath hitched at his soft touch, and you shifted your hips for him. Miguel's expressions were always very subtle, but his eyes displayed the amusement he felt at your eagerness.

His fingers slipped under the waist of your shorts, and he lifted you up just enough to remove them from your body. His mouth twisted into a subtle smirk as he gazed down at you completely uncovered on his desk. His hands slid up the inside of your thighs and pushed them apart gently.

Your breathing grew quicker in anticipation, and chills ran up your body as he touched your tender skin. "So soft," he murmured, lowering his mouth to kiss the inside of your thigh. "I'll make you forget all about your shitty week." You moaned quietly and ran your fingers through his hair.

His kisses trailed upward closer and closer to your aching entrance. Just as his lips reached the top of your thigh, he pulled his head away. You whined softly and tugged at his hair to bring him back down again. "Don't tease," you groaned, earning a dark chuckle from Miguel.

"So needy," he repeated smugly. "You're already so wet for me, aren't you?" Before you could reply, his fingers pressed into you, making you gasp out his name. He sighed as he moved his fingers with agonizing slowness. "Oh, yes you are," he said with a smirk.

You closed your eyes and groaned as his fingers moved inside you. "Oh, Miguel," you whispered quietly through your gasping breaths. He hummed and kissed your stomach softly. "I love it when you say my name like that," he told you, his voice heavy with lust.

His fingers started pumping in and out of you faster. You let out a long moan at the feeling he brought you. He was so good at reading your body, and his fingers curled just right inside you, forcing loud breaths from your mouth. Your eyes were unfocused, and all you could see was the yellow light of the monitors around you.

Miguel placed another kiss on your skin before his pace slowed, and he removed his fingers from your pussy, making you whine and move your hips in search of some relief. "Don't stop, Miguel," you pleaded softly. You blinked down at him, and your eyes met his dark, half-lidded gaze. His whole face was burning with desire as he knelt down in front of the desk, and his hands came to wrap around your thighs while he placed your legs over his shoulders.

"Don't stop saying my name," he murmured before lowering his mouth down onto you. You cried out in pleasure as his mouth moved eagerly against your entrance, leaving you grasping desperately at his hair. "Miguel," you gasped, your legs struggling against his firm grip.

He moaned as he continued eating you out, fueled by the obscene noises you were making. Your back arched off the desk, and your hips moved in an effort to increase the pace he had set. Miguel took the hint and began lapping his tongue against your clit faster and harder.

Your whole body was writhing with pleasure, your legs squeezing against his hands hard enough to leave bruises while you tugged at his hair. You couldn't breath properly from how good it all felt, but just when Miguel found the right rhythm, he stopped and lifted his head up.

A needy whine escaped your mouth, and your eyes fluttered open to look down at him. "I told you not to stop saying my name," he reminded you sternly, sounding slightly out of breath.

"Yes, sir," you panted, shifting your hips to search for some kind of sensation. That wasn't quite what he was looking for, and he continued staring up at you expectantly. "Miguel, please, don't stop," you begged desperately, completely disregarding any self-respect you still had.

Miguel's annoyed expression softened in satisfaction. "There's my good girl," he murmured before lowering his mouth back down on you.

Your whole body tensed again as he resumed his zealous pace. This time, you didn't forget his rule, and his name kept spilling from your lips practically every other second. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and your legs were flexing in his strong grip.

How he always managed to touch you just right was beyond your comprehension. He found the perfect rhythm with the perfect amount of pressure to make you forget everything except his name. All around you, your panting and moaning filled the air, and Miguel was making good on his promise of erasing every terrible thing that had happened to you that week from your mind.

Your back was arching off the desk as you felt a tightness in your stomach forming. Miguel recognized how close you were, and he adjusted his hold on your legs to pry them further apart while he continued eating you out ravenously. Shuddering moans emerged from your mouth, and you managed to gasp his name out one last time before you lost control and began shaking as your orgasm crashed over you.

Your fingers pulled at his hair, and your other hand reached over your head to grip the edge of the desk while you raised your hips up off the ledge. Miguel kept his mouth firmly pressed to you as you moved restlessly against him. Every muscle in your body was tensed as long, breathy moans filled the air.

Your eyes were screwed shut, and you didn't see the satisfied look in Miguel's eyes as he watched you unravel against his mouth. Your legs tried squeezing together, but his arms were stronger than you, and his hands ensured that you couldn't move away from his mouth.

After a few moments, your body began writhing at his unceasing pace, and you let out a whining gasp as you tried escaping from his tongue. "No more," you cried out, trying desperately to push his head away while his mouth began overstimulating you. Your legs tightened, and you tried moving your hips up and away from him, but Miguel kept his grip around your thighs and his face firmly planted between them.

"Miguel, please!" You begged through clenched teeth, the sensation of his tongue now becoming almost painful.

Mercifully, Miguel relented, lifting his mouth off of you and relaxing his arms. He watched with sadistic satisfaction at the way your body was trembling and how soft whimpers escaped your lips. You had one arm draped across your forehead as you recovered your breath while your other hand finally released the grasp you had on his hair.

"Not so fun when the tables are turned?" He asked in a cocky tone. You didn’t reply for a moment while you took time to try and breathe properly again. When your erratic heart began slowing down, your arm slid off your forehead, and you looked down at Miguel. His lips and chin were glistening with your wetness, and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards triumphantly. He seemed proud of himself for causing you to unravel so completely.

"So that was payback?" You replied quietly, your throat dry from all the panting and gasping. You remembered how fun it was to overstimulate Miguel the first time you were together, and now it seems that he had settled the score.

He hummed thoughtfully as he placed a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh, eliciting a soft sigh from you. "Payback would be tying you up nice and pretty for me," he stated, his eyes glinting at the mental image of you in bondage. Your heart sped up at the notion, and it made your breathing quicken again.

He sighed and placed another kiss to your thigh before rising up off his knees. "Don't worry, though," he said softly as your legs slid off his shoulders. "I'm saving that one for later." His eyes wandered across your naked form as he wiped his mouth with his hand.

"Are you just gonna stare or are you going to take your suit off?" You questioned with a smirk. His gaze returned to your face, and he gave a quiet huff of amusement. His hand traveled slowly up your stomach to your chest in admiration before he sighed again.

"Not tonight, nena," he said finally in a soft voice. Your eyebrows quirked together in surprise, and you looked up at him with an unspoken question in your eyes. Miguel understood your confusion and raised his hand up from your chest to run his thumb across your chin. "I'm a busy man," he reminded you. "And we'd make a big mess all over my workspace."

Your lips pulled into a crooked grin at his words. Letting out a little sigh, you nodded and whispered, "Okay." His dark eyes stared down at you for a second, studying your body intently. You wished you had the ability to read minds because it was impossible to discern what he was thinking.

You started to sit up but paused with a small grunt as your bruised ribs reminded you to move slower. "Forgot?" Miguel asked with a hint of humor in his voice. "I guess so," you muttered, laying back down with a lazy smile, "thanks to you."

The corner of his mouth turned upward, and he leaned over and kissed you. You could still taste yourself on his tongue. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and he slowly pulled back without breaking your kiss to help you sit up.

"Thanks," you whispered to him. He looked down at you with eyes that could almost be described as soft. "De nada," he murmured quietly. Your arms slid off of his shoulders with a sigh, and you reached for your discarded shirt next to you.

Miguel stepped back and rolled his shoulders slowly. He looked back at the yellow screens around him, and you could tell that he did not want to go back to work. "You don't have to work all the time, you know," you commented as you stooped down for your shorts.

He paused before replying, "This needs to be done tonight." You glanced at the glowing screens full of transcripts of various missions, descriptions of anomalies, and reports of canon disruptions.

"Suit yourself," you told him. You had your clothes on, and you figured it was time to go. You offered him a small smile and said, "Goodnight, Miguel," before turning to walk away.

You had taken about five steps before Miguel's voice called out, "You should stay in the compound tonight." You paused and turned around to look at him. He was facing one of his many screens, but his head was turned slightly toward you, and he was watching your reaction from the corner of his eye. "And maybe keep your door unlocked," he added.

His words made a smirk grow slowly on your face. "I always keep it unlocked," you told him. He shook his head, but you could see he was suppressing a faint smile. "That's a terrible habit," he muttered. "Maybe," you conceded, turning back around again, "but I think you can use it to your advantage."

You could feel Miguel's eyes watching you as you walked out of the control room, and you headed straight for your compound apartment to wait for him.

[lilyofthesword-writes]

What Should Be - Part 2 (Batman)

Summary: You have a loving family, a cozy home, a great job - What more could a person ask for? But what do you do when an injured man dressed as a bat shows up in your home in the middle of the night?

Pairing: Batman x Reader (Platonic or Romantic)

Word Count: 1,013

Warnings/Disclaimers: Blood, injuries 

Counterpart: Alchemy (Please read first)

Part 1 |  | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Epilogue

Masterlist

“Babe, you okay? Did you not sleep?” your partner queried, setting a mug in front of you.

“Y-yeah. I just… just couldn’t stay away from my research, I guess.”

You gratefully grasped the handle. There was no way you could tell them. How could you tell them that a man dressed as bat was in your apartment who knew your name and just disappeared into thin air, that the symbol shining on the clouds afterward made the back of your mind itch so fervently it made sleep impossible, that you wound up curled up on the sofa staring out the window until dawn?

“Well, consider those bags under your eyes punishment,” they teased.

“Ha. Ha. Don’t you have an office to go to?”

“Don’t you?” they quipped.

You started to nod in the direction of the hall where your study lay when you noticed something. There was a third setting at the kitchen table, a third setting with a full plate of untouched food.

“Where’s Torrence?”

Your partner hummed in question. You only had eyes for the plate.

“I said, ‘Where’s Torrence?’”

“Umm, he’s at school,” they replied matter-of-factly.

You shook your head as if that would clear the fog that had into your mind. “But then why—”

“We were just downstairs like fifteen minutes ago to see him onto the bus. Don’t you remember?”

Right… You did that every morning. At least, that’s what your brain was telling you. So… Why couldn’t you recall any memories of doing so?

Your partner’s hand coaxed you to look at them. Their eyes swam with worry and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Are you feeling okay? You didn’t catch anything from staying up late, did you?”

“Y-yeah, yeah…”

You pulled away, ready to ask a question about the food when the words lodged themselves in your throat. The plate was gone. It was as if it had never existed in the first place. And the mug? It was filled with a hot, viscous liquid akin to dirty oil. The putrid smell invaded and set up camp in your nostrils.

“Umm… Actually, I think I’m gonna lay back down for a bit,” you spoke airily, rising to your feet just a hair too fast.

Your partner was quick to rebalance you. “Do you— Do you want me to stay? I- I can call out and—”

“No!” you cut off their rambling. “No, it’s fine. It’s just some fatigue. A quick nap and I’ll be back to normal.”

They squeezed your shoulders in an act of reassurance, to ground you. All you felt were creepy-crawlies in the wake of their touch.

When your partner was finally out the door, you shivered and frantically rubbed your arms as though you were brushing bugs off your skin. Why had all this felt so wrong?

Yeah… Sleep was the best thing for you right now.

A rhythmic tap sounded from your window. You padded across the floor to answer. Drawing back the curtains, you found a different man in skin tight black and blue suit. It reminded you of a gymnast’s costume. The man perched on the fire escape expectantly. You opened the window.

“Thanks! Do you have a minute? I need to pick your brain.” He sounded cheerful, but there was an edge to it. 

“I guess. Come on in,” you replied.

You stepped aside to allow one of the city’s many vigilantes into your home. 

“So, uh…” you folded your arms awkwardly, “You have me… Concerned. Bats is usually the one asking questions. Maybe the little one. Robin, right? And Nightiwng is a Bludhaven guy. What could possibly bring you here?”

“Nothing to worry about,” he attempted to laugh. He stood tall in the middle of your shabby, dimly lit living room, but nothing about his stance exuded the confidence you had come to know from any of Batman’s crew. “Just wanted to ask you something.”

The pain in your thigh pulsed. “Right…” You frowned as you plopped onto the couch. “Alright, then. Ask away.”

“Well,” Nightwing cleared his throat. “I know Batman has been coming to you for your insight on some of the stranger happenings—”

A disgruntled, distorted grunt came from the as it slid open. A familiar red helmet came into view as another man entered your home.

“B’s missing. You seen him recently?” Red Hood got straight to the point.

Nightwing clicked his tongue. “No tact.”

“You’re one to talk,” Red Hood rounded on him. “What was that just now?

“I was trying to breech the subject more gently.”

“Gently? We don’t have time for—”

“Boys!” you interjected.

They stopped, straightening themself attentively.

“As bad as the Winchester boys,” you mumbled to yourself. However, you did have to admit you were pleased to see that Red Hood had warmed up to the other vigilantes… At least to the point of not pulling a gun on them.

“Who?” they chimed in unison.

You rubbed your temples. “Don’t— Don’t worry about it. Look, he was here the other night.”

Babe?

Your thigh began to throb again. 

“What for?” Nightwing asked. 

“The East-End victims.”

The blue vigilante rubbed folded his arms across his chest. “East-End… He never told us he was working that case.”

Babe? Wake up!

“That checks out,” Red Hood chimed in. “You know how B is when someone else gets hurt.”

Nightwing cleared his throat nervously. “I wasn’t there for that one. Was it really that bad?”

“Red Robin nearly had his throat ripped out by a nest of vampires,” you deadpanned. “This case does have some similarities.”

“Oh…”

BABE!

You jolted, eyes popping open. 

The sunset streamed into your bedroom window only to be blocked by Jesse who was hovering over you.

“Jeez, you had me worried. I’ve never known you to sleep like the dead before,” they breathed a sigh of relief.

You’ve been a light sleeper ever since… Ever since what?

“Babe, are you sure you’re okay? Have you been asleep all day?”

You blinked, scanning the room. Those two men were nowhere to be found…

“Yeah… I guess so…”

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 25

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know

A.N: I'm sorry for the delay. Unfortunately life gets in the way of these things!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19 • Part 20 • Part 21 • Part 22 • Part 23 • Part 24

• ··········· • ············ •

The trip down to the Entresol level was far easier than the one you just did. Get on the ascensor. Get off. Welcome to Zaun.

The undercity was very similar to what you remembered in your dimension, even though you hadn’t spent a long time there. Dark, chaotic, and yet in the chaos there was beauty. People shouting back and forth, vehicles coming and going, lights reflecting on colored glass panes. 

Once upon another timeline, after Viktor became hexed and started his commune, you became a common guest in it. Helping him do things and reach higher, do better...improve…evolve. He would find ways to get you to the commune quickly and safely; most of them wouldn’t have you pass through the streets of Zaun. And if by any chance you’d need to, he’d get someone to accompany you. 

No…he wouldn’t get someone…He would make someone.

It was hard to try and distinguish what was made out of love and what was made out of fawning. He wanted you in the commune, whether because he cared or because he needed more evolved; you didn’t know. But looking back at all the gestures he did, all the little smiles and touches, it was hard to imagine him, at that time, doing it for love. It was a means to an end. Much like the hex angel he had sent after you.

A tap on your shoulder snapped you violently out of your thoughts, so much so that you had to grab your chest to keep your quickening heart from exploding.

“Gods, Viktor.” You breathed. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“We have been walking for 10 minutes.” He sounded confused. “Where were you?”

“Far.” You looked at him, and he had a concerned look on his face. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. As long as you come back.” 

“I’ll try.”

“We are here.”

You had stopped in front of a two-story building. It was thin and tall, and it looked like it had been pulled up by the roof disproportionately. The broken window on the ground floor showed the dancing shadows of an abandoned store, with half-empty shelves and dust shimmering there. The other two floors had two square windows to the street but only a faint light coming out of them. The door to the living quarters was ajar, and despite looking neglected on the outside, clothes were hanging on the windows, and on the last floor, there was a little parapet with some plants on it. 

“There.” Viktor pointed to the first-floor window. “That was my bedroom.”

You looked up where he was pointing and smiled. There was a purple curtain there, and you wondered if that was there when he was.

“And that was the living room.” He pointed to the window next to the other.

Viktor had a melancholic air to him. A sort of haziness in his eyes as he remembered those times. You kept quiet, letting him reminisce.

“You want to go up?” You said when he sighed with finality.

“No. There is probably someone living there.” He turned around to walk further down the artificially lit streets.

You silently followed him through the streets, watching the stalls and the stores start to get customers. You knew danger lurked around every shadow, especially with the chembarons running amok, but right now it seemed calm and safe…safe-ish.

One thing that surprised you, though, was the sound above the sounds. Above the cacophony of the undercity, there were whispers and buzz like a layer of frenzied talk about the frenzy. Several times you’d pause and look back when something whispered in your ear. It didn’t feel evil or angry. It was playful, like a child touching your shoulder only to hide away.

“Is everything alright?” Viktor asked, and you nodded.

“I’ll explain later. Rune related.”

He paused and looked back at the building that was once his home and then at the intersection where you were both standing. In front was a metal bridge, a path to the left towards more buildings, and a metal stairway to the right.

“It’s there.” He pointed to a small location on a metal landing on a lower level.

“More stairs!”

“Zaun’s architecture is vertical.” He spat out, limping towards the steps.

You walked beside him, keeping a close eye on him. He held to the thin railing, and between that and his crutch, you both made your way down slowly but safely.

“As you can guess...” He adjusted his aid and straightened up. “It was fun for me growing up.”

The layer of sarcasm in the sentence was as thick as the fog that rolled above.

“Between the lungs and the bones, I was a regular at the playground…if there had been any playgrounds…” 

There was resentment in his voice, but not anger. He wanted the best for the Undercity, even after it had pushed him aside. He knew, the same as you or your mother, that the betterment of Zaun would be the betterment of everyone who lived in it. Whether they were healthy or not.

“Would you ever consider coming back?” You expected a resounding and quick no since that had been the answer given to you by his cosmic twin, but once again the thoughtful silence told you how different they were.

“Yes, if that’s a decisive factor in the improvement of people's lives here, I would.” There was no doubt in his tone.

“Sounds like you’ve thought this over.”

“Heh. It is where I was born; I will always love it. No matter what it becomes.” His head nodded forward, and you saw your target location coming up.

The store window was bright with orange and yellow lights, reminding you of a lit fireplace. The black-trimmed glass panes with gentle curves made it welcoming, and the array of colorful packages and signs made it even more appealing to the eye. But what made you look at the small store was the symbol on the sign. It was the fire rune, mirrored and delicately decorated with leaves and flowers.

“My mother used to come here.” He recalled once more. “I liked the little candy they had for coughs and the muscle cream too.”

You smiled at him and walked inside, his presence close behind you. The little voices and sounds from what you thought were the arcane became a little louder as you approached the store, but they quickly became silent as the bell signaling a customer entrance rang.

The inside of the store was warm and smelled of dried leaves and soothing balms. The dark wooden shelves were filled with paper packets, glass bottles, and tin cans with various colorful labels. The decorations, the advertisements, and even the rug on the floor were old and raggedy, but it gave the place a cozy feeling.

“Hello. Welcome to Fireside Elixirs and Medicines. My name is Elysium. How can I help you?”

Elysium smiled and brightened up the room as they placed their hands on the glass counter. They were wearing a baggy cream-colored wool sweater with a flowery detail embroidered in it, under a pair of green overalls. Their sleeves were rolled up, and his arms were filled with flowery and leafy tattoos.

“Alena sent us,” Viktor announced after the door closed, and Elysium's smile got bigger.

“Oh, yes! You must be the hex-head and the heir.” 

You tried to bite back a laugh but failed when you glanced at Viktor’s confused face. His eyes blinking, eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth trying to come up with a reply.

“That’s us.” You waved, and they nodded.

“I’ve got what you asked for here.” Elysium walked to the back of the store, waiting for them to follow.

“What did you ask for?” Viktor mumbled as he followed you, the wooden floor from the apothecary creaking.

“Old records of old customers...” you whispered back as Elysium opened the door to a small storage room and office space.

The small round table in the middle was filled with cardboard boxes, and those boxes were filled with notebooks and binders with papers of different sizes and colors inside. It was literally a mess of papers and books and dust bunnies.

“It’s all I could find, and Janna knows if that’s all of it.”

“I just wanted a list of clients…” you stuttered, surprised at the number of boxes and sheets.

“Yup…those are it. 90 years worth.” Elysium patted you on the back. “If you need me, I'll be right there.”

They pointed to a small corner couch that had an open sketchbook and some pencils next to it. You nodded, still a bit shocked.

Viktor was already inside the office, looking around the boxes, grabbing the lightest ones, and placing them on the floor.

“Do you still sell the rosehip tea?” Viktor asked quietly, Why did you finally accept your fate?

Elysium nodded curiously while you looked at both of them.

“I would like to buy some.” They nodded again, moving to get him his tea. “Do you perhaps have a kettle here?”

“Not here, but I can get you some hot water.” Both of you realized at the same time what the scientist wanted to do.

“That would be appreciated. Thank you.”

The storekeeper nodded again and turned around, probably to find the tea and the water. You shifted your gaze to Viktor, who was now fishing for something out of his satchel.

“Rosehip tea?” you asked, mimicking his movements from before, picking up some of the heavier boxes.

“It is good for joints and inflammation.” He explained, taking out a small leather coin purse, a notebook, and a pen with a colorful top.

“You believe in that?”

…someone else didn’t…

“I believe in anything that might help me. If anything, the human mind is very susceptible to the placebo effect.” He sat down in a chair, starting to undo his brace, sighing in relief once it was free.

Both of you sat down at the table as you started by picking a box and trying to make heads and tails of the boxes.

Viktor was a pro, quickly grabbing everything out of one box and making piles for each size of paper sheet and note and then making another pile with the whole notebooks. You started to follow his lead, adding papers and notebooks to the piles.

Elysium would come around at certain points throughout the morning, bringing the water for the tea and two mismatched cups. It was clear the shop still had some customers, the bell ringing from time to time and Elysium’s calm voice helping them out.

By the time lunch came around, you had made your way through a couple of boxes, and both looked proud when their new acquaintance whistled, impressed.

“I’m starting to think we should pay you for this.” They joked, leaning into the doorway.

“No need. It is quite…relaxing.” Viktor quickly blurted, and you snorted in disagreement.

“Please forgive him. He’s usually knee-deep in chaos.” You grabbed your backpack.

“Well, it’s food time. If you guys want to come, I’m going to a little stall down the street.” Elysium grabbed his satchel bag and waited for your answers.

You both nodded in sync and made your way out the door.

“Alena told me you are interested in the magic symbols. Can I ask why?” Elysium asked, slurping his noodles.

“I am researching them for my studies.” Viktor quickly blurted it out before you could even open your mouth.

“For hextech?” 

“No. Personal.”

“That’s awesome!!”

“What do you know about them?” You asked, setting the spoon down and leaning over the serving shelf of the food stall.

“Urban legend. Mom warned me about the old man with magic, that he would come and take me if I got into trouble.”

Viktor nudged your knee with his own, and you looked at him. He raised his eyebrows, and you nodded, acknowledging that the shopkeeper had the same experience as Viktor.

“Did your grandparents see him too?” 

“Not my grandparents…my great uncle.” Elysium finished his food and pushed the bowl aside. “He once saw him near the lanes, just looking.”

“Did he talk to him?” Viktor asked, also pushing his food aside and grabbing a small tray with a little fried round pastry layered with sugar and cinnamon.

“But he would see him there almost every day. Gr’uncle thought he was a ghost most of the time, and he was scared of ghosts.” They gave you a sad smile. “Later in life he became…sick…mentally…he’d forget things and see things, and we couldn't tell what was real or what was his imagination.”

“Was it the mines?” Viktor asked, plopping the sugar bomb into his mouth.

“Probably…or the gray. Or both.”

The air turned solemn, the three of you contemplating the lives of the citizens of the Undercity. They had been forgotten by the council; every piece of comfort they had been given by them was performative. Sure, Councilor Kiramman funded and made the pipes that expelled the gray from the city, but in the end, there was always a blade above these people's neck. You knew this because you saw it. Caytlin only needed to turn a key, and the toxic gas was once more weaponized against them. 

Every time someone tried to do good…actual good for the people of Zaun, there were hurdles and committees and just unenthusiastic talks about why they needed actual schools for children in Zaun; meanwhile, Piltover prided itself on the education of its citizens. 

Heimerdinger had been right when he told the boys back then about security, and when they told you, you were just as outraged as they were. Now though? Now you know that Hextech indeed needs some security precautions. Against Piltover's need to stomp on their lower city mostly.

Zaun was dangerous; the shadows were sometimes death sentences, but they had been left to fend for themselves. Enforcers weren’t policing the bad guys here; they were just making sure the cages were locked.

It angered you that you had been blind to most of it. Even to the point of not giving a shit about it. Your ivory tower was way too high for you to see the people down below. Until you were dragged into it. Sure, it was by a hexed Viktor, but the experiences were all real, the people who wandered into the commune, their stories. 

And even though the means he used were flawed, he tried to help them. Only to be the one who would fatally use them.

“It was evolution, my dear friend. The betterment of ourselves only leads to the betterment of our surroundings.” Viktor's mechanical voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was right there…in your ear.

“Are you alright?” Elysium asked, stopping the animated conversation they were having with Viktor. You're Viktor.

“Yeah…sorry! Just thinking about the boxes back at the store.” You looked at your gloved hands. “I can’t feel the tips of my fingers.”

“I think we can start to decipher the clients with what we have now, and perhaps tomorrow we could investigate those.” Viktor grabbed a paper bag with grease stains from the man in the stall. It was filled with the sugary fried pastries he had been eating. “When we exhaust all of those people, we go back for more.”

“Sounds like a game plan.” Elysium nodded as if he was the one who was going to do it.

“It does.” You looked back at the shopkeeper. “You’re going to help us with this?”

“Ah! No. That’s all you.”

You groaned as they laughed, patting your shoulder in solidarity with your exasperation.

What you had thought was going to be a day of exploration turned out to be a day of tracking people through receipts, prescriptions, and old notes made by at least two generations of Alena’s family.

Luckily, once Elysium announced the shop was closing, Viktor groaned, apparently enjoying this methodical work, and you let out a relieved moan.

Elysium handed Viktor a tin with more rosehip tea and bid you both goodbye. It wasn’t late, but the air was starting to become even more chilly.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @kitewa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies @iamfandomnerd @jazzypop-op @jojo-at-heart

[whatwooshkai]

Gonna put in my lucky number; 4!

Heatwave can't sleep.

It's not his roommates, no, he's long gotten used to their various recharge quirks. And it's not the homesickness either, that was the worst in the beginning and he was sleeping just fine.

But he just can't sleep. No particular reason.

And that's the annoying part- if there's no discernible problem, there can't really be a solution. That's something Chase would say.

Heatwave considering waking one of them up to entertain him. That'd probably only go over well with Boulder, who's too soft sparked to get angry at him. But then again, Heatwave has never woken them up in the middle of the night, so how is he supposed to know anything?

I'm not a sparkling anymore, he tells himself as he gets down from his bunk, optics trained on Chase's doorwings. They don't flick. I need other ways of dealing with this than bothering my friends.

Their door opens quietly enough to not alert any of the others, and Heatwave is slipping out into the hallway.

He's never been out here in the middle of the night. The hallway is empty, cold and unwelcoming, even with the little personalized name tags on every door. Heatwave's steps barely make a sound on the floor-

-nothing compared to the footsteps pounding down the hall behind him. Shit.

"Hey!"

Heatwave whirls around to see a- a security guard? Why do they have security guards?

"Back in your room, now!" the guard orders, coming up on Heatwave too quickly, grabbing him by the collar plating and lifting him a little off the ground. "Designation. Then room number. You're getting written up for this-"

Heatwave panics, sinking his fangs into the guard's hand.

He yelps and drops him, and Heatwave dives out the nearest open window.

Bailout training kicks in not a second too soon, Heatwave just managing to get his hook into the wall before his weight drops onto the system. He lets himself down faster than he normally would, because there's too high of a chance that guard could fuck with his system.

As soon as he's on the ground he disengages himself from the bailout system, leaving it dangling from the window. He can go steal another one from the supply closet tomorrow, probably.

Right now, he has to try not to think about how much trouble he's in.

It was really dark and there's a lot of firetrucks at the Academy. And Heatwave didn't speak, either... no proper identifying marks beyond a standard bailout system. He's fine.

He's fine.

Heatwave takes a deep vent and looks out in front of him. Several bots mill around, many drunk, others looking like they just want to go home.

He's never actually been out in Iacon by himself, he realizes. Especially not at night.

Heatwave can take care of himself.

He'll just make sure to use the window in his room, next time.

[rallentando1011]

Somnambulant Soulmates (rise Donnie x gn reader)

Chapter Warning : threats, self-neglect

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Word Count: 1859

The saccharine savor of saturated soda.

A coppery taste laid pungent on your tongue.

A birthday party.

Concrete but harshly into your skin, the pavement cold, harsh.

Flashes of movie nights and spontaneous excursions and too many late nights spent in a lab and unmistakable looks of betrayal.

Your head was plagued by a dull, throbbing pain, extremities felt all-but-atrophied, throat scratchy with dehydration-

You coughed.

If the resulting thick cloud of dust and dirt beside your head didn’t clue you in, the unsavory feel of the - floor? - ground certainly revealed that you weren’t at home, in the lair, anywhere familiar, for that matter.

It took genuine effort to open your eyes. But despite the difficulty of it-

Wait, where were you?

You blinked rapidly; your vision and mind became increasingly more lucid as you processed - this genuinely wasn’t home or the lair or any place you’d seen in your entire life.

Panic was the worst thing you could do. It was also the easiest.

Worry settled in the pit of your stomach, but instead of allowing whatever sparse contents of your intestines to spill over the silt-like ground, you swallowed, pushed yourself up on aching limbs, surveyed the dim room you inhabited.

The walls consisted of thick concrete blocks, dusty, drab, barren. A small divet in the wall revealed an exposed bathroom of sorts, though its contents were rudimentary at best: a toilet with the complexity and basic mechanics of a chamber pot, a rusty faucet and a drain. There was almost no light, save for the only miniscule source of light a barred cell window on the door.

Door.

Before you could process it, you were upon the door, pushing and pulling in the off chance it was unlocked and you could go scot-free.

It wasn’t.

Okay, time to try something else.

Looking around the room for anything useful sounded promising. It was at least something to do.

You trailed the perimeter like a hyper animal, searching for vulnerabilities or secret levers or buttons or anything that could be of use. The best you could find were sharp pebbles and stones which, okay, in a pinch those might be able to injure or distract someone. Not the best resource but, either to feel more secure or out of genuine regard for the rocks, you slipped them in your pocket.

Some sort of mental warning bell began to ring, a meager voice in the back of your signaling some sort of change or imminent threat.

You swung back around to face the door, your ears perked up, your arms prickled with goose-flesh.

A rhythmic clack sounded from outside the door, the sound vaguely reminiscent of how superintendents in a school stalked down the hallway to penalize a student, the footsteps intent, menacing.

The noise came to a halt in front of your door with an ominous click.

You looked out of the door’s window. The view was no longer just a bare hallway. Someone was there. No one other than the one responsible for your impromptu incarceration.

The spider.

Well, at the moment she didn’t quite look like the spider, down about four feet and a few inches and six legs.

In human form she was less physically daunting, but her predatory persona, wicked grin, not to mention her notorious track record, all classified her as a force to be reckoned with.

“Hello,” was all she said, smug and all too bubbly.

You scowled. Even with all of your ailments, you found quite enough energy to be upset.

“Why are you even here? To gloat?”

Her lack of response and never-changing predatory grin were enough of an answer to you.

You scoffed before she finally said something of substance.

“Big Mama always gets what she wants. That’s not what your confuzzled little mind should be concerning itself with.”

“Really? What pressing matter should have my attention then?”

“Oh, how jocular,” the woman snickered condescendingly. “Perhaps your own well being, hm? Or maybe the turtle’s?”

You clenched your jaw.

Big Mama seemed delighted.

“There exist strict lines between business and personal matters, and you seem to have tangled yourself up in that wobbly web. Frankly, I find scenarios such as yours to be positively scrumptious, and I can scarcely wait for it to unfold.

“After all the flim-flam and busywork and contracts are signed, it’ll be high time to rid myself of all the dispensable details, superfluous items such as yourself.”

“What?” you retracted, shrinking away from the door as if that could save you from whatever the arachnid was talking about.

Big Mama’s amusement as she turned away made it abundantly clear it wouldn’t.

“You broke your end of the deal; it’s null and void. It’s precisely what you’re soon to be: terminated.”

And with that, she walked away, the clicks and clacks of her steps doing nothing to help stop the sinking feeling of impending doom filling the cell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours had passed. And then a day. Two, maybe. It was easy to lose track of time in the lab, with the fluorescent lighting and the droning whir of machines and soul crushing sadness still thick in the air and whatnot. 

Donnie hadn’t drank. Hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten, save for a poptart Mikey’d brought him. Actually, the poptart may have been illusory.

But never mind that, he had more pressing matters to think about and/or actively try to ignore: his emotions.

Yeah. It was unbearable.

Betrayed wasn’t quite the word for what he was feeling, even though he certainly had been; you had to trust someone to be betrayed by them, and he wasn’t quite up to admitting (strike that) saying that yet.

Devastated might suffice. Destitute could also work. Deprived, depraved, despairing.

Okay, at that point his thoughts were merely for alliteration’s sake, not to mention rather pathetic, but that was beside the point. 

But in all honesty, it hurt. Some weird ping of pain in his chest, a dull, persistent ache that hadn’t fled since you left.

Closing himself in the lab proved unsuccessful in dealing with his emotions. Scrolling mindlessly on his phone failed to redress the issue as well. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to work on anything.

With his typical means of squandering emotions proven futile, he was forced to try to come to terms with them.

Ugh, emotions. Needlessly complex and complicatedly useless.

By then, he almost felt numb trying to understand how to feel. It’s just- spending immense amounts of time with somebody was, to put it briefly, extremely validating. Most people sought his company out of convenience or necessity, asking for something to be made or fixed or a crime to be thwarted or just dealing with him because he was part of a “package deal” with his siblings. It was exhausting.

Then you came along and seemed to genuinely want to hang out with him and let him explain his works and it felt good. It felt really good.

Just your presence, just that alone, assured him that some people, or at least one specific person, enjoyed him as he was, liked his company as-is.

Then you admitted it was all under false pretenses.

There it was: the classic feeling of triumph followed by a rug pull of his expectations.

It was devastating.

Welp, that was enough emotional struggle for the day. Helplessly, Donnie plopped his head back into his desk, not even moving to check if anything fell due to the rattle of the table his action caused, and closed his eyes in a restless break.

Suddenly, the whooshing sound of the door coming open startled him back to reality, slowly lifting his head from the cool metal.

Bouncy footsteps moved toward him and a familiar someone plopped in the chair beside him.

“Hey D, have you seen-”

“No, I have not,” Donnie answered April flatly, already knowing the subject - you. “I texted that earlier.”

April shook her phone for emphasis as she kicked her shoes up on the desk. “You didn’t reply. And you didn’t answer when I called.”

“Well. I’d intended to.”

“What’s going on, D?”

He crossed his arms, hugging his oversized hoodie closer to himself. “Nothing is ‘going on.’ Everything’s happy-go-lucky, sunshine and rainbows.”

They stared at each other blankly for a moment until April let out a ‘yeesh.’

“Someone’s in a mood. Did y’all get in a fight or something?”

“Like I said, everything’s fine. Must’ve just left for somewhere else inconspicuously after coming here.”

April deadpanned. “So it makes sense for someone just infatuated with you and who had lunch reservations with me today to drop off the face of the earth?”

“It’s not infatuation! Whatever we have- had, was nothing. I meant nothing.”

A gentle hand rested on his forearm. He shuddered. It retreated.

“So you guys had a fight?”

“To some degree, yeah. And before you say it, it was not my fault.”

April looked unimpressed. Unconvinced. 

So Donnie said the only thing that could prove it: everything you had confessed the last time he saw you.

April listened quietly, pensively, solemnly. Eventually, she spoke up politely.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. None of that was right, legally or morally or in any way, and I’m not saying we have to forgive right now,” she took in a cautious breath, “but something bad could’ve happened, and we should look into that.”

Donnie furrowed his brow. “Pardon?”

“Do you think Big Mama, organized crime boss Big Mama, is above kidnapping or blackmail?”

Huh. He hadn’t thought of that.

April continued. “Look, regardless of mistakes made and secrets kept, we shouldn’t abandon our,” Donnie shot her a testy look, “at least my, friend. We can talk about the whole feelings and deceit mumbo jumbo once we make sure everyone’s safe. And if everything’s fine, you can at least get some closure?”

Donnie pouted for one, two, three seconds before sighing.

“Fine. Why don’t you go fetch the ruffians so they can get caught up on the sitch?”

“Sure thing.”

The moment April left the room to get his brothers, he whipped out his phone and pulled up one of his self-made applications.

Now, some may consider tracking locations without people knowing as immoral or illegal or whatever, but it proved more useful than not, right?

Unfortunately - fortunately? - he had your location and-

Oh.

That was odd.

According to his, highly accurate and precise, records, your location was the Nexus - he rolled his eyes until he saw when it was last updated.

Nearly a full 24 hours ago.

Donnie sucked in a breath through gritted teeth; that was not good.

He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but April might’ve been right.

Something terrible happening was becoming more and more likely.

Quickly, the cogs and gears in his mind began to turn, devising a plan of action, just in case that anxious thought proved to be correct.

At least it would give him something to do. You were probably fine, anyway, even if he felt prickles of nerve-wracking dread down his spine, and it didn’t hurt to check.

Not that he cared anymore anyway. Definitely not.

(Taglist~

@rottmntsimp

@envyjmoney

@niphredil-14

@hamthepan

@valeave

@hahahhahananan

(I was right, I’m posting this from prom lol))

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Will you be my Valentine? Sugar Day 4 Lester Sinclair

Day 4 cuties!! As usual I hope you all are enjoying this very chill and casual mini series for Valentine's day! After this is over I hope to get back into regularly posting regular fics throughout the rest of the year.

Notes: Minors DNI (You will be BLOCKED), SFW, No specific descriptions or pronouns are used for the reader. If pronouns are used the reader will use they/them unless otherwise specified.

"God Lester, How many times have I told you about blood stains?"

You mumbled to yourself while you scrubbed the stains out of one of Lester's shirts. He was out today as usual cleaning the roadkill off the backroads of Ambrose and you were at home diligently washing one of the only good shirts he had.

"Your daddy needs to learn to be more clean"

You said to Jonesy, who was laying next to you on the floor, wistfully gazing up at you as you scrubbed the shirts. Almost as if she could understand what you said she let out a sigh and rolled over on her other side.

After a few minutes and a lot more scrubbing you heard the rumble of the old pick-up truck approach the cabin and Jonesy quickly made her way off the ground and over to the front door to greet her favorite human.

"Well hey there little darlin'!" Lester greeted her when he entered the house. His eyes locked onto yours next and he grinned.

"Hey sugar" He greeted walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Hey Les"

"What's wrong?"

"You" You teasingly deadpanned. You could hear Lester audibly gulp from behind you.

'W-What did I do?"

"How many times have I told you to be careful with getting stains on your good shirts and to wear work shirts out of the house?"

"Well sugar that one was the only one I could find is all! It was dark out still and I didn't wanna cut the lights on and wake you up!"

"mmm I guess that's fair"

"I got ya somethin to make up for it anyway"

He said before removing his arms from around you and heading back out to the truck to retrieve your present. In the back of your mind you figured Valentine's day was approaching so it probably had to do with that, it's very hard to keep track of time in a ghost town with no internet or cell service.

Lester came bounding back into the house a few moments later with a bunch of flowers in his hand.

'Oh Lester their gorgeous!" You praised him as he approached you and offered them to you.

You took the flowers from him and inhaled their sweet sent. You shot him a smile and leaned over to peck his lips when you realized something, the flowers still had the clods of dirt from where they were ripped out of the ground attached to the stems.

You picked off a dirt clod and looked up at Lester while holding it in your hand.

"Lester honey, what's this?"

"Uhh looks like dirt darlin'"

"Did you go outside just now and pick these?"

"No sugar I got em from the outside of the wax museum."

He said starting to turn away from you and head back outside to get on with the rest of his day. You called out to him as he left.

"Did you pick these from the flowers I planted last year?"

Lester shrugged as he walked and you could see his shoulders move up and down with a chuckle as a smile beamed across your face and the hilarity of the situation.

"Lester Sinclair! You picked my flowers!"

"I'll make up for it sugar don't you worry!" He said out the truck window.

"Well how are you going to make it up? With more flowers?"

"Nah darlin, no more flowers"

"Why not?"

"I picked em all already"

"LESTER!"