#thoma x f!reader

[moraxsthrone]

cockwarming?

how about pussywarming?

after so much whining and begging, you finally relent and let him sink his needy, leaking dick inside your wet heat, gripping your waist and biting back a moan as he goes. but he knows he has to be still like a good boy while you finish your work; otherwise you’ll pull off of him.

his strong, naked thighs flexing and trembling when you clench around him. he’s biting his lip, trying with all of his might to fight the urge to pull out until only the ridge of his angry cockhead peeks outside your hole before snapping his hips into you again, full and hard.

but he knows better.

he fights it until his teeth marks adorn his lower lip. he’s so good. he doesn’t move. not a single inch. such a good boy. <3

but he’s just so keyed up from hours of your teasing - squeezing his hard dick through his pants when you walk by, moaning his name into his mouth while kissing him, dipping your fingers into your wet cunt just to let him suck them into his waiting mouth while telling him “taste what you do to me…” it’s gone on for far too long. you feel his desperate cock twitch inside you, accompanied by the pitiful whispers of your name and apologies coming out in choked sobs.

“I- fuck- oh no…oh fuck, m’sorry ican’tholdit- hnnggg- i’m cumming!”

What do you do?

Do you let him cum inside you because he’s been such a good boy through it all?

Or do you pop off him and let his powerful, delayed orgasm send long ropes of his semen streaking across his own face and into his open mouth as punishment?

THOMA. tighnari. kaeya. ITTO. CHILDE. BAIZHU.

[water-to-drink]

How They Became Attracted to You pt2

(Characters): Sethos, Ayato, Itto, & Thoma

(Synopsis): First meetings with the most popular or influential students at the academy and how their love for you blossomed

(Tags/Warnings): gn!reader, school au, stalking, Kaeya is called a whore and a harlot in this, reader gets tackled, reader is an artist, (if I missed anything lmk)

(Word Count): 1.7k

(A/n): Sorry there’s none of the female characters in this one, tell me which characters you want to see in the next one

Part one

Sethos

🏜️ Like Ayaka, he saw you in the hallway with your sketchbook in hand or you drawing in it but instead of leaving you be, Sethos walked up to you and began to introduce himself. He goes on about how he rarely sees you talking with anyone and he wants to change that

🏜️ Just like that you were adopted by an extrovert. Sethos would find you and immediately talk to you, at first you went along with it because you didn’t have the guts to tell him to leave you alone and you wanted to be more social. After a couple of days you soon warmed up to his presence around you all the time

🏜️ You and Sethos would talk to each other and laugh at each other’s jokes, to him your humor came natural and often times caught him off guard making him double over in laughter. Sethos would introduce you to one of his friends and you got along great with him, Sethos’ heart swelled with joy seeing you spread your wings

🏜️ That was until he saw you with Kaeya, laughing and acting all buddy-buddy with him. A twinge of jealousy bubbled in his chest, sure he wanted you to be more social but not with him of all people! He’ll only break your heart after he got what he wanted

🏜️ Though Sethos doesn’t encourage stalking, but in this instance it’s warranted. Following you and that whore, he saw something that he feared the most. The look in his eye, it’s love!

🏜️ Sethos vowed to himself that he would protect you from that harlot and totally not to potentially have a relationship with you. No sir, Sethos doesn’t want to hold your hand nor kiss you on your soft lips. Obviously not! He’s just looking out for a friend

Ayato

🧋Isn’t stupid, as part of the student council and eldest son to the Kamisato family Ayato is more than familiar to picking up on whether people are hiding something from him, especially his dearest sister. He noticed that Ayaka seemed different, more happy and she won’t tell him what’s going on in her life (so mean (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`) )

🧋 So as any loving brother Ayato sent members of the Shuumatsuban to follow his sister and to his surprise they followed her to a rinky dink cafe. The more interesting fact is that they found her talking to a waiter, you in fact, and both of you seemed very close. With his interest peaked Ayato had the Shuumatsuban follow you now

🧋 They pulled up the most basic information on you, coming from a low income family gave the blue haired student pause. Are you trying to warm up to his sister in attempt to get money from her? He can’t have someone trying to take advantage of his family, so time to delve in deeper. Having his spies enter the cafe and watch while you chat with Ayaka, an interesting thing came up during the investigation. Ayaka didn’t give much details about the family, only the fact that she has a brother who goes to the same school as her. Well at least that quells one of his concerns that you aren’t after their money

🧋 Maybe finally his dear sister has a friend that she can talk to like a normal girl and maybe he can check out your family’s cafe when Ayaka isn’t there and talk to you. But he has to be sure of that and so he investigated you even more

🧋 The more info they got, i.e. photos and videos, the more he finds you interesting. You’re so quick and witty with your responses with the few friends you have, even though he has the Shuumatsuban following your every move and sending Ayato the reports he feels that he’s right there with you. This goes on for a couple of weeks and soon it isn’t enough for him to just watch you on his phone, he has to talk to you in person. “Be natural” is what he told himself as he walked into your family’s cafe and took a seat in one of the booths

“Hello sir, what can I start you with?”

“Just black coffee.”

“Okay.” You said before you went to get the coffee pot and return to pour some in a white mug. “Would that be all sir?”

“Yes, and please call me Ayato.” The blue haired man spoke

🧋 Ayato made small talk and quickly found out that you were a shy little thing, cute. You nervously answered his questions and asked some yourself, obviously trying to be more social. It was clear that you weren’t fully out of your shell but he’ll take what can get. However as the hours rolled past you slowly showed that witty nature you had. Ayato never had so much fun talking to someone before, he was sad that once closing time arrived and thus had to leave. No matter there’s always next time, for your time the young man gave you a 100 dollar note. He loved the look of shock on your face

“Sir I can’t expect this!” You put the 100 back in his hands. “I had a good time but, I can’t take it in good conscience!”

🧋 Ohh he’s going to have fun spoiling you

Itto

🪲 Your first time meeting wasn’t too romantic or special, it was more chaotic to say the least. One day after school Itto was looking for the onikabuto he found earlier today, he had a feeling that bug would be his champion! While scouring the hallways the one heard a scream. So as any unreasonable person would do he ran into the classroom to see you about to slam your sketchbook on his meal ticket!

🪲 The obvious thing to do is to tackle you to the ground, don’t worry he used his hand to shield your head from hitting the floor. When he first got a good look at you, the larger student thought that you were cute. The look of shock was what snapped him out of it and made him get off of you

“I’m so sorry, but you were about to step on my onikabuto!”

🪲 You were still shaken up as you watched the oni pick up the bug and put it in the breast pocket of his blazer, feeling your hands empty you look around and don’t see what you’re looking for, until your eyes lands on the open window and your heart instantly drops

“Ack! My sketchbook!” You yelled out upon seeing your precious work in the school pond

“Don’t worry I’ll go get it!” The oni said

🪲 You watched as the white haired oni run out the room and out the building, he picked it up and threw you a thumbs up. Finally coming back to the classroom, Itto handed you the sopping sketchbook

“Thanks…” you said

“Uhhh, I’ll make it up to you! I swear on my oni pride!”

“You don’t have to. It’s fine.”

🪲 It wasn’t fine to Itto, he thrashed your book and so he has to make it up to you. The day after that little event Itto would find you at lunch and buy you milk cream bread from the canteen, he would sit with you on the roof and watch you draw much to your dismay

🪲 Itto would excitedly ask you about the characters and came to learn you like a lot of the manga that he likes! The more time Itto spends talking with you he sees you as one of the guys in the gang, no definitely more than that. Maybe a best friend, or a super friend? Whatever he just likes spending time with you

Thoma

🧹 Someone who met you at your family’s cafe, he knew you before you entered the academy. He comes in whenever he can to get away from the hectic schedule being one of the many secretaries of the student council and right hand of Kamisato Ayato. Not to mention he has to run all around campus either dropping stuff off or getting items, but here it’s still and quiet. A time to himself

🧹 Since the cafe isn’t well known and often times empty except for a few elderly customers drinking coffee, you know Thoma on a first name basis. He’s a bit of a regular and you know his order by heart. A croissant sandwich with a latte. You would sit and talk about stuff with the blond, you actually have a lot of stuff in common

🧹 You two relate to each other, not coming from well off backgrounds but against all odds both of you got accepted into a prestigious school. He knows the feeling of being looked down upon and having to keep your head up the whole time. Hell, the reason he joined the student council was to be respected like everyone else, but now he’s seen as the student council’s errand boy, here he can be him and not Ayato’s secretary

🧹 Sure he works hard, but seeing you work whenever the cafe gets a little spike in customers just inspires him to work even harder. The sight still stays with him as he is running some errands back on campus. He vows to get good grades, go to a good college, get a good job and hopefully support you

🧹 In his little fantasy of you two being married Thoma didn’t see where he was going and bumped into someone in the hallway. The papers in his hands scattered across the hallway, the poor boy profusely apologized to you as he picked up all of the papers and ran off to wherever he was originally going. Once back at the student council room, Thoma sorted through the papers and find a drawing of him sitting at the cafe. A piece of art in the blond’s eyes, he wonder how it got there

“Uhh excuse me?”

🧹 Thoma turns around to see you at the door looking down at your feet, he instantly thought that you looked cute in the school uniform

“I think you got something of mines.”

🧹 The blond hands you the drawing of him and a sudden look of realization and then horror appears on your face. You apologize profusely

“Thoma! I just was trying to do a still life to expand my portfolio!” You nervously explained

“It’s nothing, it’s actually pretty good. I can be your model if you want.” Thoma scratched the side of his face

“Ehhh?”

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [OPEN THE WINDOW] ¡! ❞

↳ Chat: Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

characters: Pantalone, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Wriothesley, Xiao & Zhongli x F!Reader

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven 5 - the end (Bruce Wayne x f!reader)

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. And then you asked for more :)

My masterlist is here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Warnings: no proof reading, fighting, language, violence, angst/comfort (in a way), pregnant!reader

Things went out of hand pretty quickly. Dick joined you home and saw Bruce speaking with you. He was towering over you. You seemed very uneasy. 

“So you knew”

“That I was with a man who was actually in love with me and taking care of me? Yes”

“I am your husband. Is it how you are loyal to me? No, no, don’t answer. You know what, I understand. I haven’t been the best. But once he’ll be back to his world, I’ll do better. I’ll take care of this child and we’ll be happy again. Don’t you want that?”

You didn’t answer because you realised how obvious the answer was: you were in love with the other version of Bruce, not with the one you actually married. You wished for him to go away, you wanted things back like when he was gone. You didn’t even feel guilty anymore. You were allowed to be happy, your children too. Even Barbara started to enjoy the new Bruce better.

“Don’t you want that?” Bruce repeated, losing it over your lack of answer

Dick walked over and with the way the man greeted him, he knew who it was. The new Bruce was always smiling at him, always grateful to have Dick around. This Bruce was a little bit annoyed, a little bit too cold to feel happy around him. Dick wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you relaxed a little bit.

“Stay away from mom” Dick groaned

“I’m not… For fuck sake, can you all stop acting like if I was the intruder here? I belong here, this is my world, my family, my home!” Bruce was getting angry

“Then start treating us better already” Dick continued

“How fucking dare you?! Without me, you’d be nothing” Bruce started to scream

“And you how fucking dare you talking with that tone in front of a pregnant woman? A woman you said you loved too. But really you never knew anything about that, did you?”

The batfamily had always been pretty protective of you, but it was even worse now you were pregnant. And to Dick, his former father was actually a threat to the family. Because it finally felt like a family and after everything that happened, he didn’t want to lose it.

Everything happened in a blur after that. The “real” Bruce threw a punch at Dick, out of pure anger and despair at being so easily replaced. They started to fight. They had no mercy. Actually, all the anger they always felt toward each other was finally getting free and making them even more ruthless.

Alfred quickly grabbed you and guided you away from the two men, finding you a safe place to lock yourself in until everything would settle down. Alfred wasn’t too sure what to do. He had guessed something happened when his Master started to treat everyone like Alfred always wished he would. For once, he had decided to pretend to not understand. But now, to be fair, he wasn’t recognising the man he raised and he thought that maybe he was gone in this other world. Or maybe he never truly existed. He just wanted them to stop fighting, but he didn’t know how to.

You called your lover, you tried to explain to him what was going on, but you were getting close to a panic attack. 

“It’s alright, my love, it’s alright. I’m on my way. Stay where you are, stay safe. This is all that matters to me. Jason will come find you so you won’t stay on your own, okay? I just need you to breathe in and out. Can you do that? For me? I know you are strong. You are amazing, my love. I just need you to trust me” he smoothly told you, trying to appease you no matter how tense he was himself getting.

But all that mattered was you. Always you.

“I… I trust you” you finally manager to whisper

“Good. Lay down and breathe, my love. I’ll be home soon”

After that, he called Kate for her to deal with the security breach while he was coming back to the manor. On his way, he also called Jason for him to protect you and help you calm down. Jason didn’t ask a question. If his father needed you to look after you, he didn’t need to know anything else.

You heard a car coming by, the front doors getting opened and then more sounds of fighting. You knew that your Bruce had started a war with your former husband. You guessed he asked Dick to leave, because he didn’t want his son to get hurt. Hopefully, Alfred was taking care of Dick now.

You started to cry.

You jumped when you heard a knock at your door. Soon enough, you opened the door to a very worried Jason who locked the door back behind him and settled on the ground by your side. He held you and rocked you, whispered words of reassurance to help you calm down. He hated to see you like that.

When he arrived at the manor, he did his best to follow the instructions he received for once, and to not intervene in the fight between the two Bruces. He was now praying to whoever divinity who might hear him to get rid of the former Bruce. He didn’t want to be in the same world as him again. You both heard the sounds of the fight and it was driving you sick with worry. 

“What if he kills him?” you cried our and Jason shushed you

“He’ll be fine” he whispered

“You haven’t seen the way he was acting. He was so desperate to get his life back here, he promised me things…” you felt like you were going to throw up

“Ma, don’t worry. He may want his life back, but I can tell you that dad is actually very desperate to keep this life as well. And you’re pregnant with his baby. He’ll fight with everything he has” Jason tried to reassure you

Jason was right. The two Bruces were on equal strength, on equal intelligence and on equal despair. They both wanted and needed this good life in this world, but for that, one of them needed to be gone.

Both Bruces had thought of so many plans and different contingencies to take care of the other. They hadn’t really planned on simply fighting the other one. But despair drives everyone crazy and makes them act like animals.

You heard screams of:

“This is my home! I’ll kill you or I’ll send you back to your personal Hell!”

“This is my Heaven and you can’t get it away from me. You didn’t deserve any of this anyways. Even my wife knows it”

“She isn’t yours”

“That’s no what she said. That’s not what the children said.”

“Fuck you”

You had no idea how long it last. Forever, maybe.

“I’m going to get sick” you whispered when a terrible silence engulfed the whole manor.

Then you heard a lot of footsteps. The children arrived and were taking care of things. You jumped when Alfred knocked at the door.

“Mr Jason, Mrs Y/N, the fight is over. You can come out” he told you 

Jason had to help you get up because your legs didn’t want to obey you anymore. You opened the door and Cass helped you walk to the living room with Jason. Everyone was so tense.

“How’s Dick?” you asked Stephanie who walked by

“He is fine, Duke is with him right now, to make sure he is all good” she answered and you felt a little bit better knowing that

Damian was sitting on the ground with Tim. They were both looking at the two Bruce Wayne lying on the floor. One was stabbed, the other one was tasered. They were unconscious. Damian was lost, Tim was trying to take care of the wound. 

“Baraba called Leslie, Alfred is waiting for her” Cass told you before helping you sitting down on a chair

“What are we going to do?” you whispered

“We need to make a choice” Jason told you

After a little while, the whole family was in the room, looking at the two men. The choice was pretty easy to make. 

Your former husband was locked up in an unbreakable room. Leslie took care of him while he was unconscious, and after that only Alfred talked with him. Damian sometimes too, but he never let his father go. Deep down, you knew that this fate was even worse than just killing him. But you couldn’t kill him; you needed to send him back to the other world, because this world didn’t have any Bruce Wayne now and who knew what the consequences could be.

When your lover woke up, he was in his bed. You were sitting next to him, holding his hand in yours. 

“Welcome back, darling” you whispered

“You choose me” he understood, fully relaxing against the mattress

“We choose happiness. Whenever we’ll find out how, we’ll send him back to the other world. For the last time, hopefully”

“I’ll make sure of it” he hummed before kissing your fingers

The man you loved never had any more nightmares about the other Bruce.

And you neither.

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

Taglist for this series <3 (you’re my heaven)

@bat1212

@karakento

@kneelforloki

@nosebeers

Thanks for the ideas & the comments <3

@motherofdragons1998

@silverklaus

@alishii

@kazuko-stuff

@navs-bhat

@hisuitfgg6

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Grocery Store - Frozen Foods

Summary: You run into Hotch after your first few days at the BAU.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Eep! I'm planning for this to be a series of oneshots in the same universe of little domestic moments.

Warnings: put the self in self-insert, brief mention of disordered eating (blink and you'll miss it), hotch mention's haley's pregnancy (blink and you'll miss it), a lot being said without being said ig, hotch having massive hands because i said so

The grocery aisles, on a late Saturday night, are predictably empty, still the open space that had been brimming with people only hours before unnerves you. Though you know it’s not true by the sparse cars in the parking lot, it feels as though you were the only one here and that’s not what you wanted when you'd packed up for the short trip over. 

The silence hangs heavy in the air, as if the place is holding its breath, waiting to kick you out of it into the dark of the night so it can get some rest in preparation for the Sunday morning crowds. 

Your basket hangs in the crook of your elbow and you find yourself wandering between aisles slightly aimless, eyes not really seeing as you look around. The anonymity of the place would usually settle you, calm your racing nerves but right now, mixed with a weekend off from work, with a long stretch of a few days left to fill, it makes the air around you feel like vegetable shortening. 

You find yourself in the frozen goods aisles, hoping the chill and rush of the cold can help to ground you when a familiar voice calls out your last name. You turn in its direction. 

“Oh!” Even when you’re off from work, work seems to find you. “Agent Hotchner, sir, hi.” 

“Evening,” he smiles at you politely. Though he’s out of his high collars and suits, his voice betrays none of the vulnerability you feel is dripping from yours at having been caught outside of work. “Rather late for groceries, isn’t it?” 

You look down at your basket, “Just some essentials, sir.” You catch him looking over to the shelves of ice cream to your left, and you let out a nervous laugh, afraid to be caught in a lie you never told, “And an indulgence or two.”

He nods, eyes flitting over to meet yours. “Good.” 

Something about this, seeing Aaron in jeans and worn-down shirt, out of the office and where a passerby would mistake you for two acquaintances, makes you feel childish. The similarity between right now and the times you’d run into your elementary teachers outside of school is hard to miss. It’s the same jarring feeling, like the Earth had wobbled on its axis for a moment, thrust you into a pocket of air where rules didn’t seem to apply anymore. 

Even when you were little, you were a stickler for them. Wanted, needed, to keep everything in its right place. Your mother always told you stories of your seemingly disproportionate anger, screaming and crying tantrums over the slightest things left out of place. 

“And what’s your poison of-” he cuts himself off, tilting his head to read the label on the tub. “Non-Fat, All-Organic, frozen Greek yogurt…” his words trail off, a stitch forming between his eyebrows. 

You smile at him sheepishly. 

Despite the carefree ease that accompanied most of your childhood, you’re not sure if you’d like to go back to it. You’d rather the burden of responsibility, the burden of control, rather than the unbridled rage you feel was coursing through you at almost any given point in time when you were younger. 

“Intriguing.” 

You laugh before you get a chance to reel it in, and heat rushes to your face seconds later. The waters were still murky, around the team, but Aaron especially. Despite everyone’s best efforts to make it seem otherwise, there was still a line drawn between you and them. And they held safety in numbers, an elusive entity that spoke a language of its own. 

Aaron, as your Unit Chief, only added another layer of complexity to the dynamic. His reputation was famous, infamous in other circles, and it only made you approach each and every encounter with him with hesitancy, scared to get too close and not close enough, balancing on a knife’s edge. 

“Forgive me if I’m prying, Agent,” his voice draws you away from your thoughts. “But-but…why the-why-” 

You shrug, gnawing at the inside of your lip. There’s a burning hole in the pit of your stomach, and an exhaustion washes over you suddenly. “It’s…uh,” you laugh again to buy yourself some time. “I like the taste.” 

Aaron pauses a moment too long, and you watch him as he looks you over, at the things in your basket, the circles under your eyes. “I find that hard to believe.” 

It scares you how easily he managed to read you. The spinach and unsweetened plant milk in your basket, the clear indications of what your teenage self would call ‘trying to be good’. 

The condensation starts to form on the tub in your arm, sticking to the sensitive skin of your inner arm. 

“And-uh,” you clear your throat, look around anxiously eager to flick the spotlight away. “What’s got you making the midnight journey?” 

The intentional look he was holding on you disappears in favour of a more general politeness, “Same as you.” He turns to the freezers, opening the door and taking two pints of Ben & Jerry’s, holding them in each hand to show you. “Indulgence.” 

“Chocolate Therapy?” The label on each pint is the same. 

“You’re surprised.” 

You stammer for your footing, the sudden boldness a shock to yourself, “I-uh, sorry, sir, it just-” 

The sound of his laugh cuts you short, muted and barely perceptible to anyone else had they been walking down the aisle, but at this time of night, it’s only you and him and the fuzzy sound of a Top 40s station filtering out over the speakers. 

“What is it, Agent?” He smiles now, properly. The effect is jarring, feels like something you shouldn’t be seeing. “I don’t strike you as a chocolate man?” 

It’s hard to find an answer to that. The day had been long, drawn out, you’d barely processed the weight of it, the weight of the week that preceded it, before running into Aaron and striking up this strange vertigo of an encounter. 

You wish fervently for the ease the rest of the team has around each other, to be able to summon up a witty, smart answer in a matter of milliseconds and the confidence to say it as well. More often than not you’re left bumbling, hands grasping pathetically at little soap bars of words that all seem inadequate. 

“Take a guess.” 

“Sorry, sir?” 

He gestures to the containers to your left, “Take a guess, Agent.” 

You want to rebuttal, apologize profusely maybe, and go back home and pretend none of this had ever happened. Instead, you look over to the freezer, raking your eyes over each label, hoping you can gather your thoughts in a somewhat coherent manner, to come out of this nightmare of a place relatively unscathed. You gaze back over to him and see him watching you intently. There’s a small pint to your right and you make a snap decision before you think too much of it and risk looking daft, “An Éclair Affair.” 

“Really?” His face is still unreadable. Nodding, you fight the urge to stutter and change your answer, this dreadful conversation already taking a turn towards treacherous waters. “Hm.” 

The fridges beside you switch on with a soft hum, their frequency slightly higher than that of the buzzing fluorescents. Your mouth fills with blood, the inside of your cheek chewed raw by the time he speaks up again, “Good.” 

“Good?” you can’t help but repeat, wincing at how dull and parrot-like it makes you look. 

He nods, the edges of his mouth curling up and his eyes twinkling in the harsh light. He looks down at the two pints he’s holding stacked on top of each other in one hand, “They’re for Haley. She’s been having cravings recently and…” he gestures vaguely with the hand holding the containers. “She’s very specific.” 

You wonder if he knows that his shoulders curl just slightly when he talks about her, that the hard flint of his face smooths over, bricks falling away. You wonder if they’re things he’s schooled himself out of doing and is just letting slip here, or if they’re truly forces of habit. 

“She’s got good taste, sir.” 

The rush of your victory is still coursing through you, a flicker of hope at the end of the tunnel, a promise that it can and will get better. 

You see Aaron struggle for a moment, opening his mouth once, twice, before saying, rather bluntly, “You should get what you want.” 

“I-what?” 

With his chin, he gestures to the container in your arm, “Indulge. Properly, I mean.” 

You fumble for an answer, something right. So much of your new life, your new job, has made you feel you’d never do anything properly ever again. “Is that an order, sir?” 

He lets out a soft exhale through his nose, shaking his head as he looks down. To your delight, the corners of his mouth twitch up. Looking up again, he says in a serious tone, “Get the full fat stuff, Agent.” 

When you laugh this time, it isn’t followed by twinges of guilt, of fear. It bursts out easily from your throat, and the sheer nothingness that you feel is heady. You see yourself mirrored in Aaron, in the slow, rumbling chuckle he lets out. Despite his composure, you see the tips of his ears turn red, your feelings about this whole thing this evening mirrored in him. 

It was strange to see him up close like this, with the weight of his authority lifted off his shoulders. It’s like watching a marble statue spring to life in front of you, pockmarks rippling up on top of previously smooth surfaces. 

Aaron keeps looking at you, expectant. The tub grows heavier in your arms, and you shift it higher up. You wonder if you’re just imagining the weight of the decision laying in front of you, the push and pull between should and could. 

It has been a long time since your teenage years, since fainting in the shower and brushing out clumps of your hair, but you think that that girl will always be with you, for better and worse. It’s a wonder to you that nobody saw it coming, your insatiable thirst for control spiraling greater and greater until college where it followed your every thought, manipulated your every move. 

“Agent?” 

You know Aaron well enough at least, to know that he wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t change your choice. He was private, not cruel. 

Your eye catches another flavour, and before you let yourself think too much of it, to think yourself out of it, you open the fridge door and switch. The rush of cool air is gratifying, the wash of a good night’s sleep after a long day. 

Breathing out softly, you look back to see him shift the containers in his grip, “I’ll see you Monday, Agent.” He nods at you, polite and professional as always. 

When he rounds the corner at the end of the aisle, the ice cream catches your eye, a stark contrast to the other things in your basket. The low timbre of Aaron’s laugh rings out in your ears again, the anvil crushing your chest lifted. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

[moraxsthrone]

ANG WHAT HAVE YOU DONE SLJDLSJDLAJ

— Thoma BR | genshin

꒰ঌ notes ໒꒱:: hornee thoughts, enjoy. 18+ only please. ꒰ঌ contents ໒꒱:: nsfw. Housekeeper Thoma + afab reader. usage of "my lady". oral ; r-receiving, etc.

Thoma as your housekeeper always does such a good job at what he does. As expected he was very knowledgeable in this area just as he said, even teaching you a thing or two when you happened to be around watching him while he works.

Thoma appears to be very.. obedient, following any and every little order you may give him without question. He's also quite respectful as well, always addressing you by the title "My lady" or "My lord", which ever you may prefer more. Thoma almost never uses your actual name.. unless he's given special permission to, and that happens to be during you two's intimate moments.

Thoma's happy to please you in any way, shape or form. He'll do anything in his power to make sure you feel good and well, and that's how he ends up between your legs during certain nights. He's there whenever you just want to feel something, whenever you happen to want to take your mind off something.

Thoma never judges you, he may appear a bit shocked or shy but he secretly wants this as well. He's oh so happy when he gets to lap up at your sobbing cunt, a light blush appearing on his face as he spreads you further apart. His tongue makes little patterns against your sensitive little bud making you shiver in response, nearly shutting your legs but his hands kept you in place.

He loves when you pull his face closer to your heat, the little tug on his hair only encourages him to do more. One thing for sure.. he's messy! He simply loves the taste of you, the feeling of you clenching on his fingers as he thrusts them inside you. He moans onto your cunt as he latches his lips around your nub, giving it yet another suck.

He'll honestly eat you out for as long as he pleases. Yes, you did ask for it but now he won't stop even with you closing your thighs around his head.

Thoma is also not as innocent as you might think, oh he definitely checks you out. No one but him only knows the amount of times he's thought about taking you in such places outside the bedroom. Though yes the bedroom is more comfortable, but he can't seem to stop his desire of wanting to do this.

Thoma's favorite places other than the bedroom are one; over the counter and two; the laundry room. The counters' pretty obvious, he loves to bend you over those or place you on top of them but.. Laundry room, why? Well it's simple.

It started with that day.. that day you were looking for something in there (let's not worry about what it was cause it aint important.). All that was on his mind at the moment was the way you looked in his shirt, which you happened to borrow after a wild night you two shared. He thought you looked cute, adorable even!

Who would've thought that cute little you would end up bent over with your hands placed firmly on the dryer? Thoma for one, wasn't so gently as he was before, something about you in his shirt just flipped a switch in him.

His hands were on your hips, nails digging into your skin and he pounds into faster and harder by the second. He enjoys just how loud you are right now, the way you cried out his name and praised him for making you feel so good was just music to his ears.

Thoma isn't quiet in the slightest (argue with a wall), he's so whiny, just so so damn whiny when he feels you tighten around him. Your voice and your cunt both making his mind go haywire, it's almost as if he just can't get enough.

[blushingamethyst]

Anti: You can’t be attracted to this character! They’re a murderer and they would never love you >:(

Me: Damn that’s crazy…

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ . ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。Edit done by me ｡ ˚ 　ﾟ･｡･ ･ ｡･

[darthannie]

Cillian Murphy Character Masterlist

Reminder of who I'll write for:

(I do not write rpf!)

Neil Lewis Jonathan Crane Jackson Rippner Jim (The Delinquent Season) Raymond Leon Thomas Shelby Robert Capa

Please check tags before you read!

KINKTOBER '23 MASTERLIST

NEIL LEWIS

thursday night out (fluff)- Neil can't sleep and neither can you. A late-night conversation leads to revelations.

Neil Lewis NSF/W Alphabet

JONATHAN CRANE

potential side effects (dark smut)- After giving you an experimental medication, Dr. Crane helps you get over your fear of intimacy. 

nap time (dark(?) smut request)- Jonathan comes home and finds you asleep. He simply can't help himself.

JIM (THE DELINQUENT SEASON)

thesis statement (smut)- You accidentally bump into your Professor, Jim, at a sex shop.

purpose statement (smut) (pt 2 of TS)

assess and discuss (part 3 of TS)

THOMAS SHELBY

grand gestures (fluffy request)- Tommy spoils you and you have a hard time accepting it.

water works (smutty drabble request)- Tommy helps you squirt for the first time.

RAYMOND LEON

Raymond Leon NSF/W Alphabet

[truedove]

wanna play a game?

word count - 2,742

content - smut (minors dni), f!reader insert, extremely dubious consent, basically fuck or die, unprotected piv, slight breeding kink, twisted and fluffy feelings

synopsis - a dangerous escapee finds refuge in a haunted house and blends in seamlessly with the crowd of costumed goers. he continues his deadly spree only to run into you.

a/n - i honestly have no idea what this is :/

this was a terrible idea. the thought runs through your mind on repeat as you stand in line for the haunted house, the chill in the october air doing nothing to cool your nerves. your best friend had begged you to come along, promising it would be a night of laughs and good scares. but as the line inched closer to the gaping maw of the house, with its flickering lights and eerie sound effects, you felt less amused and more…trapped.

you weren't a scaredy-cat, no. you were an avid horror movie watcher and only just slightly quickened your steps when the lights were off at home. but this was different. you weren't watching from the safety of your sofa, plush sheets tucked tight under your chin; you were walking into the very heart of it.

in the recesses of your mind, you knew everything around you wasn't real, that the monsters masquerading in the shadows were just actors paid to make you scream. but as you stepped through the creaking doorway and into a dimly lit corridor, the rational part of you took a backseat to the instinctive fear that pumped adrenaline through your veins. the walls closed in around you, painted with scenes of gore that seemed a little too vivid.

your friend lets out a giddy laugh after one of the actors pops out from behind a curtain, a plastic chainsaw buzzing in his hand.

"wooh-boy!" your friend exclaims, leaning into your side as she catches her breath from the jump scare. "that was a good one."

all you can offer her is a strained smile as you will your heart to slow down. the corridor opens into a grim room filled with cobwebs and the scent of fake decay fills your nose. a scream echoes from somewhere deep in the house and you jump, your hand shooting to your chest.

a buzz starts from your toes to the very tips of your fingers, light at first but growing stronger with each step you take into the house. your friend grabs your hand, pulling you deeper into the maze of horrors, her excitement palpable. you swallow hard and try to keep up, the floorboards groaning beneath you as if the house itself were alive and aware of your fear.

suddenly, a strobe light flashes on and a multitude of figures lunge out of a rusty side doorway, your friend's grip on your hand slips away. for a moment, you're lost in the chaos of flashing lights and ghastly shrieks, searching for her familiar form amidst the strangers dressed as creatures of the night. your breath catches in your throat as the strobe light dances off the walls, casting eerie shadows that twist and distort the space around you. you're dizzy, disoriented, and utterly terrified.

you veer off the given path in a panic, stumbling through a foggy hallway that seems to stretch on forever. your eyes strain to make out the way forward, faux cobwebs sticking to your face like a clingy mist that makes you cringe. the air is thick with the smell of fake smoke, and somewhere, distant thunder rumbles. your heart is racing, and the adrenaline is making it difficult to think straight. you call out for your friend, but the echoes of your own voice are the only response.

a cold hand brushes against your arm, and you jump. you whirl around, ready to face whatever horror lurks in the fog, only to find a grinning skeleton, its plastic bones rattling with every jerky movement. a laugh bubbles up in your throat, part relief and part embarrassment.

heavy footsteps begin to approach from the other end of the foggy hallway you find yourself in, growing louder with each echoing thud and your chuckle dies in your throat. the faint flickering lights go out, plunging you into a sudden and absolute darkness.

whoever is on the other end of the hallway is slow in their approach, seemingly not in any rush to get to you. maybe it's a fellow patron lost like you, you convince yourself, but the muted glint of a machete in the person's hand suggests otherwise. you try to rationalize, it's probably just another actor, trying to build suspense before the next jump scare. but the darkness is thick, a velvet shroud that blocks out all other sounds except for the methodical steps.

all logical thought leaves you as the footsteps creep closer and you bolt.

if this was an act, it was one of the best you've ever encountered. the footsteps follow you, unyielding and deliberate before they start to speed up and the person behind you is full on chasing you through this creepy ass haunted house. you can't see a thing in front of you, your eyes having not fully adjusted to the sudden blackout. all you can do is feel your way through the cold, clammy walls, your hands sticking to the damp residue of who-knows-what as you go.

you trip over something—because of course you do—and go sprawling, the wind knocked out of you. the footsteps are closer now, and you can hear the raspy breathing of the person with the machete, their excitement apparent in every exhale. your own breath comes in short, sharp bursts, the sound of your own fear amplified in the silence.

you manage to find your footing only to slam into an apparent dead end. panic sets in as the footsteps are now right behind you. your palms sweat against the flaking wallpaper, searching for any sort of out. there's no escape, no hidden door, no exit sign. trapped, you're trapped.

as you whirl around to face your pursuer, the overhead fluorescents flicker and you're met with the sight of a towering, hulking man with a machete in hand. your mind reels—hoping this is when the actor breaks character with a cheesy grin and a 'gotcha'. but there's no grin, only a wild-eyed stare through a botched halloween mask that sends a jolt of terror down your spine. you're frozen, unable to move or even scream. so terrified that your body seems to have turned to stone, you watch as the man approaches, his machete glinting in the sporadic light.

the man's hot breath fans across your face. he brings with him the scent of sweat and something else—something metallic—that sends your stomach roiling.

was he an actor gone rogue, some deranged psycho who liked to take things too far? you squeeze your eyes shut, tears pricking at the corners, and brace for the worst.

instead of a painful blow, you feel the man's ragged breath inch towards your face and then a pair of chapped lips press upon the damp skin of your cheeks. they're scorching, and you flinch when his tongue snakes out to taste the salt of your terror. your eyes fly open to see his masked visage only an inch away, his eyes low lidded and a furrow to his brows just barely visible through the slits of the mask.

he crowds you, his armed hand coming up to steady himself against the wall, the other finding it's place on the wall beside your head, trapping you in a prison of cold plaster and sweaty latex. you attempt to scream, but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper, your throat constricting with fear. you're acutely aware of the weight of the machete's tip pressing against your ribs, a silent reminder of the power he holds over you.

a grin forms against your skin and the man idles closer, his teeth scraping against your cheek like the sharpened edge of a serrated blade. with his bulk pinning your frozen body to the wall, you feel a suspicious lump press against your navel, and panic shoots through you anew.

no, no, no. this couldn't be happening to you right now.

there was no way you were lost in some haunted house with a disturbed, possibly murderous stranger grinding his erection against your stomach. it just couldn't be.

you let out a plaintive cry as the gravity of your situation sinks in and the man coos, a sound meant to be soothing but only makes your tears fall faster.

he seems genuinely distressed at your tears, his shoulders slumping slightly as he hunches in on himself. but his grip doesn't lessen, nor does the pressure of his body against yours. if anything he presses closer, seemingly trying to comfort you in the most perverse way he knows how. but that was crazy, right? this monster couldn't actually be trying to console you. right?

when your cries only continue to escalate, the hulking man silences you in the only way he knows how to. he covers your mouth with his own and swallows your sobs greedily. you squirm, the 'fight' part of 'fight or flight' finally kicking in. your hands push against his chest, feeling the solidity of his frame beneath his grimy costume. but your efforts are futile, like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands. the man's kiss is wet and sloppy, his tongue pushing against your teeth as if he's trying to taste the very depth of you.

his hand snakes down from the wall, gripping your waist and pulling you closer, his machete now digging into your spine. your muffled protests are ignored in favor of his deepening of the kiss and you feel his other hand move to the back of your head, his fingers weaving through your hair as if he's trying to cradle your skull.

growing increasingly frustrated with your constant struggling, he slams his hand into the wall beside your head, making the plaster crack and sending a spray of dust into the stale air. the sound is deafening in the enclosed space, and you feel the vibration in your teeth. you flinch— hard—and the sudden stillness of your body seems to be what he's been waiting for. his grip on you grows less punishing and more consuming, his tongue sliding against yours with a fervor that turns your stomach.

you force yourself to calm down enough to finally take stock of your situation. this man, this monster, chased you down and seemed pretty intent on killing you before apparently deciding you'd make a better paramour than a corpse. was it your tears? did the sight of them get this sick fuck hard and he allotted you a different, more twisted fate?

you don't know and frankly don't care to. all you know is that you have to make it out of this alive, even if it meant playing into his twisted games. so, with trembling hands, you tentatively wrap your arms around his neck, feigning compliance. your stomach turns with every touch, but you force yourself to respond to his kiss, moving your mouth against his with as much passion as you can muster. he groans, a low guttural sound that makes your blood run cold, and abruptly lifts you off the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep from falling.

"little lamb." he croons into your mouth, his voice thick with undeniable lust.

terror is a living thing inside of you, desperate to escape, but you keep it buried deep. your body goes rigid as he starts to grind his cock against your clothed cunt, mere fabric the only barrier between his sick desires and your trembling flesh.

he's quick to rectify that though, impatience getting the better of him as he full on tears the denim of your pants open with one swift motion. the sound of the fabric ripping echoes in the small space, making your heart stutter. the cold air hits your exposed skin, the difference between the chilly room and his burning hands a veritable assault on your senses.

his own pants are next and you feel the heat of his cock pressing against you. the heavy, leaden weight of him pokes you through the fabric of your underwear and he grunts, hips rutting against you. your eyes widen in horror and you squeeze them shut, trying to think of anything but the reality of what's happening. you can't help the whine that escapes your throat as he starts to tug at your underwear, ripping them away with a sickening sound.

some fumbling occurs and you feel the tip of his cock pushing at your entrance, and fuck. he's big, stupidly so, and you know there's no way he's fitting without tearing you apart. you pant at the thought, cold fear making your cunt clench tight around him. he seems to like this, though, because his grunts turn to growls and he shoves harder, pushing through your tightly wound muscles until you're forced to open for him.

there's a sharp, burning pain as he breaches you and you bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. you relish in the wince he gives, the bitter sap of his blood that fills your mouth when you bite down just that little harder. he's oblivious to your silent rebellion as he starts to fuck you, his strokes rough and unyielding; desperate. the wall bites into your back with every frenzied thrust, sending shocks of pain throughout your body that you don't mind as much as you should. this whole thing isn't revolting you as much as it should, which in itself is a horror to grapple with. you fervently try to ignore how good his strokes feel inside of you and the way your body seems to be betraying you with every shiver of pleasure that races through your veins.

his cock stretches you wide and broken moans escape you unbidden, muffled into the crook of his neck. you hate the way your body responds to the intrusion, the way your hips instinctively rock to meet his thrusts as if seeking the relief it knows is on the other end of this. he seems to notice your shift in demeanor, a smug grin spreading beneath the mask. his tongue traces the line of your jaw, teeth scraping against your skin and leaving little indents in his wake.

"you like this." he says with a definitive air, his voice deep and sure like he's simply stating a fact. an irrevocable truth.

your head shakes instinctively—the act slipping for a moment—but even you're not sure if it's in protest or in response to the dark thrill his claim sends through you.

when his groans lower in pitch and his already desperate rutting becomes more frantic, you realize with a jolt that he must be close. a swooping sensation fills your stomach—part fear, part relief—knowing that this might soon be over. but you can't just wait for him to finish and hope he lets you go, you need a plan. especially since the idea of him coming inside of you is too much to bear. you're not on birth control and nothing is shielding him from painting your insides white with his seed.

your barely-formed plans for escape are promptly cut off and interrupted by your own impeding climax, the alarm in your veins mixing with the sudden, not totally unwanted bliss.

it's blinding, all-consuming and leaves you feeling more than a little light-headed when it hits. the whole of you tenses around him, muscles clenching, and you can't help the cry that's torn from deep within your chest. the man grins into your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he lets himself go, filling you with a thick, hot rush of his cum.

the only sound that fills the space between the two of you for a long while is his labored breaths and your own shaky ones. his cum drips down from between your legs, viscous and pooling in the crevices of your inner thighs, your body still trembling with the aftershocks. when your head clears, you register the soft nips and kisses he's pressing against your neck and shoulders, as if he's trying to be sweet in the aftermath of his violation. aftercare, you think with slight hysteria.

it's silent, too quiet, and this is where your supposed to do something, get him while he's open and exposed but your body is a traitor, limp and spent against the wall. worse yet, his cock is still lodged inside of you, pulsing with the last of his orgasm and you feel his weight shift, his chest rumbling slightly as he murmurs, "again?"

[moraxsthrone]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — WHEN HE CUMS UNTOUCHED (sort of)

ft. diluc, itto, kaeya, thoma, zhongli (separately; kaeya's is x gn!reader; all others are x f!reader)

be warned: nsfw. mdni. diluc's: wet dream/self-inflicted somnophilia(?)/oral (m. rcv'ing)/cum eating. itto's: rut/face-riding/oral (f. rcv'ing). kaeya's: prostate milking. thoma's: subby thoma/blindfold/sensory deprivation/marking/edging/orgasm denial. zhongli's: shibari/rope play/bondage/f. masturbation/squirting (his is kinda long - that's what she said - so i formatted it a little differently so it wouldn't be a 1k wall of text)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — DILUC

you wake up to the feeling of diluc rutting his hips behind you, his hot morning wood rubbing slowly between your naked butt cheeks. you smile groggily, your mind still shaking off the fog of sleep as you roll back against him. fuck, you missed him so much. he came home late last night, so damn tired he didn’t eat or anything; just stripped all his clothes off, crawled into bed, and pulled you into his arms. he’d been gone for almost a month, working tirelessly alongside his employees to help with the grand opening of a brand new angel’s share location in liyue. branching out is great for business, but being separated for such an extended period was rough on both of you. you would’ve accompanied him to the land of commerce, but someone needed to hang back and manage the day to day operations at both the winery and tavern in mondstadt. but it’s okay bc your husband is home again now, and is presently grinding his neglected dick against your plush butt. intertwining your fingers with his in front of your lips, you groan and kiss the knuckle of his thumb, “mm, diluc baby, missed you…” he responds by rocking his pelvis harder. unbeknownst to you, he’s dreaming a sweet little dream of sinking his thick, pale cock inside the wet heat of your cunt. he grunts, but you don’t think much of his non-verbal response until his hips buck and then still as you feel his warm, creamy fluid squirt against your bare ass. you gasp and look over your shoulder to see him smack his lips sleepily as his eyelids flutter for an instant. realizing he’s still asleep and in the throes of a wet dream, you throw the covers back and sink down between his legs to clean his cum from his cock with a warm tongue bath, making his dreams even wetter for him.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — ITTO

he’s in the peak of one of his ruts when he comes over to your place in need. your scent alone is enough to make him feral when he’s in heat like this. the towering oni barely makes it through your front door before scooping you up and carrying you to bed where he drops you on your back. he stands up again, staring down at you and licking his fangs as he peels his shirt off, exposing the scarlet markings on his broad chest and hard abs. he’s sniffing at the air, his mouth watering when he catches the familiar scent of your arousal. something about being manhandled by your oni makes you so wet for him, especially when his mating pheromones are lighting up the pleasure center of your reptilian brain. “take your clothes off, baby,” he commands, and you obey. he strips down to his boxers and lies down on his back before grabbing your naked thighs and practically dragging you on top of him. his thick, veiny cock has popped out of the hole in his underwear like it always does when he gets hard because he’s so fucking big. you sigh when your moist cunt drags along the textured underside of his wide shaft, the thick vein there rolling over your clit. you slick him up with your wet folds, gliding with ease and letting out a little whimper when your little pink pearl catches on the large mushroom tip of his cock. he’s watching your pretty pussy milk his precum out of his dark pink slit, the clear liquid oozing out almost nonstop and glistening in his white happy trail. “fuck, baby, come sit on my face,” he grumbles, cupping your ass in his huge hands and pulling you to straddle his shoulders. “y’smell so good ‘n i wanna taste ya…” you’re more than happy to oblige him, knowing how much he loves it when you ride his face and my gods, he’s so good at eating pussy, why wouldn’t you? you settle down on his waiting mouth, a shiver racing down your spine when his long tongue darts out to tease your engorged clit. immediately, your legs start to shake and you have to hold onto his horns to steady yourself so you don’t fall forward. he pulls your clit into his hot mouth, wrapping his lips around you, suckling your hard bud in pulses until you’re a whining mess above him. he’s watching you, slowly rutting his aching cock into the air behind you. his magma irises are nearly overtaken by his slitted pupils as you throw your head back and rock your hips. “f-fuck me with your tongue, itto~” he releases your clit with a lewd, wet pop; his black-painted claws drawing blood beneath the surface of your skin when he digs them into your plush ass to pull you harder against his face. he’s all but fucking the air with his drooling cock when he plunges his tongue inside your tight hole. you’re nearly sobbing when your fists tighten around his red horns, using them for leverage to fuck his face. the tip of his nose is bumping against your twitching clit when he growls and you cum hard in his mouth. you’re still clenching helplessly around his prodding tongue when he moans and you feel his long, thick ribbons of hot cum streak across your back.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — KAEYA

your boyfriend is lying on his back, enjoying the attention you’ve been giving to his naked body. you’ve left countless kisses and pretty little marks between his thighs when you press two fingers against his perineum, making him moan shamelessly as he arches his back off the bed. gods, he loves it. you haven’t even touched his dick yet, which is rock hard, twitching and leaking between his open legs. you spit on your fingers where they line up with his ass before massaging his rim. down to a mere shred of dignity, the cavalry captain is uncharacteristically close to begging, thrusting his purple-tipped cock into the air when he bucks his hips in an effort to try and push himself onto your finger as you prod at his tight little hole. he’s gritting his teeth and clenching his fists above his head but when he feels the delectable pressure of your digit finally entering him, his features go slack as a high-pitched sigh leaves his lips. his beautifully-toned arms are flexing, knuckles going white around his pillow while he clenches rhythmically around the tip of your finger as you slowly work it in a little deeper. “nnhmm~ fuck, baby…” he groans, arching his back again, “...give me more…” you tut at him with a light chuckle, “so greedy, kaeya.” but you oblige him. you pull out of him just long enough to add a second finger before pushing inside again, and he gasps. “oh fuck yes~” he brings a hand to your face and you look up at him to meet his heavy-lidded, heterochromatic gaze. his lips are parted and a dark pink blush graces his cheeks. “you look particularly stunning like this, love,” you coo at him, gently pressing deeper inside, “pleasure is definitely your color.” he smiles at you and cups your cheek, pressing his thumb to your lips which you happily welcome inside your mouth to suck on. “it’s all for you, snowflake hahhh~” his eyes roll back when you curl your fingers to press against that telltale soft spot inside of him. you wrap your free hand around his thigh, kissing and sucking new marks there as you gently fuck his puckering hole with your fingers. “ohh…hnn…gods yes!” he keens “fuck me harder, baby~” you thrust into him with increased pressure, tugging harder and harder on his p-spot, watching his dark-skinned balls move in his sac as they draw closer to his body - all while telling him how fucking sexy he looks for you and how you can’t wait to ride his cock. his mouth is open, eyes closed, he’s humping the air again when you feel him tighten around you. “fuck, f-feels so good…i’m- nnggnnfuck! cumming, baby!” his walls squeeze your fingers in hard, rhythmic pulses, his thick cock bouncing lewdly and slinging long ropes of his hot cum across his own chest and abs as he whimpers your name.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — THOMA

you’ve had this sweet boi on his knees for the past hour, completely naked and blindfolded. you’ve touched nearly every inch of his body with some part of your own, but with the clear expectations that 1) he has to keep his hands to himself and 2) he’s not allowed to cum until you tell him to. and he’s done so well. he’s even told you when he was close a few times so you could quickly wrap your fingers around the base of his pretty cock and squeeze it hard to hold his orgasm back. now he’s sitting back on his heels, strong thighs spread open, the rest of his senses in overdrive from the temporary loss of sight. a long, clear thread of precum dangles underneath his shaft as it leaks from his slit in a near-constant drip, making a cute little puddle on the floor between his legs. dark spots are forming in the fabric where the corners of his eyes are watering from the overwhelming-but-unresolved pleasure you’re giving him. you kneel down in front of him, inching your way between his legs until you’re close enough to kiss him. he eagerly kisses you back, chasing your lips when you pull away to suck on his pulse point. he stifles a whine when you lightly pinch his nipple and lovingly lick the new mark you made on his neck. you leave a trail of feather-light kisses along his jawline, making him bite his lip when you stop to nibble playfully at his earlobe. “always such a good, obedient boy for me, thoma,” you whisper, eliciting a hiss from him as you force his rock hard cock down to let the shiny, swollen tip slip between your wet pussy lips and nudge against your clit. “mmm~so hard…your cockhead feels so good, baby,” you coo in his ear. “your cunt…so warm,” he pants, his breath hot on your cheek. “ohhgods, gonna cum!” he warns. you pull away, letting his cock slap against his belly while sliding your fingers down to his base to give him a hard squeeze, but it’s too little too late. thoma tries to fight it, but his body betrays him and his hips begin to thrust involuntarily. he chokes back something between a groan and a whimper while his seed squirts out of his winking cockhole and against his navel before dribbling down his length and over your fingers. “m’sorry, milady,” he pants. “i tried not to…” but you take pity on him and untie his blindfold to find his pretty green eyes pleading with you. “hey,” you whisper against the corner of his mouth, “it’s okay, baby boy. you did so well for me and i’m proud of you.” he presses his forehead to yours and nods before kissing you passionately and lowering you to the floor so he can fuck you properly.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — ZHONGLI

he’s such a good sport, letting you practice some of the shibari skills he’s taught you…on him. the arm binder you’ve got him in looks beautiful; you take a couple of pictures and show them to him.

“hm, yes, very elegant indeed," he critiques thoughtfully. "your symmetry has greatly improved as well.”

you beam with pride at his praise and kiss his cheek. “thank you, li...although much of the credit goes to my most capable teacher,” you say with a wink.

you take a step back, admiring your work while seeking his reassurance that he’s adequately restrained, but not in any pain. you’d be lying if you said that seeing him like this didn’t make you a little wet - his bare, chiseled arms of onyx and gold bound exquisitely by black jute behind his back. this gives you an idea and you start to undress.

his lips curve into a little smile as you take off your top. “what are you doing, love?” he asks, enjoying the show.

you smirk down at him as you push your shorts down your legs before letting them fall to the floor. “a test,” you say, sitting on the edge of your shared bed just a few feet opposite him. “let’s see just how proficient i’ve become.”

he chuckles lowly as you lean back and spread your legs for him. a faint glow flickers behind his amber eyes as they follow your fingers when they begin to trace light patterns along the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. the mouth-watering scent of your arousal hits his nose, sending a dull ache straight to his balls.

he watches intently as your fingers graze your slit, a dark groan forming in his throat when you spread your dewy petals for him. you hum appreciatively as you let your middle finger slide between your folds, collecting your slippery nectar on your fingertip before rolling your clit around with it. he shifts in his chair, a subtle adjustment that provides little more room for his cock to grow.

you let out a quiet moan and he licks his lips as he watches some of your slick trickle out before you gather it on your finger and smooth it over your hardening bud. his cock is getting uncomfortably hard and he’s beginning to get slightly annoyed at the fact that he keeps trying to bring a hand to his front to adjust himself, only to be reminded that he can’t. you even looped the rope through the slatted back of the chair he’s sitting in, so he can’t even stand up. you’re close enough to him that were his arms not bound, he would need only reach out to touch you, but in his current predicament all he can do is watch helplessly as you pleasure yourself.

you look between your legs to see him staring intently, his lips parted, eyes glowing fiercely as he shifts again in his seat. the god formerly known as rex lapis is so mesmerized by your masturbation that he doesn’t notice the mischievous grin that takes shape on your flushed face as you bite your lip. you watch his bright eyes widen when you finally dip a finger inside your tight hole. the sight of your slick coating your finger as you let it sink in all the way to your knuckle makes him huff impatiently. he can already taste you on the back of his tongue when he feels the first bead of his precum leak out onto his thigh.

you thrust your finger slowly a few more times before pulling it out and bringing it to your mouth to suck, only to return it to your cunt and adding a second finger to fuck yourself with. his cock is throbbing painfully in the confines of his pants and he’s desperate for something, anything to rut against.

you’re fingering yourself deeper now, harder, forcing more of your need out around your fingers, drenching your knuckles. your palm is slapping your clit as you raise your hips off the bed. zhongli’s hips start rocking on reflex, the pressure of his slacks pressing his cock against his thigh making him sigh with some semblance of relief. it’s not ideal but he’s so needy that if he doesn’t fuck something he's sure he’ll go mad.

inside his pants, he’s leaking all over his thigh, his swollen cockhead gliding easily through the puddle of precum on his leg and he whines at how good it feels. the warmth of his own skin, the slick of his pre, the texture of his slacks - it’s all too much. “cum! cum for me, darling…” he growls.

“hnnhh~ li? mmgonna cum for you,” you whine, struggling to keep up with your own impending orgasm, but you manage. “fuck! zhongli!” you cry, so worked up over the show you’re giving him that you squirt against your own hand for him.

he’s thrusting faster now, shamelessly rolling his hips, humping his own thigh. “nnhhhfuck…” he groans, the searing coil at the base of his spine about to snap. with just a couple more drags of his cock over his slick thigh, his mouth falls open in a loud moan, his hips jerking as a large wet spot spreads over the leg of his pants. he cums on himself so hard that some of his creamy white nut seeps through the fabric of his dark slacks before dripping down his inner thigh onto the floor below. 

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — masterlist

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — thank you for reading, loves. please consider reblogging and/or commenting if you enjoyed! smooches for you!

[springtyme]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 ♡

In a world where trust is earned and betrayal met with swift and ruthless consequences, you'll do anything to protect your family, even if that means you'll have to do the unthinkable, marrying the criminal kingpin of Birmingham, Thomas Shelby.

Tommy Shelby x reader || Series playlist || Main masterlist

Chapter 1 Family Business coming soon

Chapter 2 Long Live The King

Chapter 3 Peonies and Razorblades

More chapters to come

[queers-gambit]

If Speaking is Silver, Then Listening is Gold

-> a Turkish proverb

prompt: ( requested ) you require a bit of reprieve after the week you had, and Tommy's a gentleman.

pairing: Tommy Shelby x hard of hearing female!reader

fandom masterlist: Peaky Blinders

word count: 4.4k+

note: you hit me in the chest with this request. as someone who is hard of hearing (HoH) and progressively losing what they have left, this got personal.

warnings: author projects, mild angst, hurt and comfort, specified frustration, working with customers SUCK, mild violence, Tommy's a little OC 'cause he doesn't know what to do with emotion!

"Excuse me! God, the service here is terrible! Aren't you listening to me, barmaid!?" The woman with polished finger nails slammed her manicured hand to the bartop aggressively, glaring at you as if you had backhanded her mother.

The sudden slap made you jump slightly, turning your head to acknowledge her before deflecting, "In a moment, ma'am, I'm trying to listen to this man's order."

"I've been trying to get your attention for 10 minutes now!" She argued, the noise of the bar dialed up as the night droned on and the patrons drank more.

"And I'm busy assisting other customers, I'll get to you when it's your turn," you reminded her, blinking at the man in front of you. "I'm so sorry, sir, I, uh, what were you saying?"

He sighed, "You don't remember? Or didn't hear me?"

"I couldn't hear you over the woman yelling at me," you snipped, perking your brows. "Would you like to order or should I move onto another customer?"

He scoffed, "Just get me a fucking bourbon."

"One fucking bourbon comin' at'cha," you rolled your eyes as you turned from the people to grab the bottles of liquor lined up behind you. You poured the man his drink, set it in front of him, and pocketed the bill he slapped in front of you - not offering change as you instantly looked to another customer. He grumbled with displeasure, but you were asking the next person, "What can I get you?"

"Uh, no, I'm next, I've been waiting long enough," the woman with polished fingernails insisted, literally pushing the customer out of her way.

You sighed, "Know what? All right, fine, what can I get you, ma'am?"

At that moment, the doors swung open and a new wave of drunkards stumbled in; the bar roaring to greet the newcomers as the woman ordered her posh drink that had no business being ordered in The Garrison.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" You asked, staring at her mouth in the hopes of reading her lips. She repeated her order, but her tacky lipstick made her lips stick - making it hard to read. "What? I'm sorry, ma'am, it's loud, you're gonna have to speak up."

"Are you fucking with me right now!?" She screeched, making your eyes widen. "You're the fucking deaf - you can't hear a simple order!?"

"I only asked you to repeat yourself," You defended.

"You asked me three times!" She raged.

"So tell me a fourth and shut the fuck up!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Harry stepped in, hand to your shoulder when the woman looked ready to launch over the bar, "I got this. I'll man the bar, you go on - there's some tables that need bussing."

You sighed and stepped back, nodding, "Sure, Harry."

You hated when he did this. Instead of defending you and your inability to hear - something you have no control over - he would always just push you aside and send you to do other chores. It wouldn't cost anything to tell the customers to calm down, it was loud in the pub and you had a hard time hearing as is - but nope! The customer was always right, or whatever bullshit he would remind you.

You were constantly accosted at work for your difficulty hearing clearly. It wasn't that you couldn't hear at all, it was just difficult! Sometimes, you could hear bits of their sentence and just inference whatever words you missed, but that wasn't an exact science. You mostly depended on reading people's lips, always hating asking anyone to repeat themselves; but at work, it wasn't always possible. The people you interacted with seemingly took personal offense that you had a hard time hearing, and each of them made their displeasure known. Again, a great time for Harry to defend you, but the older man didn't like rocking the boat.

You didn't necessarily blame him, knowing the Peaky Blinders kept a close eye on the pub and would probably reprimand (cut) Harry for discipling customers instead of firing you. So, you kept quiet about your displeasure over your treatment because you needed this job - you never wanted to give reason or thought that you were difficult. Maybe that was why Harry would send you off to do other chores, he didn't want you to lose your cool and this job. Though, some of these people deserved a good tongue lashing.

Picking up a spare pail, you went around to a few tables and cleared them of empty glasses before using a rag from your bucket to wipe them down for the next set of people.

Apparently, in that moment, someone decided to move past you, and to their credit, they did say, "Excuse me, luv, behind yah," but you didn't hear him. So, when you straightened up from cleaning the table, you took a natural step back and bumped into a body; gasping when something wet splashed over your neck, shoulders, and down your back and chest. "Oh, fuckin' hell, lass! Watch where yer fuckin' goin'!" The man raged, his empty glass shattered on the floor.

You blinked in shock.

"What? Didn't fuckin' hear me when I told yah I was there!?" The man continued to reprimand you. "Gotta fuckin' listen in a pub like this, lass, you'll cause worse fuckin' accidents!"

"I'm so sorry," you offered meekly, shaking the ale off your arms and glancing at your front to see it trickled in alcohol. You needed to take a deep, long breath before turning to head for the bar.

"What happened?" Harry asked when you arrived, looking mild concerned.

"Another spill," you spoke through a clenched jaw.

"Oi!" The man who dropped his drink all over you approached the bar, barking at Harry. "It's not our fault you hired some deaf bitch! That can't fuckin' hear 'round her! She didn't move from my way, I lost me pint 'cause of her stupidity!"

Stupid...? Did this drunk asshole just call you stupid because HE bumped into YOU and spilled HIS OWN drink? Maybe the money you made at the bar wasn't worth this...

Harry had no issue giving the drunkard another pint of ale as you tried in vain to dry off, but your dress, hair, and skin was completely plastered in sticky alcohol. You felt your eyes burn with stress, wanting to burst into tears and sob your frustrations out, but you didn't have the strength to break down right now. That's how tired and upset you were - you didn't even have the energy to cry.

You went about your evening, bussing tables and avoiding whatever customers you could; keeping your head on a swivel to avoid any other accidents. You felt a little better, but the stress still lingered around the bar; feeling as if the customers were glaring at you no matter what you did. When a natural lull came, Harry let you back behind the bar with the promise of staying near in case you needed him, but you were ready to drop.

Your final straw was about an hour after the usual Peaky Blinders and Shelby brothers had come in for the nightly round(s) of whiskey. You smiled at Arthur when he approached the bar, all too happy to greet you loudly - the lad never having an issue with speaking up when you couldn't hear. Arthur was always happy to accommodate you, having a soft spot for you since his brother, Tommy, had made his interest in you known that past year.

Speaking of, Tommy Shelby, notorious gangster of Small Heath and the head huncho of the Peaky Blinders, entered after his brothers and made an instant approach. "Harry," he greeted when he stepped around the bar.

"Mr. Shelby," Harry nodded.

"Love," he acknowledged you, pecking your cheek sweetly. "All right?"

"Hmm?"

"Doin' all right?" He asked clearly, being similar to his brother and not minding speaking louder, slower, clearer, whatever you needed to hear him better. In fact, Tommy wasn't know for being patient, but with you, he'd repeat himself as many times as it took - but only for you.

"Oh, yeah," you sniffled, trying to hide your frustrations.

"Why's your dress wet?" He worried, petting a sticky lock of your hair back, his concern mounting.

You shrugged, "Bit of an accident, 's not a big deal."

"Someone run into you, again?"

You nodded, "It's fine, though. He got a new pint and calmed down."

Tommy shook his head, gritting, "Who?"

"Tommy."

"Tell me who, love."

"No, Tommy, it's fine," you insisted, petting your hand down his chest in a show of affection; seeing another customer approach the bar. "I'm sorry, I'm working, love, can we talk later?"

He nodded, pecked your temple, grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey and moved for the snug - where his brothers and Aunt Polly waited for him. You got back to work, and barely noticed the time ticking by... Until a new customer approached you with a sneer already marring his face.

"What can I get for you, sir?" You asked kindly, needing to raise your voice over the usual drunken yelling. So, you preemptively warned him, "Sorry, 's bit noisy tonight, you'll have to speak up."

The man ordered his drink clearly, but another few men in loosened slacks and disheveled button-ups stalked up to the bar; crowding around the other two men who stumbled over in obnoxious laughter. You felt your panic spike, already overwhelmed by them all trying to talk over one another.

You were bombarded with drink orders from them all, eyes flickering between them because you didn't know who to listen to first. You tried to get the drinks together at the same time, but in truth, it was overwhelming because the men changed their orders, but got mad at YOU when you didn't quite hear them clearly.

Their drunken words added to the bar's noise level sprinkled with you being hard-of-hearing just resulted in a cluster fuck. "This isn't what I fucking ordered!" The original man complained, glaring at you with distain. "It's really not that hard, girl, my God. If you can't get our drinks right, how you gonna make any man a decent wife? Gonna fuck up his dinners, too?"

"Jesus - I'm sorry, there's just a lot going on. Why don't you remind me your drink and I'll get it now," you offered as kindly as you could.

"I doubt you'll be able to get it right," he sneered, but you missed half his sentence.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me!? Just fuckin' listen - it's not hard!" He snarled, literally chucking his glass just past your ear so it shattered into the liquor bottles behind you. "You can't even get a fucking drink right! Fuck you doin' workin' here, then!?"

This caused a huge commotion, obviously.

The Shelby's don't play games, you see, and the moment the glass shattered, they were moving out of the snug to investigate. When they realized someone had offered you disrespect, it was a shit show as the drunkards clashed with the men with razors stitched in their caps. Still in shock from the show of violence, you felt something in your heart snap you into motion.

So, you silently untied your apron, grabbed your coat and home keys, then literally walked out the backdoor - while the men all scuffled. The moment you stepped outside, you let your emotional dam give out - sobbing into the stinging cold air as you moved up the street.

You weren't sure what emotion you felt - be it anger, disappointment, shame, fear... Crippling insecurity. Once at the Irish pub, The Black Lion, you settled at the nearly empty bar and ordered your own drink, something you rarely did anymore. Something about working with alcohol all day made you less inclined to drink, but tonight was different than previous nights.

"All right, lass?" The bartender asked, pouring the whiskey in front of you. "Look a bit put out, huh?"

"Just a long week," you answered. He hummed, nodding and asking something. You felt tears in your eyes when you asked, "C-Could you repeat that?"

Louder, he repeated, "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Oh, no, thank you," you waved off. "Just... Customers being unruly."

He laughed, "Oh, don't I know it. What happened?"

You shrugged, "Nothing important."

"C'mon, lass, if it's made you come inta a place like this, searching for a drink, it's probably important enough."

You sighed, "Honestly, I think I appreciate the silence."

He smirked, "I can respect that. Here," he poured you a new glass, "this one's on the house. I deal with unruly customers, too, so, I know you'll need this second one."

You chuckled and grinned broadly when he went to walk away, did a double take, then left the whiskey bottle to your side with a smirk. He moved off to sit at a different table with some other older men, leaving you alone for the first time in what felt like a long time. It felt ironic for a moment that you sought solitude and silence, but you just wanted time to digest all that happened tonight and move on.

Why couldn't people understand that despite you being a public servant, you were still a human being? A human with human emotions, human disability, who makes human mistakes. Yet according to those entitled pricks that think YOU work for THEM, you were a second class citizen who was underserving of empathy. How dare you ask them to repeat themselves! How dare you misunderstand their order - and quickly replace it! How dare you have a disability past your control that affects your day-to-day life!

There was a heavy, looming feeling of being inadequate.

Being alive was hard enough as it is, more so when a bodily function most others take for granted malfunctioned within you. It made life harder; you had to work harder than everyone else just to operate on their same level. However, if you dare show exhaustion, frustration, any degree of weakness, you were quick to be labeled as "lazy" or "entitled" or your favorite, "dramatic!"

Those people can hear pins drop, they couldn't ever fathom what this felt like. It wasn't that you couldn't hear, you could. It just wasn't on the level other's could heard at, and for whatever reason, it seemed to frustrate everyone else more than you. You were the one dealing with the predicament, and yet, everyone else was seemingly the most inconvenienced! They thought it mortally offensive to be served by someone "like you", thinking your disability was unacceptable in their proximity.

Fucking assholes.

If only they knew the way your stomach knotted itself every time you asked someone to repeat what they said. Every time you said, "Huh?" or "What was that? What did you say?"

You were embarrassed because it made you feel as if you couldn't even be a human "correctly", and it's not like you chose for this to happen! It's not like anyone chooses to make the obligation called life ten times harder by putting you at a functional disadvantage. You felt like "damaged goods" because you felt constantly out of the loop; missing a lot of what's said if you're not paying explicit attention.

However, years ago, you had perfected the ability to read lips. Yet this was difficult when most people you couldn't hear were your customers, majority of who are slurring their words. You worked in The Garrison, meaning that on any given night, there was loud discussions that added to your frustration - but the tips were too good to quit. So you endured. You felt pathetic and borderline like a failure if you quit any job; feeling as if your disability had won by emotionally crippling you. So, while it didn't make a lot of sense to work in a noisy place when you're already hard-of-hearing, you remained at your place of employment simply out of spite.

It was difficult reminding yourself it wasn't your fault, that you were still doing a great job - no matter how many customers catch attitudes, get snippy, or throw full-on adult tantrums. You despised needing to be the "bigger person", but figured nobody else would be willing to accommodate you, so, if you wanted a semblance of peace, you had to be the one to create it.

You reached for the bottle of whiskey after downing your second glass. With a harsh sniffle, you glanced around the pub and realized how many people had arrived to fill in the place. You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, acutely aware that you were so deep in your emotional tarpit that you missed the noise rising.

So much for a quiet night.

You poured a new glass, praying to whatever God would listen that you're granted deliverance from this empty, helpless feeling that was pitting your stomach and chest.

After hearing the glass shatter, Tommy and his brothers were rocketing to their feet to investigate. They saw a man, red in the face, yelling hatefully at you behind the bar - liquor dripping off the shattered shelves from the man's bout of violence. There was no thinking for any of them. Tommy recognized you were in a predicament; striding forward first, and the chaos began.

It'd been a good bit since the lads had a good fist fight. No razors, no guns, no advantages - just bare fists and bar furniture.

It cleared the place out, and when the drunkard was hauled off by his companions, Tommy was wiping the blood from his knuckles. Harry frowned at the sight of blood splattered on the floor, shaking his head before calling your name - knowing you had some secret to getting blood out before it stained. However, there was no response. The Shelby boys all looked around expectantly, waiting for you to reappear, but it was evident by the way Harry searched for you that you weren't in the building.

Tommy placed a cigarette to his lips, just lighting it when Harry returned from the back room, informing, "Her belongin's are gone, she must've left early."

This made Tommy whip around sharply to use his own eyes and scan the room. "Nobody saw where she went? How was nobody watchin' her!?" Tommy asked demanded. There were several shakes of different heads, Tommy's anxiety flaring in his chest. He quickly rushed to grab his coat and flat cap, tugging them on in haste, hearing Arthur question where he was going. "Gotta find her," he explained through his panting-panic. "City's dangerous enough for people that can hear properly. God knows what can happen when she's alone at this time of night."

"We'll help," John offered, nudging Arthur, Finn, and their cousin, Michael Gray.

"I'll find her faster," Tommy answered, already out the door.

Michael shared a look around the room, wondering, "He acts like this all the time or just with that one pretty barmaid?"

Arthur smirked broadly, "That one pretty barmaid is Tommy's girl. Don't get caught lookin'."

"He's like this with just her," John chuckled, "always has been, always taking care of her the way she cares for him."

"What did Tommy mean? She can't hear?" Michael questioned innocently.

"Nah, girl's got some hearin', just not a whole lotta it," John explained as if common knowledge. "Never thought I'd see Tommy so patient, so fuckin' doting. He doesn't mind repeating himself if she asks, in fact, he does what he can to talk to her how she needs."

"What's that mean?"

"Like," John paused, sighing through his nose, "he'll face her directly, speak slower to let her read his lips. He speaks up, he's clearer, he wants her to feel like she's not a burden if she can't hear like us can so he does it all organically."

Michael smiled softly, vaguely impressed by Tommy's show of humanity. Speaking of, everyone's favorite gangster was prowling through Small Heath; stopping in each and every open business, searching for the familiar sight of you, and moving on when he was unsuccessful. You weren't at the Shelby home, nor your apartment, church, or anywhere along the Canal - places you frequent when overwhelmed.

Tommy was beginning to get cold, but he wouldn't say that. His determination would keep him warm, and even as the snow began to fall once more, Tommy hiked through the wind. Luck seemed to be on his side because when he entered the third pub, one he doesn't usually step foot in outside of evident emergencies, there you were; sat at the bar looking miserable.

"Thank God," Tommy breathed in relief, straightening his jacket and swiping his cap from his head. He approached your side and reached a hand out to the bartop in front of you, minimally startling you by announcing his presence without words. "Hey, love," he greeted you.

"What're you doing, Tommy? Blinders don't come 'round in here."

"We do when one of our own goes missing."

Your eyes rolled, "I'm not missing, I just needed a break."

"I know," he nodded, "but I'm here to make sure you get home safe."

"I don't need an escort."

"I don't think you do, but it's dangerous at night. You know I care about you and that includes your well-being."

"Oh, don't tell me, you're trying to play the gentleman card?" You scoffed, taking another swallow from your glass. "C'mon, sit down, I don't like drinking alone," you commented, "makes me sad, leaves me alone with my thoughts."

"We can drink at home, love."

"I don't want to go home yet."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'll have to explain why I got fired."

"You didn't."

"Huh!?" You yelped.

"You didn't lose your job," he assured softly.

"No?"

"No, not fired."

"Oh," you mulled over your thoughts, "that's good, then."

Tommy sighed and pulled his coat off to take the empty barstool beside you. "All right," he decided, going through the motions to stick a cigarette between his lips and light it. Smoke wafted from his mouth as he asked, "What happened tonight?"

"You already know, I'm sure."

"I want your truth."

"Doesn't matter," you refused, downing the last of the whiskey in your glass. You went to leave a few bills for your tab, but Tommy stopped you and covered it himself. Your eyes rolled and hand snatched the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey before heading for the exit.

Tommy followed not far behind.

"Love, c'mon, wait up," he grit, catching up to you and tossing his coat over your form, "you're gonna catch ill."

"I'm fine," your eyes rolled. Truthfully, the consumed whiskey in your system acted as an internal heating mechanism; warming your blood, wrapping you in a fuzzy grip.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

"I just - I'm frustrated, okay?"

"Sure, all right," he agreed, "but why?"

"You don't get it, Tommy," you felt emotional, rounding on him with tears in your eyes. "You don't know what it's like, you can hear just fine, you can still see, you don't know what it's like to progressively lose one of your senses! The way people get angry for something I cannot dictate - it's like they're the one being vastly inconvenienced!"

Tommy nodded, just listening.

"And they crucify me for it!" You sniffled, feeling defeated. "Like I'm some pariah that will infect them with my loss of hearing. They treat me as if - as if I've asked for this, as if I'm doing it on purpose!"

"What would help?"

"Honestly? I don't know anymore, Tommy, but this town is seriously lacking in their ability to empathize. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do - I get so angry now. It happens more and more, people getting angry or frustrated at me 'cause I need them to repeat themselves. What am I supposed to do, huh?"

He smirked slightly, but the sight angered you.

"Oh, fuck off, Tommy!" You turned from him, moving back up the street. "I don't need to laugh at me like the rest of them - "

"I'm not!" Tommy insisted, reaching for your wrist to halt you, whip you around, face him again. Both his hands extended to hold the area above your elbow, speaking clearly, "Listen to me. I was going t'wait, but I think now's a good time."

"Good time for what, Tommy?" You growled, now just wanting to go to bed and hide from your emotions; hide from people; hide from reality.

"I have a new job for you, in the company," he smirked. "We're still getting things structured, but why don't you step away from the bar and come work for me now? Help us build what's left, and then transition into your company job?"

You paused, just staring at him in mild shock.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Why would I joke?"

"You're... Offering me, what? Some job as your receptionist?"

"No, I was thinkin' something a little more paramount."

"Like what?"

"Like Chief of Operations?"

"COO?" You laughed, "For what company, Tommy?"

"Come home with me, we'll talk all about it," he bargained, "but if you accept, you've gotta quit The Garrison, love. We'll need your head in the game, no other distractions."

You felt something in your heart crack, asking, "What if you lot can't stand working with me, too?"

"Because of your hearing?"

"Or, you know, lack there of."

"Love," he smirked, "there's nothing you can do - intentionally or unintentionally - that would make any of us distance ourselves. If we get frustrated, it's not because you can't hear - it's never your disability, love."

"So, if you get frustrated, it's just, what? My personality?"

"More than likely," He grinned, arm snug around your waist again to walk down the snowy lane together. He laughed when your hand rose to pinch his side; squeezing his rib tightly, causing him to flinch and grunt lightly. "Hey, hey, easy with that," he chuckled, seeing your happy smile. "You all right, love? I know tonight was a lot, but... You feelin' any better?"

"I think so," you sighed. "The whiskey helps," you joked, raising the bottle to your lips.

"Mhm," he mused, taking the bottle after you.

"But present company helps more," you complimented softly. "You know, I'm sorry for today..."

"You're sorry that you couldn't hear a bunch of drunks in a packed-out pub?"

"Maybe?"

Tommy smirked, "Don't apologize, sweetheart. It's not your fault; like you say, it's not something you can control. I'm the one who's sorry you had to endure all of that... The lads got that guy pretty good."

"Good."

"And now you've a new job, yes?"

"After I hear about it," your eyes rolled in humor, taking the bottle back. "What's this big idea for a company anyway? What's it even called?"

"The Shelby Company Limited, and we're gonna change the whole of England, love."

requesting rules and masterlist

Peaky Blinders masterlist

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Your new family (Part VI)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of stress, not a lot of plot here but little snippets of moments with all the kids

You were a little bit stressed out to meet all of Bruce’s children but you also felt like it was going to be alright. Jason was there, always by your side. Dick and Tim liked you and they had said only good things about you to the others. Especially Dick, because he was well aware that Jason wouldn’t agree to spend time with him again without you. The fact Bruce was much nicer since you were together was also working in your favour. Alfred was approving of you too and he had personally asked all of the children to treat you well.

The children were also aware that Bruce would be very unhappy and disappointed with them all if things didn’t go well. It was obviously very important for him.

At first, everyone was a little bit silent and awkward. It was the first time a civilian was introduced to the whole family. And technically, they already knew a lot about you without knowing you, so they weren’t too sure how to act around you. They didn’t want to scare you off by showing they made research about you… and stalked you.

After a little while, you gently teased them all, saying that for vigilantes they were quite shy. It quickly put them at ease.

Things went actually a lot better than you thought and you could tell no one really believed you would that easily get along with the family. You felt Bruce relaxing through the dinner, his hand on your thigh under the table. His warmth helped you feel safer around everyone as well.

Soon enough they all were chatting around and asking you questions. It was a true interrogation but you didn’t mind. For once, you were the one answering questions and not the other way around. It was fun.

Damian was the only silent one. He wasn’t too sure how to deal with you. He didn’t need you. He wasn’t used to seeing his father around someone. He wasn’t too certain how to react when his father kissed the back of your hand with such love shining in his eyes. 

You noticed his uncertainty but you weren’t too worried about it. You knew you were fitting just right in there. You had never felt like that before, or just with your grandma. It was a nice change in your life. And you were really eager to start spending some time with all of them, like you were doing with Jason already.

You went to concerts with Dick. He wanted to go to those classic piano concerts but no one was eager to follow him. He had asked you, half certain you would politely decline his offer. But on the contrary, you had been more than happy to agree to come with him. Your eagerness warmed his heart. It had been a long time he hadn’t had a motherly figure in his life, and he knew you were fitting perfectly. Since then, whenever one of you wanted to go to a concert - no matter what kind - you had to go together. It was your thing. None of you went to so many concerts before, but it was a pretext to spend time together. You talked a lot before the concerts too and Dick could only agree with Jason: you were easy to talk to.

You played video games with Tim. You were waiting for Bruce to come back from patrol one night and you were bored out of your mind. You found Tim playing in the living room. At first, you just asked him if you could hang around. He agreed without thinking much of it, before offering you to play with him. He needed another player and no one else was around at that time. It appeared you were a gamer and you enjoyed fighting against one other. But you enjoyed working together on co-op games even more. You spent a lot of evenings with Tim on the couch, screaming together when you were losing or winning. Everyone knew better than to annoy the two of you when you were gaming.

You watched movies with Stephanie. Stephanie was clearly not too certain how to be around you. Things weren’t always easy with Bruce and after the way her parents betrayed her, she felt like she couldn’t trust adults any longer. But Jason loved you so much that she thought she could give you a chance. Watching movies allowed the two of you to bond, without having to interact too much at first. Then you started to talk a lot about what you just saw, and then about everything else. Watching movies snuggled up against you started to become Stephanie’s comfort zone and you were more than happy to give her that. Even though you were a tease, you never said anything when she fell asleep on you.

You took dancing lessons with Cassandra. It was clear the girl was a classic dancer; she was really amazing to watch. You loved to dance too, even though you never really took any kind of lessons, so you thought it would be a nice activity to do together. Cass instantly agreed. It allowed her to observe you and your body language. She had more fun than she thought, and she offered to keep going dancing together. You improved a lot thanks to her help and she liked to discover other kinds of dances thanks to you. You also came to watch her repetitions and her representations. She started to always look for you in the spectators, happy to be taken care of that way. 

You did puzzles with Duke. You started to spend a lot more time at the manor, even when Bruce wasn’t around. You were currently doing a mind game on the living room table as Duke went by. You started to chat around and you saw Duke was quite eager to play with you, so you invited him to settle by your side. Once you were done, he looked for a puzzle he hadn’t finished yet so you could do it together. When the weather was pretty bad in Gotham, you quite liked to get some hot cacao and to do puzzles with Duke. Because you both were pretty good with puzzles, you had to always find more challenging ones. Looking for them was also part of the fun.

For Damian, things were a little bit more difficult, as he made it clear, he had no interest in spending time with you. It hurt you a little more than you wanted to admit but didn’t say anything at first. You eventually went to an animal care centre open to the public with Damian and Bruce. Bruce offered for you to come with the two of them so his son could get used to your presence. He had noticed he was the only one who was avoiding you. Damian stayed cold to you for a long time, eyeing his father holding your hand with a frown until you let go of Bruce’s hand to come closer to the lions. You really loved the animals and Damian thought you couldn’t be that bad then. That evening, Alfred the cat fell asleep on your lap, so Damian started to be more polite to you. It was the first step. You started to bond over taking care of his pets.

You also met Barbara, Kate, Luke and Lucius. 

Kate and you instantly became friends because you were seeing things quite similarly. You also loved to tease everyone together. You had a real complicity between the two of you, and you often hang out together just for the sake of being together. And annoying everyone.

Barbara needed some time to trust you but she could tell you were a good addition to the family. She slowly warmed up to you. You didn’t take it personally and you showed a lot of patience. You were happy to be part of this group of amazing people, and Barbara couldn’t deny how kind you were to all of them.

Luke trusted Duke’s approval of you. You talked a lot around a drink in a bar in Gotham after Dick invited everyone for his birthday. You asked him questions about the army and the way veterans were taken care of. You promised him to do an article about it, which touched Luke a lot.

Lucius and you enjoyed talking together, as ones of the only civilians of the family, with Alfred. For Lucius, it was quite refreshing to be able to discuss with someone who was also shaking their head at the Batfamily’s antics. Lucius quickly saw how much of a good asset you could be for Wayne Enterprises as well and he hoped that at some point you would agree to help Bruce with it.

As months went by, you started to all know each other a lot more. And to start to love one another quite fiercely. You were their Batmon. You got confirmation of it when the children playfully and yet tenderly brought you a bracelet with the bat logo on it. You swore to always wear it.

--

PART 7

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Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

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Taglist for this series <3

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[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Break Room - Coffee Machine

Summary: Hotch shares a pot of coffee with you.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Set in the same universe as this, but both stand alone.

Warnings: talk of anxiety and imposter syndrome, pretty tame, doing what i do best for now until i get a grip on hotch

The break room walls seemed caked with the smell of coffees past, the pot scratched and dulled from its near constant use. You’re sure the floor goes through maybe one or two each year, yet the little pot sitting there seems ancient, well-adjusted. The air is bitter, a fragrant, musty sweetness carrying itself on the undercurrent. 

Everything seems comfortable, at home. Cabinets creak when opened, mugs are chipped and stained, well-loved. Somebody, probably in a rush, has opened a sugar packet and left little grains around the sink. You press your finger on them, eager for the indentation that they’ll leave. The fluorescents buzz incessantly, bathing the place in an almost green glow. Sheltered in the middle of the floor, there are no windows and a few hours in this kind of light will send you on to the path towards a dreadful migraine. 

The machine starts to percolate, a slow drip that will soon boil over in intensity, and the aroma of fresh coffee starting to fill the room, blooming. 

There are a few posters tacked up on the bulletin board, food drives, announcements, a sheet scouting interest for a potential sports’ league. 

Though it had hardly been a month since your transfer, you’d already learned that days like these were rare to come by. Quiet downtime between cases where the team got to play pretend at having a nine-to-five office job, and the risk that at any moment it would all be shattered. 

There’s an air of quiet and calm that you feel pointedly left out of, like looking in on a movie theatre, lights and noises muffled, the true meaning lost in between you and the door. 

Instead of relief, instead of taking advantage of the break, your thoughts had been sent into overdrive, anxiety swirling up in a messy haze, sending dust motes, tumbleweeds, and things better off left alone flying. You feel close to distraught, the quiet almost always tightening you to a near breaking point. 

You’re sure coffee won’t necessarily help with this, but sharing a floor with some of the sharpest minds in the country didn’t really leave you much room to stray from routine. You know they’re observing you, feeling their eyes sharp on your back as you walk away. They’re not making much of a show of trying to hide it, and when the initial nerves had faded away with the pleasantries, it was hard to miss. 

It’s easier to take each member one at a time, maybe two if you’re up for it. On their own, the spectre of their unity cast aside, they’re probably the best people you’ve ever met. 

They still try, despite it all, to include you whenever they can, almost pointedly. 

The drip is overwhelming now, drops tripping over each other as they fall down, the machine hissing and popping in protest. You flick it off, look down at the footprints of the sugar granules on your finger, the ache they left there shooting up towards your knuckle. 

There’s a cup drying beside the sink and you take it, the faded floral pattern calling out to you. Cherry pies. That’s what your grandmother called them, picking them from her garden and putting them in her hair. 

A set of footfalls come from down the hall, turning at the break room door. 

“Agent.”  

You turn, cup still in hand, “Agent Hotchner.” You feel like you’ve done something wrong, been caught slacking. You can’t remember the first ever time you’d felt this way, but the sharp sting of it, the twisting of your lungs together, is familiar and sends a wave of nausea through you. 

Suddenly the comforting smell of the room is more stifling, the friendly, almost matronly objects around the place turn hostile, and you want to flee instead. “Hi, sir.” 

He nods, mouth pressed into its characteristic firm line, and walks up to where you are. There’s a mug in his hands with the Bureau logo on it, the stars around the scales looking back at you. “Fresh pot?” He’s the poster child for control, for measured, even actions. His grip on the handle is unfaltering, solid like a tree trunk. 

“Yes-” your voice is rough, struggling to get out, you clear your throat, push through the embarrassment that rises like bile in your throat. “Yes, sir.” You’re painfully aware of your palm around the coffee pot handle, the warmth crawling onto your skin toeing the line between pleasant and overbearing. 

Aaron holds out his mug and you pour a glass for him, the steam curling in and disappearing to the air. You wonder if there was a way to estimate how many cups had been filled here, if the machine kept tabs. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

You busy yourself again, filling your own cup. With the pot back in place, you go over to the fridge and grab the milk container, watch the way it falls to the bottom of the cup, rising up in little mold-like blossoms as their fingers reach out to each island. 

You feel his eyes on you and you turn, an apology ready on your tongue when you see him glance down to the carton in your hand. 

“You’re settling in well, Agent,” he says, pouring milk into his cup, grabbing a wooden stirrer. His eyes are trained on what he’s doing. 

You pause, sugar packet still between your fingers. The din of the silent break room bears down on your mind, pressing behind your eyes. You want to throw in the towel on this whole stupid business right then and there, go back to your old unit, tried and true, comforting. 

It’s hard to ignore the heat of his gaze on you and to avoid meeting it for a beat longer, you reach for a stirrer as well, making a point of twirling it around your coffee through a breath or two. 

“You disagree.” 

Your eyes snap to his, see the gathering of his forehead over his eyes, casting a shadow and hiding his irises from you. 

Stammering you finally settle for a safe play, something you’ve found yourself doing too much of over the past weeks, “Sorry, sir, I-” 

“I prefer ‘Hotch’, Agent.” 

The heat rises to your cheeks, spreads across to your ears. This is the first time he’s corrected you like this, and it makes you wonder if he was expecting you to cotton on eventually and had given up hope. You feel scolded, hand stinging from the slap that was never delivered. 

He throws his stirrer out, takes a sip from his cup. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, taking a brief moment as his eyes fall shut a breath longer than normal. They open, and land on you again, and he leans the side of his hip against the counter. There’s a flicker that darts across his eye that unsettles you, “It takes time.” He says simply, and to make sure you’ve understood, “Finding your footing.” 

You churn his words over in your mind, trying to find an appropriate response. You think he was just being kind earlier, what he said about settling in alright. If you were a bit more confident, you might have spoken up how nothing has felt right for the past month, that you feel like you’re drowning most of the time, that sometimes you wake up with dread coursing through you, already weighed down by mistakes and misspoken words. 

Aaron moves to leave, straightening up and grabbing his cup when you take both of you by surprise by speaking up, “Did it take you time?” 

He stops, pausing mid-step halfway to the door. When he faces you again, his eyebrows lift, prompting you quietly. 

“To…” you clear your throat, hyper aware of your every muscle and the hot mug in your hand. You place it to the side, looking at the action pointedly so you can gain the courage to continue. “To figure it out. Find your footing.” 

“I-” he hesitates, before coming back to where he was, standing in front of you. His mouth opens once, twice, before he speaks again, “Yes. It did.” 

It sounds so simple when he says it like that, in his muted, half-murmured tone that you’d found so strange when you’d first met him. The truth sits there, dripping down between you. 

Your eyebrows lift before you can stop them, another error to add to the list for today, “Really?” 

Nodding, the line of his mouth relaxes just slightly, “Why does that surprise you?” If your self-confidence had been so drastically shaken upon your transfer, you might have thought there was amusement held behind his eyes, careful, but still there nonetheless. 

“I-uh,” you laugh, trying to hide your nerves as you test the boundaries of the conversation, your working relationship with your Unit Chief. “It just seems…” you gesture vaguely, trying to gather words as you shift your weight. “You were a pro at it, from the start.” 

Aaron lets out a soft breath through his nose, the sound in sharp contrast to the humming of machines and electricity through the walls. 

“You just,” now that he’s uncorked the bottle thoughts just keep flowing out of you, a manifestation of your frustration at yourself. “You always know what you’re doing. You’re so sure of it.” 

That’s probably the longest he’s heard you speak unprompted, and you draw away suddenly, acutely aware of it, like a bird hiding its beak in its wing. To your shock, he starts to laugh, subtly, but it’s there in the shake of his shoulders, in the covering of his mouth. 

Finally, he catches your eye, something flickering across his face that you can’t name, “I don’t.” Then, softer, “Not always.” 

Ashamed, you look down into your cup, hoping to find the answer inside and coming up empty. 

He clears his throat, “It’s hard, joining a pre-established group.” A few breaths pass before he says, “Don’t think I don’t know, or appreciate what you’re doing.” 

You blink, your thoughts coming to a screeching stop, “Th-thank you, sir.” 

“Ah-” 

A smile stutters on your face, and you correct yourself, “Hotch. Thanks, Hotch.” 

He nods and this time you know you haven’t made up the approving look on his face. It breaks quickly with the ring of his phone, and he turns away to answer. 

You look down at the abandoned stirrer in your cup. Taking a deep breath, you throw it out and take a sip. It’s gotten a bit lukewarm now, and it takes a visible effort to not scrunch your face at the taste. 

Aaron’s voice is all business when he says, “Enjoy your coffee, Agent.” He brings his cup up, in a fraction of a motion that almost looks like a cheers motion. You’re not sure if you will actually, not with the pressure on the inside of your ribs, pushing them outwards painfully, not with the way it tastes more bitter than comforting. 

“Briefing in ten.”  This time, his steps are confident, unrelenting as they click down the hallway. There was something about the way he said it, both a reminder and command. The more you interact with him, the more you realize that the almost fantastical rumours are founded in quite a lot of truth. 

Instead, you pour the coffee down the sink, dark against the battered stainless steel, and run the tap. Cupping your hands under the steady run of water, you splash some on your face, ignoring the way it darkens your blouse in spots, and drink four greedy handfuls before you feel slightly better. You brush your hand down your face to get rid of any remaining water, and dry off with a paper towel, and head down the hallway. 

When you head into the briefing room, JJ is already there, fiddling with the projector. “Hey,” she smiles at you, simple and easy. It lasts only a moment before her warm look turns searching, “You good? You disappeared for a bit.” 

You nod, fighting for some oxygen in the stale room, “Just-went for a coffee.” 

Her eyes stay trained on you for a moment before going back to the projector, “Hotch can be a lot sometimes.” 

You falter at her reading your thoughts so easily, your unease around Aaron. It felt like you were the only one who felt it. 

“Don’t worry,” her smile returns. “You get used to it.” 

You’re about to reply when the door opens again and the rest of the team starts to file in. Aaron is the last to arrive, tossing a handful of papers on the table. He looks around the room, taking in the people there. His presence stretches and fills the place, instilling a foreign sense of confidence in you, though you welcome it eagerly. When he looks at you, he holds your gaze for a beat longer before he sits down at the head of the table. 

“JJ?” 

Swallowing, you straighten in your seat, anxiety shutting off at just a word. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

[strayrockette]

She Should Know Part 4

THE TASTE OF SOMETHING KNEW 

Summary: New feelings and old wounds are in abundance for Y/N. Unlearning everything she knew, is a lot harder than planned. But sometimes all that is needed is help.

Warnings: Mild Angst, some fluff

Part 1🟣Part 2🟣Part 3

Masterlist—Thomas Shelby Masterlist

Life moved on in its slow, unrelenting way, and you did your best to keep pace. The well of disappointment and insecurity nestled in your chest never emptied, but you’d learned to cover it with a façade. Smiles, fleeting and strained. Creations, some half-formed, some failed entirely. Laughter, light and fleeting, never quite touching the core of you. You buried the ache under long hours of work, let it mingle with the persistent sting of distance—distance from a past you had left behind but not truly escaped.

Still, there was progress. Small, almost imperceptible steps. Waking up in the mornings without the weight of fear pressing against your ribs was new. You no longer jumped at shadows or cast nervous glances over your shoulder, expecting trouble to materialize in the form of one of Thomas’s ill-conceived schemes—or someone worse. There was a kind of peace in being surrounded by people who followed the rules, who found joy in simple routines and shared goals. It wasn’t an exhilarating life, but it was steady and quiet. A breath of fresh air after years of suffocation.

Then there was Claude.

Claude was unlike anyone you had ever known. His edges weren’t jagged or worn down by the harshness of life. His hands, though strong, didn’t carry the calluses of violence or the stains of misdeeds. He didn’t need to command attention or weave charm with ulterior motives. He was simply himself—Claude—with green eyes that held an endless calm, a boyish smile that softened even the hardest days, and a presence that was as warm and comforting as fresh bread coming out of the oven.

Yet, the thought of Thomas lingered like a shadow. Your heart twisted at the memory of him, at the chaos and damage he had wrought. Your grip on the rag tightened as you scrubbed the counter with mindless fervor, the repetitive motion a small comfort in its predictability.

“Mon cher,” Claude’s voice broke through, soft and melodic, laced with that ever-present accent that sent an unbidden warmth curling in your chest. His fingers brushed your arm—a fleeting touch, light as a whisper.

You stilled, your gaze snapping up from the counter to meet his. His green eyes studied you, searching, but without prying. They were too soft, too patient, and somehow that made them more intimidating than any piercing blue gaze you’d known. You swallowed, forcing your breath to steady.

“Oui,” you murmured, shifting under the weight of his attention. “Lost in thought.”

Claude tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Busy thoughts,” he teased lightly, though his gaze lingered, brushing over the faint lines of exhaustion that etched your face. He had never pressed you for details about your life—about Birmingham, about Thomas—but his curiosity was there, quiet and unobtrusive.

“Always,” you replied softly, eyes dropping to the counter. His presence was unnervingly steady, a stark contrast to the tumult you carried within. When you looked up again, he had settled against the counter beside you, arms folded, his posture relaxed yet attentive.

“You’re staring again,” you said, a weak attempt at deflection, your heart hammering against your ribs as you turned your attention back to scrubbing the same worn spot on the counter.

Claude hummed, a low, amused sound. “And you have been cleaning the same spot for the last twenty minutes,” he retorted smoothly. His smile widened, boyish and disarming. “You are lucky Chef isn’t here. He’d have you rearranging the entire storage room by now.”

A small laugh escaped you, light and genuine. “I suppose I am lucky then,” you said, shaking your head. But your fingers fidgeted with the rag, betraying the nervous energy you couldn’t quite contain. “Did you need something?” you asked, risking another glance at him.

He shook his head, his green eyes warm, holding your gaze like a steady anchor. “I’m walking you home,” he reminded you, his tone gentle yet firm.

Your breath caught, and you nodded, the weight of his insistence settling over you. It was hard to forget that he had made this his nightly ritual, ensuring you got home safely after the long shifts at the restaurant. At first, you’d protested. You’d argued, reasoning that you were perfectly capable of walking yourself home. Claude, however, was persistent in a way that wore down even the strongest of defenses.

Initially, he had pretended it was coincidental, walking the same path as you. But you knew better. He lived on the opposite side of town, yet there he was, strolling at your pace, always a few steps behind until you relented. It was maddening—and endearing.

“I’ll get my things,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. There was no point in arguing anymore. As you turned toward the back room to fetch your coat, you caught his smile—patient, unwavering, and so full of quiet care that it sent a ripple of warmth through the icy walls around your heart.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad, you thought, to have someone like Claude. Someone who waited, who didn’t demand but offered. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to let the warmth in, just a little. But that thought was as terrifying as it was comforting, and as you grabbed your coat, you found yourself hoping he wouldn’t see the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

When you returned, Claude was waiting, the soft light of the café catching the warmth in his gaze. He didn’t rush you, didn’t comment on the time you had taken. He simply smiled, and in that moment, the air felt lighter.

“Shall we?” he asked, holding the door open for you.

You stepped out into the cool night air, your heart racing as you fell into step beside him. His presence at your side was steady, unshakable, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something akin to safety.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Did you mention that Claude was persistent? Because he was. His kind of persistence wasn’t the loud, aggressive type. It was quieter, more patient, but no less relentless. You laughed softly, almost incredulously, as you watched him navigate your small kitchen like he belonged there. His movements were graceful, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

“Honestly, Claude,” you said, your voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and amusement, “I can cook for myself just fine.”

His fingers didn’t falter as he sliced through a carrot with practiced ease. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board punctuated the silence before he spoke. “You are tired, mon cher,” he said, his tone carrying a gentle resolve. He glanced up briefly, his green eyes meeting yours with a warmth that made your breath hitch. “In many ways. Let me help.”

It wasn’t a command, nor a suggestion. It was a soft plea, and something about it hit you harder than it should have. Your brows furrowed as you sank into the creaky kitchen chair, suddenly feeling the weight of everything you had been holding at bay. The walls you had built felt flimsy, the steady cadence of his voice unsettling them in ways you didn’t fully understand.

Your eyes watered, and you blinked rapidly, as if that could banish the sting. It was stupid—unbelievably stupid. He hadn’t said anything groundbreaking. And yet, the way his green eyes held yours, unwavering and steady, spoke volumes. His voice softened when he said “let me help,” the words cradling something deeper, something unspoken. It wasn’t just about dinner. It couldn’t be.

Help with what? Dinner, just this once? The ache in your chest that had never quite gone away? The chaos in your mind that refused to quiet? The parts of you that still couldn’t trust, still couldn’t believe someone like Claude could exist without an ulterior motive? The questions swirled, tangling with the rawness of your emotions.

You dropped your gaze, your fingers brushing absently over the rim of your wine glass. The cool surface grounded you, but only slightly. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice, Claude,” you said quietly, the faintest tremor in your voice. You forced a small, bitter smile as you added, “You’re very persistent.”

He sighed softly, the sound so gentle it seemed to blend with the simmering pot of stew on the stove. Setting the knife down, he picked up the cutting board and scraped the neatly chopped herbs into the pot. The aroma of simmering herbs and broth filled the room, a comforting scent that did little to ease the tension in your chest.

“You’re worth it, mon cher,” he said, his voice low but firm. He turned to look at you then, the sincerity in his gaze so piercing it made your throat tighten. “I think, you forget this.”

The words landed with the weight of a stone in your chest. Your heart clenched painfully, and your lips trembled as you pressed them together, trying to hold back the flood threatening to spill. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to reconcile the ache in your chest with the warmth his words ignited.

The room was quiet save for the bubbling stew and the faint sound of your unsteady breath. Claude didn’t press. He didn’t push or demand more from you than you could give. He simply turned back to the stove, stirring the pot with careful attention, as though his only purpose in that moment was to ensure the stew didn’t burn.

You stared at him, at the way his shoulders moved, steady and strong, at the way he seemed so sure of what he was doing—both with the meal and with you. He wasn’t Thomas. He wasn’t chaos or manipulation or control masquerading as care. He was Claude, with his green eyes and quiet persistence and words that lingered in the air long after they were spoken.

Your finger traced the edge of the wine glass again, and this time, the tears fell silently and your lip trembled as you glanced at your glass. You didn’t realize how much a part of you had craved to hear those words from anyone but yourself. How often had you imagined Thomas saying it to you. Choosing you. Staying with you. He never did, 'Obviously'. Yet, in the here and now with Claude in your kitchen, in your life, a small part wondered if that had been a good thing. To not be chosen by Thomas Shelby despite how much your heart had craved his love and affection.

Claude didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge the tears slipping silently down your cheeks. Not directly, anyway. But he didn’t need to. His movements were unhurried and calm as he stirred the pot of stew, his back to you. The quiet between you wasn’t heavy—it wasn’t demanding or awkward. It was… patient. Like him.

The bubbling of the stew filled the space, a rhythmic, soothing sound that seemed to match the steady cadence of his breathing. He reached for a wooden spoon and, with practiced ease, dipped it into the pot. He tasted the broth, nodding slightly to himself before adding a pinch of salt and stirring again. The aroma of the meal enveloped the room, rich and savory, wrapping itself around you like a comforting blanket.

You wiped at your cheeks hastily, frustrated with yourself for letting your emotions spill over. When you glanced up again, Claude had turned, a bowl in one hand. He didn’t speak, didn’t comment on the redness in your eyes or the way your fingers fidgeted. 

Instead, he set the bowl down gently in front of you, along with a spoon. “Eat,” he said softly, the command wrapped in a kindness that didn’t leave room for argument.

You hesitated, looking down at the steaming stew. The rich, earthy scent of herbs and vegetables filled your senses, a quiet reminder of how little you’d eaten lately. Your stomach twisted from the vulnerability of the moment. You looked back up at him, unsure, only to find his green eyes waiting for yours, steady and unyielding but not overbearing.

“I’ll make a bowl for myself,” he said, as though he could read the reluctance on your face and wanted to ease it. “We’ll eat together.”

You nodded, the small gesture all you could muster as your voice caught in your throat. He returned to the stove, ladling stew into another bowl with the same care he had given to yours. When he joined you at the table, the chair across from you creaked slightly under his weight as he sat down.

Claude didn’t rush you. He didn’t press you with questions or try to coax you into talking. He simply started eating, his movements slow and unhurried, as if to remind you that there was no expectation here. You watched him for a moment, the way his shoulders relaxed, the soft hum of approval he gave as he savored the stew. It was a sound so small and genuine that it made your chest ache all over again.

You picked up your spoon, the warmth of the bowl radiating into your hands. The first bite was tentative, the flavors rich and grounding. For a few moments, the stew was all you could focus on—its warmth, the way it spread through you like a quiet reassurance that you were, at least in this moment, cared for.

Claude glanced up at you, his gaze softening as he saw you eat. He didn’t smile—he didn’t need to. The slight relaxation in his expression said enough. “Good?” he asked simply.

You nodded, swallowing the bite before murmuring, “It’s perfect.”

He hummed softly, returning to his meal, but not before reaching for the wine bottle on the table. He poured a little more into your glass without asking, his movements deliberate and thoughtful. “You’ve worked hard today,” he said, not as a question but as a fact. “You deserve to rest.”

The lump in your throat returned, but this time, it wasn’t from sorrow. It was something softer, something that made you want to believe him, even if part of you still doubted. You sipped the wine, letting the quiet between you stretch. The room felt smaller, cozier, the air tinged with the warmth of the meal and the man sitting across from you.

Claude’s presence wasn’t overwhelming. It was steady, a quiet assurance that he didn’t need you to fill the silence or explain yourself. His way of offering comfort wasn’t in words or grand gestures, but in the way he shared the space with you, letting you take what you needed at your own pace.

When the bowls were empty, he stood, gathering the dishes without a word. You moved to protest, to take them from him, but he waved you off with a slight shake of his head. “You sit,” he said firmly but gently, carrying the bowls to the sink.

You stayed where you were, your fingers tracing the rim of your wine glass again. For the first time in a long time, the ache in your chest felt… quieter. It wasn’t gone—it never fully was—but it had receded, softened by the warmth of the meal, the steadiness of his presence, and the quiet way he reminded you that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.

“Claude,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence as he rinsed the bowls. He turned, looking over his shoulder at you, waiting. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat, too big and too raw to voice just yet. So you settled on the simplest truth. “Thank you.”

His lips curved into a small smile, one that didn’t need words to say everything you couldn’t. He nodded, turning back to the sink, leaving you to sit with the quiet warmth that had settled in your heart. For now, it was enough.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Taglist: @mysticalpandora, @ultimatreality@lovecleastrange@watercolorskyy@rockerchick05@lyarr24@automaticwizardnerd@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts, @chlorrox, @lothbrokcore, johnmurphys-sass, @allie131313, @meadows5, @immyowndefender, @jbrownta, @mokanesa,

A/N: Thank you so much for making it this far 💕I actually had to rewrite this chapter because I wasn't feeling the last one. This feels better than what I originally planned. Claude was literally going to be a minor character. he appeared briefly in Part 2 near the end. Somehow his persistence transcended the second chapter and he fought for a more prominent role for our ole gal🤣❤️

Anywhoooo, please comment, like, and reblog🫰❤️

[ay0nha]

An Ode to Ruination | T.S.

SUMMARY: Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callus to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath. 

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.5K

WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking, drinking, semi-preoccupations with thoughts of death/suicide, mutual pining, meanish tommy because his feelings are hurt, canon-typical things, protective!tommy, rushed ending, etc.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I’m back on my bullshit.  This is inspired by @zodiyack​‘s request/post (here). HAD to get it out of my system, I mean look how pretty he is. This is a mix of Old writing I had to dust off the cob webs for mixed with new stuff, so be kind. Enjoy.

“You’re leaving.”

Tommy’s tone was sterile. It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset.  

The cracks behind his exterior were so deeply concealed you hadn’t thought anything could slip between. Yet, standing before him, your decision was the ice-pick that’s pressure had shattered him.

“Ada told you?” You hummed with formality; his presence clearly a response to the question. “London will treat me well.”

Tommy tracked your movements. You envied how he filled the space better than you. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his presence. Regardless, you felt like a guest in your own home. You felt caught, exposed.

The air was thick, causing Tommy’s deep breaths hard to hide behind a crackling record that you had on a continual loop, never able to stand too much silence. Your bags were organized beside the door for the morning, causing your heart to echo against the empty walls.

There was an odd sense of pride you felt with his presence. It confirmed the distant admiration that Tommy held for years. That the shared affection wasn’t something fabricated but complex. You respected his drive, but your desires fell elsewhere. He carved space for you despite your protests, but you could never be the one to fill it—you could never be his.

“A better life, eh?” Tommy mocked you, cigarette rolling over his lips with habit. “Fucks sake.” The confidence in his demeanor faltered. But he regained it quickly with a bitter laugh, “...I’ve given you everything, and here you are asking for more.”

With an instinct to comfort him, you wanted to reach for him. It spoke of your ability to read him and how exhausting it had become to interpret. He would miss you.

“Tommy—” You began. The calmness in your voice was deceiving. You could see it in his face, how expectant he was for you to tell him you’d stay. “—I’m not safe with you.” You paused, letting your admission sink in just as harshly as his words had, “I’m going to London.”

—

The bliss was idyllic.

Your wrist balanced on the windowsill as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The cool air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive. Human. Your senses were perked. The city outside kept you attentive as your head rested back. The day was long, but hearing the taxis carrying bubbling people made it worth it. You imagined how some were on their way to find warmth in their home while others were dressed for an endless night of laughter.  

The living room was empty and quiet. You could no longer hear Ada’s shuffling feet above you, ushering both her and Karl to sleep. It was odd that you found such freedom with them. Protection of sorts that you could rely on as a necessary stepping stone. It caused a headache to form at the back of your head, reminding you of your lack of sleep.

Privilege came with the name associated that made your stomach churn.  It was simple to push Tommy into a subconscious level. The task became daunting; an ache emerged from so deep within that it took months to realize from the start he was responsible.   It was as though you could feel how his eyes were still on you.

It became a habit to remind yourself of your newfound safety. The distance created life: happiness and tranquility. You traded bloody nights for bedtime stories, sewing razor-filled caps for gin-filled gatherings, and Tommy’s scarcity of communication for peaceful nights like tonight.

A disruption was overdue. You answered the phone after the third ring.

“Ada?” The voice was unmistakable, even if it was whiskey drenched. It took him a beat to realize you were on the other end. “... ’m callin’ for Ada.”

Chewing on your lip, you debated silence and pretended like the call had never begun. But that incessant ache begged to be relieved.

“I can wake her.” Your voice was soft, promising something you were unwilling to do. It was nicety that filled the quietness you were met with.

“I—uh—” Tommy sighed deeply. The words were lost, jumbled behind an always racing mind. You could picture him well; his crisp shirt no longer having life as it was rolled up by anxiety, his tie no longer present, but still suffocating him, and everything around him reflecting how he moved with an intemperate haze. “—I’m drowning—”

“Tommy…” You refused to burst, but his name on your tongue tattered between warning and heartbreak. When he drank, he opened up to you, a foolish cycle. “Let me get Ada…”

The dark chuckle on the other end forced you to press yourself closer to the phone. “Sometimes, I wish I were dead so you'd think of me.”

A frown perked your lips. You were made out to be more heartless than the most heartless man you knew. It was a naive guilt trip that you almost slipped on. “Be fair to me, Tommy.”

There was a crackle on the other end, a cigarette lit purely by regret. The drag was long, trying to pull something thoughtful from a blurred mind. The reports he received from those he paid off weren’t enough.  You were thriving with his absence, seen with a mix of people who, even acquaintances, valued you better. It elicited resentful envy. However, out of arms reach, you worried Tommy endlessly. The London associates sought blood, no matter who provided it. The paranoia was ruining him, and no answer could reassure him.

“You a communist yet?” Tommy cleared his throat with a vulnerability that was only reserved for this night. Maybe, you thought, it was an effort on his part.

“Almost…” The teasing comforted a dodged homesickness. “Think my card got lost in the post.”

“Shame.” He tutted with a gentle wit. There was a tender sadness he carried with him. It was almost as volatile as his anger. It was easy to blame it on the war, but it had latched onto him long before, never planning to let go.

You imagined how his exhaustion mapped along his body. His body probably mirrored your own; head back, limbs weakly sprawled, heavy-lidded eyes imagining the other beside each other, and a mutual worry that bounced between you.

“I am happy, Tommy…” Your promise was delayed, hardly believable. “Ada and I do miss everyone.”

I miss you.

Tommy hummed, “...have a funny way of showin’ that.”

“You haven’t seen our smoke signals?”

The laugh you were met with was small, light, and barely there, but it rushed through your limbs and heated your chest. You had a moment to catch your breath and slow your heart rate. Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callous to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath.  

—

You knew Tommy would be there. For Ada—you reminded yourself. Yet, seeing him so closely caused your heart to lurch, your blood leaving your extremities with such fascination that you became light-headed.

“Drink.” Ada all but scolded you, crystal pushed into your hand. The instruction was welcomed, but it wasn’t enough to settle you. “Otherwise, you’ll clam up if Tommy bothers to find us.”

Tommy worked the crowd well. It was a feigned charm that he played into only for advantage. Although he claimed to be here for family, business always loomed. Ada hadn’t cared either way, the glitz far too intriguing to question his sudden presence in the city.

“Give him time…” Ada spoke openly to the air, her night’s indulgence tracing her words. “...always time with that one—wastes it, and yet, expects you to be there when he hollers. Does your head in, it does…”

The champagne bubbled down your throat. The night was meant to be celebratory, but you’d be lying if you said you knew why. It was a part of your distinction from the Shelby family that you questioned if ignorance truly brought you bliss.

“Surprised he came himself. Thomas Shelby in the flesh,” Ada continued with ease, mocking her brother. “Surprised he even lifted a pinky. Typically one of his goons—” She looked to you, her revelation cutting her off. “You do understand what you do to him, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to.” Your words were sharp. Your eyes filtered the crowd for the gloved waiter to replace your glass. “There’s nothing that I—I’ve put all that behind me.”

“That?” She pressed with practiced bits of patience. Ada’s smile grew comically. The shy glancing took years to turn into full sentences and Ada knew firsthand how to read her brother, and the way he lingered spoke volumes. He was past smitten.

It was all or nothing; you were it.

You were grateful how her attention shifted to her own relationship. You never tired of hearing how Freddie treated her and loved her since they were children. There was somberness in her eyes, but devotion carried in her words. You saw how she carried him with her; certain mannerisms mirrored not only in her but Karl. Love withstood.

There was a point in your life you believed you’d find something similar. You hadn’t faulted your growing mind; it was natural to romanticism your future at such a young age. Those around you promised there was something fruitful to look forward to. However, life proved difficult; men remained boys, and the only person that you regarded stalked toward you as if you were nothing more than a stranger.

“Ada.” Tommy approached his sister as if she were alone. He’d visited her in the city multiple times but never once shared the air with you. “Enjoying yourself tonight, eh?”

“Mothers can still have fun.” She teased him with a peck on the cheek. Even in her state, she ridiculed her brother’s behavior. With a shoulder pushed against his, Ada encouraged Tommy to acknowledge you. “Have you no manners?”

To others, his expression may have appeared vacant. However, Tommy wrestled with himself, unsure how to maneuver in uncharted territory. Stalling, his eyes danced the crowd as he languidly out his matches and carton. It denoted how natural his icy illusion became, and now he seemed able to practice it on you. Once he landed on you, you realized why he struggled to meet your eyes. It was his only form of self-defense.

“London suits you.” Tommy nodded, his greeting muffled through the newly lit cigarette. The small rush it gave him was enough to stay vigilant.

“It has its moments.”  Your chest perked from the attention and chill, but Tommy’s eyes never faltered from your own. You were daring him to take your body in. It was the sole reason you chose a dress that cut low both front and back.

Tommy was never a blind man.

Nor was his sister. Ada excused herself, claiming whatever ‘this’ was, she wanted no part. You are no fun, she said. However, you weren’t sure who it was directed to. You held back from following her, but your shoulders remained open; you wouldn’t fold into yourself.

“I didn’t know communists could have fun…” Tommy mumbled to himself, eyes going to the crowd once more. Ada’s self-imposed isolation rippled through the family, only fracturing the stress of everyone’s well-being.

A scoff bubbled in your throat, “And what do you know about pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” Tommy became focused and pointed with his words. “Pleasure doesn’t exist.”

Eyebrows cinching with frustration, you stepped closer to be heard, “Don’t pretend like your pleasures don’t have names.”

That drunken call all those nights ago was a mistake. It showed you insight into a dream. In that dream, Tommy was free of what haunted him, light and present. Faithful. There his voice wrapped you in warmth with fulfilled promises. You never were as skilled at hiding your emotions. Your heart was broken on your sleeve.

“I’m going to—

There wasn’t a need for a protective air as those around Tommy knew never to challenge him. However, far and few between, there were those men self-entitled with such idiocy; they couldn’t recognize they were prey.

“Thomas Shelby. Birmingham man in London.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, breaking the forming bubble around you. “Thought that was you! This must be the missus…”

“Not quite.” Your tone was bare, your hand extending with trained expertise. You could handle pleasantries. But the man was bold, leaving a damp kiss on your knuckles as if marking you.

Tommy was subtle, moving his body to act as a buffer. Fingertips brushy feather-bare against your lower back. You thought it would end there but held back a flinch when Tommy’s warm palm flattened where your back curved.

“Ah, understood!” The man replied with a boisterous cackle. It reflected years of unfiltered nicotine and a wet and sick penchant for bourbon. “I’ll have one of you warm my bed once all of this shit is over.”

You pinned your breath to the roof of your mouth. Your loss for words wasn’t due to the ill-mannered man. It was from the brush of Tommy’s thumb against your skin. It was a comfort and an apology for how he would have to agree with the man to keep him at bay.

It was all a part of the plan you were slowly catching onto.

“A good lay is a good lay, isn’t it, Mr. Shelby?” The man prompted again, a gauge to know if the future alliance would be worth it.

“Exactly right.”

You could storm off, cause a scene. Your anger steeped deeper than that. It lived in your bones, morphing into something vindictive. You stayed the course and played your part willingly. The morals you lectured Tommy on didn’t matter anymore when all along he had the upper hand.

To the man, you were a plaything, someone who the conversation held no standing. The information would be forgotten, implied confidentiality,   as you’d move on to your next client. However, the further you orchestrated the conversation to continue, the more you learned.

The night was a business move, another party dosed in secrets and danger. You took in the man’s features, noting how he was aging, greys just starting to filter through his scalp. Your stomach turned, knowing there would be a bullet between his eyes by the end of the evening. The interaction was a courtesy.

Once alone again, you didn’t hesitate to move from Tommy’s shield. You felt dirtied.

“I can’t believe you.” You spat. “You’re incapable of—

“Enough.” Tommy’s words were low. He pinned you with a look alone, keeping you steady. “You want to run from me, but you can’t.” You battled with him until you lost. His face hardened like you were another associate. “It was him or you.”