#I am so so tired tonight I can hardly keep my eyes open

[upsidedownwithsteve]

country club steve getting insanely protective when reader gets pregnant 🥺🫣

TW: mentions of pregnancy

Steve was in his office with Eddie and Jonathan when you came home, grocery bags in hand, your purse draped over your shoulder, pushed out by the swell of your pregnant tummy.

He looked up from his stacks of papers when you walked by the open door on the way to the kitchen, calling out a breathless greeting as you passed. There was a frown on his face when he appeared in the door frame, shirt sleeves rolled up and behind him, Eddie was chuckling.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Steve’s words would’ve come across much more sharp if he didn’t look so tired with you. You and your ‘antics’, as he liked to affectionately call them. “Honey.”

“What?” You laughed, still out of breath as you shoved the grocery bags on the counter. You didn’t even pause before you reached up on your toes to push the new cereal boxes onto the top shelf of a cupboard. You sent him a glance from the side of your eyes, as exasperated as he was. “Steve.”

You tutted when he appeared behind you, hooking his fingers through your belt loops to keep you firmly on your feet. “Christ, woman. Can you just— can you just sit down?”

“I’m putting the groceries away, Steve, not running a marathon.”

“You shouldn’t be doin’ anything,” he grumbled, taking the box from your hand and pushing it onto the shelf with ease. “You should be resting, yeah?”

“I’m pregnant,” you huffed. “Not dying—”

“—but your poor back, baby, you said it was hurting you last night—”

“—you didn’t seem to mind when you had your way with me—“

Jonathan coughed, cheeks pink and Eddie cackled as he skirted around Steve and grabbed a packet of chips you’d just bought, ignoring your glare.

Steve sighed, world weary. “That’s different.”

You snorted, pinning him with a look. “Can I put my groceries away now? Before your friend eats us out of house and home?”

Eddie tried his best to look contrite as he shovelled his stolen snack into his mouth. “What? M’hun-ry,” he mumbled.

“Let me help?” Steve bargained. “Let us help, yeah?” And when the man shot his friends a look over his shoulder, Jonathan and Eddie jumped to attention, mumbling their agreements as they ambled aimlessly around the kitchen, hoping to find where everything was supposed to go. “And I’m cooking tonight okay?”

You snorted again, thoroughly amused. You were only just gone two months, hardly suffering through your first trimester, but who were you to argue with such a rare offer? “You are?”

“I am,” Steve confirmed, shoving at Eddie when he tried to throw the loaf of bread in the cupboard under the sink. “And I’m gonna run you a bath too, yeah? With that nice shit you like, the bubble stuff.”

[maeumdemiel]

yearning

tags: aftercare, implied sex/suggestive (? tagged just in case), fwb-to-lovers, mutual pining, fluff

summary: the two of you are tired and, at long last, an all-knowing yearning gives way for peace.

word count: 2.5k

author’s notes: (bass boosted) i am yearning !!!!!! god i just love the idea of ruined first kisses and then making them up

can’t believe this is my first post after MONTHS of announcing myself cuz wow so much happened since september. this was gonna be just a tad bit longer but it’s just a mess of thoughts lolol

Miguel O’Hara has high-cut cheekbones and wispy eyelashes and insists on holding you close after you both finish. He claims that it stabilizes his breathing quicker so he can then tend to you, whom he unknowingly loves enough to forget what waits for him beyond your bed. A meticulous, waiting gaze watches you; blissfully lost, you open your eyes to the kiss on your forehead. It’s a relief that follows and is always ready for you. Your hands need something to ground to.

There are strong arms, a firm chest, and everything warm. Miguel pulls the blanket up where his hands don’t reach.

“You okay?”

You nod, breathless, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “Yeah, I— I’m good.”

You were exhausted. Miguel doesn’t half-ass anything— never has and never will— and you were no exception. As insatiable as he can be, he makes a point of his gratitude. Those feverish kisses everywhere will stay with you. His hands, relentless but forgiving, sought for more tonight.

“Tired?” He sounds more composed now.

You can’t help but scoff. “No shit, Miguel. I’m worn out.”

A begrudging quip makes him chuckle. It’s low and throaty, reverberating where you hear it beautifully. His hands, one on your head and the other on the small of your back bring you a smidge closer. You’re fine like this: tangled in skin and sheets and kissing wherever your lips can reach. Miguel knows this because you’re quiet and receptive. Bashful excitement buzzes in his chest, knowing you’d never pull away from this.

For him, you’d undress down to the nerves. Hand him shears to cut away the bone that protects your heart to watch how it reacts to his exploratory touch. You reel from the memory of his kisses down your sternum every time he goes lower.

“Good.” His laugh is breathy. “I aim to please.”

You laugh with him, playfully shoving his shoulder as he brings his head to rest atop yours, cradling you like a wounded animal.

“Real funny, Mig. But I know I’m not the only one who’s tired.”

Now you sound more composed. This proximity gives you a view of his clean collarbones. Hardly do either of you spend these intimate moments without marking each other; you want to ignore the pull of your lips into a smile when you see his skin glowing. Instead, you thumb the contour of his collarbone.

He sighs, and you melt. “No doubt, hermosa. You’re a lot of work, y’know.”

“As if you’re not.”

His sturdy arm keeps your head up, finding his eyes in that heartbeat. It's the afterglow and balmy light that softens the angles of his face. He looks kind even if he feels perpetually tired. Rest looks sweet on him; it’s a gorgeous distraction. When your eyes flutter, Miguel wrestles that knee-jerk reaction to kiss you.

He hums. He’s white-knuckling that yearning. “I don’t think I’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

“Not if the multiverse has anything to say about that.” You huff.

Miguel comes to you with too much on his mind, heavy shoulders, and weary eyes. It didn’t take long to learn the kind of person he is in your bed— and soon enough, you happily welcomed him with any sign of his fading resistance. Soon enough, you provided more than just your bed for comfort. He fought against it at first, gently swatting away your hands when they would graze the ache and tiredness in his limbs. Whether he stopped resisting that relief or you were too stubborn for him, lovingly, he gave up.

“You’re all work and no play. Well—” You gaze down, beaming when you see how close both of you are. “Some play. I stand corrected.”

“Qué te puedo decir? I’m a busy man. You’re one to talk, though.” He leans in and you feel his grin against your cheek. “You sure know how to make me work for it.”

[What can I tell you?]

Embarrassed until you hear the tinge of exhaustion and satisfaction in his voice, you grin back. “I need my fun too, Mig.”

He looks down at you, but the vision before you occupies your attention. The sculpture of his muscle and how light bends across it— ruthlessly beautiful. Your hand finds his heart and you watch how he takes a deep breath beneath your palm. He spreads his lungs on the bed, watching you hesitate less than he does.

Something that you want to bring your lips to. Something that should remain a temptation. It’s a dream before you.

“What, sweetheart?”

Miguel enjoys catching you staring at him. You’ve appreciated him graciously when he gives back in bed, but he caught on whenever you took the lead. He didn’t know he had a dream in your shape until he left one night, vividly recalling the praises, looks, and kisses you engraved into him. Easily, he could have lasted a while on his own just with the thought of you, but he craves how you look at him.

Faintly, you grin and whisper, “Nothing. You look pretty.”

It catches him off-guard, surprisingly. His hand squeezes the one you have on his chest. When your eyes meet again, you take in the breath he let go of. Miguel searches your face for something to tell him you want more.

“No sé que hay en esta cabezita para decirme algo así.” Miguel doesn’t hold back his amusement, even less so when you have that faraway look in your eyes.

[I’m not sure what’s in this little head to tell me something like that.]

“M’just saying.” You add, not wanting to break into giggles at his face.

Miguel shakes his head, closing his eyes and kissing your forehead. His arms cage you, bringing you to him as he lays on his back. Resting on his chest, a soft spot inside you, a bruise of some sort, aches when you see how at peace Miguel is. Your head lies in your crossed arms to watch him.

***

(You’re sitting on the bed, grabbing bunches of sheets to keep warm. The back of your hand rubs your eyes while you spare a glance at Miguel’s back. Broad, hunched over, sighing. You’re mesmerized— as if he hadn’t just made you see stars every time you close your eyes.

Miguel always chases your gaze whenever he talks you through it; he loves eye contact, knowing you’re as desperate as he is. A carnal yearning you both seem to exchange, but it was nothing like the way his lips just missed yours just after you both came. You almost went into shock when that potential kiss met the corner of your mouth.

“Miguel,” He looks over his shoulder at you. “I’m fine. More than fine, you know, but for real— I’m okay.”

“I know.” Miguel breathes and looks away. “I was just worried for a second.”

He’d been having a rough week, and his visit was overdue. Eagerly, you encourage him to let it all go with you. However, that kiss— or, more appropriately, the helpless effort that ended in his lips smearing grunted praises against your cheek— was born from something that had been there long before rough weeks and missed priority calls. In the moment it happened, you were tempting him: lips plush and parted, hands cradling his face, folded beneath him, pliable and taking him sweetly. After he missed your mouth, it snapped for him, and he nearly lost control of his driving thrusts.

The truth drives him mad, seen now as he feared almost hurting you from his desire. Nothing new but pent-up frustration— regardless, I’m sorry, baby.

Your hand reaches for his back, palming his shoulder when he jumps at your touch. “Don’t apologize, Mig. You’ve never done anything I couldn’t take.”

Miguel takes your hand and kisses it, lacing his fingers with yours. He looks back at you and wonders what he’s done right in a world of mistakes, rushed judgment, and unfinished ambitions. That tired smile of yours shucks off all that burden.

“If you say so.” He leans over to kiss your temple.

You don’t even need to tug him over— he’s already got his hands on you when you reach for his other shoulder. He looks at you all over, but for you, nothing misses your trained eye. The gentle bob of his throat, the twitch of his lips, the way his posture falls when you take his hand into both of yours. He can do so much with those hands, and you know that very well; Miguel gives, gives, and gives, not knowing where he starts and when to stop. But you’re different.

As weightless as you make him feel, his slumped shoulders still make him look tense. Your voice comes out impossibly soft when you utter the following words: “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

And his guard lets down.

“Took some of your advice, and I’ve been fixing a lot of machinery because I figured it’d be a relief to fix it myself— you know, because I built everything. But that meant all the technicians went overboard with their questions, asking me why I didn't do this or why I did that.”

You wince as you trace his palm and each finger. An innocent effort to take his mind off things, only to be overwhelmed by the technicians.

“Peter B always has his baby at every meeting. I’m in the middle of briefing everyone, and suddenly, you hear him talking to her in a baby voice.” He groans, recalling Peter’s sickly sweet voice.

You giggle, imagining Miguel getting upstaged by a baby’s cooing. It’s not the first time he’s complained about that; it doesn’t take much for him to explain himself, as you’ve been an ear to many of the same problems more than once.

Miguel sighs, but it slips by you. He gets distracted watching you fixate on his talons. A few seconds of silence makes you look at him, blinking when Miguel stares back.

“And?” You say. Miguel looks down again.

He shakes his head as he watches his talons poke through. Not much else is on his mind except you. Just you.

“Nothing else. I’m just enjoying this too much right now.” He chuckles.)

***

It’s funny how quickly Miguel forgets that there’s a world outside your home, let alone the multiverse. Every time he recalls this particular night, it feels like a dream, curled in the sheets of your bed, the quiet staccato of rain hitting the window, watching you drift into sleep under the warmth of your hand resting atop his heartbeat.

The first time he stayed the night.

From the start, he never left immediately. Inconsiderate, he stated matter-of-factly. Then it became, I’m supposed to just leave you after we did that? And more recently, in that deliciously exhausted voice, Make some room for me, sweetheart.

Miguel has not done many things right, and he thinks it’s been a while since he’s done something for his own good. He looks at you in his peripherals, lying on your stomach beside him and messing with his hand, and you look— no one can be this beautiful. Is this too good to be true?— soft. Young. Peaceful.

He’s seen you do the same ritual with his hand during aftercare. Flattening his hand against yours, the other nestling it below, fingertips walking across knuckles, drawing circles and forgotten patterns on his palm, thumbing the calloused spots and scrutinizing the lines. Oh, during that part especially.

When your eyes sharpen, concentrating on this process, it reminds him of a palm reader. Sometimes, you talk him through your day or some nonsense that’s also been on your mind when you do this. Yet, Miguel feels nervy under the intensity of your gaze; his heart is dangerously close to punching through his chest, floored when the right poke causes his talons to show. Imperceptibly, he grins when they retract and rise with every jab.

“Can I kiss you?”

Now and always, nonplussed and wide-eyed in the cozy light of your bedroom, you’re precious to him. So wonderful that it makes whatever words would have followed mangle in his throat, makes his heart ache. You look at his claws thoughtfully, slowly lowering your brows and melting when he clasps his hand with yours.

You stare at his lips for a moment. “You want to kiss me again.”

So you haven’t forgotten about that miserable attempt. Miguel huffs, feeling his ego throb when he remembers that blunder. He’s a sore loser with the smile of a winner.

“Yeah, kiss you again.” He says again like he’s mocking you a little.

Maybe it’s because you didn’t expect him to ask, cringing with a giggle when you remember that kiss. This is perhaps Miguel tightrope walking on a confession, but there’s a safety net below, and when he falls, it’s clumsy but with no risk. A free fall of sorts. He knows this isn’t the best way to ask— the romantic and mushy way— but that’s okay. More than okay, actually, as he grins at the flicker of something impossible playing out in your eyes.

He turns on his side, leveling a finger at your lips, prodding at the edges. “Can I try again?”

You’d love it if he did. Quietly, you speak, “Okay.”

And then it happens too quickly. It’s not fair— the rumble of his chuckle meeting your mouth startles you, unprepared for a fleeting second until you swallow the surge of your stomach and kiss Miguel back.

It’s not any better for him either; his heart goes at a rabbit’s pace, running in circles and thrashing in his ribcage. Burning at the back of his neck, he fears he’ll singe your hand holding him there. He’s touched you before (in every sense of the word), but he restrains all teeth and nails against that soft sound you make.

Miguel is back to that night again— rain pattering outside, some forgotten playlist crooning amid sheets and pillows, watching you: a dream. He adores you, like observing something magical and unknown beneath a glass dome, reverent and precious. Then, his breath staggers when you part his lips with the tip of your tongue.

Your back meets the cold sheets when he hovers over you, arching into him, forcing the lines of your body to converge and connect with his. Any closer, and you’d be able to crawl into his skin. This all-consuming want that blazes everything in its path needs no kindling in the hearth of your bed. He catches on quickly, hand hooking on the small of your back, implacable and firm. When your fingers card through the tousled mess of his hair, giving it a tentative pull, Miguel groans and murmurs some honeyed nonsense against the base of your throat. It comes out runny and from the same rumbling laugh that caught you off-guard at the start of this.

Miguel is certain he’ll die here. He’s breathless seeing the wet pink of your mouth, then stuttering when you smile. You give him no other response than that smile, along with a laugh that makes his heart soar and stomach dive. All he can do is bring that smile to his, over and over and over again.

i’d love to take any requests/asks! thank you for reading <3

[hotchs-bitch]

Fluffy Feb Day 1- First Date

Warnings: sleep interrupted, angsty-ish start (sorry)

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 942

A/N: here we go!!! I’m crazy excited for this month; these blurbs have been a labour of love, and I really hope y’all enjoy them :)

When Aaron first asked you out, two months after moving into the apartment down the hall from yours, you were ecstatic. Of course you were.

After all, he’s tall and handsome and kind. He’s always quick to smile at you in the elevator, or make his son laugh. You’ve only seen the kid once or twice, but the gentleness with which Aaron treats him is a dead giveaway that tells you how cherished he is.

All in all, you were excited to go on a date with Aaron. You’ve been excited ever since he came over to ask for a cup of sugar and ended up asking you out instead. You’ve been excited for four months now, and that excitement is slowly waning into the understanding that he just doesn’t want to go out with you.

Why else would he cancel this many times, usually at the last minute? Why else would he only use your phone number to text you, abruptly getting your attention at the oddest hours of the night just to say ‘I’m sorry, something came up’, or ‘I won’t be able to make it tomorrow’, or ‘Can you collect my mail for a few days?’?

It’s hardly subtle anymore, and it’s getting harder to ignore the facts. He obviously regrets asking you out. He doesn’t want to make things weird, since you’re neighbours.

It’s a little confusing that he keeps rescheduling, though. ‘I have to work Saturday’ is always followed by, ‘But does next week work for you?’, until the day that it isn’t.

He cancels for the hundredth time, as he always does, at the last minute by citing a work emergency. No text follows, no attempt made to reschedule. Just ‘I’m going to have to work tonight’.

Maybe it’s the lack of apology, or the lack of response to your, ‘It’s okay. Raincheck?’ that makes you realize that you’ve given Aaron far too many chances by now. You won’t be going out with him, and you just have to accept that.

Well, you’ve officially got no plans for your Friday night. Eventually you go to sleep early with a frown on your face, and a phone that doesn’t ping with a text from Aaron all night.

———

You’re awoken shortly after 7 AM by a knock on your door. It’s so early that the sun is barely up, casting the room into a dim sunrise glow as you scramble to find a robe and get to the door before the knocking ceases.

When the door opens, it reveals Aaron with a bundle of flowers in one hand and the other poised to knock again. He freezes in position, but quickly schools himself into a smile and holds out the flowers. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” he greets.

The confusion on your face prompts him to continue speaking while you take in his appearance. He looks dishevelled in dark blue jeans and a black polo shirt, there’s dark bags under his eyes, and his hair is tufted up in the back. You’re so busy staring that you almost forget to listen to him.

“We just landed an hour ago. I didn’t feel right, cancelling on you again, so…” he holds the flowers out again, and this time you take them. “I was hoping for a redo. Can I take you out for breakfast?”

“You look exhausted,” is the first thing you can think to say, and he gives you a tired smile in return. “Are you seriously wanting to go out right now?”

“Yes.” The affirmation gives no room for argument. “I want to take you out. I’ve been wanting to for months, so I think we should take the chance while we’ve got it.”

One hand comes up to scrub over your face, wiping away traces of sleep. “It’s seven in the morning.”

“It is.” He looks back at you with eyes that narrow slightly, as though in realization. “You were sleeping.”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself on the doorframe with one hand. Aaron is still looking at you with a guilty grimace on his face, not speaking. 

“I’ll tell you what,” you say after an agonizing silence, “You can take me out to breakfast. But,” you hurry to finish speaking before he can get too excited, “That has to be our second date.”

A slowly-growing smile replaces the guilt on Aaron’s face. “So, what should the first date be?” He asks, leaning against the side of the doorframe opposite to your hand. “Since you’ve got all these ideas.”

“I think we should take a nap.” You open your door the rest of the way, giving Aaron an in that he takes with a small step forward. “I barely slept, and you look like you don’t remember what a bed looks like.”

“That obvious?” He scratches the back of his head, and you smile as the bashful gesture as you usher him in to the apartment.

“Very obvious. Besides,” you point out as the apartment door closes and Aaron takes your hand in his, “What kind of restaurant is open this early on a Saturday?”

You aren’t sure about this whole date thing, not at all. His work schedule is unpredictable at best, he’s obviously got a wildly different sleep schedule than you, and he’s got a kid. Are you ready to be a parent, if it ends up going that well? You aren’t sure.

But when Aaron tilts his head back and laughs aloud at your comment- whether it’s from exhaustion or thinking you’re just that funny, you can’t be sure- you know that you’ll do whatever you can to make this work.

Fluffy Feb masterlist  | Next Day >

Fluffy Feb tags: @doctorsteths-fluffyfeb @iammirrorball @hausofwhores @allthefandomstogether @myweepingangel @hotched @spacecowboyhotch (send me a dm or ask to be tagged!)

[cyber-byte]

Stay

Tomtord fanfic

The soft blue light bouncing off the even bluer walls and the soft sounds of a snoring Tom made me smile softly to myself. Why was I in Tom's room you ask? I didn't know the answer myself. I was so tired, my eyes could hardly keep themselves open, but for some reason I wasn't able too fall asleep. It's been like this for weeks. The guys were starting to catch on to my lack of sleep. I couldn't find a solution, until tonight. My feet carried me off by themselves, taking me to the room I hated most. The room that belonged to the man I despised.

Looking around I noticed how much of a slob this pathetic alcoholic was. There were empty bottles of smirnoff littered about the room and a few piles of dirty clothes scattered on the floor. There were clutter on top of all the surfaces. Most of it was dirty dishes and empty cans of cola he must've stolen from Edd with some empty bottles of smirnoff as well. In spite of the mess his room looked pleasing. Tom's bass was placed neatly in the corner on display and there were posters of bands strung up along the walls. Above Tom's bed was a checkered tapestry matching his checkered sheets. What was this man's obsession with black and white squares?

Finally my eyes were on Tom. He was sleeping on his side with the sheets only covering half his body. He was missing his shirt so his weirdly attractive dad bod peaked out from the covers. Without even thinking my body lugged itself over to the sleeping form of Tom. As I approached I noticed he was hugging something that looked oddly familiar. In the LED lighting it looked like a blue hoodie, but as I crept closer I noticed it was more red. Did he steal one my hoodies? But why would he... never mind I don't want to think about it.

Now that I was standing directly over him, Tom blinked his eyes open with a puzzled yet surprised stare. "Huh? Uhh the fuck do you want commie?" The drunk slurred his words, voice cracking from sleep. The sound sent a shiver down my spine.

I stopped debating my actions as soon as my feet carried me over to his bed. "Don't ask just move over." My voice muttered out. Tom glared in confusion which only earned a shoved from my hand on his face and climbed into his bed. With that Tom didn't say a word. Only groaned and turned around to face the wall.

The alcoholic had a oddly soft bed, cushioning me perfectly. His sheets were fluffy and swallowed me whole. Tom's body heat definitely helped make it comfier. I pressed spine to his while my eyes slowly fell. It didn't take long for me to fall asleep, but before I lost consciousness completely, I felt Tom flip over once more and wrap an arm around my waist.

That morning I was the first to wake. I was confused, not remembering where I was. Though it didn't take me long to figure it out. I felt strong arms holding me in place, along with a steady warm breath hitting the back of my neck. The sensation alone was enough to make every tiny hair on my body stand on end. The first thing I did was try to weasel my way out of Tom's tight grip on my body. Each wiggle and shift I made only caused the alcoholic to hold on tighter. I looked at the clock above Tom's door; 6:30 am. I knew I needed to leave before Tom woke up. As much as my heart lurched at the thought of leaving the warm bear hug, I knew Tom would not be happy waking up to me in his bed. Or that's what I thought until I heard this.

"Stay."

[wearyeyebrow]

Contractual Obligation

This is a short, comforting scene where Lucifer has been working a little too hard and MC decides to remedy that in a way that only they can. SFW.

The flickering fire empasizes Lucifer's sharp features and the dark circles under his eyes. He gestures with a pen in one hand and massages the bridge of his nose with the other. "I don't know how else I'm going to make this budget stretch-"

You're leaning against his desk, come to check on him before turning in. He missed dinner again, and for what? You realize this is partly of his own making, where he can't accept anything less than perfection even if it kills him, even if he takes a few casualties with him during another downward spiral.

Getting him to complain about his work was an easy feat, that he'd do all on his own. But asking him to rest instead of bull-heading his way through it all is a much harder task. Luckily, you're up for it.

In one swift movement you settle on the arm of his chair. Your hand threads through his hair, gently turning his head so you can kiss his temple. Your lips are soft and your body is warm against him.

"I'm guessing they half-asssed it in the first place, leaving it all for you to fix."

He sighs and leans against you, "It hardly matters. The board is generally incompetent, but no more now than I've come to expect."

You wedge a foot next to his thigh to fully sit on the armrest, relaxing against the back of the chair.

He can feel the soft hum of your voice near his temple. "Regardless, I've come to collect."

His chuckles a bit, sitting back to meet your eyes. "Oh?"

"Yes, you, for the night." He huffs and glances at the work still strewn across his desk. "It's late, Lucifer. They'll still be incompetent tomorrow morning." You adjust a stray piece of his hair that's fallen out of place. Some nights are harder than others. Sometimes you don't even ask him to bed, knowing that sometimes his work does warrant a sleepless night, but tonight isn't one of those nights.

"I'd rather finish this before turning in." That's not a no.

"How much is left?"

"Another hours worth, I estimate."

"Then... another hour - promise me. I'll keep you company."

You get up from your perch and he misses you already.

"I thought a promise was to be agreed upon by both parties."

You settle on the couch, legs tucked up underneath you. "Yes, typically."

He smirks. "Am I to simply accept those terms?"

"You don't have to, but I think it would be a great idea if you did. My opinion matters to you, doesn't it?" There's a faint glimmer of mischief in your eyes.

"You're possibly demonic."

"Only for a good cause, dear."

He's enamored with the way petnames sound on your tongue. His face softens into a warm, comfortable expression. He fondly rolls his eyes.

"Most contracts require both parties get something out of the deal. What do I get in return?

You answer him honestly. "My satisfaction and the rest you deserve."

You leave so little room for argument, and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. He pretends to weigh his options. "I suppose I can agree to those terms."

Your eyes light up. "Then... your hour starts now."

You scrunch further into the couch and open an e-book on your phone, highly recommended by Satan. The scratch of Lucifer's pen and an occasional frustrated whisper keeps you company while an hour passes.

The clock chimes and he's still engrossed, shoulders hunched, and brow furrowed. You return to him, knocking in his shoulder. "Times up."

He blinks blearily at the clock, "So it is." The urge to stick it out is strong, but he can't bring himself to, not another night. Not when you're looking at him with so much genuine care, all for the sake of his wellbeing. He has to remind himself that your care isn't an admonishment, that it isn't pity or manipulation. Every time you see him through it and every time he feels better for it. He had agreed after all. He sighs, as if put out. "Very well."

Your tired smile is all the reassurance he needs. You're enchanting, highlighted by the roaring fire. He shall tell you that, he thinks, another time when he can follow up his words with fitting action.

Truly, Lucifer hardly recognizes himself. The him from months past would scoff at this direct show of his weak underbelly. But he finds that these days, nothing feels better than appreciating your genuity, than pleasing you and recieving a knowing smile. He tries to quiet the small voice that mocks his exhaustion, goading him, demanding that breaks and rest are for the weak-willed.

These late night rendezvous of comfort are for your eyes only. You share not a whisper of your hold on him, only evident in the way he looks at you and defers to you now. He allows himself this one indulgence. How freeing, just once in a lifetime, to love and be loved by his first and only chosen master.

[beria1021]

Warmth (Soft, SFW Venti x Reader)

I know they didn't request this, but this is inspired by a post by @the-gayest-sky-kid. If you read, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1.1K

There are few warmer places in Mondstadt than the Angel’s Share tavern. Considered from a purely objective perspective, this should not be true. The building is drafty, with two stories of room for air circulation and thin wooden walls—the reason for the absence of a fireplace. Even sheltered within the capital’s walls, Mondstadt gets cold, especially at night. Angel’s Share should not be warm. 

It is anyway.

The doors opened hours ago, but the atmosphere is still lively. Charles is kept busy by the patrons drinking the night away in splashes of effervescent color. Playing cards, laughing, dancing, singing, it all feels so warm, even to one who prefers to watch from the sidelines, as Mondstadt’s most popular bard dances to his own song atop one of the tables.

Venti attracts attention wherever he goes, and not entirely by accident. A bard is meant to be noticed, and their songs are meant to be shared. Tonight, he is doing just that. You can hardly spot him through the crowd of people though you are only a few feet away. He’s got them all dancing, tripping over each other in drunken joy as they stomp to the beat of his song. The atmosphere swirls around you in a flash of disbelief. To be here, at this time, with him. The scenario seems impossible, yet here you are, treasuring every moment. 

Rising from your seat on the edge of the jumble, you crane your neck to catch just a glimpse, solid proof—brilliant green eyes catch your own. For a moment, there is no one. No press of bodies, no scent of wine, no shouting or laughter, nothing except warmth, a song, and the two of you.

He winks, and the moment unravels. You smile, grab your drink, and join in on the song. 

***

It's early but not early enough to still be called late, when you finally stumble wearily out of the tavern, Venti’s arm hooked around your shoulder to keep you upright. You’d only had a couple of drinks throughout the course of the night, so your unsteadiness is mostly exhaustion. 

Venti, however, exhibits none of your symptoms, and he’d hardly let go of his drinks except to play his lyre. His feet are sure despite the hours of dancing, his voice is clear despite its use, and his eyes are bright despite the fogginess over your own.

“‘s not fair,” you grumble, navigating through the dark.

Venti giggles, his hands brushing your arms. They seem to sear your skin. Blearily, you wonder if you’d mind. “And what is that which seems unjust, to one so true as my dear gust?”

You fake a stumble to step on his foot but then sigh and lean closer. The night is cold, after all. “I am tired, and you-” you punctuate it with a lazy tug on his slightly mussed braid “-are not.”

“Oh? But if I was weary from the day, I could not hold you, your steps to stay! Would you prefer I dump you here to make your own way?”

“Hey. I can walk home by my own power.” As if on cue, your dragging feet catch on a cobblestone and you lurch forward, only to be steadied by the arm around your shoulders and another on your waist, burning through the layers like coals. He laughs, and you can feel your face heat up in embarrassment and . . . something else. 

“If fantasies your heart desires, then listen to the strum of my lyre~    ” He winks and clings to you even tighter, moving both of his arms to wrap around your neck, as if he was the one needing support. 

His lyre materializes from his vision, and you watch in awe as his eyes and braids begin to glow teal. A warm breeze plays with your clothes and twirls the lyre in front of you both. Venti flicks a hand, and a gentle melody begins to play, as beautiful as if plucked by his own hands. Your eyes widen and you turn towards him. He stubbornly holds on, so he’s practically hugging you, face pressed against you.

“Venti . . .” you breathe in awe before shaking yourself out of it. This could be bad if anyone happens to see it. “This might not be the best idea. Even vision holders can’t do that, I don’t think.” Honestly, it’s already a minor miracle that Mondstadt’s populace hadn’t figured out his identity yet. Well, despite a few including yourself, that is.

He breathes into your neck, “Guess we’d better get a move on then, huh? Now hush and let me sing to you!”

You chuckle and nudge him into walking. In his most genuine moments, Venti hardly rhymes at all—unless he’s singing, of course. Which he does now, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. The words are soft and delicate, things to be treasured.

You lean against each other as he sings, and your eyes begin to droop until you can hardly see the cobblestones beneath your feet. The night is still and otherwise silent. Your fingers are tucked beneath Venti’s cape to ward off the chill, and though you know the way by heart, you can barely make out the shapes of the buildings that surround you. 

You wish the moment would never end.

After a while, the song finishes with a final strum of the lyre and a mere whisper against your skin. You shiver. His voice is still soft and absolutely sober when he says, “Welcome home. Let’s get you warm, yeah?”

You blink to awareness and find yourself being led up the stairs into your shared apartment. He pushes the door open and lights a lamp before leading you to the bedroom. 

You stand there as he sets down the lamp, pulls back the comforter, and gestures to the bed. You sit down and blink lethargically at Venti, who steps out of his shoes and, with practiced hands, undoes both his cape and corset before leaning down to remove your boots. Your mind is moving slowly, but you remember the cloak you’re still wearing and fumble with its clasp. After a moment, soft hands stop your own, and the fabric falls to the bed.

You lay down, too tired to do any more, and smile up at him as your eyes close. “Thank . . . you . . .”

He climbs up beside you and sits up by the headboard. Gentle hands tug you closer until your head is resting on his thighs. You curl up, and his arm wraps around you. You grasp his hand closer. His other hand rests on your hair, gently scratching your head. 

As you fall asleep, you can hear the first words of a lullaby drifting above you.

[lacontroller1991]

Bionic Exile - Chapter 5 Alt Ending

Main Master List || Series Master List

Requested by @daughter-of-the-stars11 : Would you ever consider doing a one shot or a short series where reader from Bionic Exile chooses Takeshi instead of both of them... can I also add jealous Rick

Warnings: 18+ only please, implied sex, alcohol use, language, Rick may be a little ooc

Author's Note: SO I think this would fit perfectly in chapter 5, so I kept half of chapter 5 and then just rewrote the other half!! I hope you enjoy!

----------

Ever since Rick moved in with you, it had become a tradition that every Saturday night was movie night. Tonight wasn’t any different, except for the fact that you chose to sit squished up next to Takeshi on the loveseat instead of next to Rick on the couch. 

Takeshi. That dick. Who does he think he is stealing my girl like that, the thought makes Rick freeze. His own brain betrays him as he throws some popcorn in his mouth, his eyes training on the movie and trying to not look over to you cuddling up with the envoy, what does he have that I don’t? Rick grinds his teeth together as his jaw clenches, jealousy taking control of his body. It doesn’t take much to break Rick’s concentration. Just hearing you laugh at something that Takeshi has whispered into your ear is enough to make him squirm. 

Quirking an eyebrow, Rick shakes his head and forces his attention back to the movie. Your favorite movie. Not that you seem to notice, too busy fucking with Takeshi’s stupid trench coat, Rick huffs before moving to stand up, who wears a damn trench coat around the house, anyways? 

“I’m getting something to eat,” he declares, mostly to himself, excusing himself from the room and rushing to the kitchen. Setting the bowl down, Rick grips the edge of the sink and watches as your hands brush a stray strand of hair out of Takeshi’s face. Turning away, Rick opens the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. He knows he probably shouldn’t be drinking, but there you were, the love of his life, sitting and flirting with another man. Twisting off the cap of the bottle, Rick takes 3 gulps of the brown liquor before you round the corner and enter the kitchen with eyebrows raised in speculation.

“Rick? Why are you drinking,” you ask softly, opening a bag of popcorn and placing it in the microwave while hardly taking your eyes off of him. Rick glances at you with discontent before taking another swig of the bottle, the liquid burning his throat and lighting up his stomach.

“Because I can? Not like it matters to you,” he responds with venom laced words while you purse your lips. You were absolutely sick and tired of this behavior. You knew he didn’t like Takeshi staying with you and him and you know that he doesn’t like Takeshi one bit, but you wanted to assume that despite it being well over a week at this point Rick would get over himself. Evidently not, you think as you watch the man you love take another big gulp of the shitty whiskey that he keeps solely for the purpose of getting drunk. 

“God damn it, Rick. I am so fucking sick of your fucking pity party. Get over it,” you whisper harshly, not wanting Takeshi to know what is occurring twenty feet away from him, though he can probably hear everything. Rick stalks in front of you, his jugular vein popping out of his neck while his hand clasps the bottle of Jack Daniels. Nodding his head, he shoves the bottle in your hand before leaving the kitchen area and heading for his room. 

Setting the bottle on the counter, your body shakes with anger while tears threaten to roll down your face. After taking a moment to collect your breath, you walk back into the living room and climb onto Takeshi’s lap, legs spread over onto each side of his lean hips. Looking up to you, Tak notes the way your eyes brim with unshed tears and your body shakes with anger. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was wrong. So instead, Tak waits for you to talk while your hands clench this fabric of his jacket.

“Tak, fuck me hard until I can’t walk.”

Rick stumbles out of bed before looking at the clock on his drawer. 

“2:43, fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbles in his gravely southern accent to himself as he rubs his temples. Maybe it wasn’t his brightest idea to chug down that much whiskey in that short of a time, but he wanted to forget just for a little while. Rolling his shoulders back, Rick nears the door but a repeating banging sound alerts him. Grabbing his gun, he prowls down the hall, the sound growing louder as he approaches your door. Pressing his ear up against the wooden door, his blood runs cold. 

“Fuck, Tak. You feel so fucking good. Harder,” your unmistakable voice echoes through the door as grunts and moans follow.

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl. Feel so good around my cock. Cum for me, angel,” Rick backs into the opposite wall, the shock and hurt swallowing him up as he runs back to his room, locking the door and sinking to the floor. That’s it, he got her.  

----------

The squad watches Rick throw punch after punch after punch to the bag, his muscles rippling with each swing as sweat gathers on his brow bone and his body, clinging his grey shirt to his body, unintentionally highlighting each and every toned muscle on Rick’s body.

“Damn, someone must have really pissed him off, I ain’t neva seen him like this,” Harley comments, exaggerating the word ‘really’ as she watches with lust. Nobody could really blame her though, he was a sight to see at the moment. His normally calm demeanor long gone and replaced with an animalistic urge. 

“I wonder what happened,” DuBois watches with intent, noticing the way Rick’s anger seems to spike up ten-fold when you and your new pet project happen to walk by the window leading to the floor above, neither looking down as they pass. DuBois’s attention then shifts back to Rick who’s fists continue to pound into the sandbag without a moment of reprieve until the bag flies off the hook that was keeping it up. 

Heaving, Rick feels the eyes of his squad watch him with anticipation at his next move. Not one of them daring to move or make a sound, unsure how to respond to the suddenly vicious nature of their normally collected superior coming out in such a controlled environment.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” He questions, head whipping around to face his team who just stare back at him. Suddenly, Harley takes a step forward, ignoring the way DuBois shakes his head in an attempt to tell her not to  provoke the colonel.

“Fuck’s wrong with ya, Flag?  What’s got ya panties in a twist? You need to get laid or something,” Harley doesn’t notice the way Rick marches toward her til he’s standing right in front of her. “Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth, Quinn. You don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” Harley’s eyes darken in anger as she purses her lips before shoving a finger into Flag’s chest.

“Where do you get off telling me to shut my mouth. It ain’t my fault you can’t get a girl. It most certainly ain’t my fault that you were too late to fuck (Y/N),” Rick’s eyes narrow at the woman, “yeah, don’t think we didn’t notice the way your mood progresses down the drain the closer (Y/N) and Tak get. So why don’t you take it out on somebody else, but not us,” Harley concludes before walking off, the rest of the squad following her out save for DuBois who clasps a hand on Rick’s shoulder.

“You really need to get laid, mate. It might help you,” Rick contemplates Robert’s words as the former assassin walks away, leaving Rick to his own thoughts. 

----------

You laugh as you walk through the door with Tak following closely behind before shutting your door. Placing your bag down you move to pop open a bottle of wine when a high pitch voice giggling steers your concentration to the hall.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later, Ricky,” the culprit walks out of Rick’s room and allows you to get a better look at the woman. She has a nice body, you note to yourself, sun kissed skin with an ample bosom and an hourglass waist. But what you notice the most is the hickeys that were beginning to form on her neck and the fact that she is naked. Normally, you would be seeing red. After all, you’ve spent so much time on trying to win Rick and get with him, but for some reason, seeing the naked woman doesn’t really get a reaction out of you. Maybe it’s partially because of the talk that you and Tak just had. 

Tak, on the other hand, has mixed thoughts about what’s in front of him. He was half expecting you to be throwing a fit by now but then he also can’t believe the audacity Rick has. From what Tak can tell about your relationship with Rick is that you have given your everything for Rick and Rick just continues to take advantage of it time after time. 

“Hey Sav, you forgot your-” Rick rushes out of his room, hair disheveled and pants hanging low on his hips and in his hand, a bright pair of red underwear, however, upon seeing you in the doorway with Takeshi right behind you, Rick can’t help but feel a twang of guilt. Instead of making a scene like Rick thought you would, you simply grab Tak’s hand and maneuver away from the hooker and into your bedroom without sparing Rick another glance.

“Thanks, Rick. Same time next week?” Rick struggles to look between the crack of your door while Savannah plucks her underwear out of his hands. 

“Actually, no. I don’t think I’ll be needing it.” Rick offers her a small smile as she shrugs, leaving the apartment and Rick alone. Shaking his head, Rick peers through the crack before pushing the door open, only to see you sitting on Tak’s lap while Tak mindlessly plays with your hair. “What the hell is going on here?”

You look up from your laptop to Rick in the doorway, shirt still off and various lipstick prints over his toned body. “What do you mean? I’m just trying to get some work done?” Rick resists the urge to roll his eyes at your obliviousness before he’s gesturing to you on Tak’s lap.

“That. Why are you on his lap?” You look back at Tak with a smile, his hand finding a place on your thigh and gently squeezing in support before you turn back to Rick.

“Well, actually, Tak and I were just talking and… I’m thinking about going back with him.” Rick’s heart drops and shatters into pieces but he would be damned if he let it show.

“What?” The question is quiet as he tries to wrap his brain around what you just said. “What did you say?” He looks between you and Tak in confusion. Just how could this happen?

“Once the portal is back up, she’s coming with me,” Tak comments emotionlessly. In one way, he is ecstatic that you would be willing to try a relationship out with him, but he doesn’t know just how much danger he would be putting you in by bringing you back and if something happened to you like something happened to Quell, he truly doesn’t know how he would live with himself. Of course, when he was discussing it with you about an hour ago, he could practically see the way your eyes lit up with excitement and the prospect, but Tak knows you. He knows that once you go with him, you’re going to immediately regret it and want to go back home. Back to Rick. And that part scares him. 

“No,” Rick takes a step back, heart hammering against his chest, “no, you can’t go back.” Rick’s vision starts to blur as he leans on the frame, slowly sliding down the post and you’re quick to jump up from Tak’s lap and rush to Rick’s side, looking him over in confusion.

“Rick, are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” Rick shakes his head, pushing you away as he struggles to take deep breaths. He honestly can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack like this, and he hates it. 

“No, just leave me alone.” He rushes out the door and to his room, confusion settling in. What did he do to drive you away? What does Takeshi Kovacs have that he doesn’t? With a rather dumb idea in mind, he pulls out his phone and dials the only number he knows will help, no matter the cost.

---------

The drive to Belle Reve is longer than it typically is. Maybe it’s because of the tight tension in the car or maybe it’s a sinking gut feeling, but whatever it was, you’re anxious to get back to your project.

As Rick pulls into the parking lot, your eyes widen at the plume of smoke rising from the scientific division. “No, no, no.” You jump out of the car and ignore the calls of Rick and Tak to come back only to run toward the fire and hope that it wasn’t your life’s work.

Looking back and forth between each other, both men rush after you and into the building where it only takes minutes to find you, collapsed on the ground and in tears. 

Sinking to his knees, Tak fumes silently as he takes you into his strong arms. Despite the fire looking like an accident, Tak’s envoy intuition is telling him that it’s anything but, but he doesn’t really care about that right now. In any case he’s relieved. He’s relieved that the machine is broken and he’s relieved that you and him won’t be able to go back. Sure he’s now mortal, but he’d rather be mortal than have you die and not be able to resurrect you. “It’s alright (Y/N). We don’t have to go back.” Tak rocks you in his arms while you sob into his chest as he looks around to all the different personnel, and to the side, he can easily spot Rick talking to Waller, a devious grin plastered on the latter’s face. “That fucking bastard.”

“What?” You look up through tear soaked lashes as Tak looks down, shaking his head, trying to protect you from the truth.

“Nothing princess, how about we go and pack some bags and leave for a while.”

“It was Rick, wasn’t it.”

“I don’t think he started it, but he definitely had a part in it.” If you had any doubts about moving on from Rick, they just flew out the window. Standing up, you wearily make your way over to where Rick and Waller stand off to the side line, both watching you with curiosity.

“(Y/L/N), I am sorry to see this damage. As it is, however, we do not have the funds to rebuild it.” You scoff and turn to Rick, rage boiling beneath the surface and before you know it, you’re punching him straight across the face and Tak is quick to watch over the whole ordeal in case things go south.

“You’re a real fucking asshole, Flag. I do not want to EVER see you again.” It hurt to say, but any man who would destroy your life’s work does not need to be in your life.

“I had to do what I had to do. I love you. I didn’t want to see you prance off with that alien when you could have a whole life with me.” Despite your heart swelling at the proclamation, you can’t help but to feel that you’re making the right choice.

“You have more than enough chances, Rick. I’m sorry, but you lost me.” Turning to Waller, you hand in your badge for the prison with a look of disdain on your face. “I want a transfer out of this hell hole.” She nods before you turn back to Tak, tears threatening to spill again. “Come on Tak, let’s go home and pack.” Grabbing Tak’s wrist, you drag him out of the building and you drag yourself out of Rick’s life.

==========

General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @himbovillain-anon @babblydrabbly @fairchildflag @infatuatedjanes @a-reader-and-a-writer

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Bionic Exile Tag List: @kingtwhiddleston @taternuts @strawberriebabbles @nerdysuperchick @inthetikiroom @taylorgasmtpr @saritanotserena @blackrose53666 @more-cardigan-than-woman

[dutifullyshamelessearthquake]

18 - any couples you like. since you want to write new characters you haven’t done before maybe xiaoven?

Prompt: Arguments don't help a fever

Thank you for the request anon, and sorry you had to wait so long!! As a small side note, I know I have recently gotten a lot of new followers who aren't as into emeto, so I'm working on writing some stories that are lighter in that department! If I get to write a sickly character I'm happy, regardless of whether I focus on them actually vomiting, or put more focus on the hurt/comfort, and the other symptoms.

---

"Could you keep it down?"

Venti broke off mid-song, tilting his head back to look behind him. His braids fell over his shoulders to dangle beside his face, as he broke into a large lopsided grin. He was met with two bright golden eyes glaring at him.

"Xiao!" Venti giggled, his voice alone indicating that he was a little tipsy. "I'll forgive you for interrupting my performance, because I am so happy to see you!"

Xiao raised one eyebrow, glancing around the scene with an unamused expression. "You are sitting on the living room carpet in your sleepwear with a guitar and a bottle of wine." He said matter-of-factly. "You can hardly call that a performance. Could you please keep it down?"

"Awh." Venti pouted. He finally pulled his head back up, shuffling around on the floor so he could face Xiao properly. "Why so grumpy?"

"I was trying to sleep. You've woken me up about four times now."

"You could always join me." There was his lopsided, goofy grin once again. "I'll open a fresh bottle of wine and write you a song-"

"Venti." Xiao groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Some of us have work tomorrow. Can you really not do this another time?"

"Heh, I can't predict when inspiration will strike." Venti said with a giggle.

Xiao rolled his eyes, before just taking a deep breath and holding his hands up in defeat. "Okay, you know what, I don't have the energy for this, I'll see if I can find earplugs. Just carry on."

Venti's smile fell, and he pouted again. "Come on, why are you being so grouchy all of a sudden? Are you mad?"

"It's the middle of the night." Xiao said through gritted teeth. "Of course I'm grouchy, what the hell do you expect?!"

Venti flinched back slightly, his face falling. It wasn't unusual for Xiao to get irritable, but he rarely ever got mad with Venti. He couldn't remember the last time Xiao had snapped.

Xiao had already turned around, and was on his way back to the hallway. He didn't get far before he somehow managed to get his foot caught on the folded edge of the rug, tripping.

Xiao cursed loudly as he stumbled to the ground, shoving the rug away in frustration. He raked his fingers through his hair, glaring around the room. "Is the damned universe against me tonight or what?"

Venti had gotten up from his cozy nest of pillows on the carpet, and had already reached Xiao's side. He knelt down beside him, tilting his head to one side and causing his braids to fall over his shoulders. "Are you alright?"

On instinct, he reached out and rested a hand on Xiao's back. Almost immediately Venti flinched, pulling his hand back. "You're boiling!" He exclaimed.

"What?" Xiao's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"No wonder you're so short tempered." Venti clicked his tongue, proceeding to put his hands on either side of Xiao's face. "That's definitely a fever. Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well? I wouldn't have joked around if I knew you were sick." He gently pressed his forehead against Xiao's, feeling his skin burn against him.

"I'm not sick." Xiao deadpanned. Despite his words, he didn't pull away from Venti's grasp. "I'm tired. That's all."

"Sleepiness doesn't come with a temperature, my love." Venti finally pulled his head back from Xiao's. He gently took Xiao's hand in his, pressing it to his neck. "This is what you're supposed to feel like." He removed Xiao's hand from his neck, reaching over to press it against his own. "Feel how warm you are in comparison to me?"

Xiao's shoulders slumped, and he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Clearly he couldn't argue against that.

"Now you can protest all you want, but I'm not letting you go to work tomorrow unless that breaks." Venti said, tapping his boyfriends's hand with one finger. "Give me a moment, I'll go get you a glass of water."

He didn't wait for Xiao to respond, scrambling to his feet and hurrying out of the living room — nearly tripping over his pillow stage in the process. Venti flipped on the light in the kitchen, before standing on tiptoes to grab a glass off the shelf. He stuck his hand under the tap, waiting for the water to run cold, before filling the glass, and turning around and striding back out.

"Here you-" Venti stopped in his tracks, looking around the empty livingroom. "Xiao? Where did you disappear off to now?" He asked, more to himself.

Glass of water still in hand, Venti made his way down the hallway to their bedroom — He wouldn't blame Xiao for picking the bed over the livingroom carpet. Before he could make it there, a sound from the bathroom caused Venti to stop in his tracks.

"Xiao?" He asked again, carefully pushing the door open with one hand.

Xiao was standing bent over the toilet, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. A trail of saliva was dripping from his mouth.

"Oh, Xiao." Venti said, placing the glass down on the counter top and walking over, putting his hands on his boyfriend's back. "Feeling nauseous?"

Xiao only nodded, his eyes still closed. He spat into the toilet bowl, grimacing.

"Come on." Venti gently took him by the shoulders, guiding him to the ground so he was sitting on the tiled floor instead.

"I'll sit with you until you feel better."

[her360]

Part 2

I get off work late that evening. It took me forever to wrap thing up at the office. My attention just wasn’t there. She’s all I have been thinking of. I’ve been a little kinky with a few girls before. Tie them to the bed. Handcuffs. Elementary stuff. And sure, I have fantasised about dominating a submissive before. Who hasn’t? I have even gone as far as making a few sex toys and furniture when I’m horny and bored, just for the fuck of it. I like keeping busy and I am good at building things. But she threw me a curve ball today. I wasn’t expecting anything to happen when we first started chatting. But now I have the opportunity to actually live out my fantasies. I do want to fuck her. I want to fuck her so badly. I float round the house like a ghost for the next hour or so. It is getting late and I should probably get in bed.

I lay in bed, unable to sleep. She’s keeping me awake. I wonder what she feels like? I have only ever touched her hand that one time. I’ve never even been close enough to her to be able to smell her scent…. How soft are those lips of hers? Will she taste as good as I imagine she would? I roll around uncomfortably. If I close my eyes I see her face. Her mouth open and she moans softly. I imagine her body against mine. My hands in her hair and hers on my face. And we are fucking. Breathing into each other. Fuck! It’s driving me insane! I feel my cock getting hard. She’s so hot and sexy. I bet she could seduce any man with just a whisper in his ear. I can hear it in my head…. “I want you to fuck me”…. I do. I do want to fuck you. I want to fuck you so bad…

Next morning I wake up. I feel like shit. And I am still tired as hell. It has been a long week and I hardly slept last night. She kept me awake almost the entire night. I must have fucked her a hundred times in my mind last night And my cock is still rock hard. I go to the kitchen to switch the kettle on. I need coffee. I can’t function without coffee . Then I’ll have a hot shower. I need to shave for her… Then it hits me. She’s coming over tonight! I feel my heart beating faster. Suddenly I am awake. I make my coffee and sit down by the kitchen table. I have a box full of things. Things that will come in handy tonight. I will have my coffee and breakfast have a hot shower and then go through the box.

Later that afternoon I haven’t received a message from her yet. I still need to send her my pin location. My house is just outside of the city in the hillside, where it is secluded and quiet. I will text her. I send the pin location with a message that reads:

“You will join me for dinner tonight . Wear something appropriate. Don’t be late”. I send it. Moments later I she replies: “Yes Sir”. That puts a smile on my face. It is 15:00 now, that gives more more than enough time to get ready for this evening.

18:52. Her car arrives at the gate. I let her in. She drives up to the drive way through the trees. Her car comes to a standstill where I am waiting to receive her. She switches the car off and then the headlights. I open her door and extend my hand out to her. She takes my hand and gets out of the car. “Good evening. Glad you could make it” I say as I lean in and kiss her on the cheek. She smells absolutely delicious.

“Good evening “ she replies. “Thank you” she adds.

She’s wearing a coat tied around her waist. She has high heels on. Almost if she was dressed for a business conference. Her hair is tied up, revealing her neck and ears. She’s wearing silver crystal shaped earrings. “You look beautiful ” I say. She smiles at me. “Thank you”. She replies softly. She has her hand bag over her right shoulder. I extend my right arm out and she takes my arm. While I escort her to the front door, I ask her: “How was the drive?”

“It’s beautiful here” she says.

We get to the door and with my hand I show her the way. “Please”. She enters and replies, “Thank you”.

I have a fire going in the fireplace and the house is warm and cozy. “My I take your coat”

She looks at me with a smile, then undo her belt.

She open her coat and slides it off her shoulder revealing that she has only black lace lingerie on underneath. She hands me her coat casually. I struggle not to stare as I hang her coat. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“Yes. Thank you” she replies. I lead the way to the dining room. I pull her chair out for her. She sits. I pour her a glass of wine and place it down on the table. “Thank you” she says in that quiet sexy voice of hers. I move to the other end of the table and pour myself a glass. I sit down. From across the table, she’s looking at me intently. I wonder what she is thinking. With out breaking eye contact, she takes a sip of wine. She gets up from the table. Walks over to me, and with a strength I did not know she possessed, she pulls my chair almost 90 degrees to the side. She spreads my knees apart and kneels down onto the floor between them….

To be continued....

[scorchedhearth]

Day. 18 LET’S BREAK THE ICE

"Just get it over with." |  Treading Water | "Take my Coat"

something fun today because inspiration is at a net zero and i really missed writing this asshole

By the time Midnighter reaches the panic room, he is tired, pissed and, most importantly, late. That does it for him, taking this already bad day to the shit tier faster than a bullet drops. He slowly unclenches the fingers of his fist, lets go of the collar of goon number 48 he’s been dragging behind him for the past two minutes and drops him on the step of the heavy door.

“So,” he says and pauses to spit some bits of flesh clumping on his tongue. “The way I see it, there are only two ways this can go. You either kindly and promptly open this door for me, or I make you learn the names of all the bones in your body.” He tilts his head down to look at the goon who’s trying to put on a brave face. “And I am an excellent teacher,” he grins, knows the bloodied teeth will show nicely. “I bet you’re a visual learner, just like me.”

“There’s no code, it’s a remote access and I don’t have access,” he says and squares his jaw, meeting him with a brave glare. He’s not lying the computer in his brain tells him, he’s just some low-level push paper they dropped in his way in a vain effort to slow him. They wouldn’t have told him the code for the coffee machine. “I swear I don’t.”

“Alright.” The odds of punching his way through the door aren’t looking so bright, but since when has that ever stopped him? He walks up to the door, coiled his shoulders and readies his fist before he hears a soft hiss. Turns out he doesn’t even need to use brute force, the two halves smoothly slide open before him, revealing a large hall and who even has the time to build these secret bunkers buried underground.

Midnighter rolls his eyes as he walks in, greeted by the infectious smell of septic hospital and putrid rot. He spots Lewis in a platform strung high above the room, wearing his stupid glove and taunting him with a smile. “Hey!” Midnighter hackles him, because he really doesn’t wanna play games. “You thought you could hide from me?”

“No, Midnighter,” he says, sickly sweet. “I was merely preparing for your arrival here. I have a gift for you.” And that is a sentence that never precedes something good, he should know.

“I’ve cut short a very nice day off just for you, shithead,” Midnighter pushes his hands in his pockets and grabs the collapsable staff he keeps there, keeps it in his fist. “And I have a date with my husband tonight, which I’m already late to and he’s not gonna be happy about that. You better appreciate my presence here and make it worth my while, or I will be very, very pissed.”

“Oh, I believe I will, Midnighter.” He smirks again and pushes a couple buttons, which reveals doors on both sides of the room, two huge robot suits walking out and into the hall with him. So the plans of discount robocops he cooked up aren’t strictly theoretical anymore, M notes. He was supposed to only burn computers, but he’s not against flaming a couple robots either. “These are my last creation, much better than the previous generation. You will find them-.”

“Save your breath, ‘Bert,” M cuts him off and grins. “I know exactly how this is going to go. I know which button you’ll push, and which one will move first. I’ve run this through a million times already, and I know every outcome possible, and I know which one I wanna take. I’ve already won.”

Lewis expression sours, which delights Midnighter. Now, he knows he will send robot one first, the one on his left, this will give him the initial advantage and protect his right side with the knee he messed up when he got there. After that, it’s all smooth sailing, he’s already noticed the weakness in the joint when they walk and hardly hidden battery and main electronics underneath the thickest parts of the armor.

“Just get it over with,” he taunts once more and predictably, as expected, it pushes him over the edge and sends the robot after M. Now it’s getting fun, he thinks as he pushes himself off the ground and readies his staff. He might make it home just in time for dessert.

[bittercandysweetrain]

Tokyo revengers x reader with mental illness Mikey pt 1

Illness - PTSD, Hemophobia

(warning mention of suicide, drug use, guns)

Reader's pov - 23 seconds was how long it took for me to realize what I was staring at. But once everything set in, so did panic. My body began shaking, and my legs moved on their own running towards the blood-filled bathtub. "No, no, no" was all I could repeat as my body lunged forward into the cold red water. All I could do was pull the soaking-wet body out. the frail thin body of my younger brother was so heavy at the time. He was only thirteen at the time, how was his body so heavy. Laying him on the tiled floor my tears were blinding me. I tried to wake him up, to get any response he wasn't breathing he wasn't moving. My body covered in his blood, I hurried off out of the bathroom grabbing the phone from the counter between sobs and cries I begged for help. "My b-brother please! he cut his wrist he isn't waking up please, please help me!" I screamed the operator tried his best to calm me down. Everything was in slow motion all I can remember feeling was my heartbeat. It felt as if the Paramedics took forever to get there. All I could do is hold my brother, I didn't want to let him go. Because if I did he would leave forever but with the force of the paramedics I had to drop his hand. Watching them work on his body, I clutched my hand, praying he would wake up and take a breath! But the look in the man's eyes, when he glanced at his colleague, made me realize My little brother wasn't going to wake up again.

Author's pov - 7 years had passed and the nightmare lessen however they were always there especially the month y/n died. She was a sixteen-year-old girl going to school and working a part-time job to take care of him. She felt guilty for never realizing how depressed he was If only she knew but she was just so tired by the time she got home she hardly gave him any of her time. that guilt she will forever live with. At the age of 23 (y/n) was working two jobs one as a convenience store worker and the other as a hostess at a well-known club. Saturday and Sunday were her days as a hostess wearing the usual black cocktail dress and high heels she clasped her diamond earrings on and began fixing her makeup. "psst (y/n) did Tora tell you about your job tonight?" her cousin asked, "No? did she change the schedule again?" y/n asked "No she put you on to work with me for a big group coming in, she said its an early Christmas bonus. but I looked into the people coming big gang people called Bonten these people are hella rich but dangerous." she said, "of course, Tora gets the old bastards so its easy money while we have to deal with shitheads like them." (y/n) said annoyed already she sighed giving in quickly "Fine we need a game plan how many men?" (y/n) asked "Eight," her cousin said, "and she wants only us to work?" (y/n) asked perplexed by the decision, "They didn't want a lot of women I think it's more of a meeting thing." Rosé was (y/n) best friend slash cousin they grew up together and pretty much did everything she helped her get the job and tried her best to take care of (y/n) through everything. "well we'll just put on the charm get the most expensive bottles and show Tora she can't fuck with us her men are gonna start dying off and she is gonna be begging us for our clients." rose said smirking.

Mikey sat with his legs crossed on the red leather music playing in the background and a large window sat behind him a view of the clubbers dancing. Bonten had the largest V.I.P. room to relax and do whatever they wanted. Sanzu was cutting coke with a black card while Kakucho was already drinking fine whiskey with Takeomi. The Haitani brothers were smoking large blunts and staring at the TV where they had made bets on horses. The door to V.I.P opened, (y/n) and Rosé walked in holding Champagne and an ice bucket. Rosé took the lead "Hello boys mind if we keep you company, I am Rosé" she said in a seductive voice "and I am (y/n) its a pleasure to treat you tonight." (y/n) bowed slightly as she set the bucket down. (y/n) was looking for signs of the leader which she thought Mochizuki was as he did seem the oldest. she honestly didn't want anything to do with the leader but all of them looked quite scary except for Mikey. for some reason, his eyes drew her into those cold dark empty eyes. Rosé was pulled into Ran's lap "You're ours tonight." Ran said blowing the Smoke into her face (y/n) squinted her eyes at him annoyed with his action she clicked her tongue before being jerked into Sanzu.  "Relax a bit you seem stiff," he said, "dance with me the music tonight is good," he said popping the champagne open "Can you even dance?" she asked Sarcastically "How rude of you," he said Sanzu pulled out a gun shoving it in her face  "Dance now," he threatened, "you'll still get your money." Sanzu had a crazed look in his eyes then again he did do two lines of coke, Koko watched intently amused by the situation along with some of the others. "leave the poor girl alone" Takeomi said, "you'll make her piss herself then we will have to deal with the cleaning bill." he said teasingly "who said I was pissing myself" (y/n) retorted "I ain't scared of no gun, I won't dance for you either until you ask nicely." she said Rosé's eyes widen she moved forward but the Haitani brothers kept her in place. Enjoying the show "You want me to ask Nicely" Sanzu smirked, "how about I make a better deal" he said "You guess the leader sitting in this room and I won't bother you, I'll even hand over 10 grand you can even walk out of this room. but if you lose You don't get to say no tonight and you do what I want plus no pay." he said smirking Rosé looked at her cousin "Don't do it (y/n)" she said "Double it and Rosé gets half" y/n said Koko burst into laughter "Deal you got 5 minutes." he said 

(f/n) bit the inside of her cheek as she glanced at the men in the room this man was confident she wouldn't know the leader could it have been him? no, he was too reckless and was snorting his own supply meaning he was higher in rank but not the leader. the two guys with Rosé could have been leaders as well but something told her no meaning four were left. she looked at Mochizuki and Takeomi older more laid back but she didn't see them as the leader either. this left Kokonoi and Mikey "5,4,3,2,1-" sanzu smirked as he counted down "him" (y/n) pointed at Mikey "He is the leader." she said Koko smirked and Kakucho laughed followed by the rest except for Mikey and Sanzu. "Fuck how did you get that right," he asked "I took a course In body language he is the leader," she said Rosé took a sigh of relief. "fucking shit," sanzu wrote a check for twenty thousand dollars handing it to her (y/n) stuffed it in her bra sitting down at the end of the couch she crossed her legs and poured the champagne. "you're not leaving?" Sanzu asked, "You said you wouldn't bother me." y/n said winking at him Koko looked at Sanzu "She played you well I like her." he said chuckling Sanzu clicked his tongue throwing the whiskey glass the shattering glass hit Rosé cutting her face. "watch it Sanzu!" Rindou shouted angrily as glass landed on him and his brother (y/n)'s eyes widen as she glanced at Rosé, Rosé could feel the trickle of blood she turned her head to see her reflection in the mirror. the blood on her face wasn't bad but still, for y/n it was. She turned to see (y/n) getting up watching her stumble back. y/n eyes held full shock as her hands shook, and her breathing began to get heavy she bumped into the table that held the drinks. falling back she landed on the glasses shattering them. Rosé stood up in shock seeing (y/n) arms dripping with blood. (y/n) began screaming she went into full panic mode Rosé pushed off of ran rushing over. She held onto (y/n) "Calm down, calm down!" she shouted, "what the fuck is wrong with her!" Sanzu shouted, "She's Hemophobic!" Rosé shouted "What the fuck non of us are gay! Maybe Koko," he said, "Hemophobic, not Homophobic!" Rosé shouted as she pulled (y/n) up helping her out the door. "so much for a night out," Takeomi said "Night's ruined thanks sanzu," Koko said, "I didn't do anything!" Sanzu shouted Mikey sat back finishing his drink everything that happened before him he took in as a mental note for later.

[hail-gail]

Sooooooooooo

I really wanna show someone this but there's no one I feel comfortable showing this to IRL. Instead, I'm going to throw it up on here and hope someone sees it so I finally get to talk about it. It is a scene with that one couple I described in another post, but they haven't gotten together quite yet.

***

The late hours of the night when none are awake are always the loneliest. These hours are the hours I take for myself, doing what I could not during the day's worry. Perhaps I should sleep with the rest of the world, but I never seem to be able to no matter what I do. Sleep never comes, and I stopped searching long ago. 

Tonight feels darker than most, the silence heavy, weighed down by some unseen thing. I don't like it. The air is near frigid, frozen in place, and somehow hollow. 

The hearth pops and crackles, the sparks quickly dying outside the fire's nurture. 

I stare into the low flames, watching them struggle and fade to glowing red embers. The wood is not wet, it's been drying since the early summer months. There can't have been any flame retardant put on it since it burned just fine at the start not half an hour past. Yet the logs lay not half consumed, the tops charred and barely casting any light. Something is wrong. I close my book and lay it carefully aside.

I crouch by the firewood and hold my hand close; it's cold. The charred cracks scrape at my palm as I rest it over the cool wood, bits of it crumbling off at my touch. Strange. 

Cold tendrils of ice-like air rake through my hair and caress the side of my face. 

I stand slowly, too tired to move with anything resembling the urgency the situation seems to demand. "You've come to kill me."

The man in the darkness moves closer, his pale face almost luminous in the moonlight flooding in from the now open window. 

"You can try, if you must," I amble around him and take up my water. "But it is a waste of time."

"I am stronger now," the voice is deep, almost a rasp. "You won't overcome me this time."

"Yes," a morose little smile comes to me. "You are stronger now. I feel it. I have no intention to fight."

"You fear me?" His gaze bores into my back, the murmured question scarcely audible even to my heightened senses.

"No." I set the empty glass down, my thirst sated. In two long steps, I reach the man and grab his wrist, pulling his blade to my throat. "Go ahead, try."

Startled eyes stare at me and within seconds the shock succumbs to desperate wrath. But there is something else, a conflict of sorts.

"You waste time." I shove his hand away and whatever it was I saw in him snaps.

He lunges. 

The corner of my lip twists up and I would laugh. 

(‘◉⌓◉’)

 I find myself staring at the rafters, the metallic tang of my blood flooding my mouth as I struggle without avail to breathe. I clamp a hand around my gaping throat and prop myself on my elbow. The room is empty. 

Dawn creeps down the wall, lighting the study in gold.

I must have blanked out for a while. Some of the blood on my skin is dried. My mouth is painfully parched, every fiber in me aching. Regardless, I sit and wait as my throat mends itself from the inside out, agony tearing through the area with every tissue that replicates. I squeeze my eyes shut as the world spins, my lungs desperate for air and my heart beat so fast it's liable to burst out of my chest.

Just a little bit longer and I'll be able to breathe again, I just need to hang on.

My lungs spasm and pull in an involuntary breath of bloody air that sears my throat with white-hot agony and the itch to expel the blood from my lungs. 

Darkness closes around me as I fight to keep from coughing; just a little longer. 

The pain eases.

I carefully inhale through my nose, the cool air like swallowing coals of fire but still going through to my lungs. I can't help but take another breath and after that yet another, my entire body screaming for oxygen. Each breath I take is shallow and fast, hardly enough to satisfy my needs.

I loosen my grip from around my neck, the air stinging the open gash. Not much longer now, and I should try to get some water. My eyes crack open, wandering from the dark puddle around me, my desk, and to the door still bolted shut as I had it last night. 

I swallow in an attempt to push down nausea; Water. I need to get water. The blood is mine. I have to replace it. Can I even stand in this state? 

I have before. I've fought like this. Years ago. That was years ago. So, so long ago. I was another man back then. He died. That part of me died, and they buried that man with my father and sisters.

I could have joined them. He wasn't strong enough. Stronger, yes, by far, but not strong enough. Pity. My eyes sink closed again, something trailing down my back; I should get up now, it isn't good to stay in a pool of blood. I don't feel like moving, let alone getting up. My limbs are heavy, my very soul tired. Can't I just rest for a while? Is that too much to ask, or have I done too much wrong to deserve anything good? I let him try, I didn't fight. I didn't lift a finger and yet I see the dawn of another day. 

Better men have fought for life, strove with all their might and where are they? Dead. They are dead and buried six feet down with no one to mourn them. 

Why should I be different? Why should I live and they die? They say one either dies a hero or lives to be the villain, is that what this is? Did I die a hero only to come back and live the life of a monster? No, I was a monster even then; in the dark, when no one saw I was in secret what I openly am now. 

A rasp of a sigh slips out as my fingers trace carefully over my throat; the wound hasn't fully closed. I haul myself to my feet, stumble to catch myself on the corner of my desk, and wait for the spinning to stop. This is going to be a long day. For now, I am going to focus on replenishing the blood I lost.

⁄(⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I stop barely inside the kitchen only just hearing the voices as they stop. There are people here now. I forgot. 

"Damian?" 

I look away, ambling with unsteady legs to the cupboard to find a glass. I can't meet her gaze, I refuse. 

Silence hangs heavy, my back itching from the blood sticking my shirt to my skin and multiple pairs of watching eyes. I down three cups before finally turning to see through bleary eyes who I'd interrupted by my appearance. 

"Sir, do you want me to take care of," who I think is Mrs. Cowell sort of grimaces and gestures at the blood. "Wherever the rest of that is?" 

I shake my head, careful not to reopen the wound but desperate to keep her away from the mess. She could get sick, very sick, from being exposed to my blood. Anyone can, and I'm not sure if the sickness won't spread. I look to Ella for some help explaining, but she stares back at me blankly. 

"Are you sure, I am more than familiar with those sorts of messes, it doesn't bother me?"

I shake my head again.

She raises an eyebrow.

(ಠ_ಠ)>⌐■-■

I could smell the blood before Damian ever stepped into the room; I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly was not the scabbed slit across his neck nor the blood covering his clothes. I glance between him and the older Mrs. Cowell, Damian still not uttering a word. 

He shoots me another weary look, darkness pooling under his eyes and the hand holding his water slightly trembling. 

"I don't know that is a good idea," I turn my gaze to the elder lady. "I don't doubt that you have plenty of experience with those situations working for him, but this time is different."

She gives me an annoyed glare but otherwise says nothing.

I glance from her to Leese; she looks like she may just be sick with worry. Sipping my coffee, I lean back in my chair, pulling my shawl tighter around my shoulders. "So, I imagine your voice is shot." 

Damian's eyes are distant, not quite focused on anything or anyone in particular. 

"Damian."

He jolts, body gone ridged. 

"You should have a seat, let Leese help you." I watch said woman as she stands up, ready.

He eyes her almost suspiciously, his brows drawn together and mouth tilted down. 

"I'll clean it, nothing more." 

He somewhat reluctantly relents and gracelessly moves to perch on one of the bar stools around the island. 

I slide off my own stool and sidle up next to the old Mrs. Cowell. "Can you get him a change of clothes and see if you can find Mr. Bakson?"

She huffs, eyes not leaving the King. "But of course. Do you think he'll soak if I were to draw a bath?"

"He might. Do what you deem sensible." 

She smiles a little at that, "and what of the mess?"

"He probably left a trail. He needn't know how it disappeared, just be cautious and leave the pool to him." 

She nods, a satisfied glint in her eyes.

Time 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜 skip

Water drips from Damian's hair to his eyes, his lips pressed into a grimace and jaw clenched tight.

Leese gently spreads a salv over the reopened wound, the tips of her fingers emanating a soft glow. Her face twists in a barely concealed wince.

Damian notices and catches her by the wrist, pulling her hand away.

She only stares at him calmly, not demanding or pleading for anything. 

He scowls but lets her continue to heal him. 

She does, and as the wound begins to close on him, an identical one begins to appear on her.

"You should wear gloves." His voice is gravelly, hoarse. "You can get blood sick."

She smiles a little, the wound fading just as quickly as it appears. "Then I couldn't heal you."

"Is that so bad?"

She frowns and gives him a disapproving eye. "Yes. It is."

"I won't die."

"But you're in pain."

He shrugs at that, "I am always in pain." 

"I would take that pain away too if I could."

"I would rather you not get sick because of me. Please." He takes her hand, holding it this time with both of his. "Leese, I would rather be in torment with you alive than to never feel pain again and live without you." His eyes are shamelessly pleading, earnest.

"How many times, Damian, has your blood stained my hands?" She pulls away, setting down the salv. "Too many to count. You worry too much."

[becca-e-barnes]

i really can’t stop thinking about how fucking needy bucky would be and the fact that you said there would be endless cum because he’s a super soldier has left me thinking how many times a day he would fuck you and leave you ruined because he’s just so fucking needy 🥵

could you imagine he would act up in PUBLIC and you would try to shoo him away but it would get him all angry and dominate and he’d take you to a dressing room or bathroom and just destroy you and everyone could hear you

-strwbrrybucky

Oh holy shit, Bucky getting needy in public is going to be the death of me i hadn’t really even considered him flipping into a needy Dom rather than a needy sub and I really wish I had 🥵

Like you’re out shopping together and he maybe sees a pretty lingerie set you would look so good in. But you tell him you don’t need any more, maybe you’re in a rush to get somewhere else and you just don’t have time for it today.

“Come on doll, even just try it on for me? Know you’d look fucking beautiful.” He’s getting himself all worked up at just the thought, nibbling at your ear, standing so close behind you that you can feel him hardening up and that’s going to be a huge issue.

“Buck, we don’t have time today. We’ll come back for it this Saturday, I promise.”

But he’s horny now. “Shit, you know what you do to me? Jus’ thinkin’ about you in that. Can hardly think straight.” His head gets so clouded with lust so quickly and it excites you far more than it should. He kind of expects you to be the levelheaded one so he loves testing your resolve, letting you make the decision to ignore your own voice of reason.

“Bucky, fuck, we can’t do this here.” His body heat is making you ache, your body craving his. You’re in the middle of a clothes store for goodness sake.

“Baby, did you forget I’m enhanced? I can smell how bad you want this. Your little cunt is cryin’ out for me. How am I supposed to ignore it?” And shit, he’s right. You can feel yourself throbbing, slick gathering in your underwear and your eyes flutter shut at the sound of him dragging in a deep breath through his nose. “Smells so fuckin’ sweet angel. What’dya say we go to the changin’ rooms for a quickie? Won’t take long to get ya off, can tell.”

You’re not quite sure how he has the confidence to be so shamelessly filthy in public but you don’t even care any more.

You’re excited enough that there’s no way you can turn him down.

“You have to be quiet this time Bucky. Can’t be like last time, I was so embarrassed.” You’d reasoned it out and your need had won, Bucky smirking as he held your waist, leading you to the changing room with the lingerie completely forgotten.

There wasn’t even time to completely undress, hell, there was hardly even time to lock the door before Bucky was on you, pressing you against the questionably fragile wall of the changing room.

“Oh God, fuck honey, ‘m too horny. No idea where it came from. Jus’ achin’ for ya.” He didn’t waste a second, unbuttoning his jeans and untucking himself, his tip already weeping as you shuffled out of your own trousers. You were pinned to the unstable wall once more, Bucky supporting you, splitting you open with one quick, sharp thrust.

“Bucky, oh yes, more Bucky, please.” It was like every word got louder and louder as he picked up speed, slipping in and out of you with ease.

“Mhm that’s it baby girl, squeeze my cock for me. Love when you let your little pussy do the thinkin’ for ya.” He was sounding more and more wrecked with every thrust, whines and cries spilling out of you when you reached down to play with yourself, chasing your high since you knew you didn’t have long.

“Swallowin’ me up, aren’t ya? You’re getting close, can feel it. Wanna hear you. Wanna make sure this whole damn store knows who’s fuckin’ you so well.” The poor wall was shaking under your body, his powerful thrusts somehow driving every concern from your head. You weren’t holding back anymore, eyes rolling back in your head as you came with a high cry.

“Bucky, fuck, Bucky I’m cumming. Holy shit don’t stop, ah, so good Buck, feels so good.” He groaned so loud as your words dragged him over the edge, his body slumping against yours, pinning you to the wall as he filled you full of cum.

“What a good girl. Swear you take this big dick like it’s the only thing you wanna do. Love that about you honey.”

After carefully setting you down, Bucky’s horny haze had worn off, the embarrassment beginning to creep wash over you when you realised the gravity of what you’ve just done and how many people had heard.

“Think we’d better leave honey. Before there’s a queue at the door waiting to be fucked like you were.” His cheeky wink makes your heart flutter but you’ve never agreed with him more. You really did need to leave. Quickly.

[imkylotrash]

Heyloo, do you take riven×reader requests?if so, could you do one where they are dating and he gets really drunk and yells at her for being clingy and annoying. And everyone is really mad at him for the next few days because she has a reputation of being really kind towards everyone. And one day he finds her crying and it's all fluff at the end. Its okay if you cant do it too, but thanks!!

"Why are you so fucking clingy?"

Did your heart just stop beating? It might have. There is a pretty likely chance that your heart has simply stopped functioning because your boyfriend of two years just told you that you're clingy.

"It's like you're purposely trying to annoy me with all this shit!" he exclaims throwing out his arms. He almost loses his balance but that's what happens when you're as drunk as Riven is right now.

"I just asked you to walk me back to my room." You're not sure why he's reacting the way he is, but you hate that he is.

"Like I don't have anything better to do!" He can hardly stand up anymore and with this distance between the two of you, you can smell the liquor on him. You're about to reply when Sky comes around the corner.

"What the hell is your problem, man?" Sky locks eyes with you silently asking if you're okay but you don't even know how to begin answering that.

"I think I'm just going to go to bed," you mumble not bothering to check whether he hears you or not. The music is blasting through Alfea and both fairies and specialists alike are dancing everywhere. You, on the other hand, head straight for the door to the suites. Tonight, you're not exactly in a partying mood. And to be honest, you're not the next couple of days either. You know everyone has heard about what Riven did, and you know they've been ripping into him about it, but it doesn't do anything to relieve the pain in your heart.

Three days pass by before he comes to find you and by then, your sadness has turned into anger. You're a good person. You're always kind and smiling, and you don't deserve to be treated that way.

"Hi." He looks sheepish and rightly so.

"I'm not really in the mood to talk," you say about to shut the door in his face. The tears are already blurring your vision, and you don't want him to see you cry.

"Please," he says and even manages to stick his foot in the doorway preventing you from closing it. That boy has got a lot of nerve.

"Riven, stop." You're so tired of his drama. He's constantly pushing you away, and you're just so tired of trying to stay close. But Riven is nothing if not relentless so he keeps his foot in the doorway and slowly pushes the door open.

"I'm really fucking sorry. I'm the biggest asshole on the planet," he starts and you're not about to argue with that. Crossing your arms, you take a step back and let him in your room.

"I don't have an explanation or an excuse for what I did. I was being cruel for the sake of being cruel." He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans refusing to look at you.

"Am I supposed to forgive you now?" you ask feeling angry and petty. You're tired of Riven being able to act like this and get away with it but even now, you can feel your heart thawing.

"You're not supposed to do anything. I just needed to tell you I'm sorry."

"One more stunt like this and I'm done, Riven. I love you, but I can't keep hurting myself by staying if you're not going to be better." It's both a threat and a warning and everything in between because you really mean it when you say that you're done if this happens again.

"I know." You don't talk much after that. Both of you know that this is the final chance to make this work and the thought of truly losing you is enough for Riven to pull it together. He starts holding your hand going down the hallway, he leaves little notes in your locker. Everything you've always wanted and he does it with a smile. Your favorite part is the amount of cuddling he makes time for now that he doesn't feel the need to attend every party at Alfea.

For the first time, Riven stops running from his past and opens up to you instead. It brings you even closer together, and you just know that someday you're going to marry the boy lying next to you.

---------------

Tagging: @intoanothermind @artsyle @baueoud @glowingatdawn @justafairygirl @criesinlies @starlightandfairies @rose-moon-mist @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @shadowhuntyi @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[theshelbyclan]

Love Language

Summary: Tommy doesn’t say ‘I love you’.

(Gif by @nofckingfighting​)

A/N: Sweet anon asked: Hello i love you're writing! Can i request a tommy one shot imagine where the reader (his girlfriend or wife) finds out in his office, one of the locked drawers has everytning shes ever given to him? Maybe like love letters or random flowers everything he keep 😍🤍 thank you so mych. This request was so amazing to me, because you it made me feel like you understand this character so well? Either way, it made me think, and this is the result. It’s kinda different but I hope you like it! Words: 1448

***

“Tommy?” “Hmm,” the preoccupied reply came. You sounded defeated, against your best efforts, “I love you.”  “I know.” 

***

There’s blood on his shirt. It’s the first thing you noticed when he walked in. Not the mud, not his eyes, not his energy, just the blood on his shirt.

“Who’s is it,” you asked as casually as you could. Tommy lit a cigarette in reply. “Are you okay?” “Yes,” he drew out the ‘s’ like he usually did when annoyed or tired. “Who was it?” you continued. “Y/N,” he held up a hand, “not tonight, eh? Not with the hundred fucking questions tonight, alright?” You remained silent for as long as you could bear, “Just need to know you’re safe.” “You knew who you married,” a low voice replied. “I did.” Tommy stood up again slowly started to walk away.

“Do not,” you hissed, “walk away from me.” “Y/N, what the fuck do you want from me, eh?” he raised his voice, “This is me. This is who I am. And I’m doing it all to give you everything you want. To keep you safe. Alright?” You leaned forward and tried to lock eyes with him, “What I want, Thomas Shelby, is you. In one piece, preferably.” “I know,” he lowered his voice again, “And I understand.” He waved a hand like he was about to say more, but didn’t. “It’s because I love you,” you emphasized. He nodded slowly, “And that’s why I’m doing all of this.”

***

You were sitting at your desk writing. Some people seemed to think that being married to Tommy Shelby was a fulltime job and it could be if you’d let it, but not for you. Even before Tommy you’d been a writer, a journalist and an author of short stories. Neatly you typed them out and send them to the publishers in question. It was the one thing in life that always offered you solace.

“You spelled ‘enthusiastic’ wrong,” you husband commented helpfully after having popped up suddenly behind you. You ripped the page irritably, “Says the man who never even went to school.” “Life taught me how to spell, Y/N,” he sort of joked. “Life taught youhow to spell ‘enthusiastic’? Can’t remember the last time you were ever enthusiastic about anything…” He raised one eyebrow slowly, “How about ‘sarcasm’, can you spell that? Or ‘devil’, how about that, eh?” You pouted theatrically, “Sometimes I’m not even sure you take me and my work seriously…” “Oh, I take it seriously,” Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, “I know it’s enough to keep my wife away from me.” You smiled back at him when he did, but still a pang of hurt went through you: you’d give up everything just to have him say ‘I’m so proud of you sweetheart’. Just once.

***

“Come on,” he whispered. You looked up. “Come on,” he repeated, cigarette hanging from his lips, “let’s go upstairs.” “Why?” you asked, as you already started to follow him. Once inside the bedroom, he started undressing you with surprising tenderness. “Tommy,” you breathed, “look at me. What is it you want?” As a reply without words he gazed at your body, like he was drinking in very detail and getting drunk at the mere sight of it. “You and me, Tommy,” you said in between kisses, “remember it’s you and me. Fuck the rest of them. Fuck your family. Fuck the whole world. I love you and you love me. It’s you and me and nothing can ever come between us, right?” As he took off his own shirt, he gently pushed you down onto the bed.

“You and me, right Tommy?” you repeated, a little breathless as his head disappeared between your legs. “No,” he finally spoke, “you.”

*** Thomas Shelby had a long day of dealing with renegade family and dangerous enemies, so when he got back home, all he wanted was his wife and some peace and quiet.

“I cooked,” you said as you lingered against the doorpost. Tommy looked tired, worn-out, dead almost, with his head in his hands, “even told the cook to take the evening off,” you commented while your voice sounded flat. It was funny, because your emotions were all over the place, but your exterior just didn’t show any of it.

He slowly lifted his head, “You did, eh?” “Thought you might like it…” you fidgeted in spite of yourself. “I pay that cook for her to actually fucking cook,” he grumbled. “Fine,” you snapped, “I’ll feed it to the dog,” and you started to walk away. “Wait…” “What?” You didn’t even really turn around. Tommy sighed again and for a moment it was like he noticed the disappointment in your eyes, “What did you cook?” “Mint leaves. Your favourite.” And then a minor miracle took place and Tommy Shelby actually smiled a little.

***

“You were late today. I waited.” “I’m sorry.” “Are you?” “I am.” “Do you love me?” “Yes.” “Tell me.” “I do. Every day.” “Not with words…” “No, not with words.” “Tommy, tell me again.” ***

You were still half-asleep in Tommy’s arms. His eyes were closed and his breath was steady. Outside, the sun wasn’t up yet, but it wouldn’t take long now.

Next to you, there was a gun on the table. Tommy had just taught you how to shoot. He’d shown you over and over again, even though you’d protested. But he said you might need it one day. On the other side there were his cigarettes and whiskey. His medicine. His comfort. His eyes were closed and his breath was steady. But for how long? How long would it be until he’d die by his own gun, or get killed in some fight? Or met some other girl, prettier and smarter than you? As if he could read your insecurities, he shifted in his sleep and hugged you even closer to him. Thomas Shelby might not be perfect or a gentleman or eloquent when it came to expressing his love, but he did hold you at night.

***

“Tommy?” you shouted out through the house, “THOMAS!” “Fucking hell, woman,” his head appeared around the corner, “What is it?” Slightly embarrassed by your own volume, you said, “I can’t find the scissors.” “They’re in my desk somewhere,” he put on his cap and added, “I need to see a man about a horse. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” You made your way to the desk that was always so tidy and neat. So you did as any sensible woman would do and turned over everything in search of a pair of scissors. Nothing. Angrily you threw down a pile of papers. And that’s when you noticed it. One drawer hadn’t been opened at all. When you tried it, you found it locked. But you were a girl from Small Heath and no locked drawer could stop you. In less than twenty seconds you had managed to force the lock en slid the secret hiding place open. Inside there were more papers, neatly stacked and tied together with pieces of string in different piles. Breathlessly you took them from the drawer and examined them one by one. “Still looking for those scissors, eh?” a low voice grumbled in your ear and you practically jumped from fear. “For fuck’s sake, Thomas,” you mumbled as you tried to hide the papers you’d just found. Tommy was eyeing them already, but didn’t say a word.

So you went back through them, “These are the letters I wrote to you, when you were in France. I thought you threw away everything. Your medals, everything…” He didn’t reply. Tears sprang into your eyes as you examined the second pile, “And these are all my short stories. Did you cut them from the papers? Did you really keep them all?” You quickly went through them and they were all there, from the very first one ever published, “And these, my articles…”

Tommy cleared his throat once and cast his eyes down when you looked at him. Lastly there was a small box. When you opened it, you found, “The rose I wore, when we were kids. The one my brother stole…” And now you couldn’t find the words, “I hardly… I didn’t even know you… back then. Why?” Tommy grabbed his case and started searching for a cigarette. “Tommy,” you insisted, “I had no idea. Why did you keep all of these?” “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he smirked lightly. You stared at the content of the secret drawer and decided that nothing was ever obvious when it came to Thomas Shelby. “Well?” you questioned. “I love you.”

*** Masterlist

[unfoundhoney]

mother, father, and everything else ↠

↠ platonic!c!tommyinnit x older sister!reader ; fluff , angst

↠ masterlist

↠ a companion piece to a sister’s sacrifice inspired by this tiktok

“Tommy, come on,” you call.

You pull your youngest brother’s attention away from the strings of the apron he got distracted by. He toddles over to you as quickly as he can, reaching up and asking to be picked up silently. He started walking early and go the hang of it quite quickly. However, in talking he’s a bit of a late bloomer, nearing fifteen months but yet to say his first words.

You lift Tommy up into your arms, carrying him out the back door and into the backyard. You set him down to play in the grass where you can keep an eye on him then walk over to the array of clotheslines strung up across the yard, beginning to hang up laundry.

Wilbur is off playing with Niki as usual. He’ll likely return covered in dirt and grass stains, maybe with a captured insect or stories of a new, made up kingdom he’d been ruler of that day. Phil is still out with Techno; they’ve been gone for a while now, but that’s nothing new.

You’ve hung up a pair of Wilbur’s pants and two of Tommy’s shirts when you notice Tommy crouched beside the basket full of wet clothes. He reaches inside and pulls out a sock, squeezing it curiously.

“Do you want to help, Tommy?”

Tommy looks up at you, blue eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He nods his head once.

You giggle and ruffle his hair, “Alright, c’mere.”

You lift Tommy up again, resting him on your hip as you grab a clothespin with your free hand. You slip it over the clothesline.

“Put the top of the sock in the pin,” you tell him.

He struggles a bit, little hands still uncoordinated at his young age. He does eventually position the sock where you can close the pin on it and leave it to hang.

“Wow, good job, buddy!” you say.

You wrap him in a hug and spin around, shrieking laughter falling from his mouth at both your actions and your praise. You set him down and kneel down to be at eye level with him.

“You’re my official laundry assistant,” you say seriously. “Can you hand me clothes to hang up?”

Tommy nods eagerly and toddles over to the basket of wet clothes, grabbing a shirt from the top of the pile. He holds it above his head as he runs back over to you, holding it out.

“Good job, Tommy! We’re quite the team, you and I.”

Together, you and Tommy slowly hang the rest of the clothes up. Tommy eventually gets bored and goes off to pick dandelions and pull off their petals, leaving you to finish the chore, not that you mind. When you’re finished, you call Tommy over to get in the basket, carrying him and the leftover clothespin back inside.

“Y/N!”

The call of your name pulls you to a stop, turning to see who yelled for you. Tommy grabs onto your pant leg for balance, stopping as well. You find Puffy waving at you, hurrying over to you with her little boy Dream at her side.

“Hi, Puffy,” you say. “Hi, Dream.”

“Hi,” Dream says in a small voice.

“Tommy, can you say hi?” you ask the young boy clinging to your hand.

He’s chewing on his thumbnail, looking up at Puffy warily before hiding his face in your leg.

“Guess not,” you laugh.

“How are you, Y/N? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Puffy says.

“I’m good,” you answer. “Just getting some dinner for tonight.”

“Still the household cook, I see.”

“And just about everything else.”

You laugh and Puffy joins you, but you can tell that wasn’t a joke that went over her head. It’s no joke that you are mother and father to your younger siblings, as well as everything else. Your dad is gone too often; Wilbur doesn’t even call your father “dad,” he calls him Phil.

“Where’s your dad?” Puffy asks.

You shrug, “Around.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

You hesitate for too long, distracted as you attempt to remember the last time Phil came home.

“That hardly matters,” you brush off, “He’s busy doing important stuff and I can look after Wilbur and Tommy myself anyway.”

The look of concern on Puffy’s face is not missed by you. You do, however, elect to ignore it.

Dream tugs on Puffy’s sleeve, “Mom.”

“Yeah, buddy?” Puffy asks, leaning down.

Dream points into the market, where you see Sapnap with his father and his friend George.

“Go say hi, but don’t wander too far,” Puffy tells Dream.

When she turns back to you, keeping one eye on her son, you say, “I’ve gotta head home. Need to make dinner and all that.”

“Yeah, okay,” Puffy says. “I’m here if you ever need help. Or someone to talk to. Or... anything really.”

“Thanks, Puffy.”

You don’t notice at your side, Tommy trying to form the word that Dream used that so quickly got his mother’s attention.

“Look after yourself, Y/N.”

“I am.” You always have.

With a wave, you turn and head back home, Tommy walking slowly beside you. The walk from the market to your house takes about fifteen minutes and you end up carrying Tommy for most of it to speed things up.

When you arrive home, you find Wilbur and Niki sat in the front yard playing a hand clapping game. They stop when they spot you, jumping up and running to come meet you as you walk up the front path.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Wilbur shouts your names repeatedly.

“Will! Will! Will!” you mimic.

“Can I spend the night at Niki’s?” Wilbur asks.

You like Niki. She’s sweet and a good influence for Wilbur.

“Uhm, as long as her parents are alright with it,” you say, doing your best to sound like a grown up despite only being sixteen.

“We’ve already talked to them,” Niki tells you.

“Alright, then,” you concede. “Behave while you’re there.”

“I will, Y/N!” Wilbur says, running off with Niki.

You watch them go for a few moments until you’re reminded of the toddler sitting on your hip. Tommy squirms around, wanting down. You set him on the ground and walk with him inside.

You set him up with some paper and crayons at the kitchen table. You sit across from him, watching as he carefully looks over his color options before choosing the red crayon.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, bud,” you muse.

You pet Tommy’s hair before you stand, moving to start on dinner. You season meat and chop potatoes, humming to yourself and keeping an eye on Tommy. Thankfully, your youngest brother isn’t a picky eater, which makes meals a lot easier than they could be, especially since he’s been in the solid foods stage for a while now.

The rest of the night is fairly quiet. You and Tommy eat dinner then you do the dishes while he waddles around the living room and plays with some of his toys. You can hear him experimenting with running, his footfalls surprisingly loud for such a small human. You hear him fall, as well, but without any crying then the return of his heavy footsteps, you don’t go to check on him.

You start composing your next shopping list and check the calendar for any upcoming events. There’s a festival next week that you’re meant to chaperone Wilbur and his friends at. Maybe you can team up with Puffy so Tommy can play with Tubbo, and Dream can join Wilbur. You’ll ask her tomorrow.

You hear Tommy enter the kitchen. He waddles over to where you sit at the table and crawls into your lap. He grabs your free hand and starts playing with your fingers as you continue writing down what you’ll need for your bigger grocery run in a few days.

“Mom.”

You freeze.

What?

“Mom.”

You look down at Tommy.

He looks up at you, “Mom.”

“N-No...,” you say weakly.

“Mom.”

“No, I’m not your mom.”

“Mom.”

“No...”

“Mom!” Tommy says happily. “Mom mom mom!”

“Okay, okay,” you say shakily, putting a hand gently over your little brother’s mouth to get him to stop. “Okay, good job.”

Your vision’s blurry. You want to cry. Your chest hurts. But right now, Tommy’s said his first word.

“Good job,” you repeat.

You pull Tommy into a hug and wipe at your eyes behind his back.

Tommy rests his little cheek on your shoulder, already tired but quickly drifting off to sleep in your warm embrace, “Mom...”

“Shhh,” you say, voice weak.

Tommy goes limp, asleep in your arms. As your tears begin to fall, you make sure not to let your sobs move you. How has this happened? Mom. No. You’re not a mother. Except you are. In every way that matters, you are Tommy’s mother. You’ve raised him ever since Phil brought him home that day.

You wish your family was normal. As normal as a family of four adopted children, a single father, and a non-biological uncle could be. You wish your dad was home more. You wish you didn’t have to be the only parental figure Tommy has ever known. It’s to the point he calls you mom. How could Phil let it get to this? How could he care so little?

You just want to have a normal family with parents who are adults and kids who are allowed to be children. You did not get to be a child, but Wilbur and Tommy will. You will always be there for them. You promise. You will give them what you had taken from you. Hatred for your father burns in your chest but it’s quickly snuffed out, doused by nostalgia that longs for a childhood you never had.