#god i fucking love drawing rip hes such a menace to society

[b0nelessdoodles]

at this point i'm just an infomercial person trying to sell you goblin content i'd say i'm sorry but i'm not

[lovebitesimagines]

‘God I’ve missed you’- Esme Shelby.

Prompt #13 with Esme and John Shelby.

I've written this from Esme’s POV, and I really hope you guys enjoy it. It’s something different than what I'm used too, but I quite liked writing this way. Esme is such a cool character, and I love her and John together. Thank you to anon for requesting this!

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Warnings: None.

Pairing: Esme x John.

Word count: 1.4k

When I was a little girl, I always dreamt of a white wedding. I pictured crowds of my family and friends, stood watching me proudly as I was given away to my soulmate. I drew endless sketches of my white dress, the flowers I would have picked, what my groom would have looked like. I always had a talent for art, spending countless hours creating drawings upon drawings.

           I was ten years old when I discovered men didn’t appreciate a talented woman, one who had her own mind and dreams. I was soon silenced, my artistic potential going to waste, like half of Birmingham. I was forced to do as men wished, following the demands that would often be cruelly thrown my way. I was given no choice, apart from ‘shut the fuck up or you’ll get what’s coming to you’.

           That threat worked until I was sixteen. I had enough of being suppressed. I had words, countless words and ideas that I wanted to verbalise, to bring out into the world. I wanted to paint Birmingham with my imagination, I wanted to see the world.

           ‘Too wild, they said. She’s untameable, we don’t know what to do with her’. I’ve heard all of that before, and I can’t help but feel proud of the words they throw at me, of the colours they paint me in. When I turned twenty, even I had to admit that perhaps my rebellious nature was starting to get out of hand. But I loved it. I hated being tied down, forced to be an uncharacteristically soundless vessel of a woman.

           I thought I had everything under control. I thought that I, Esme Lee, could handle anything my family threw my way. That was until they started launching the words ‘marriage’ and ‘Shelby’ at me. By Christ I panicked. I always thought that I would get to pick who I got married too. I had imagined a wild romance, one for the ages that they would write about one day in history books. I was foolish.

           I had heard about the Shelbys’ before. You would have had to be living underneath a rock to escape that name. My family had been at war with them, for as long as I could remember. It was a stupid, pointless argument which had continued to escalate. Started by men, but that was no surprise. The Shelby family didn’t scare me, despite the fact that they stuck razor blades in their caps. I have seen men worse than them. Far worse.

           Now my family were arranging my marriage, to one of the Shelby brothers, as means of making a truce. It was hilarious really, that I was their last resort. I guess it was a win-win situation for my them though. They’d have peace from both The Peaky Blinders, and me.

           I wasn’t allowed to know who my future husband was, the only sighting I’ll be having of him is when we make our vows. Yet I was never nervous, never apprehensive of what was to come. A calm washed over me, as I kneeled beside my future husband. I remember how I felt when I first laid eyes upon him. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was immediately entranced by his baby blue eyes, and childish grin. I could instantly tell that we were alike, me and him. His name still easily rolls of my tongue, leaving a burning sensation in my mouth. John Michael Shelby.

           I was surprised not only by how well I fitted into life in Small Heath, but also how easily I took to marriage. John helped make it easy. We worked together, me and him. Two lost souls battling together against the darkness of the world. We were magnetised towards each other, working in perfect synchronisation.

           That’s why, every time John would leave for business, I would not be able to sleep. My mind would be picturing the darkest things that could happen to him. Each situation cruelly taunting me, replaying in my mind like a badly filmed movie. That’s where I was now, watching the hands on the clock slowly turn, announcing it was officially two in the morning.

           I’ve already bitten my nails down to short little stubs, gnawing at the skin on my fingertips. It is a nervous habit of mine, one that I had sworn countless amounts of times that I would break. I ran out of cigarettes almost an hour ago, and I refused each drink Polly offered me. I want my mind to be clear, not fussy, just in case John needed me.

           I’m unable to sit still. The chair I’m sat on rocking slightly, as I bounce my knee up and down. I’m perched near the window. I want to be able to see them walk down that street, their cocky swagger proving that everything will be okay. I can see Polly throw me the occasional annoyed glance, growing frustrated at the sound of my foot constantly tapping against her wooden floor. But she doesn’t say anything. She is waiting for them too.

           Grace is far more relaxed than us. If she is nervous, she does a damn good job of hiding it, her face a mask of calm. She busies herself, with making us all tea. The sound of china teacups rattling against the tray seems to tip Polly over the edge.

“Fuck off with the tea. Will do us no good if they don’t come back” Pol snaps, her eyes flashing angrily at Grace as she lights a cigarette. Her and Grace have never really gotten along, not since it was revealed that she was an agent of the crown. She had only accepted her, for Tommys’ sake.

“They will come back Pol. They always do” Grace murmured, her Irish accent reminding me of home. She placed the tray upon the coffee table, ignoring Pol’s outburst, pouring us all a cup. I take mine of her, smiling gratefully, before resuming my position at the window, eyes firmly placed upon the goings on outside. I take a sip of the tea, the warm liquid running sweetly down my throat.

           It’s raining outside, and I softly curse the mist that blurs my vision. The streetlamps went off hours ago, the only light coming from the moonlight. I strain my eyes to see out in the shadows, and I’m met with only darkness.

           I knew it was a bad idea, this meeting with Selbini. That man was nothing but trouble, an incredibly menacing blight upon society. I knew that he would stop at nothing to get his own way, to get what he wanted. I just hoped that John wouldn’t run his mouth and wouldn’t act stupid. I hoped that if he did, Tommy had the right words to say or Arthur hit them hard enough.

“Maybe it’s time you get to bed Esme. It will do you no good. Not in your condition” Grace says softly from behind me, and I can sense her concern drowning me. I shake my head. There is no way in Hell I’m going to bed, not until my John gets home.

“Not until he walks through the door” I whisper, my hands instinctively falling upon my bump. If I try hard enough, I can feel the small flurry of kicks against my stomach. I’m six months gone, enough to have a noticeable bump now. I look outside again, my fingers tracing patterns upon my stomach.

           I’m not sure how much time has passed, until I see him. He’s the last to walk through the moonlight, my heart stopping until I see him. I jump up, startling Pol and Grace.

“They’re back!” my voice is high-pitched with excitement, as I fly towards the front door. I’m the first one there, almost ripping the door from its hinges as I open it. I push past Tommy, Arthur and Michael, until I see him.

“Hello darling!” John chuckles, opening his arms out for me. I run into them, holding his head in my hands, my eyes scanning over his appearance in search of any injuries. He notices this, and it only makes him smile more. “I’m fine love. I’m fine”.

           I press my lips against his, melting at the familiar warmth it brings me. He runs my tongue along my lips, and I grant him entrance. I don’t care about the rain that soaks us both through. I only care about the fact that my John is home. He’s home safe and sound, where he belongs. We pull apart after a few, brief moments, our eyes fixed upon each other.

“God I’ve missed you”

[kikyozoldyck]

lemon, jelly, sprinkles & jizz

PAIRING: klaus hargreeves x reader SUMMARY: a date with klaus is never that simple. WARNINGS: nsfw, oral

---

“I figured instead of letting one of those kitschy uptown salons charge me forty-five of my hard-earned dollars,” he pauses, turning for a moment to glare at the empty seat behind him, “for a sugar and lemon wax—“ He digs through his matted fur jacket, rustling out a lighter and before continuing to dig, “— I could do it myself. Be resourceful. And chocolate pudding has sugar…”  

You give a vague nod as he starts to light a cigarette. Still mumbling about how it’s perfectly reasonable to assume that chocolate pudding would be a cheaper alternative to sugar wax, you wondering if anyone else has these kinds of conversations with their boyfriend (best friend? fuck buddy?) outside donut shops in the middle of the night or if this is just another wonderful perk of being romantically entangled with Klaus Hargreeves.

He takes a drag, and you perk up.

“Klaus!”

"What?” He starts coughing, surprised. Jerking his hand away from you as you try and snatch his wrist, “What—What did I do?"

"Do not smoke in my car." You tell him, for what must be the millionth time since you’ve known him, gesturing at the Marlboro burning between his thin fingers.  

“What?” he coughs again, this time a little indignantly, “I smoke in your apartment all the t—“

“Well, thanks to you, my apartment already smells awful. I care about this vehicle.” You argue, lovingly patting your steering wheel, “I’d rather it not smell like an ashtray."

Klaus frowns at that, “I smell like an ashtray."

"No. You don't."

A small nod comes from that. “A classier ashtray, I suppose.” He gives a glance at the lit cigarette in his hand, then one at you. A contemplating glance that makes you sigh with your entire body. Because he doesn't put it out. Instead, he opens the car door, stepping out into the deserted parking lot.

You follow very hurriedly.

This time of night, Griddy’s is jam-packed with silence and empty booths, save for the owner (Angela? Agatha? …You can never remember her name) prancing around searching for trash, refilling coffee cups, searching for anything to make the graveyard shift less dull. A man sat in the corner, nods at you over his laptop. A woman at the counter gives the briefest of smiles. Both of them quickly turn back to whatever they’d been doing before.

You look away from them to see Klaus already leading you to a booth in the back of the diner. Hardly time to do anything while trying to catch up with legs that tall. But you make it as he slides easily into the noisy, vinyl booth.

“Can I get you kids anything?” The owner, Agnes, asks sweetly, as she approaches your table.

You’re about to ask for a moment to decide when Klaus says, “I’ll have one lemon creme, one jelly filled, one with sprinkles — rainbow not chocolate — and uh, oh! Do you have those uh, those ones with the jizz on them? Fuck, what are they called?” He asks, gesturing at you to supply the answer.

“Glazed.” You mutter, giving Agnes an apologetic wince as she fills both your cups up with coffee.

“Glazed!” Klaus repeats, giving himself a tap on the side of his head, “one lemon creme, one jelly filled, one with rainbow sprinkles, and one glazed! And while you’re at it could you bring a third cup of coffee?”

"Do you really need four donuts?” you ask, as Agnes ducks off to prepare your order. Can he even afford them? Is he going to play Dine and Dash today with you as his unwitting accessory? You hope not. You’re barely able to keep up with him when he’s walking, you’d definitely fall behind if he were sprinting.

“Of course not!” He laughs, a little buzzed and way too loud, “I ordered the jizz one for you. And the third cup of coffee is for — ” He glances at the seat next to you and shakes his head, “did I ever tell you I used to come here as a kid?”

“No.” You reply, although he definitely has, grabbing a mostly empty bottle of syrup and tapping it absently against the table. It’s the old glass kind. Much more satisfying than plastic.

Klaus stands abruptly, knocking against the table which in turn clacks against your bottle. He rounds the table in one giant stride before plopping down next to you, “so, my brother Five and I, this was before we got names so bare with me, would wake up numbers Two through Six.” He drapes his arm around you, “we had bedrooms in numerical order — it was adorable! Anyway, the five of us would tie our sheets together like we were escaping Alcatraz or something, and then we’d walk the town in our pajamas like some weird little prepubescent cult.” He laughs again, this time quieter like it’s only for you, “and come here to eat donuts and drink coffee.” He gestures grandly at the cooling coffee cups in front of you.

“What about numbers One and Seven?” You ask, putting the syrup bottle back where you’d found it. You don’t usually ask questions when Klaus’s trying to tell you something. You find it just makes things more confusing, considering that ostentatious statements followed by vague replies have always been his style. You suppose his storytelling is representative of his brain; weird mentalities, forgotten details, strange interjections, and absurd tangents.

He giggles, “we’d bring a donut back for Luther — Allison’s idea, not mine — and leave it on his bedside table. Anyway, the beefy little idiot started to think that it was the Donut Fairy who was dropping off sweet treats to reward him for being a good boy!” He laughs again, his body shakes the booth you’re sharing.

“And Vanya?” You’re about to ask when Agnes brings your order to your table, Klaus’ extra cup of coffee included. Instead, you say, “thank you” and rush to move the coffee cups around to accommodate her.

Agnes smiles politely and scurries off, back behind the counter. Klaus follows her with his gaze. His jade eyes fixed on her as he rips a piece off a piece of his lemon creme donut and stuffs it into his mouth. He makes this lovely, little delighted sound and sucks the remaining sugar off of his fingers.

You rub his neck, meaning to surprise him. (Maybe? Really, you just want him to pay attention to you.) Your thumb brushes against his skin and finds those marks. Fresh blotches of purple from incidents you're still very proud of shine. Shine and no doubt ache under your touch.

"That’s-“ Klaus's shoulders roll forward, “That's still sore."

"Oh,” you mumble, not moving your hand, “sorry."

"S'aight." He squeezes the donut, and you both watch as the off white filling oozes out. He scoops it up with his fingers and sticks them back into his mouth. Albeit with a different pace. Your hand is still on his neck, unmoving from the bruised spot it touches. His movements seem almost more forced now, stalled almost. You hope you're not reading too deeply into things because there's a small grin crawling on your face and it gives you fantastic ideas.

You push again.

“Ah—“

As your thumb presses, it slides. Sliding underneath the clumpy fur collar of Klaus's jacket and tugging at it. You try peering into it, still smiling.

"More down there, huh?"

"Feels like it." For a moment, he registers what you mean. Blinking. Then he pops up a smile of his own. “I got another on my hip.”

You nod.

Your hand starts slider lower from his face. The man watching curiously. The closer you get to his destined hip, however, the curiosity pulls into a far more smiling look again. He's getting what you're setting down.

"So is it..." A cold hand slides under his jacket and shirt, meeting bare skin and exploring. He doesn't stop you, just gives a bite to his lip as he waits for the moment when—

“…here?”

He lets out a strange and loud snort, and the donut falls from his hands back onto the plate. Your nail scratching the surface of a dark purpled bruise on his hip bone didn't startle you but that. That did. An intense heat hits your cheeks, you give a glance around the diner. You know there are at least two other patrons that would have heard that. You know there are people in China would have heard that.

Klaus seems as equally aware of how terrible a noise he just made it was.

“That,” he gives you a breathy giggle, “that feels quite nice dear.” Chuckles lining up with his speech. "You—Could you do that again?"

The woman at the counter is gone, the man in the corner is wearing headphones, and Agnes is hidden away in the kitchens somewhere. Your heart is still racing though. You should have known. He’s nothing but a blaring stereo in the bedroom. You actually had the idea to toss that into Griddy’s —

It makes your skin crawl. Your body heats up, and your mouth goes dry.

But...this seems like a lot of fun.

Your hand starting to slide a bit deeper, “you’re incorrigible.” You tell him, your mouth watering at the chance to latch on to old hickeys on his neck.

“Incorrigible.” He repeats, his voice and breath steady like you're not playing with his hand isn’t one millimeter away from being in his pants, “God, I love it when you flaunt that sexy little college degree at me.”

You’re struggling to come up with a witty reply when a curved mouth touches yours. Klaus doesn't give a chance for any more neck brands. The position seems to shift on its own. Already one you certainly shouldn't be in, it becomes more, well, terrible when the unpleasant sound of his leather pants moving against the vinyl seats reverberates through the diner. Your fingers flex hesitantly beneath his belly button.

But he still kisses you.

The smooth leather of his pants feels too boring on your palms. What doesn't is something that certainly draws your — and his — attention.

“What can I say,” he laughs against your lips, “I’m incorrigible.”

Looking down at your full palm, you nod. “A true menace to society.” Hardly meaning it. You give a squeeze.

“A vagabond, indeed.” A familiar sound that makes his voice sound like a gust of wind is in your ear. He's moved to it. Even with his face out of view, you are utterly positive Klaus's still got a smile on his face.

“A Hellion in high heels,” you respond, your fingers still rubbing. A giggle starts to fall from his lips, but at the last moment, it's replaced with a breathy sound.

“An agent provocateur,” Klaus adds and adjusts his position -- wrapping his wrist around your own. You barely realize he’s stood up before he’s pulling you towards the bathroom. The bathroom is single-stall. You know it, Klaus knows it, and the man sitting in the corner knows it, and your whole body feels hot when you pass him on your way –- but then again, he probably doesn't notice. You’re pretty sure he’s stoned.

Klaus locks the door behind you. You’re seconds away from a cold sweat because fuck, you’re actually doing this.

And it must show on your face because the sultry smirk on Klaus’s face fades, “you’re not into it are you?” He asks, stepping forward. It’s a tiny bathroom; just one of his broad steps is enough to crowd you against the sink. “Hey, I get it.” He gives a peck to your face. "You have very strict moral guide…rules or whatever. No bending. Like a nail in a wood wall or a really old person who thinks that yoga is the work of the devil.” You're a bit thrown off by what he's trying to say, but he says it with a gentle smile, so you assume it's positive.

“I’m into it.” You tell him, and for a second it’s like he doesn’t hear you, “really into it.” Hearing it signals more moving. You’re sitting on the sink. Well, not really. You’re sort of halfway sitting and halfway standing, but with the way you're being leaned back, your head is one push away from crashing into the mirror. It's a precarious arrangement. You could easily fall both forward or back, like sitting in the middle of a teeter-totter.

Klaus has got you though. You trust him enough to let him keep you in place here. It's his turn to grab at a waist, back to your lips again. The faucet digs into your back, hands going back to hold the handles shut instead of feeling the man up. He's got something more in mind anyways it seems.

You certainly can feel the idea brushing your inner thigh. 

He's rocking against you. Gently and not too shockingly to make you freak out. You only grip the handles tighter. Grips on your backside keep you steady, Klaus's hands dipping into your back pockets.

Your lips are sealed tight, breathing harshly through your nose at each move forward. It's not a quickening force, really. Just continuous enough it makes your stomach tighten.

Almost whistles are on your skin, Klaus keeping himself calmed through the same bit lips of earlier. It's a bit unsettling. Tough on him because he probably wanted to be vocal. He was really vocal, wasn't he?

His thumb slides beneath your shirt and your back arches. It's a sudden feeling that makes it all sweeter. Thumb pad forming circles on the curve of your spine. Arch rolling your zipper closer to his far more bulged one. 

Klaus's head tilts closer as well, mouth on your neck but not kissing. Just resting, so the stubble on his lip tickles your skin. Open mouthed, hot air-- You're just as suddenly on a sink with him grinding against you as you are about to be walking out of here it seems.

The motions feel more jagged at the very least. Jabbing comfortable into you, making you wish you weren't so close to banging your head into the mirror. This is so lovely otherwise. Lovely and you...you could have gotten more out of it, but it's still fantastic. Knowing you helped feels enough--

Klaus catches himself on the edge of the sink. You don't really realize your eyes have been closed until he's halting entirely. Done, you're sure.

He immediately stops. No, he just hesitates. Fingers twitching in place on your thighs, each waiting to continue but he still sputters out his usual lines. "Whoa--sorry, I just thought that it's not good sport to just stop, right? I mean--haha for you. Not for me." He puts on this goofy smile that you feel, in your heart, he truly means as sexy. "We are sure on that."

"Are you offering me something, Klaus?" you inquire, smirking down at him.

The man gives a fake shrug.

"Are you serious?"

“My mother may have been a robot, but she raised a gentleman.” He says, as your dizzy mind registers he's eye level with your fly, fingers going towards it--

You don't really have any words anyways. Just letting Klaus do what he seemed to be eager about getting done prior. It's like a kid playing with his favorite toy, working with little time at your zipper.

You aren't totally sure what he's planning until he's tugging your everything down, which makes your cheeks heat up again. Mouth is too dry suddenly to really say anything. But there's still no words, right? Just the view of Klaus on his knees in front of you, seemingly unfazed by you're sudden nudity.

You're not bothered by it either, namely because you wish you'd been told that would happen. In the bathroom of all places.

Either or, Klaus peers up. "This fine with you, right?"

He does have your interests in mind... "Yeah, dude."

"Yeah, dude," he repeats, not mockingly but to hear it. It makes him smile."Well, dude, you should probably bite into something or, uh, hope that Agnes likes to listen to heavy metal while she bakes."

"Bite into...what?"

Klaus doesn't give a response. You don't really have the chance to process one even if he had offered one. The man's cold hands grasp your hips, making your own fall back to grab the handles behind. Saliva catches in your throat. Body holding still.

He kisses your stomach. Drawing out a slight shudder down your body as it crawls lower, his lips. Experimentally perhaps, but maybe too much. You are working on a deadline here, and you hope he gets that thought in his mind soon enough.

You stare forward at the bathroom door. Like a look-out. Your own look-out. Scared someone's going to come waltzing towards the two of you, and then the whole thing's fucked, and that'd really ruin things for you, wouldn't it?

You'd be in the papers as the person caught getting head in a local donut shop from The Umbrella Academy's famed hero The Seance and probably arrested on multiple counts of public indecency.

A gasp leaves you, one you quickly cover with your hand. Klaus's done kissing and teasing, whatever teasing that had been. His lips pressed right against you. He doesn't seem shaken by your sound -- if he is, he doesn't let on. You for once are not focused on him and his reactions.

He's too far down to be noticed as anything other than moving lips, long thin fingers, something wet finding you. Hands still keeping you where he needs you. It just started, but it feels like forever, given the making out in the booth. His skilled mouth is making you feel so weak and getting your eyes to flutter.

He works like a true professional, that's for sure. Motions you almost wish you could feel out to their full extent instead of quickly to finish a quickie at Griddy's.

Klaus's tongue curls so perfectly, making you really wish you'd had something to bite into after all. This is torture having to resist the groans practically attacking your throat. Your body is shaking at the motions escaping your stomach, wanting to escape your throat.

Your toes curl in your ratty converse, feeling heavy and nonexistent as you want to fall forward, held up by the sink and Klaus's hands on your hips. 

Even as it draws to a close with the final lift of heat from your body, making your eyes squeeze shut as any means to resist that same gasp that started it.

And he's pulling away, the cold embrace of his fingers sliding lower, to drag your lower garments back up and buckled so kindly.

The sink deserves to collapse. You deserve to collapse.

Klaus deserves to carry you home and tuck you into bed -- maybe a medal as well. You feel honestly disgusting, more physically than emotionally. Though you can't complain as badly as Klaus, you can only imagine the state his pants are in. He doesn't do anything until he has made sure you're all zipped and belted back up. Nice of him. You feel too dazed to do it yourself. He rubs his mouth on his grimy jacket sleeve, grinning like an idiot when his face emerges from behind it.

You feel strangely not alive like you really are in bed and not in the bathroom of Griddy's. It makes your register of Klaus' kiss slow.

He grabs you by the shoulders and kisses you hard. You can taste yourself mixed with synthetic lemon flavoring and sugar on his mouth. You're briefly surprised by it.

Long enough to stare at Klaus wide mouthed as he heads for the door. The chorus of “I don’t know about you, but I am starving! Ooh! You think I should order a sticky bun? Did I ever tell you about the time I fist fought a hobo over a sticky bun?” as he leaves makes you start to grin, in a mix of disbelief and pride.