#AND THEN SHE DISAPPEARS FOR A YEAR AND HES A SUSPECT IN HER DISAPPEARANCE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahatintimepieces · 2 years

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WHY HELLOOOOOOOOO THERE!!! It’s been awhile and I’ve been pretty quiet because I’ve been working on other projects. BUT I have been splitting some time working on the Fey prince!au you might be familiar with thanks to the amazing work by @smieska-draws. I’m not ready to officially start posting/or to keep a schedule, but I *do* have a lot of work for it and have been wanting to share sneak peeks. So like... here’s all of chapter 7? lol

Context! Luka is a human painter who stumbles into the fey world and meets the lovely Queen of the fey, who he only knows as his princess. His princess only knows him as her painter as they must carefully guard their names from even each other for, in the fey world, to give someone your name is to give them power over you. Luka must also be careful not to eat the food of the fey or he’ll be trapped in the fey world forever. In chapter 7, he discusses his and the queen’s relationship with Mari, his best friend, and meanwhile the queen is pressured by the Shapeshifter to tie down her human while she can... And, oh! Of course, there’s a kid with a hat to meet~

About 4K words~

Cupping the ceramic dish in his palm, Luka took his index finger and mixed the mound of ground pigment with the binding solution. While he made the paint, he glanced towards the sketch on the right, and narrowed his gaze.

The commission for the mayor was nearly finished and set out on the table in the middle of his workshop behind him. He had just a few more touches to go that he planned to wrap up in the morning with a quick run to the glade. The oil paints were all packed in his satchel that lay by the canvas. He had initially thought that that would be it for the festival, but then the mayor reminded him that he would have a booth to sell his other paintings. While he had some already finished works on hand, he realized he didn’t have nearly the selection he should and was scrambling to have more fall scenes at the ready. Watercolor felt like a good place to start.

Set out on his worktable, where the surrounding shelves and drawers overflowed with spare pigments and his paints and brushes, he had two sketches laid out and taped down on an angled board. One was a simple scene of aspens with piles of leaves and the other was of the crumbling well in the fey world, surrounded by the sea of moonflowers. While he was going to have to paint the latter by relying on memory and brief doodles from his sketchbook, he was eager to try out the glowing paint for the moonflowers.

Once he finished mixing the brown, he set the dish down beside others, also filled with mixed pigments and colors. His tin case full of watercolor pans stood at the ready with his mug of water and brushes. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his largest brush, and dipped it into a dish with a pale cream color and started coating the page with the aspens.

He worked in silence all through the afternoon, shifting between the paintings when he needed to give one the chance to dry a bit. His brows furrowed in concentration as he gathered paint from a saturated orange pan in his tin and combined it with a touch of red in a dish. The further he immersed into his paintings, the harder his features became as his thoughts zeroed in on every stroke and the shades of the colors. It was only when the sun fully set that his strained eyes protested the lack of light.

He blinked, reeling back from his hunched position as his eyeballs burned and snapped him out of his focus. Groaning from the interruption, he carefully placed the brush down and wiped his hands on his apron. Even in the dark, he moved around his workshop with ease, thankfully sparing all his paintings and organized mess. But he stumbled over his wrinkled carpet back in his living room, where he fumbled for a lantern. Once it was lit, he returned to his workshop and reassessed his paintings, standing back and holding out the lantern at different angles for different perspectives.

The short break revealed a few spots that needed touching up before he could move on and he re-rolled back his sleeves, slipping back into focus.

Eventually, a knock came at his door, but he didn’t hear it as he knelt over the moonflower painting, working on getting the minute curls of the petals captured by the blue paint that emanated a gentle glow.

“Luka?” Mari called, pushing open the door with a creak.

He remained securely lost in his task, carefully unfurling the painted blossoms.

Mari stepped closer, leaning her hip against the table. She watched quietly until he finished the last petal and pulled the brush away from the paper. As he stepped back and assessed the glowing flowers around the weathered well, she cleared her throat and he jumped.

“Mari!” He slapped his hand against his chest as his heart pounded against his ribs. “How long have you been there?”

“Maybe a minute?” She shrugged. “How about you?”

“What about me?” He arched his brows, but before she could answer, he turned back towards his paintings.

The aspen painting was done, he thought, but might need a check in the morning. And while the moonflowers were just about finished, he wanted to add a few more details to give the forest behind the clearing a little more dimension.

A tricky task now that all he had was the flickering lantern light and glow of the paint to work by.

“How long have you been here?” Mari asked with a wry grin.

“Since lunch?” he offered. He blinked again, glancing out towards the window, where night had overrun the world with shadows.

“Did you eat dinner?” From her tone, she already knew the answer.

“Let me just finish this painting.” He whirled around, dipping his brush back into the dish with the glowing blue paint.

While he hurried to finish, she stepped closer to get a better look.

“Is that the wishing well you told me about?” she gasped, leaning over his shoulder.

“Where I met my princess,” he confirmed with a smile.

“I can see why you love it,” she admitted, giving him space as he turned away to rinse out the paint in his brush.

“It’s an incredible place,” he sighed with a twinge of lovesickness.

After placing his brush down on his cloth stained with smears of paint, he grabbed the tiniest brush for fine details and collected the gilded gold hue created from the moonflower pollen and began adding small accents in the sea of moons. He held his wrist underneath his painting hand to help keep himself steady as he leaned in towards the paper.

“Makes me almost wish I could see it for myself,” she said.

Despite his focus, he glanced towards her with his furrowed brows softening from his smile.

“You could! You could join me sometime.” He shifted his gaze back to the painting. “I think my princess would like that too!”

“When everything calms down, I think I’d be up for a little adventure,” her voice softened.

“It’s so beautiful there,” he hummed absentmindedly before he drifted back into silence. After a few moments more, he finished adding the accents and swished the paintbrush around the water with a sigh. “Done!”

His stomach growled as he rightened himself. He ducked his head sheepishly.

“Time for dinner,” she snickered. “I brought over Cat’s fish pie! It’s in your kitchen.”

"Really?” He snapped to attention, already edging away from the worktable as he stretched his arm to finish flicking off the excess water. He dropped the brush onto the cloth and retrieved the lantern. “You should have said so sooner!”

“You would have still waited to finish your work.” Mari rolled her eyes, leading the way back to his small cottage.

“Maybe, but I would have worked faster if I knew pie was waiting!” he teased.

After Luka lit the gas lamp in the kitchen with Mari holding the lantern for him, he eagerly got out plates for the both of them. The crust crumbled with a crunch and the fragrance of the roasted pumpkin and salty fish expanded with the steam. With his mouth watering, Luka scooped servings of the oozing filling and pastry onto their plates. He joined Mari at the table and handed over her share as he dropped down into his seat.

He hummed as soon as he took his first bite, melting from the creamy sauce and letting the salt from the fish and olives bring out the best of the flavors, like rich pigments heightened the vibrancy of the hues. The steaming warmth of the fresh dish only soothed and energized him after a long afternoon of work.

“Thank you,” he garbled while holding his hand over his mouth. He swallowed and gathered another forkful. “This is just what I needed.”

“I thought you might be needing a warm meal.” Mari nodded with her bite hovering as she blew on the wafting steam. “Your face this morning when the mayor reminded you that you have an actual booth at the festival was priceless.”

“I might have forgotten that to make money, I need pieces to sell.” He propped his elbow on the table as he leaned over his plate. While he took another bite, his gaze traced the steam and flakes of crust sliding down the sauce.

“What’s wrong?” Mari prompted after a moment of watching his expression.

“Just thinking,” he muttered, moving a chunk of fish around a piece of pumpkin. He caught her knitted brows and heaved out an exhale. “My princess and I were talking about the future a bit.”

Mari nodded, encouraging him to keep going.

“We’re getting to the point where we’re discussing moving in with each other. Mostly hypotheticals,” he explained, idly tapping his fork against the plate as he held Mari’s warm brown gaze. “If I move to the fey world, I have to decide if I want to keep avoiding the food there, which would pose some challenges, or if I… well…” he trailed off, frowning.

“What happens if we eat fey food again?” Mari asked uncertainly.

“My princess says that from the moment we just taste the food of the fey, all human food will turn to ash on our tongues.” He glanced back down at the pie, prodding it with his fork. “So, I would never get to have Cat’s cooking again.”

“What do fey eat?” she asked. “Is it just berries and fruit?”

“No,” he snorted despite his heavy pondering. “There’s all kinds of food. There are farming communities near the village and even the ocean is just a half-day’s journey from the castle so there’s fish. The meals that my princess has on our picnics always look fancy.”

“So, you can still have hot meals, at least,” she offered.

“But then,” his frown deepened as his shoulders slouched, “there’s another problem. Humans, once they eat fey food, will become like shadows in this world.”

“Shadows?” she repeated.

“I don’t quite understand it,” he admitted with a wince. “But it sounds like it’s more that the person wouldn’t be able to interact with anyone. They wouldn’t be seen or heard no matter what. And I think staying in this world as a shadow for too long would make a person sick.”

Silence passed between them.

“I wouldn’t be able to see you?” she broke the silence with caution in her voice.

“You could always visit me in the fey world,” he said quickly, though his dismay was apparent as he sighed. “But it’s not ideal. It would make interacting with everyone here a challenge and… I know I’m safe with my princess, but the other fey still swarm me if we get too close to the town and I wouldn’t want to subject others to that.”

“I’d be willing to visit, at least,” she said gently. “But yeah, no one in town even knows that you’ve been in the fey world yet, I don’t know how they would feel about any of this.”

“I don’t want to eat the fey food, I know that much.” He tapped the pie, feeling more certain as he talked it out with Mari. “It just means packing enough food for longer trips will be challenging.”

“Can’t she move here?” Mari asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “She’s the queen and all. I can’t keep her from being there when her subjects need her.”

“Right.” Mari nodded thoughtfully.

“I don’t know, maybe I don’t have to move either,” he said with a shrug. “I do miss her though. Spending days apart seems too much sometimes, and I feel like I’m just waiting for the next moment I can be with her.”

“Is there a way you could research options you both haven’t thought of?” she suggested. “Maybe an older fey or something knows a way around the rules?”

“My princess has told me about some trees that have all the answers.” He collected more food onto his fork. “I could ask one of them.”

“Tell me what they say,” she snorted.

“And who knows,” Luka added. “Maybe once the festival is over and things quiet down, I can spend more time there and coming home each time won’t feel as heartbreaking.”

He popped the forkful into his mouth.

“That bad, huh?” Mari prompted sympathetically.

“I know it sounds silly.” He covered his mouth as he spoke around his food. “I just love every moment with her.” He swallowed and continued with a brighter smile. “I could listen to her voice all day, and even just sitting in silence, watching the stars is sweeter with her. I hate having to leave.”

“It’s not silly,” she chuckled. “It’s sweet.” She paused before adding gently, “I’m sure that you two can figure out a way around the rules that works for you.”

“I’m already thinking about how I can work on painting there in addition to planning how to better pack meals. For now, I have to wait though.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “I have so much to do before the festival.”

“Whether you’re ready or not, it is coming up,” she offered between bites. “You don’t have to wait much longer.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better,” he drawled out sarcastically, but gave her a genuine smile. She preened, earning a snort from him before he lifted another chunk of pumpkin to his mouth. Shaking his head, he let himself relax as the warm meal melted on his tongue.

Between conversation with Mari and planning more paintings to work on, his thoughts lingered with his princess. He’d have to leave a note for her at the glade to tell her something came up and he was swamped with work, but he hoped they could work around it. In the meantime, he settled his lovesick heart by wondering what she was doing just a world away, under her night sky.

He hoped that she could somehow feel how pieces of his heart remained with her. But mostly, he just hoped that she was happy.

The queen ambled through the night market, golden crown perched on her head as she tended to official duties. While her painter and his fellow humans celebrated the end of autumn, shortly after, she and hers would celebrate the beginning of winter. Preparations for the first star shower viewing were well on their way as she guided the hanging of lanterns and planned where to place telescopes. She also met with guards and other volunteers who would track the descent of the stars to go out and harvest any stray dust and star fragments that they could, discussing what they would need for their journeys.

Hiding a yawn behind her gloved hand, she intended to return to the castle when a voice called her over to a stall.

“There’s darling Queen Ven in all her excellence,” Shapeshifter cooed in a layered voice.

The queen turned, meeting a multi-eyed gaze of the shopkeeper selling many odd items and wares. No matter how brightly the glowing mushrooms strung from their stall awning and flanking the sides of the counter shone in the whites of their eyes, their features remained encased in inky shadows under their hood. They motioned her over with a floppy sleeve, poorly patched.

“What is it?” she asked, unimpressed.

“Can’t a fey greet their queen?” Shapeshifter pursed their voice into a pout.

“Not this fey.” She gave a wry smile. “You always want something.”

“Guilty as charged, I suppose,” they twittered as they lowered their elbows onto the counter and rested their chin on their sleeves. “I just wanted the juicy gossip about that little human you’ve been avoiding your responsibilities with.”

Their eyes squinted as if they were smiling, and the queen looked around.

Luckily, there weren’t many fey out at the moment, just one fey with moth wings speaking with young Hat who borrowed Friend’s stall at night and the birch tree in the center of the plaza. None of them seemed to be listening.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t joke about me neglecting my duties.” She scowled, turning back to Shapeshifter. “I work tirelessly for you all.”

“I meant no offense,” they promised, their smile curling in their voice. “But I know you’ve been sneaking away more and more and that can only mean one thing.” They jumped up and gestured towards their shelves. “You’ll be needing my assistance.”

“I don’t require anything you want to offer.” She began to turn.

“You do if you want to keep him tethered here,” Shapeshifter insisted. “A spell to turn him into a tree, or perhaps you’d prefer he was a flower? I have those potions too. You have to get his name for it to work, of course.”

She knew she should have just walked away, but at that point, she felt rather insulted, and it was going to bother her if she didn’t.

“I’m perfectly capable of turning whoever I wish into foliage without the use of a potion,” she held out her hand and summoned a spark of pale blue light to her gloved fingertips. “Care to see?”

“No, no.” Shapeshifter waved their sleeves back and forth. “And of course. You deserve something much stronger.” They glided over to a collection of curios, pointing to each item as they explained their purpose. “You could trap him in a music box, forever posed in a dance for you. Or making him into an enchanted mirror would allow him to always bask in your beauty. The bonus is he would be able to reflect whatever you commanded him to.”

“I’m not doing any of those,” the queen deadpanned. “You fail to understand the nature of our relationship.”

“Do tell,” they insisted, tilting their head.

“You couldn’t possibly understand it.”

She also wasn’t going to admit any snow-soft musings meant for her painter’s ears alone.

“Let me guess,” Shapeshifter chuckled. “You love him, and he loves you? No matter how much you love each other, you know he’ll never leave the human world behind, right? There will always be others in his heart.”

“Goodbye, Shapeshifter.” She waved as she turned. “You’ll have to try harder to sell me something.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” they called.

She ignored their final attempts to convince her that she needed their aid. Even if she ever did feel her painter’s affections were split, she had her own ways of ensuring he would stay in the fey world, all while keeping him content and with those golden eyes and dazzling smile intact. But she didn’t need to fret over any of that, not when they had discussed their future at length together and he knew he could easily remain with her always if he tasted any of their food. Certainly, he loved her enough that he would choose her world over any other.

Still, after such an encounter with Shapeshifter, she didn’t particularly want to return to the castle and her lonely room.

Not that she doubted her painter, but, well, it was harder to remember how much he cared in his absence.

While she thought about consulting the birch tree, holding the shining lanterns on stiff branches, she noticed that young Hat had finished with her customer and was idly kicking her legs as she perched on the stool.

“Hat,” the queen greeted as she stepped over, her slippers tapping against the cold stone.

“I wasn’t anywhere near your garden today!” she announced, crossing her arms and furrowing her brows.

“I know, dear,” the queen dismissed, pausing in front of the table that boasted an array of headwear. Her gaze landed on a blue knitted cap with bear ears. “Oh! How cute!”

“Did you want to buy it?” Hat dropped her guard. In an instant, her already large blue eyes grew to the side of saucers with awe and hope.

As sharp as a snowflake nipping at her nose, the queen felt a pinch in her chest.

“I do not believe I could pull off bear ears but,” she quickly scanned the table for something else to purchase, “that ribbon is lovely.”

“It can make you go super fast!” Hat collected the bright yellow bow and held it out. “I used a secret ingredient to enchant it!”

“What’s the ingredient?” the queen asked, cracking a smile as she accepted the ribbon.

The bow was tied securely around a bit of elastic that would make tying hair back a breeze. The yellow wouldn’t show well in her flaxen hair, but the hue reminded her of her painter. And that was enough for her.

“I can’t tell you. It’s a secret!” Hat pouted. She leaned over the table and motioned for the queen to lower her ear. Once she complied, Hat pointed towards Shapeshifter’s booth and whispered with urgency, “they’re always trying to steal my secrets, so I have to be extra careful!”

“I see,” the queen nodded seriously. “Then I shall not ask again and instead marvel at your craftmanship. How much?”

Hat beamed, bouncing back and naming her price. The queen paid for the ribbon and while she tucked it into her pouch, Hat kicked her legs on the stool, scanning the plaza for other customers. After spotting no one else, she sighed and retrieved a half-finished purple and yellow striped cap which was tethered to a crochet hook. While pulling it out, knitted, black triangles tumbled down and she bent over to grab them, placing them by the cap.

After a second of appraisal, the queen realized the triangles looked like cat ears that would probably be attached to the cap at a later date.

“Slow night?” she wondered.

“Yeah, but Friend said I could use the stall during the festival, so I’m stocking up!” Hat lifted her work pointedly.

“Saving for anything in particular?” she prompted. It never occurred to her before, but despite her childish shenanigans during the day, Hat was always working tirelessly when the queen caught her at night.

“I’m going to travel the world one day!” Hat momentarily puffed out her chest between her crocheting. “I’ll be a great adventurer with only my hats. No stinky Shapeshifter to try and steal my stuff, and no rules to keep me down.”

“That eager to leave?” The queen’s thoughts drifted. “I like to think this darling kingdom has everything we need.”

“Not for me,” Hat muttered. But she paused, remembering who she was talking with. She winced and gave the queen a forced smile. “But it’s great for you, and everyone.”

“I’m sure your parents will miss you,” the queen tried to dismiss her heavy thoughts and focus on Hat. “Or do you plan to travel with them?”

Hat glanced away for a split second before summoning a brighter smile.

“They won’t mind,” she reassured. “W-want to buy another hat? You have a boyfriend, right? You can give one as a gift.”

The abrupt subject change did not go unnoticed, but the queen let the conversation lie.

“Maybe another night,” she offered. “He seems perfectly happy with his current beret.”

“A beret?” Hat’s smile seemed more genuine as it reached her eyes. “If he ever needs it patched or wants me to add a little magic, I can do that too!” She glanced down at her kitty cap and arched her brows pensively. “I wonder if I could start making berets.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to let him know he has one more reason to stay in the kingdom,” the queen chuckled. “We have Hat: Milliner Extraordinaire.”

Hat preened with a mischievous smirk before returning her focus to her work.

“You should tell that to everyone else,” she insisted.

“I’ll drum up business when I can if you stay out of my garden.” The queen rose a challenging brow.

Hat avoided her gaze.

“Pleasure doing business! Enjoy the bow!” She beamed instead.

The queen shook her head but continued on her way towards the castle, feeling slightly refreshed after a long day.

What kept her spirits up was the promise that in less than a couple days, she would meet her painter again. And the next night before their scheduled meeting, her spirits soared even higher when a sparrow messenger brought a note from him shortly after twilight.

They were swiftly dashed, as she read that their meeting in the morning would have to be postponed. While his message pleaded for forgiveness and promised he could be ready the day after, it was hard not to wonder why his work was more important than her.

She folded the message and tucked it away in her dresser with other notes or sketches he had given her within the past season. She reminded herself to just be patient. Soon enough, he would choose to remain by her side.

She was sure of it.

#my writing #how unhinged is it to break like a years worth of radio silence to post chapter 7 of a fic and disappear again for months?#tell me honestly #gosh has it been a year?????? almost?????#its wild because ive still been writing i just stopped posting whoops #the fey prince is currently on wip hiatus #but ive been having an original work crisis and was rereading this fic last night to try and boost confidence #annnnnnnnnnnnnddddddddddddddd so here it is?#not main tagging this because honestly #i've been wanting to post snippets of this the problem is my fav parts require oh SIXTY CHAPTERS WORTH OF CONTEXT #oh well #anyway this fic entirely focuses on the prince and the florist and boy is it fun there's like two halves #first is getting the prince into a situation and then the second is Mari having to find his name again in a very spirited away dynamic #where he remembers her but she can't remember him and he's just trying to get her to leave while she suspects that #he's the one who snatched her friend #okay just gonna post and disappear again #THANKS FOR READING AS ALWAYS SORRY THIS IS THE MOST RANDOM POST DHFBVFHDBV

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lilahisntsadanymore · 6 months

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Growing up with a deatheater father doesn't teach you much about emotions, so when Theo finds himself developing an infatuation with a muggle-born, he thinks she gave him a love potion.

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!fem!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Warnings: jealous Harry

There is a 2nd part!! <3

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Unveiled Desires

It was strange to him. So strange how he went from mocking, annoying and occasionally bullying her every step she takes to secretly wanting her. Wanting to have her, or even needing her.

He didn't know how or when it happened, but one day he realized she was constantly in his head. It creeped up on him in small steps and eventually he had developed an infatuation for the girl.

Of course nobody knew about it, Theo wouldn't dare telling anyone. He just kept with his antics, hoping the obsession will somewhat disappear one day. Unfortunately, the more he tried to get rid of this feeling, the more he gave it power, the more it grew.

But he couldn't be with her. He couldn't be with a mudblood.

But he wanted to be with her. The more he thought about it, the less he cared about the blood status. He cursed at himself for these thoughts. Raised by a deatheater father, he would get disowned for dating anyone who wasn't a pureblood.

"Granger, can I talk to you for a second?" A question left his mouth as he approached the Golden Trio. Who was better to talk to about Y/n than her older sister?

The three Gryffindors looked at Theo as if he wasn't good in the head. Just casually wanting to have a chat, a normal chat, with someone outside of his social circle. Pretty unusual for a Slytherin.

"What is it?" Harry asked protectively.

"I was talking to Granger. I need to talk privately."

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron, exchanging suspecting glances. Eventually she spoke, "Alright, but make it quick."

"Great, let's go." Theo started walking, but Hermione stood in her place.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere they," he gestured to Harry and Ron, "aren't gonna eavesdrop."

Hermione crossed her arms on her chest, a knowing expression on her face.

Theo raised his hands, "It's not a trap again, I swear."

The girl sighed and walked after her rival.

Hermione and Theodore weren't fond of each other not only because of their houses and their blood statuses, but also because they were academic rivals. Both of them were extremely competitive. Since first year they aspired to be better than one another in pretty much everything.

"Can we stop already?" The girl asked. "I'm pretty sure they won't ear us from here."

"Alright, alright." Theo agreed. "But I need you to promise me you won't tell anybody about it."

"Why me? Why would you trust a Gryffindor with keeping a secret for you?"

Theo lowered his voice to a whisper, "Because it's about your sister."

"What?!" Hermione's voice was the opposite of a whisper. "What have you done to her?!"

The boy gestured telling her to lower her voice. "No, I didn't do anything. She has done...something."

"What on Earth could that possibly be?" A little more quiet, but still unpleasantly surprised, she decided to listen to him.

One last time, Theo looked around to make sure there's nobody there who could be a witness to what he was about to say.

"She used some spell on me." He accused. "Or put something in my food, my drink."

Hermione scoffed with laughter. "You must be joking. You bully her for whole five years, but one time she pays you back for it, it's an issue?"

"Not like that." He took a second to gather his thoughts. "Granger, do you remember how we learnt about amortentia few weeks ago? I think Y/n gave it to me."

Hermione started at the boy for a moment and then burst out with laughter. Y/n wasn't the issue, there was no way a fifth year would be able to make amortentia. Not even Y/n Granger.

Theodore felt annoyed and offended by Hermione's reaction. He looked at her with disgust. "What is so funny to you about it, mu-, Granger?"

Noticing how he almost called her a slur, her expression immediately became serious. "Seriously? You know what, deal with it by yourself. I don't even know why you're telling me all of this."

"Why? Because you have to talk to her, tell her to do something about it! Tell her to stop it!"

Hermione got a brilliant idea.

"You know, I've heard professor Slughorn had a remedy for amortentia."

"Yeah, and I'll end up in the hospital wing like Weasley."

"It was poisoned mead, not the amortentia cure itself. You can ask him to make one from the ingredients in the classroom."

"I will," Theo scoffed, "look at you being useful for the first time in your life."

Without another word, Hermione walked away. "Boys..." She muttered to herself.

"Don't tell anyone I told you this!"

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

"What?! He likes me?!" Y/n asked with blush on her face. "Theodore Nott likes me? The boy that has been bullying me for the past five years?"

"And the thinks it's because you gave him amortentia." Hermione giggled.

Y/n wouldn't ever think that he could be into her and the whole story that her sister had told her was simply unbelievable. But Hermione had no business in lying to her very own little sister, especially not about that.

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"Not yet, but I talked him into asking Slughorn for the cure! I suppose he'll do this tomorrow after class, as soon as possible."

"Who are you and what have you done to my sister?"

The girls were sitting alone in the common room and as Y/n laughed, Ron and Harry walked in.

"What are you two laughing about?" Harry asked, ready to hear that story.

"Can I tell them?" Hermione looked at Y/n. The younger Granger nodded. "Nott likes Y/n."

The girls and Ron laughed, meanwhile Harry stood there with his lips in a thin line, far away from laughing.

"The best part is," Hermione continued, "he thinks Y/n gave him amortentia!"

"What?" Harry spoke eventually, his voice a bit more surprised than it should be. "Y/n, did you give amortentia to Nott?"

"No, why would you accuse me of this?!" The youngest girl defended herself. "Is it that unbelievable that he can fancy me?"

"I mean... You're a muggleborn... And-"

"And what?! Does that mean I'm not worthy of that? We don't know him, maybe he doesn't believe in this whole blood purity thing."

"He does. That's why he hasn't asked you out. And he never will. Because they're all the same."

Y/n's eyes became a little glossy, the tears ready to start flowing anytime. "Are they, though? And you're saying this. You, whose godfather was Sirius Black."

"Sirius was different!"

"We don't know because we don't know what Theo is like!"

"Theo? It was Nott for the past few years that he was tormenting you," Harry put an emphasis on the word bullying, "now he fancies you and he becomes Theo?"

"I would actually give him a chance. It's not his fault that he was born into a blood purity obsessed family."

"Don't you think that's a little pathetic? Running into his hands the moment you find out he might fancy you meanwhile you had chances to date...other Gryffindors."

"Pathetic? You call me pathetic?"

"I didn't call you pathetic, I said what you do is-"

A sound of a slap filled the room, but the following silence spoke even louder. Y/n looked Harry in the eyes, a light red mark on his cheek that her hand left.

Harry could see and sense that it was too much, he said unnecessary words. He regretted them, but he just couldn't stop them from coming out.

The Golden Trio watched Y/n run upstairs. She was so glad nobody else was in the bedroom yet.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

"Excuse me, professor," Theo walked up to Slughorn after the class on the following day.

All the other students were slowly exiting the room, Harry's eyes fixed on the Slytherin standing by the teacher's desk.

"Yes, Theodore?" Slughorn asked. "Do you have some more bright insights you'd like to share with me?" He was clearly happy to have this conversation.

"I actually need help, professor."

The man's expression dropped. "Yes? Do you have a problem?"

"I'm worried that I've been given amortentia."

Slughorn's eyes widened. He was surprised or even shocked. "Are you sure? I remember seeing other people under the influence of several love potions and you don't quite match the criteria."

"There's this girl who I can't stop thinking about... I suspect she has given it to me."

"Who that might be?"

Theo waited until all the other students exit the classroom before he said the name.

"Y/n Granger."

Y/n stopped in her tracks just as he was about to enter the potions classroom. She was about to show the teacher a part of her project, wanting to consult the texts she has written. Instead, she stopped and decided to listen to the conversation.

"Ah, she's one of the best students in her year," Slughorn said proudly, "but I assure you - she wouldn't do that to you."

"How can you be sure, professor?"

"Well, could you describe your symptoms, Theodore?"

"Whatever I do, Y/n is on my mind," the boy admitted, "I can't eat, I can't sleep, I zone out thinking about her. It's not normal, I've never experienced it before."

The teacher gave his student a sympathetic smile. "My dear boy, you might be experiencing the actual feeling of being in love."

"What? And how could it have been caused? Was it a love potion, after all? Maybe a spell?"

"It's a part of muggle science, biology. The chemicals in your brain cause it and it's not something you can control. It happens when it happens. A truly beautiful feeling."

Theo's mouth twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. "Is there anything I can do about it?"

"You can talk to the girl about it, for example," Slughorn looked at the door and shouted, "come in, Y/n!"

Y/n cursed to herself in her thoughts. How could he know she was there?

The girl walked in shyly, holding a paper in her hands. "I wanted to show you my paper, professor," the girl spoke, "if there's anything you think I should change or... anything."

As the girl handed the paper to the teacher, she looked at Theo. They stood dangerously close to each other. The silence between the was so loud, Y/n was praying for the teacher to say something. Anything.

"Amazing, Mrs Granger," he spoke eventually, "although the Draught of Living Dead is an extremely difficult potion to make. I'm glad you're so ambitious, but I'd suggest you get help from someone more experienced."

"I'm pretty sure I can do it on my own." Y/n assured.

"Maybe Mr. Nott here could help you. The sixth year has been just learning about this potion, actually. Theodore, would you be so kind and help Mrs Granger?"

Suddenly, Theo's gaze somewhat softened. There was no more disgust in his eyes. When he stood so close to Y/n, he wondered why did he act the way he did. Why did he do all the mean things to her. Maybe he had always liked her, but didn't want to admit it, even to himself alone.

"Yes, sure," he said, "I can help."

Y/n felt happy. For some reason, she didn't dislike Theo for all the things he did. She secretly always liked him, he was attractive, and she would even sometimes daydream about the day he would finally talk to her like a normal person. Maybe the day has finally come.

#theo nott #theodore nott #slytherin boys #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfic #theo nott fanfic

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foldingfittedsheets · 14 days

Text

A friend I had briefly in my teens years was this girl in Arizona. She was a junior when I was a freshman, and as I was socially awkward and very lonely she kind’ve pulled me under her wing for a while. I don’t remember how we met, but I remember riding in her car and meeting her cute miniature Doberman.

But the thing I remember most about this girl was that she loved lying to me. And I had a massive but I acknowledged crush on her so I adored being lied to. Her natural charisma and storytelling was hypnotic.

It’s not what it sounds like because it wasn’t malicious but she came up with this in depth lore to tell me about this fake job she had. I know autistic people are meant to be credulous but I truly never believed her stories, I just adored her storytelling and was very ready to listen to whatever tale she spun that day. Another of her friends chided her once for teasing me but I genuinely never minded.

In her lore she moonlighted as a Professional Liar. People would hire her to get close to a target they wanted rattled. She’d make friends, develop a strong relationship, foster a dependency on her, then disappear. Then when they were confused and missing her sometime when the employer needed their target rattled she’d show back up as a glimpse to knock them off balance. Often it was implied she’d faked her death in the interim.

That itself was fine, it was an okay story. But in order to support that lie she’d make up tons of supporting details that were way more fun. She had this fake boyfriend who got high as balls on a mission and ended up seeing a sheep in a field and carrying it to a farmhouse to try to buy it because he wanted a puppy. I liked that one but suspected she didn’t know how big sheep were.

She’d IM chat with me as this made up boyfriend sometimes; once she had him ask me if I noticed her limping and he told me she’d just lost a toe but was covering for it like a champ. That one was fun.

She told me about something she called “purple charge” which was a way to get instant night vision. I did try looking that one up on the off chance, but was sadly disappointed there.

She said that Professional Liars had such high stakes jobs that they needed a week of insane time where they just partied so hard it was like a Dionysus rave and her IM boyfriend persona implied she’d killed someone during one of those stints.

I had such a fun time with her elaborate fiction that I’d often ask follow up questions and she had to do a lot of world building to keep up with my fascination. We’d get to class and I’d have three or four new questions which I think is why her friend thought her teasing was too far. They genuinely thought I believed her but I was just loving the fiction.

If any of this sounds malicious I’ll also add that when I got harassed on a roleplaying board she went out guns blazing to go after the guy who’d been harassing me. She genuinely enjoyed my company.

I find myself looking back on our friendship very fondly. I can’t remember her last name or have any way of looking her up, but she really was a professional liar to me. The only downside is that I’m completely faceblind so if she ever wanted to pop unexpectedly into my life I’d have no idea it was her.

#ramblies #ffs foibles #funny #story #stories are just well told lies #at least in her case but I had a blast

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awritesthings1 · 4 months

Text

All The Things We Don't Say

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: An anthology of your life with Tommy, from friends to strangers to lovers, and all the little moments in between.

Warnings: 18+, implied DV, substance abuse, childhood trauma, ptsd, overprotective tommy, swearing, brief smut, longfic oneshot, feminist themes (motherhood & being a wife in the 1920s).

ao3 link

Smash!

“Pick it up!”

Your daddy was a drunk. You remembered the fact since you could walk. He stayed home while the working men left for the factories, then disappeared in the late hours of the morning until his eventual return when the slam of the front door woke the household up. Mother used to hold you at night as she curled up in your bed. She was sick a lot. Always sniffing into the back of your neck when you were asleep. Sometimes the sleeve of your nightgown would get soaked while she muffled her hiccups.

She looked sad, too. In the morning, she kept the curtains drawn and stayed away from the outside world. She told you it was to keep nosey Mrs. Gretel away from her family affairs. But Mrs. Gretel had left Birmingham two months prior.

By seven years old, you were the 'man' of the house. You had gone to sleep one night, and when you awoke, your mother had vaporized into the air like a rabbit in a hat.

“She left because of you,” your father slurred at you.

You hated him.

She left behind her long-sleeve dresses, scarves, and wicker hats that covered nearly every inch of her skin. They were far too big for you then, but when your father came home at the end of the week with a stack of cash, you ran to your mother’s closet, which had remained untouched until then, to find only cobwebs. Gone. Every single one of her dresses. You looked out at the moon in those early hours of the morning and swore to it that when you were bigger, you would get him back so much worse.

And so you were left to clean up his smashed glass bottles and scrub the alcohol out of the gritty carpet. Your little hands struggled to pluck the glass from the floorboards. In a year’s time, they were covered in little scars.

On your tenth birthday, you decided you were grown enough to take matters into your own hands. When he was passed out on the floor from whatever he managed to fill his pipe with, you grabbed the small bottles he hid under a loose floorboard and poured them into the gutter at the back of your house.

You turned to run back to the door when the contents of the bottle were empty, but a ball almost tripped you over. You gripped your tattered skirt before you could lose your footing and snapped your head around with a fierce pout.

“That’s my ball,” pointed a young Thomas Shelby.

You put your small hands on your smaller hips. “You kicked it my way on purpose!”

You weren’t entirely sure, but you suspected it.

“Maybe I thought you were pretty,” he grinned.

You noticed his two front teeth were missing.

“Ewwww! I would never go out with you!” You squawked.

At ten years old, you knew better than that.

Seemingly unaffected by your distaste, he continued. “Do you live there?” He nodded to the house whose roof was falling apart.

“What’s it to you?” You frowned stubbornly, not wanting to admit that, yes, that was your house.

“The curtains are always drawn,” he answered, walking over to pick up his ball from your feet. He was the same height as you were at the time. “My brother Arthur said it’s haunted. He saw a ghost in the window once. He said it was a woman and that she starved to death.”

Your nose scrunched up. "Well, he’s a phony!”

You ran inside said house and slammed the door shut.

He kissed you down by the docks that winter. It was your first kiss, and a clumsy one at that, so you didn’t remember much of it.

By thirteen, you had given in and sold the rest of your mother’s belongings to support yourself. You hated yourself for it, and that nagging voice inside your head told you that you were no better than your father. Oh, and your father? Your father lost vision in his left eye from a bar fight. Too bad it wasn’t both.

Sometime later, a boy two years older than you saw your wandering hand in someone’s bag at the fair and threatened to teach you some manners ‘the hard way’. You bit anxiously on your nails and pleaded with him because he was bigger than most boys his age, when Tommy’s brother Arthur (who you’d seen hanging around the Garrison) came passing by and threatened to ‘toss him about’. The other boy, not all believing in Arthur’s temper, rushed forward, and the two ended up rolling in the dirt, but by then you were gone with a stolen pocket watch in your fist. Nearly two legs and an arm deep in poverty, some quick cash, or a hero complex? You’d take the penny.

At fourteen, a lady knocked on your door. It was a lady of the night who had come to inform your father that he had fathered a son with her. You were glad it was a boy. A girl wouldn’t have stood a chance in the slums of Birmingham. Life was hard, but Birmingham was harder. Your father had refused to listen to the young woman and shooed her off. You never saw her teary-eyed face again.

At fifteen, your father attempted to wash his hands of you by marrying you off to the highest bidder. There was no real auction, but just about anyone who suggested a handsome sum of money did the trick.

“His name is William,” you exhaled, kicking your legs over the edge of the dock.

Tommy laughed. “You won’t marry him.”

“What choice do I have, Tom?”

Your finances were getting tight, and the gloomy pressure to take up working at night like many young ladies was beginning to loom closer and closer. You hated being a woman. Boys would never have to worry about selling themselves to survive.

“I’ll put a gypsy curse on him,” he decided, squinting his eyes from the bright reflection dancing across the water.

You hit his shoulder.

“No, you won't, because then you’ll be cursing me.”

The severity of your situation began to dawn on Tommy. No amount of pestering Polly for change to spare would relieve you of your burden any longer.

“That’s it, then?” He gulped, shifting his glassy eyes to the harbor.

You sighed and followed his gaze.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’ll never have to see dad again, and William promised to take care of me.”

Tommy scoffed.

You frowned at him. “What?”

He shook his head.

“What! Tom—”

“Don’t marry him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, here we go, why?”

“You know why.”

You were engaged to William on the eve of your seventeenth birthday. He was a very proper man and never dared to go any further than hooking an arm around yours on formal occasions. You were never attracted to his thin mustache nor the thick lenses he wore. In fact, he was incredibly awkward at social occasions, always checking his pocket watch and avoiding eye contact with whichever circle he stood in.

Tommy began to fade out of your life around that time. Margaret—a lady who had taken you on to help with the sewing of her family’s tailoring business—told you that Tommy was spotted arm in arm with another girl that week. You expected to feel jealous, but you felt nothing. You knew love would never be your right. Love was for the more fortunate.

You spent that year learning how to be a wife. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too different from what you did as a child—cooking and cleaning up like you did when your father came home, that is. It was comforting to have a routine in place. It meant finality—no one walking in and out of your life as they pleased, and certainly no more growling stomachs. Perhaps being a wife was a skill your mother never learned. You were grateful for William’s mother, who seemed to be more than enthusiastic to show you the reigns.

After a year-long engagement, you caught your fiancé, William, locked in a compromising position with another man.

“Oh,” was all you got out before leaving his house.

You lacked the special ingredient that marriages needed: love.

You sat down at the fountain across the street. William and his lover’s silhouette were visible behind the blinds he had drawn on the second floor, which peered over the sidewalk. You watched their shadows fluster their feathers around the room like headless geese, and for a moment your head surfaced above water and laughter frothed out between your sealed lips. Perhaps Birmingham made you a little mad.

You didn’t go through with the marriage. You suspected William was relieved.

That week, your father left. You never knew whether he left on his own accord or just never made it home one night. Either way, you never really cared to find out.

With nothing left to lose, you knocked on the Shelby family’s door at Watery Lane. Finn appeared around the other side of the door a moment later.

“Is Tommy home?”

Finn nodded, spinning on his heel to alert his brother. When Tommy did appear, his shoulders were tensed. Disheveled hair never looked so stylish on him. When you saw his suspenders (which were hastily thrown on), you wanted to ask who he expected to be at the door that he planned to answer dressed in such fashion but then thought better of it. He peered down at you, then checked over his shoulder before ushering you inside and up to his bedroom.

“It’s… smaller than I thought,” you landed on, taking in his room.

After all these years, you had never stepped foot into the Shelby home. You weren’t the type of person to come door-knocking.

You turned around to face Tommy after hearing him click the lock on his door.

“Are you hurt?" were the first words he had spoken to you in a year.

“No.” You pressed your lips together, eyeing everything from the bed to the view out the window.

Silence followed closely after.

“Then why are you here?” Tommy sighed.

Your vision began to blur then. “I don’t know,” you said honestly, trying to stop your bottom lip from trembling.

Desperately, you pushed your hair back and straightened up, attempting to hold yourself together. You must have looked like a puppet being held together by a string, given how poor you looked.

Tommy’s boots pad across the wooden floor. “You love me?”

Did that word truly exist? How could you answer if you never knew what it meant to love?

You don’t meet his eyes. He licked his lips, pushing your head up to meet his with his thumb. His eyebrows rose expectantly.

“I don’t know what to do, Tom,” you breathed, avoiding his question. “I’m all alone now. No William, no father…”

His lips parted, and you watched with fascination as the cogs turned in his head. “Yes… that is a problem." His breath fanned over your face.

You gagged, a reaction you yourself had not expected, before rushing to his door, only to remember that, yes, he had locked it, before turning to the nearest silver bucket in the corner to empty your guts.

The first thing you heard when you caught your breath was, “are you pregnant?”

No, but when you stand so close to me and I can smell the cigarettes you smoke and your freshly washed skin, I can imagine a future where we are married, and I see your face growing more disappointed as we age together because you married a woman who never knew how to be a mother to your children nor a wife who knew to tend to you with affection by your bedside when you’re ill.

“No,” you choked, spitting out the vile taste in your mouth. “We never did anything.”

You wanted him to know that. You wanted him to think that you never let William touch you because you never loved him, not because William wasn’t interested in girls.

A moment later, Tommy sat beside you on the floor and quietly combed your hair away from your wobbling lips.

“So, if you’re not pregnant and you don’t love me, why are you here?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. How were you supposed to answer that? After letting your guts loose in his room, you thought he would surely have booted you out the door.

A knock came on the door: “Tommy?”

“A minute, Finn!” Tommy growled at the door, refusing to back away from your trembling frame.

You were so hungry. Margaret had to cut back your hours ever since her husband fell ill. She spent more time by his bedside than keeping the store open, which meant you were making less than usual. The imminent closing of the store hung over your head like a taunting crow, gouging your insides like you were Prometheus. Birmingham your chains, a woman your fate, and the bird your punishment for thinking you deserved more.

“I should go.” You shivered at the draft inching towards your skin from the open window.

Tommy’s intense gaze stuttered, falling to your lap, where you picked at the dead skin around your nails. He cleared his throat, fishing out the key from his pocket. Although it was dull and muted from the years, it gleaned brightly in your eyes as if it were the reward you came for. Flushed, you grabbed it out of his hands without sparing a glance. Electricity sparked in those precious seconds, igniting a deadly fire in your belly.

“You’re cold." Tommy flinched at your touch.

You retreated as soon as the key slid into the hole and unlocked with a click. In your haste, you left the most valuable thing you owned there in his room.

Your heart.

The months went by, and summer arrived. The stories your mother told you left you expecting a bright gleam of air that would wash over the streets and paint each tree and every patch of grass a frighteningly bright green that would even encourage grumpy Mrs. Gretel to come out to preen her stubborn roses that would just not grow. Birmingham left less to be desired. The summer days never came, and that persisting bitter bog thickened, albeit with slightly less rain. There were gray clouds, smoke from the factories, and a shivering north westerly, which pushed said clouds at breakneck speed as if they had somewhere to be. You looked to the sky one day and said a prayer for blue breezes and sweltering sun, but the sky was empty.

Sometime later, men marched the streets armed with guns in their ‘dashing’ uniforms. A war, they said, a great one. Queues lined the street for the post offices and grocers. Rain rivaled the bustle of the city. What did it feel like to love someone so much as to stand in the pouring rain next to the gutter? You wanted that kind of love. Not the love you could only give yourself because even you didn’t want your own love.

One of the soldiers decorated in medals stood on a crate at the port, yelling something supposedly inspiring that captured the attention of many young men. The words honorable and patriotic were tossed in there like a delectable salad, enticing them in the way farmers held a carrot to a pig’s snout.

You pitied their mothers. Their daughters were married off, and then their sons were swooning over the idea of dying. Birmingham was filthy, rotting, and disgusting. You needed to leave.

You kissed Margaret goodbye on the cheek one Tuesday morning. Ever since your pockets turned out empty, you had been working as a bedside nurse for her ill-stricken husband. They were good to you, and they were probably the only people you could consider family.

She patted your cheek and said, "you're doing good to serve this country.”

You hadn’t had the heart to tell her you were leaving because the city was marring your flesh, so you slipped her the sugarcoated lie of wanting to join the war effort so that you might help others who were bedridden, just like her husband.

At the train station, you stood with your suitcases held tightly in both arms. You had to set one down to hold onto your hat as a train full of men waving their caps out the window pulled into the station. Some children weaved between the crowd, wagging a newspaper above their heads, hoping to make a quick penny. To your side, women wept for their brothers, husbands, and lovers.

“Who are you wishing off?” asked an elderly woman who was clutching her cane.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m boarding the next train.”

She laughed, and you wondered how old your mother would be now. Would she have grown wrinkles and settled into a deeper laugh like this woman?

“My dear, you have a bright imagination if you think they will let a woman on any of these trains.”

A sudden anger filled your blood. “Why not?”

“These men are heading straight for London, where they will be shipped away to France to fight,” the woman explained as if it were any other day.

“I’ll catch the next train then.”

She shook her head, and her frail hand curled tighter around her cane. “They’ve stopped the trains so they can transport soldiers to London.”

You frowned. “Then how will I leave Birmingham?”

You’ll never forget her dismissive laughter.

“My dear, you won’t.”

Men boarded the train, clapping each other on the back with a wink and a laugh. When a line of men on the platform thinned, the train whistled, and you looked over just in time to see Polly, Ada, and little Finn standing with their hands crossed over their hearts as they waved to the train.

No. It wasn’t possible.

But it was because you caught the gleam of the razors sewn into their peaky caps. Tommy, Arthur, and John all stood aboard the train, sticking their heads out and waving to Polly and Ada with a grin that wrung your stomach like a wet cloth.

Those countless daydreams you spun, the intricate webs you wove, began breaking down to thin fibers. In one pathway, you stayed there in his room and told him the truth you always denied yourself. You loved him. In another, you stood next to Polly, close to tears, as you begged him to come home safely. There was a resounding click in that moment as your breath stuttered. You had been the person who wiped away those futures, thinking it was nothing but an annoying spiderweb. Oh, how wrong you were!

“Tommy!” You left your suitcases behind and stepped around the old woman as you ducked under hugs and tearful goodbyes.

“Tommy!” You cried again with the gusto of someone who certainly shouldn’t be as concerned as they were considering you left him in his room that day.

Thankfully, his eyes eventually found yours as you pushed through the last line of people. You stood there and stomached all your regrets head-on. It was funny how, up until that moment, you managed to squash every seed of doubt. Why was it that you only realized what you had when it was slipping out of reach?

He never called your name back. He just stared at you blankly as the train pulled away, unlike you, who clung to the image of his frame even as the train disappeared from sight and the crowd began to disperse. You stood there unblinking, hoping to soak up the last of him before you forgot the intensity of his eyes or the humming rumble of his voice. Because the idea of something you held dearly becoming a memory meant that it could as easily be forgotten, and that terrified you. Your eyes were watering now, against your best wishes.

You overheard Polly ushering Finn and Ada off. Finn rushed home without protest, but Ada stopped in her tracks when she saw you hunched over your knees in tears. She smiled weakly before chasing Finn home. It was then that Polly’s shadow approached your huddled frame. She didn’t say anything, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she expected you to stand and apologize for being such a mess. That’s when a penny clattered to the ground beside you. She squeezed your shoulder once before disappearing.

You kissed that penny as if Tommy would feel the power of it across the country, then ran back to Margaret’s, having forgotten your suitcases.

“Oh…” She exclaimed, slapping her tea towel on the counter when you walked into the kitchen. “You missed your train?”

Dread made your stomach tender and your breath short.

“I’m enrolling in the Red Cross.”

Throughout the war, you thought of Tommy every day until your stomach lurched. Would it have worked if you had stayed? Would you both have grown old together instead of subjecting yourself to the spray of dirt when a bomb went off nearby?

A day ago, your supply rations never came. It wasn’t like hunger was anything new, but when your mind was too focused on surviving the perilous weather, it was hard to save other lives. You made work with what little supplies you had left. The morphine went stint within hours of its arrival, and the cries of pained soldiers filled the medical tent all night. You did what you could, wiped sweat from their foreheads, and wrote letters to their mothers and lovers with what supplies you could scavenge. Some were written on cardboard from shell packaging, others on torn pages from the bibles they kept over their hearts. Pens were useless—the ink ran in the rain—so you scribbled everything down in pencil.

Before you left for France, you were warned of the bullets. No one ever warned you about the shrapnel, nor the bombs or grenades. They shattered soldiers’ bones beyond repair and left bodies unrecognizable. There wasn’t much you could do when most of their flesh was missing.

Keeping faith became an impossible task. Supplies were depleted, and nurses were dejected. Sally, who had been writing home for news of her brother, recently had her letters returned with the black stamp. Death—return to sender. She spent only an hour sitting on a trunk, letting her tears fall, before she got back to work. Grief privileged those with time, something no one could afford in these conditions.

Then it came—the day Arthur Shelby was carried in on a stretcher. You were making your rounds around the beds when a truckload of yelling men pooled through the entrance of the tent.

“Nurse!” They all yelled, some limping, others setting down stretchers of men on the dirt between the filled beds.

You and two other nurses dropped everything and ran over to attend to the wounded. They were all covered head to toe in dirt, groaning and clutching limbs that were twisted the wrong way. One in particular coughed and huffed while he fought against hands, which were fruitlessly pushing him back down on the stretcher.

“Let me go!” He yelled, wrestling against an older nurse.

“It’s alright, Mary. I’ll handle this one,” you patted her shoulder as you swapped places.

You dunked a washcloth into a bucket of water to wipe away the dirt in his eyes. “Calm down; you're safe here,” you said, starting your usual script of reassurances.

When the striking blue eyes squinted up at you, your blood ran cold. You froze before taking his head in both your hands, despite his protests. “Arthur? Arthur, it’s me!”

He loosened his grip on your wrist. “Huh?”

“It’s me! Where’s Tommy and John?”

He spat blood and gritted his teeth. “Fucking hell, where’s the whiskey?”

You laughed despite the smell of blood encompassing the tent. You quickly fetched the alcohol you had been using to clean wounds and pressed it to his lips. You weren’t sure if it was whiskey or not, but you reasoned he was in too much pain to be able to tell. He drank it with a groan of pleasure. You didn’t try to snatch the bottle away as he emptied it down his palette; you just sat and grinned at the way he suckled it like a newborn baby while you cleaned away his cuts.

“I’ve never been happier to see you, Arthur.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, his lips still wrapped around the bottle.

You tried to stay by his side for as long as you could before the second wave of patients came tumbling through the flaps of the tent. One of them lost their grip on the stretcher, and the patient went sliding into the dirt headfirst.

“Fuck!” They all swore, abandoning the stretcher to drag the limp man further into the makeshift hospital.

You rushed to help when a hand gripped the back of your neck. You yelped in pain as your hair got caught in a fingernail when they turned you to face them.

And there he was: Tommy Shelby, covered in a thick layer of dirt, heaving for air.

“Nurse! Nurse!” Voices cried for you, but between the ringing in your ears and the wrath in Tommy’s blue eyes, you were frozen in place.

“The fuck are you doing here, eh?” He yelled over the anguished men.

You suddenly felt stupid standing there in your Red Cross uniform.

“I was looking for you, I—”

His dirty hands cupped your cheeks—something you were painfully aware of from the uncomfortable itch from the mud on your flushed skin—and pulled your forehead to his.

“You think this is some fantasy?” He squinted. “You think there’s any fucking moonlight to kiss under here, eh?” He spat.

His eyes held that haunted look you had seen on many soldiers that passed through the medical tent. Your eyes watered. Perhaps it was from the humidity and dirt being kicked up as nurses and patients scuffled around, not because you could hardly recognize the man in front of you. The blood smeared above his eyebrow worried you, so you reasoned that he was mad because it had been leaking into his eyes. Dutifully, you reached to wipe it with the back of your hand. He grabbed your wrist harshly, bringing it down to your side. He was in shock; you scolded yourself.

“Where’s John and Arthur?” Tommy swallowed, flexing his hands.

You led him to Arthur, who had been left in his corner while the nurses attended to more serious cases. It hurt watching the brothers reunite after their ordeal, so you left them alone no matter how much you feared them being discharged before your return. After all, everything you ever wanted sat in that corner, but it would be selfish to coddle Tommy all to yourself. Still, you couldn’t help sparing a glance when you walked up and down the tent, attending to patients.

Later that night, he came to you under the candlelight of your tent. He cleared his throat upon entry. You were lying face-up on your cot when he cleared his throat and peeled back the entrance to enter. The candlelight painted the mountain peaks of his face in a dull amber and the valleys in a frightening shadow. You sat up, pulling the thick cover over your shift.

Tommy kneeled next to you, resting on the heels of his boots. He licked his chapped lips and itched his nose. “You don’t belong here.”

Your grip on the cover loosened. “Huh?”

Nothing prepared you for when he swung his brooding stare towards you. He exhaled loudly before running a hand over his face.

“You should have stayed in Birmingham.” He said it like a warning.

“And done what?”

Vulnerability never looked good on Tommy. His head hung and his fingers itched at the back of his head—a tick you used to love; now you weren’t so sure. Because your Tommy was never afraid, but this man in front of you was alarmingly tense despite the clear efforts to mask it.

What have they done to you, Tom?

Under the dim light of your tent, you barely recognized him. A stranger’s eyes were blown wide in a frightening state of shock, something most soldiers mirrored. War washed out the sweet blue pair you knew, refitting them for a steely weapon. You hated seeing him like this, so still, so unsteady, cocooned into the corner as if afraid to take up space.

You feared you looked no better. Having worked till the point of exhaustion, you usually found yourself awakening against a wooden crate or trunk to the cries of patients who demanded your attention despite your body not having the strength to stand. Today you had been lucky and found yourself crawling distance to your private tent when your knees started wobbling and your head lulling.

The wooden reinforcing of your private tent fought in vain to shelter your bodies from the elements; it still flapped and whipped about, sometimes rocking your cot. Yet Tommy remained still like those life-size stone statues you’d find outside an important building, brooding at the dirt and locked in an internal battle. You shifted to the edge of your makeshift bed and leaned close enough that you saw how the top buttons of his dirtied uniform were missing and most of his clothes were torn.

His arm, which was breaking out in goosebumps, lay heavily across his knee so that he could rest his forehead there limply. He looked in a bad enough condition that you feared the possibility of him succumbing to the wasteland threatening him outside your tent. You wrapped your arms around the scruff of his hair and pulled his face into your stomach, where he could hide from the terrible world. On instinct, his arms wound around your waist, and you felt his warm exhale against your skin through the thin fabric of your slip.

His tin water bottle clanged against the satchel he wore, which made you wonder if he had any time to rest at all if he still had all his equipment tied to his uniform.

“I didn’t…” His voice was muffled by your slip. He cleared his throat again, shaking his head.

When he dropped the thought, you spoke up. “Have you eaten?”

He slapped your thigh haphazardly. “No, do you have a cigarette?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead gently pushing him away so you could kneel beneath your bed and fish a cigarette from your satchel. You pinched one from its tin case, then thought better of it and tossed it on Tommy’s lap. Gratefully, he collected one from the case and lit it with a nearby candle. You watched his chest rise and fall as he took an especially deep drag. His eyes shut as the nicotine rushed to his head.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered under his breath.

“How are you here, Tommy? One of the night nurses should’ve been on watch.”

“Oh,” smoke puffed out of his mouth, and he raised his eyebrows, “there is.”

“Then how—”

“I had to see you.”

The butterflies in your stomach dove. The blue in his eyes appeared translucent as they hazed over like a ghost. His shoulders were slumped dejectedly, and he had a hand pushing through his greasy, unwashed hair to relieve his neck from the weight of his thoughts.

He pointed to you then, with the cigarette nursed between his fingers. “I need to know why you changed your mind.”

“About what, Thomas?”

His voice slurred and slipped into a deeper register from the lack of sleep. "Why you came back. Why you came to France.” Tommy shook his head lazily. “You expect me to believe you had a sudden change of heart? What? You a patriot now?” An amused exhale curled out while he took another drag. “Well I don’t believe it.”

You began shivering despite the way your body flushed.

“How’s Arthur?” You tried to avert the conversation.

“Bloody drunk off his ass.”

“And you?”

Tommy held your stare and swallowed dryly. “Trying.”

“You can go join him if you wish.”

He looked at the entrance of your tent as if he were weighing his options, then shook his head and took another drag before clearing his throat. “It’s different now.”

Naïvely, you sank to the ground beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be.”

He sighed.

“I wish that were true.”

The next time you saw Tommy, you were working a shift at the hospital. After the war, you received a medal for your efforts, which easily got you a job in Birmingham. You pleaded with them to send you to any other hospital—London, Manchester, Liverpool—you didn’t care. Anywhere but Birmingham.

“You should be honored to work for me!” Exclaimed the head nurse at Birmingham Hospital, who didn’t seem too pleased with your distaste for the city.

You thought the job would be the final nail in the coffin, but you surprisingly got along well with the head nurse once you had put your animosity aside. So much so, she offered to lease you a room upstairs from hers.

Then came that dreaded night where you were finishing the filing of some documents when a patient was being rushed in. Your ears perked up, and you looked through the blinds of the office to see a man being rushed by. Something small and round had fallen off the stretcher while the nurses paid no attention, pushing him around the corner and down towards the operating theater. Curious, you exited the office.

And there on the ground was one of those peaky caps Tommy and his brothers used to wear. You knew this because you picked it up and nearly cut yourself on the blade that was sewn into the seam. You spent the next hour gnawing on your nails. Your imagination sparked ideas about the beaten man who was lying in an operating room two doors down in surgery. Was it Tommy? Arthur? John? The shadows under your eyes darkened at the thought. No, it was probably some other Peaky Blinder. The Shelby brothers were too careful. Still, you knocked over your coffee in a mad dash to the bathroom, where you heaved up your dinner.

You volunteered to stay until the morning, but the head nurse on duty for the night refused and sent you home. You didn’t sleep at all that night.

The next morning, you arrived early and made a beeline for the emergency ward. You grabbed the admission form and scanned the patient list. There were only two emergency patients who were listed under the final hour of your shift, a woman and a man, which made it easier to narrow it down to the man who was admitted at quarter to midnight in ward four, room seven.

When you peaked through the crack in the door, you knew you had been worried for a reason. Tommy lay under the covers, battered and bruised, with a swollen eye and a nasty scar where he had reportedly received surgery for trauma to the head.

You slipped inside quietly and closed the door. Tommy’s eyes were closed, and his mouth hung open, stealing miniscule amounts of air into his lungs. He looked as good as a ghost.

“Tommy…” You clutched his peaky cap (which you meant to return) between your fingers.

He didn’t move an inch, so you set the cap down by his bedside table, carefully watching the rise and fall of his chest.

What have they done to you, Tom?

On the second week, he woke up while you were cleaning the windowsill. He coughed, and you whipped around in shock.

“Nurse?” He asked hoarsely, blinking away the blinding light.

You rushed to his side, tears bursting like the fountain you passed on your way to work.

“Don’t move,” you urged when he tried to sit up.

“I have to get to London,” he slurred, only half awake.

You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you. You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you.

“Tommy… it’s me.”

He shrugged your hand off his shoulder with a hiss. “Fucking hell.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Please don’t move; I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You couldn’t hide the way your voice broke.

He looked up at you, then, through bloodshot blue eyes. You wished you knew what was going through his head. Happy or sad?

“Am I dead?”

“No,” you smiled weakly as a tear fell.

“Can I have a smoke then?”

“I don’t know how to love, Tommy!”

“Yeah? Yeah? That’s bullshit! Why do you keep coming back then?” He pinched your chin, glaring furiously into your eyes. “Eh?”

He stood so close that he blocked the light from the chandelier, which mournfully hung from the ceiling. You shivered in his shadow.

“I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

“But you did!” He accused, pointing in your face.

“It was a mista—”

“You fucking did!”

“Tommy!”

“I’ve had it! If you want to leave, then fucking leave; otherwise, don’t stand there all righteous waving empty threats over my head because I know you won’t leave.” He shook his head with a wild look in his eye. “No… You won’t leave. You won’t leave because you love me. You keep coming back,” he pointed matter-of-factly.

Tommy’s eyebrows danced between being terribly furrowed and alarmingly raised during his passionate monologue. It was rare for him to emit so much emotion these days. The war changed men, and Tommy was no exception. A chilling stillness framed his presence, which even you weren’t excused from. No more laughter, no more dreams of working with horses, because he was above all that now, wasn’t he? It was ambition that ground his teeth together and hollowed his eyes. Still, you couldn’t forget that the anger came from vulnerability, because it took a lot for someone to get under Thomas Shelby’s skin.

You moved to grab your purse, to make good on his word, but he halted your movement by grabbing your shoulders, roughly at first, before loosening his grip. You softened at his frantic demeanor. He was scared—oh, so afraid of you walking out that door again. But how could you ever explain it to him? You were never born for love. You would never know how to love him properly the way wives were supposed to because what you felt for Tommy was sickeningly deep. So much so that the mere impression of him sealed off your ribcage and ruined any chance of your heart beating for any other soul, so much so that you carried the weight of him in your bones because you could never shake him off.

When you looked back at life, all you saw was the absence of love. You used to imagine yourself growing up and falling in love with a handsome stranger, then getting married in a proper white dress to go live in your proper house. But when you looked in the mirror, you saw a ghost. The pathway of your life was laid out before your eyes once, and what you saw didn’t match the reflection. The man you were supposed to marry couldn’t even look at you, even if you cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until your fingerprints turned white and pasty.

Because what it all came down to was simple. You never got to become the person you envisioned. Instead, you were cursed to live as a blank slate and be consistently reminded of what you were supposed to be and of who you were: no one.

Tommy exhaled in a quick huff, pressing his forehead to yours so that he saw you clearer, without all the tension and bullshit in the way.

“Here it comes, Tommy.” You took a shaky breath. “I love you, but I could never be the perfect wife to you, and I would be a terrible mother.”

There, in all its ugly colors and shades, you hung yourself with the truth.

He shook his head as if he too couldn’t believe your words.

“Fuck’s sake! Forget about all that." His eyes watered out of frustration, but he was still puffing in anger. “I need you. You. Not some whore.”

You bit your lip to muffle the god-forsaken cry ready to erupt from the volcanoes you suddenly found roaring in your stomach. An earthquake overtook your hands the more you fought the inevitable eruption. You grabbed both his hands to stop yours from shaking.

“I have to be cursed; there’s no other way!”

“No!”

“My life slips through my fingers like grains of sand—”

“You’re not cursed!”

“And I can’t stop it, Tommy!”

“You’re not fucking cursed, and I’ll tell you why." Tommy cut you off. He leaned in, licking his lips, which had turned dry from all the shouting, and squeezed your hands. “Because my ancestors charmed dogs with their magic, they didn’t scare little girls with curses,” he paused. “But you… You waved a hand over my head, and now I’m no better than a dog.”

He closed the space between you, pressing his forehead against yours, and stroked both your cheeks, wiping at your tears. You held him there in a meek attempt at reciprocation.

You wished the world were ending so then you could grab Tommy’s hand and say, ‘I’m ready, Tom. The world is ending, so let’s kiss and love each other under the flames without any fear because the world is ending.’

But you were never good at expressing yourself with words, so you sealed it with a kiss, hoping he could taste the unspoken words on your lips the same way you tasted the tears. He responded in earnest, gripping you roughly by the scruff of your neck to seal the promise laden between your lips; no more running.

It was just your luck that you would bump into your ex-fiancé, William, while visiting a bar in London with Ada. You were buzzing from the warmth of three sweet liquors and whatever else Ada insisted you try, and everything was starting to seem a little funny by the time he approached you.

He engaged in pleasantries, swishing his wine around the glass and sniffing it occasionally, like many pompous older men tended to do. There was only so much smiling you could afford before you caught your reflection in the freshly wiped bar and realized how poorly your acting skills were. Ada was no help, muttering something about finding a phonebooth and then slipping into the belated and boozed crowd. It was then that the supposed nectar in your glass began to taste like the cleaning products—that nose-scrunching stench. Thankfully, William was too involved in some tangent to notice you muffle a gag into your palm.

The dazzling hum in your ears muffled out all his words. In your drunken state, William appeared to be more confident than what you remembered, but you were unable to decipher whether it was from a change of heart or if he was trying to fall back in your good graces. Otherwise, you were blinded by the roaring bustle of the bar and the delicious swell of music that seemed to reverberate across your being.

Growing a little bored with William’s story, your attention wandered over his shoulder, still being sure to nod every now and then as if you were deeply pondering his words. Not far away from his side, a man seemed to linger—a man who was careful not to reach your eye. You must have laughed a little harder than usual because William turned sharply to the man at his side, gave him a quick once-over, then returned his attention to you, but by then it was too late, and you knew exactly what William’s relationship was with this man and where William’s confidence had come from.

“You’ll make a fine wife and a finer mother someday,” William quickly added.

You cursed the witch inside you, who laughed from her stomach and used his shoulder to steady herself. Once upon a time, that was all you longed to hear, but now, with a half-spilt martini in hand, you couldn’t care less. Both of you had found happiness despite your unconventional circumstances, and there was no more to it. You could close that chapter without any loose threads.

A little drunk, you thanked him, disappeared, and never thought of him again.

“I can’t do it, Ada,” you stressed, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the baby in your arms.

Motherhood came rumbling into your life like a rusty engine spitting out oil. ‘Instinctual’, the mothers down the lane from Arrow House had said, ‘it’s like your body has been preparing for it your whole life.’ How awful, you thought, and by the time one of them finished speaking about their experience with their first, your nose was so scrunched in disgust that you would need an iron to flatten out the wrinkles. It wasn’t until now that you longed to be in their shoes, because nothing came naturally to you.

“He’ll latch eventually; he’s just a little fussy,” Ada reassured.

“Is it supposed to hurt?”

“It’s perfectly normal.”

Then, after an hour of rubbing your sons back on the verge of tears, he finally began feeding from you. Ada soothed your back the whole time and cooed softly to calm both you and your unruly boy. Sometimes she brought Karl. He would obediently sit on her lap, playing with his wooden horse, while your little Charles fussed.

One time in the early morning, when you were up attempting to feed Charles, Tommy rushed in alert with disheveled hair and sunken eyes.

“Sorry,” you mouthed, deflated your hardworking husband had been disturbed from his sleep.

He ran his hands over his face and sighed. You mistook his action for frustration and desperately tried to hush your baby. Tommy moved over to the rocking chair where you sat, trying to feed little Charles in your arms.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispered into the crook of your neck. “How is he?”

You flushed under the moonlight, suddenly embarrassed that your husband had caught you in this vulnerable position with the top of your slip peeled down. Your exposed skin hissed when he pressed a kiss against your pulse.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Tommy inhaled sharply against your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder to peer down at Charles. Charles had settled since Tommy walked into the room, acutely aware of his father as his little hands made a grabbing motion for him. Diligently, Tommy relieved your arms of Charles and cradled him close to his chest. Within minutes, the little baby was gurgling happily and blinking in a way that suggested sleep was on the horizon after all.

Your husband didn’t dare make any sudden noise as he gently set Charles in his cradle. Once he was surely asleep, Tommy guided you up from the rocking chair and into your shared bedroom.

“See?” you hissed, still maintaining a soft voice, “he only wants you.”

Tommy wouldn’t hear any of it, pulling you into his arms as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Your slip was still pooled around your hips, so he took the opportunity to plant a kiss above your breasts, where your heart was.

“He loves you,” he drawled in that husky voice of his. “I know he does because I do.”

Your head ached, but you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to his words and touch. Tommy’s wandering hands teased the silk fabric that clung to your hips as you felt his nose trail down to your breast, where he kissed one of your aching nipples delicately. Suddenly hot, you hummed in delight, the back of his shorn scalp pleasant beneath your nails. A grunt, bathed in that musk of his devours your senses. Inhaling sharply, he took the bud between his full lips, sucking, licking, and nibbling gently while his hands explored further down. Your head lulled back from the pleasure, gasping and withering under his skilled tongue.

The next thing you knew, Tommy was tugging the rest of your silk slip off and reminding you of just how much he loved you.

“Charles! Come here!” Tommy called.

Your little boy loved to play in the backyard of Arrow House. Much like his father, Charles adored horses. Big ones, small ones, black ones, white ones—but most of all, he favored his Shetland pony. Tommy had brought it for Charles before he could even walk. He said something about it being important for his son to be raised around horses from a young age. And while you didn’t necessarily disagree, it still stressed you out to hold your baby so close to such a large, muscular animal. You knew the Arabian breeds spooked easily, so you steered clear of them and were able to keep Tommy and Charles happy.

But now he had grown up so fast and was able to run around on his own two legs, climb trees, and bruise his knees on the way down. The sun beat lovingly on the apples of his cheeks as he dirtied his trousers, kneeling by the fence to feed his Shetland (affectionately named Biscuit) hand-picked grass through the gaps.

“Charles! We’re leaving!” You called when he ignored his father.

Stubbornly, Charles spun around to pout his lip and cross his arms. He glared at you as threateningly as a five-year-old could. You bit your lip to hide your smile because he really did look like a little Tommy with those big blue eyes. It would only be a matter of time before he perfected his father’s stare. With a sigh, you shifted your daughter into Tommy’s arms before approaching Charles, who was picking angrily at the grass.

You reached a hand out toward him, "let's go.”

“No!”

“All right,” you said decisively, spinning around, “Ruby will have all the fun then.”

“No!” cried your little boy.

You stuck a hand up in surrender and started walking back to Tommy. “No, it’s all right.”

“No, no no no!” Came his protest, chasing behind you as the gravel crunched beneath his boots.

You paid no attention to him, keeping your eyes trained ahead, silently relieved that your ploy worked. Tommy watched on in amusement while Ruby suckled on her thumb, curiously watching her brother storm closer.

“You hear that, Ruby? We’re going to spoil you,” a short smile played on Tommy’s face as he adjusted her so that she sat comfortably on his hip.

“And me!” Charles added and gave his best pout.

“No, Charles, you said you didn’t want to go,” you reminded him, raising your eyebrows.

“I do! I do!”

“Hmm,” you thought aloud, and held a finger to your chin while looking to the sky in exaggerated contemplation. “Very well, but only if you get in daddy’s car right this instant.”

He climbed into the backseat of the Bentley without further fuss.

When all the bags were neatly packed in the back for the day’s festivities, Tommy came around your side to sit Ruby on your lap. Quickly, he leaned in to kiss you and pinch your cheek, which swelled into a glowing grin.

He smiled back and whispered low enough for only you to hear, “got him wrapped around your finger, eh?”

You laughed. “Him and a few other Shelby’s I know of.”

The thundering sound of music could be heard from outside the theater on the corner of Old Pauls. Inside, patrons mused between champagne, dancing, and making a display of their wealth by bidding on little trinkets. It was one of the many charity galas Tommy had to attend because of his new move into politics. Usually, you enjoyed dressing for those sorts of things, but tonight you simply weren’t feeling up to it. Maybe it was the drape of your dress not sitting right or the new leather shoes that still needed breaking in.

Your shimmering smile faded into the crowd as you snuck through the back door in your satin bordeaux dress. Old Pauls sat perched above the cemetery it was named after. Conveniently across the street from the buzz of the theater, it was airily quiet and stuck out from the rest of industrial Birmingham. Your heels clacked across the pavement as you wandered up and down the garden, glimpsing at stone angels and silver plaques. All you had to light your path were the streetlights and the moon.

Your diamond wedding ring twinkled under the stars as you stopped to trace a name. It was the same as your mother's, but with a different last name. Still, you always wondered what happened to her. Had she gotten married to another man and taken his name? You expected to shiver at the idea, but you found that thinking of her no longer unnerved you. She packed up the title of mother when she left you all alone in that cramped house.

Light spilled out onto the pavement across the street when the entrance to the theater swung open. A few men flew down the steps and split off in different directions. Thinking it odd, you remained crouched until they disappeared around their respective corners. That’s when you saw Tommy exit through the same doors, throwing a cigarette and wiping at his brow while he looked up and down the street. Quickly, you stood and waved your arm to get his attention. When he noticed, he stormed down the steps and stalked across the street and through the gates of Old Pauls over to you.

“I needed some air,” you spoke up before he could get a word in.

His eyes wildly flickered back and forth from yours in a frenzy. Under the moonlight, they looked almost translucent, and, save for a ghost of blue, his pupils were wide.

“Why the bloody hell are you out here, eh?” He demanded, gently shaking your head between his hands for emphasis while his eyebrows rose expectantly.

“It’s quieter.”

When he tilted his head to the sky and exhaled, your stomach dropped at the sight of blood. Your ears, which had been tuning out the music, flinched when a shrill cry from a woman rang out the theater doors. The music was gone, now replaced with screams as all the patrons rushed out, tripping over each other like it were a race. You turned back to Tommy, now as worried as the others.

“What the hell happened? Are you hurt?” You urged, gripping his white collar, now red, to inspect where the blood was coming from.

“Not mine,” he cleared his throat, grabbing the hand on his collar to tug you down the street.

The frame of your world stretched a little wider, like light pouring in through open shutters. Car doors slammed, and drivers honked at the agitated crowd who ran this way and that across the road.

“Where’s the fucking ambulance?” Shouted a man who took no care to avoid bumping into you.

You stumbled back, your hand slipping from Tommy’s on impact. Rage flickered across his features briefly, having noticed the man push through you, but he reconnected your hands and continued walking fast. When he reached the Bentley, he urged you inside, holding your hand the whole way until you were seated in the passenger seat.

“What the hell happened, Tommy?” You repeated as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Someone got shot.”

Your eyes widened. “Are Polly and—”

“They’re fine.”

You sank back into your seat as the engine roared to life. Peaky Blinder’s followed the frenzied crowd, moving together like a pack of wolves onto the streets. They only parted to let Tommy’s Bentley through. Out the window, people were fighting and throwing fists as they all tried to escape the mayhem.

“Why aren’t they letting people through?” You asked after witnessing a Peaky Blinder block the road and refuse to let a car pass.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He never told you anything when it came to business. And although you suspected this was much more than the doing of the Shelby brothers, Tommy’s face never betrayed him. Simply put, if he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t.

“Would anyone want to follow us?”

“No.” He exhaled deeply, cleared his throat, and then reached to give your thigh a squeeze.

You knew it was a lie when his eyebrows rose. He only did that when he was worried. Your tongue remained pressed to the back of your teeth the entire ride home.

The howl of the wind whistled down into the valley of the gypsy camp Tommy had brought you and the children to.

“Pack your things,” he had said one night after storming through the front door of Arrow House, “we’re going on a trip.”

Charles and Ruby cheered, but you suspected something sinister beneath his intentions.

So, there you were, picking at the grass by your feet while you perched on the bottom step of the gypsy wagon Tommy parked beneath a tree for shade. He kept quiet for most of the ride, absorbed in leading the horse around loose gravel and stones, or rather, he led you to believe he was lost in concentration. Because, when it came down to it, you knew Tommy better than to assume nothing was wrong.

The past week, he had been acting different, jumpy even. He ran into the nursery during the early hours of the morning on edge, as if expecting something to be amiss. You tried interrogating him, but he brushed it off, insisting things were fine. Fine—you began detesting that word. Fine this, fine that, but if things were really fine, then why was he on edge?

Then came the bloodshot eyes and the slamming of his desk drawer when you entered the office. Only this time he couldn’t deny the unmistakable jingle of a bullet, which rattled in the wooden compartment like some sort of airy death chime.

A black hand. One for each Shelby. And since you were now one too, that meant neither you nor the children were subjected to any special treatment. A week, he said, a week for his family to clear up the business while he stayed here watching over you like a shepherd to his flock.

And watched he did, standing next to where you sat, he found peace observing Charles and Ruby as they chased each other around the overgrown field. There he remained for an hour or so, frighteningly still, the only motion being his sharp jaw chewing on a mint leaf, somewhat reminiscent of the soldier in your tent all those years ago. Next to him, tied to the tree, the black steed filled the silence with snorts and grazed favorably on the loose roots and grass patches.

“Ruby was crying this morning. She’s scared, Tom." You sighed.

Tommy hadn’t been there when you woke up that morning in the caravan. He returned shortly after, ominous as ever, just as Ruby had begun to settle.

He tossed the stalk of his mint leaf into the grass and offered you his hand. You looked up at him in question for a moment, slightly suspicious of his intentions. Nevertheless, you slid your hand into his, and he stood you up, sat down on the higher step, and pulled you between his legs to sit on the lower step. He hugged you from behind as he slouched to rest his head on your shoulder, then exhaled deeply.

“We will be home soon,” he whispered in your ear, brushing your knuckles tenderly.

“For how long? Until we get another bullet in the post?”

Tommy’s throbbing forehead found solace in the warmth of your neck.

“You’ve never been one to run,” you continued, “what’s bothering you? We took a vow that we would share everything.”

He nuzzled his nose deeper into your pulse.

Frustrated, you tried to get up, but he held you firmly against his chest.

“Italians.”

“Italians?”

“Italians sent the black hands.”

You waited in silence for more information, but more did not come.

“Speak to me, Thomas.”

“I don’t want you any more involved than you are.”

“They’ve sent death knocking on our door; how more involved could I be?”

Tommy moved methodically, licking his lips and clearing his throat. He squinted his eyes up at the glaring sun.

“It’s nothing you should be concerned about. I’ll keep us safe.”

“Nothing I should be concerned over, Thomas? Just how many people are we at war with?”

He didn’t answer, so you turned your head away from him. Charles and Ruby had since settled by a patch of flowers. Charles was crouched over, helping his sister gather all the yellow flowers for her yellow dress.

The tension broke the surface then.

“Why are you still fighting, Tom? Is this,” you nod to your children and breathe in the fresh air, “not enough?”

You pictured Arrow House and its lavish garden, one to compete with all the wealthy families down the lane. You thought of Arthur, John, Polly, Ada, and all his family that lived to see his success. Everything, from the thoroughbreds in the stable to the fancy cars. The money itself was a testimony to his drive. What more could the gangster of Birmingham want when he already had everything?

You had gone and worked yourself up now because the world seemed blurrier than before.

Tommy, still on his guard, guided your chin to your shoulder so he could kiss the tears away. “It is enough.”

“Then make it enough. You’re respectable now, so stop the fighting.” Your voice broke at the end.

He hung his forehead on your shoulder. Like a flower sheltered away from the sun, Tommy wilted when he was away from his business. Usually, you were a strong enough light to keep him going, but whatever business he had gotten himself into was poisoning him, and ever the addicted flower, he kept running out to the fields, continuing to drink in the sunlight until it was too much and turned his leaves brow. Because business was what occupied his mind day and night, he was unable to turn the cogs of the engine off and let the air out of the tires.

A hand brushes your hair away to kiss the spot beneath your ear, airing out the destructive thoughts.

God, you loved him anyway. An overpowering feeling that ruled over calculating minds like Tommy’s and faint hearts like yours. You were no better than him—both addicted to a little sunlight.

The framed photographs on the wall shook as your third-eldest slammed the door to her room closed.

“I hate you!” She cried from the other side.

Your husband, Tommy, sighed to the ceiling, then stalked past you to his study, no longer interested in anything your daughter had to say. They had been at it for the last ten minutes arguing over some boy she was seeing, and your ears were just about ringing having witnessed it from the sidelines. You were left there in the hallway, an unwilling participant in the unspoken feud between father and daughter, and you understood that whoever you went to console would take it that you were siding with them, even though you just wanted to keep your family together.

Going to your daughter was the instinctive answer, but you knew she needed time to cool off. Tommy was the only reasonable choice.

You knocked on the door to his office before letting yourself in.

“Come to lick my wounds, eh?” He mused while smoking a cigarette.

Your lips wormed into a thin line. “This needs to stop, Tom.”

“Yeah,” he said, tapping the ash into his tray, “it will fucking stop.” He points with his cigarette, “I’ll make it fucking stop.”

You sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

The chair screeched as he stood. “I’m her father, and if I say she can’t see that boy, she can’t. It’s only a childish fling; she’ll get over it.”

He poured a whiskey and downed it by the time you walked around his desk so that you were face-to-face with him.

“They’re in love, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “Well, that can be undone.”

You held his glare, a challenge lighting in your own. “So easily, you think?”

He paused mid-drag, catching onto the underlying meaning in your words. “No,” he said, setting the cigarette down in the ash tray and grabbing your shoulders. “Don’t act like that.”

“Act like what?”

“Like you’re threatening our love over some fucking boy that’s charmed our daughter. They’re too young.”

“He’s sweet.”

“Oh, sweet and nice, I’m sure. But he’ll have no place in this house.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I fucking said so!” He spat.

“Don’t yell at me.”

“Or what? You’ll leave me?” He huffed in amusement. “You won't; you love me too much.”

“You’re so certain?”

He paused for a moment and stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what you had said.

“Yeah, because we still fuck like two people who love each other, eh? And you’ve not told me no before, so if the day comes and your body no longer wants mine, then I’ll be worried. But until then, don’t test me with empty threats." His face hardened.

He knew you like the back of his hand. All bark, no bite. You loved him inexplicably, even after all these years, gray hairs and all. His face, body, and soul nourished you until you were satiated and full. And even if his eyebrows furrowed at times, you were willing to bet that it was for aesthetic, a shapely shadow gathered over the years from being the stoic leader the Peaky Blinders and Shelby family needed. How could you fault him for it?

Because, at the end of the day, you were a team. Even if he played the role of an overprotective father a bit too convincingly, he only ever wanted what was good for your daughter. Everything he worked for, ultimately, was for his family. A family man. And that came with its virtues and vices because, despite what Tommy thought, he wasn’t perfect; no one was.

Shrinking under his hands, you breathed a sigh and appeased him. “End this feud, Tom. Find peace with her. I don’t care what you do, but by the end of it, I expect to be able to sit down at the dinner table without having to beg my husband and daughter to look up from their plates.” You stroked his hands, which held your shoulders, and finally blinked up at him.

A haze of softness swept across his glare and melted the glaciers to a thin sheen of blue. The seams of exhaustion frayed one by one through his muscles. He nodded, licked his lips, and leaned down for a kiss of absolution. Not entirely prepared to surrender, you tilted your head so that he found the corner of your mouth instead.

“It will be done, love.” He brushed the apples of your cheeks tenderly. “And by tonight,” his voice lowered, “I promise you’ll forget all about it.”

Only then did you accept his kiss, eager to put the grievance to rest. Tommy, on the other hand, had other plans and stepped forward so that you were pinned between his desk and hips. He quickly began to gather your skirts above your waist, but you pulled away just as fast at the hiss of air against your exposed skin. An unsolicited gasp escaped his mouth when your knee brushed him there, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking deep into his eyes.

“Promise me you won’t break her heart. She might not be old enough now, but I don’t want you to put her off love forever,” you caressed his jaw.

“No,” he agreed, breathier than usual, flexing the hands that were still caught up in the fabric of your skirt.

“And our Daisy may never say it, but I know she loves you dearly. So please, Tom, be gentle with her. I don’t want her to grow up despising you. Tell her you love her, kiss her forehead, hug her.”

He deflated, and you watched him swallow his pride. Cogs turned against the sweltering lust, threatening to deplete the clever thoughts in that powerful head of his in favor of your careful touch. Please, please, please, you begged without uttering a word; agree with me on this, Tom.

Tommy leaned back down to rest his forehead on yours; his face gave nothing away. You were sure he had found something to say, which would make you feel like a fool for asking. However, when you embraced those faint subtleties of emotion flickering across his face like candlelight, so miniscule you might blink and miss it, you found nothing of the sort to suggest any hostile nature. Because Tommy loved you.

“I will.”

A/N: Tried doing a long one shot, what does everyone think? Yay or nay? Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taglist: @maliceofwonderland , @fairytale07 , @goblinjnr , @ilovepeoplesdads , @multidimensionalslut

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httpsleclerc · 5 months

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just the three of us

charles and his girlfriends eventful Saturday afternoon

Charles Leclerc x reader

warnings; pregnancy, doubt in a relationship ?

w/c: 1.5k

based off this request

You smiled over at Charles, noticing the small but chubby baby girl babbling in his arms, your smile growing wider as you heard your boyfriend mimic her incoherent babbles. You had been with Charles for 3 years now, already engaged - no wedding plans yet, but you were working up to it - but you noticed that Charles had been avoiding the one very important talk with you; kids. The thing you wanted more than anything, but the very thing that he all but refused to talk to you about; you felt terrible for thinking it, but it made you feel like he didn't want them with you, especially as you watched him entertain the baby he held in his arms.

"Hey, are you okay?" Your friend asked you, noticing that your smile had disappeared from your face, almost longingly looking over at Charles. You shook your head of your negative thoughts, giving your friend the best reassuring smile you could muster in your heartbreak for the future that Charles may or may not see himself having with you.

"Yeah, just distracted," You smiled, leaning forward to take a sip of the mocktail that your friend had made for you, you had made the suggestion to her since it was her gender reveal, it would have been fair for everyone else to be able to enjoy a drink while she couldn't. She smiled at you, leaning forward to rest her chin on your shoulder, following your gaze over to where Charles stood holding another one of your friends baby's.

"He's really good with her," She commented, looking at you with a grin. "Have you guys talked about kids yet? Cause that one is meant to be a girl dad, Y/N." She sounded so certain. You didn't know, though. Yeah, he was meant to be a girl dad, it was so blatantly evident in how he was with the now squealing baby he was tickling in his arm - His reluctancy to at least acknowledge your want for a child had you doubting that he was going to be one with you.

"He won't talk to me about it, (Name)," You told your best friend, frowning as you thought of him leaving you. "What if he doesn't want them?" Your voice was breaking as you spoke. (Name) had been your friend since you were both little girls, you had dreamed of having your babies be best friends like you were, assuming you would both be lucky enough to have girls on your first try. She sighed, wrapping her arms around you to hug you and try and comfort you.

"He'd be stupid, then, love," (Name) assured you, she knew how you were a bit of an over thinker at the best of times. "He wouldn't have asked you to marry him otherwise, yeah?" You sniffled as you nodded, quickly drying your eyes of tears before your mascara started to run and Charles would be able to tell that you were upset. "Charles loves you so much, Y/N. Maybe you should talk to him about it, he's a guy, he might be nervous to bring it up to you." She suggested, you knew that she was right, she always was and you knew that.

You knew that.

Maybe now you wouldn't trust your friend so much.

You had excused yourself to the bathroom, and as you were walking past your lover and your friends, you had heard him tell another party goer that he wasn't sure if he wanted kids.

Oh.

You swore as you heard every word leave his lips, that another piece of you crumbled. Thankfully for you, you could hide it well enough that you would be able to get home without Charles suspecting that you had heard him, that you would blame your puffy eyes on a poor nights sleep. You couldn't believe it - You weren't mad at Charles, no, you never could be, he was your boyfriend, soon to be husband; but clearly, never the father to be of your children.

"That's nice for your friend, a little girl," Charles beamed, his hand on your thigh as he drove the two of you home to your Monaco apartment. You hummed and nodded, unable to meet his eyes for fear that your resolve would crumble, and you would burst into tears. "Are you okay, mon Ange?" He asked you, concern lacing his voice as he took a moment to glance over at you, noticing your down mood.

"Yeah I'm um," You scrambled to think of an excuse. "I'm just tired, is all, I promise, my love." You quickly assured Charles, hoping that he wouldn't push you any further. He hummed, remembering that youhad been up early that morning, but only because you claimed that you had a stomach bug, caught from one of the girls that you worked with.

"Oh, okay," He seemed content with that excuse. "We can go to bed and get cosy when we get home, yeah?" Your heart swelled at his offer - Charles career meant that he was often gone for extended periods of time, and you could sometimes go a whole month without seeing him, so the offer of having time with just him made you want to start crying.

It soon became clear that your emotions were getting the better of you, however.

As Charles pulled into the garage of your apartment building, putting his Ferrari into park, you started wailing. Charles, concerned, reached over to hold your shoulders, an attempt to try and calm you down.

"Woah, it's okay, love, just breathe," Charles coaxed you, trying to calm you down enough so he could make some sort of sense about what had made you so obviously upset. "It's okay, my love, just breathe, I'm right here," He knew it was working when your wails quieted down to mere sniffles, and you rubbed at your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan. "Can you tell me what made you so upset, mon ange?" Charles asked you, his eyes gleaming with concern for you.

"I-I just love you so much and I miss you a lot when you're gone," You cried out, sobs wracking your body. "A-and I heard you say to one of our friends that you're not sure if you want kids and it just made me really sad because th-there's nothing I want more than to have a baby with you because I really love you." It clicked for Charles why you were so upset for the remainder of your friends party after you had gone to the bathroom.

"No, no Mon Cherie, it's not like that at all," He explained to you, grabbing your hand and holding in his own. "I want a baby with you too, more than anything. I just wasn't sure if it would be fair on you since I would be gone so often. I didn't know how to bring it up to you without upsetting you, but please know that there is nothing I want more than a little me or you running around." You looked up at him as he held your face in his hands, he always found himself admiring the little things about you, his beautiful girl, the love of his life.

"Y-You're not just saying that?" Your bottom lip wobbled as you spoke, looking up at him with wide eyes. He shook his head and placed a small kiss on your lips, you knew that he was serious, Charles could be a lot of things sometimes, but he was never insincere. "Well um," You sniffled as you looked down, fiddling with the frayed end of your cardigan sleeve. "I did want to tell you in a more romantic and nicer way," Charles tilted his head. "I'm pregnant."

The two words hung heavy in the air, you and Charles staring deep into each others eyes, you noticed the tears bubbling in his own and yours followed his hand as it made its way from your cheek down to your stomach.

"We have a baby in there?"

His voice was gentle, breaking as he felt the tiny, but their bump of your tummy. You tearfully nodded, a smile growing on your face as one made its way onto Charles' own. He let out a greatful sob as he leaned over, wrapping both of his arms around you, minding to be gentle, even if you had little to no bump, that was his baby.

"We're going to be parents, Charles," You cried, looking at your lover, who's eyes held nothing but love and adoration for you as he leaned forward, locking both of your lips into a passionate, and heated kiss.

Well, maybe your best friend was right.

notes: lowkey hate this but we'll move on from it x

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles lechair #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 fluff

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manifesto-of-a-femcel · 10 months

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Beautiful Movies All Girls Should Watch

A list of movies that touch on coming of age, romance and complex female emotions.

May (2002): A socially awkward veterinary assistant with a lazy eye and obsession with perfection descends into depravity after developing a crush on a boy with perfect hands.

Audition (1999): A widower takes an offer to screen girls at a special audition, arranged for him by a friend to find him a new wife. The one he fancies is not who she appears to be after all.

Helter Skelter (2012): Top star Lilico undergoes multiple cosmetic surgeries to her entire body. As her surgeries show side effect, Lilico makes the lives of those around her miserable as she tries to deal with her career and her personal problems.

Ginger Snaps (2000): Two death-obsessed sisters, outcasts in their suburban neighborhood, must deal with the tragic consequences when one of them is bitten by a deadly werewolf.

The Craft (1996): A newcomer to a Catholic prep high school falls in with a trio of outcast teenage girls who practice witchcraft, and they all soon conjure up various spells and curses against those who anger them.

Malèna (2000): Amidst the war climate, a teenage boy discovering himself becomes love-stricken by Malèna, a sensual woman living in a small, narrow-minded Italian town.

Perfect Blue (1997): A retired pop singer turned actress’ sense of reality is shaken when she is stalked by an obsessed fan and seemingly a ghost of her past.

Rosemary’s Baby (1968): A young couple trying for a baby moves into an aging, ornate apartment building on Central Park West, where they find themselves surrounded by peculiar neighbors.

The Virgin Suicides (1999): A group of male friends become obsessed with five mysterious sisters who are sheltered by their strict, religious parents in suburban Detroit in the mid 1970s.

Sucker Punch (2011): A young girl institutionalized by her abusive stepfather retreats to an alternative reality as a coping strategy and envisions a plan to help her escape.

Piggy (2022): An overweight teen is bullied by a clique of cool girls poolside while holidaying in her village. The long walk home will change the rest of her life.

The Love Witch (2016): A modern-day witch uses spells and magic to get men to fall in love with her, with deadly consequences.

Pearl (2022): In 1918, a young woman on the brink of madness pursues stardom in a desperate attempt to escape the drudgery, isolation and lovelessness of life on her parents' farm.

Girl, Interrupted (1999): Based on writer Susanna Kaysen's account of her 18-month stay at a mental hospital in the late 1960s.

Black Swan (2010): Nina is a talented but unstable ballerina on the verge of stardom. Pushed to the breaking point by her artistic director and a seductive rival, Nina's grip on reality slips, plunging her into a waking nightmare.

Gone Girl (2014): With his wife's disappearance having become the focus of an intense media circus, a man sees the spotlight turned on him when it's suspected that he may not be innocent.

Jennifer’s Body (2009): A newly-possessed high-school cheerleader turns into a succubus who specializes in killing her male classmates. Can her best friend put an end to the horror?

Bones And All (2022): Coming of age romance about two cannibals

In the Mood for Love (2000): Two neighbors form a strong bond after both suspect extramarital activities of their spouses. However, they agree to keep their bond platonic so as not to commit similar wrongs.

Brokeback Mountain (2005): Ennis and Jack are two shepherds who develop a sexual and emotional relationship. Their relationship becomes complicated when both of them get married to their respective girlfriends.

Call Me By Your Name (2017): In 1980s Italy, romance blossoms between a seventeen-year-old student and the older man hired as his father's research assistant.

Maurice (1986): Two English school chums find themselves falling in love at Cambridge. To regain his place in society, Clive gives up Maurice and marries. While staying with Clive and his wife, Maurice discovers romance in the arms of the gamekeeper Alec.

Y Tu Mamá También (2001): In Mexico, two teenage boys and an attractive older woman embark on a road trip and learn a thing or two about life, friendship, sex, and each other.

Caroline (2009): An adventurous 11-year-old girl finds another world that is a strangely idealized version of her frustrating home, but it has sinister secrets.

Corpse Bride (2005): When a shy groom practices his wedding vows in the inadvertent presence of a deceased young woman, she rises from the grave assuming he has married her.

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henneseyhoe · 4 months

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Still Mine.

Tyrone x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: Tyrone being a slut, baby daddy drama, smutty flashback, slight daddy kink, unprotected sex(wrap it before you smack it!), abortion mentioned, pill mentioned, baby trapping, short, tad bit unedited.

SUMMARY: During Tyrone’s weekly pickup of his daughter, he tries to make his baby mama fold.

Ps. This was originally SO much longer but I didn’t like the way some parts were written so I cut it in half lolzzz

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“You know if I licked it, it’s mine, right?”

Your face twisted into a mug at Tyrone’s words while packing a diaper bag with all the necessary things your daughter needed for the weekend with him.

“Tyrone, please don’t start with that tonight” You couldn’t believe the extents he’d go just because you were seeing other people, it was crazy! Tyrone didn’t see it that way though.

The man was a tyrant. A danger to society and other men when he suspects you fucking with somebody who wasn’t him. Every single time he found out, he would let you know that you had limited days with that nigga, which he was always right about.

They’d either disappear completely or simply just stop responding to your texts.

One time you saw one of them at the grocery store and tried to say hi but he ran the other way, even left his cart stacked with groceries. You wondered what the hell was going on, and why they were so scared, but you knew there was only one person that could have them running for the hills like that, and it wasn’t you.

“I’m not startin’ shit, I’m speakin’ facts. You playin’, knowing them niggas ain’t shit compared to me”

Though the statement was true, it was bold of him to assume you wasn’t getting any good play. It was rare you did, but still! It’s the audacity.

You look at Tyrone up and down before bursting into laughter, making the infant besides you both slightly jump in her pack and play, looking around in confusion before flipping over on her stomach, a skill she just learned.

“Oop- I’m sorry, mama” You apologize to her, the baby just rolling back over and blinking up at you with a tether in her mouth. “Now, back to yo’ delusional ass!”

You thanked god the small child wasn’t old enough to understand words because she would have been cursing like a sailor by now. Pointing at Tyrone with the acrylic nails he paid for, that same signature mean look on his face that he always wore when somebody had him fucked up, you squint.

“Ain’t shit yours, and it hasn’t been yours since about a year now”

Tyrone sucks his teeth, still not believing anything you were saying to him.

“You shittin’ me, it’s always gon be mine!”

“Says who?! You crazy” You blow him off with the wave of your hand, zipping the diaper bag up and handing it to him.

He grabs it, then drops it to his feet without a care, crossing his arms. You look at him with a confused expression, your eyebrow cocked upwards.

“Why you like playin’ wit’ me?” He questioned while straight faced, but you stood your ground, unlike when you use to submit under him and his tone when you two were together. Truthfully, you use to be a bit scared of the nigga. He never gave you a reason to be personally, but he was a hard shell to crack, you rarely knew if he was happy or sad until he said something to steer you in a certain direction.

“Tyrone, quit playing and find you something safe to do, aight?” You fired back, challenging him. He moved not one inch. You knew he wasn’t scared of you at all, so this was no surprise, but you wasn’t gonna take him treating you like this in your own damn house.

“How many niggas you fucked since we broke up, Y/N?”

You shrug. “However many I wanted. I dunno, I wasn’t counting”

“Okay” He nods slowly, putting you on edge just a tad bit. You hum and study his reaction. He only did that when he had some shit up his sleeve. A simple answer, then a nod before he did or said some fuck shit. “And if I find them niggas and suddenly they stop callin’, then what?” Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“One less problem for me. You already pack up enough niggas in the glen anyway. Can’t kill ‘em all!” You giggle childishly after gaining your composure again, but as you found humor, the man stayed oh so serious.

“Oh, you’d be surprised at what a nigga can do now”

“Lemme guess, you learned to read a no loitering sign? Or maybe a no trespassing one?” You continued to joke, him finding nothing funny, as usual.

“You think you so funny” He warns, but you brush him off again, picking the diaper bag up and handing it to him again, this time forcing it in his hands to keep it there.

“I’m fuckin’ hilarious, nigga. better ask bout me”

Tyrone rolls his eyes.

“…so you really tellin’ me youn miss me?”

You turn and walk away to ignore the man further, side eyeing him as he followed. “Get out my face, Ty”

“Stop playin…so youn miss how I use to beat that pussy till you cry?” He spoke, getting closer to your ear so you could hear every syllable there. See, if this was a year and some change ago, you would have folded yourself in on a couch and put your legs to the sky faster than a pin could drop, but you had a point to prove.

You inched away from him to your kitchen, but he followed behind like a hungry shark that smelled blood.

“Let daddy dig that pussy out again, baby. You know I do it better than any other nigga”

Just with those few words, it had you thinking of flashbacks, your eyes fighting off a roll inwards. You knew the power he held in those boxers, you knew all too well what he was capable of. When Tyrone got to the pussy, he made sure he wasn’t playing no games. The man would even pull your bed from the wall everytime he came over so nobody in your moms house could hear how hard he was beating it up, talking dirty to you like you was a random bitch from the club, and that was your favorite part. That’s how you got into this mess anyway. Stuck with him and a tiny human who stole your face.

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Tyrone was definitely a man of threats, but he had never fallen through with any of the non-violent ones till this.

As Tyrone bucked his hips wildly into you, your leg began to quiver in his hold. You had thanked the gods that he had opted to lay you down on your side instead of fucking you standing up like he loved to do. You were sure your legs would have gave out by now if you were upright.

“Imma nut in this pussy, baby. Can daddy nut in this pussy? You want daddy to get you pregnant?”

He asks, and you nodded gladly like a dummy. Whatever the female version of pussy whipped was, you were definitely long past it. Even in that moment, you thought he wasn’t serious about the whole baby thing. He had never talked about one outside of sex, and you honestly thought he was against the entire idea of kids with the way he’d run junebug out of his presence when he’d do normal kid shit. He just didn’t seem serious.

Hell, you knew you weren’t serious about it. What would you do with a baby in this economy? Most importantly, how the fuck were you gonna care for it? You were only 21 and he was 24, had no business being together, but obviously he wasn’t the type to follow rules of any kind, or let you go.

The more he promised to get you pregnant, the harder y’all fucked until you were on top, riding him like there was a prize at the finish line you called an orgasm. Your hands were placed on his thighs behind you and your back was arched in as you spread your legs wide and bounced that ass on him, giving him the perfect opportunity to see himself slip in and out of you.

“Shit…shit! I’m bout to cum!” He shouts while panting, a few groans exiting his mouth.

“Fuuuck! I’m bout to nut, bae!” You heard him announce once again, but that wasn’t what set off alarms in your head, it was when he held you down and continued thrusting upwards into your wetness, making you leak. You whimper and shout, toes curling into the mattress.

“Shit! Lemme get up, Ty!” You tap his hands, trying to get them off of your hips so you could move, but he continues to bounce you with his fingers gripping you tightly, bound to leave a mark. “Tyrone! lemme get up, please!” You shout with urgency, but it had already been too late. By the time you rose up off of his dick, he had been pumping out the last bit of his seed, the small amount just sliding down the shaft of his dick. That’s when you knew you fucked up. Tyrone was a shooter in more ways than one, but when it came to cumming, he was damn near like a loaded gun. You’d have to squeeze your eyes shut when giving him head because he liked to cum on your face, and the first time he did, he almost blinded you with how far he came, literally.

“My god…” You breathed harshly, looking down at his dick begin to soften.

When it was all said and done, you asked him for money for a plan B, but lo and behold, he already had a pill prepared. Right in the glove compartment of his car is where he kept it and gave it to you when he came to see you the next day. But, as the weeks went by, you started to feel like that pill wasn’t much of a plan B, or at least not your “plan B”. It was definitely Tyrone’s though.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and nine of those later, you were popping out a little girl with a full head of hair and features just like yours. If you told somebody you made the baby alone, they’d probably believe you with how much you two looked alike. You were pissed off your entire pregnancy at Tyrone, but that didn’t stop you from loving your baby, you just couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of her either, though the process wasn’t foreign to you. If the “plan B” didn’t take her out, then who says she wasn’t meant to be here? But, with that being said, as you came closer to your due date, you grew farther from Tyrone while he was trying to keep you close, you even moved out of the glen and into a whole ‘nother town over.

He was there through your entire pregnancy, or at least tried when you weren’t trying to kill him for getting into stupid shit and almost dying, but because he was still so supportive and caring for you, checking up on how both you and the baby were doing, you cut him some slack, letting him name the bouncing baby girl. He went with the name ‘Autum’ because you two met in autumn, to your surprise he even remembered that since it had been so long ago.

Fast forward five months later, y’all were still beefing on and off over stupid shit. You would curse him out over scaring away new friends and or lovers, he’d ignore it and continue, working extra hard to make sure all them niggas knew who he was. Oh, Tyrone was on a mission, and he would not be ignored by some lame nigga you wanted to fuck, or ignored by you.

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#fontaine x black reader #john boyega smut #x black oc #black oc #smut masterlist #masterlist #black!fem! reader #black!reader #black reader #black writer #black fanfiction #john boyega #they cloned tyrone fanfic #they cloned tyrone smut #tyrone x reader #smutty #henneseyhoe

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just-aake · 4 months

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Chasing Shadows

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A sudden mission on New Year’s Eve brings Natasha face to face with someone from her past.

Warnings: light fluff, light angst

Words: 1410

11:55 P.M.

Surrounded by the lively atmosphere of Times Square, Natasha glances at her watch to check the time before looking around at the excited crowds of people, all waiting for the annual New Year’s Eve Ball Drop to start.

Laughter and cheers fill the air as she withdraws to a more secluded spot, raising her hand to her earpiece to speak through the comms.

“I’m at the location.”

SHIELD had intercepted a suspicious encrypted message a few moments ago, indicating that something was set to happen in the area tonight. Being the only one available nearby in such a short time, Natasha took on the assignment.

After a brief static pause, Maria's voice comes through the comms.

“It’s a shame that this had to interrupt your holiday evening.”

Taking a moment to scan her surroundings, Natasha replies nonchalantly, “I could say the same for you. Besides, it’s fine. It’s not like I had any plans.”

A curious hum comes in response before Maria asks, “No special someone to begin the new year with?”

At her words, the face of someone from years ago unexpectedly crosses Natasha’s mind, accompanied by flickers of memories recounting moments filled with late-night escapades and adrenaline-filled touches.

One particular memory stands out–of a night similar to tonight, atop a rooftop, shielded from prying eyes.

Two people shared a rare moment of vulnerability, and against her better judgment, she wished life had played out differently for them—an unrealistic hope.

11:56 P.M.

“No,” Natasha replies to Maria’s question as she pushes away those thoughts and refocuses her attention back on the crowd.

Amidst all the joyous people, Natasha finally spots the individual they were seeking—a slippery criminal with a history of working for a notorious crime family that once controlled these streets.

The members of that family were taken down and arrested by an undercover SHIELD operation years ago, leading many of their associates to either scatter or continue their own shady activities in the city.

This particular individual belongs to the latter group and has proven to be very elusive, successfully evading capture from SHIELD multiple times.

“I’ve got eyes on the suspect.”

As she utters these words, the man locks eyes directly with her, as though she is the intended target instead.

Discreetly, he reaches into his coat, revealing a mysterious device with an ominous, glowing red button at its center. He briefly flashes it at her before tucking it away and swiftly turning around to disappear into the crowds.

11:57 P.M.

Immediately, Natasha gives chase, her eyes fixed on the suspect darting through the masses of people. With adept skill, she effortlessly maneuvers through the crowds, rapidly closing the distance.

As the suspect pushes through the final layers of people, Natasha spots another figure emerging from the shadows toward the suspect.

In a swift and seamless exchange, the mysterious device changes hands from the original suspect to the newcomer.

Natasha’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the action when suddenly, the two figures split off in opposite directions, causing her to realize what that means.

Either she continues chasing the elusive criminal they've sought for so long, or she goes after the person now in possession of the unknown device, which may pose a potential threat to everyone in the area.

Without missing a beat, Natasha alters her course to pursue the newcomer. Surging forward, she vaults over one of the crowd barriers, tackling the figure mid-stride, and sending them both crashing to the ground.

The impact elicits gasps of shock from the few people nearby as Natasha swiftly recovers, pinning the suspect to the pavement.

The newcomer wears a mask over their eyes, concealing their identity from anybody who looks at them.

Not from her though.

Natasha is taken aback as her lips part in surprise. She easily recognizes those particular sets of eyes, especially when accompanied by the knowing smirk forming on their face in response to her reaction.

11:58 P.M.

Natasha is still rattled by the revelation of the figure before her, allowing them to seize the opportunity to escape from their pinned position, forcefully knocking the Black Widow aside before swiftly resuming their sprint.

Partially recovering from the shock, Natasha's instincts kick in, and she rushes to pursue, her mind still grappling with disbelief.

It can't be. That thought repeats in Natasha’s mind as she follows the figure into a condemned building site.

She recognizes the structure immediately, both from that particular memory of the past as well as its status as an old building that fell victim to one of the Avengers' numerous battles.

Natasha enters the ruined building through the recently shut side door, finding herself in the emergency stairway that miraculously remains intact.

Glancing up, she spots the suspect running up the stairs, quickly ascending to the higher levels of the building.

11:59 P.M.

The anticipated event unfolds outside as the ball at the top of the Times building starts its descent, marking the last minute of the year.

Amidst the beginning of the countdown chorus from the crowds outside, Natasha also starts running up the stairs.

The echoing footsteps of the other person above her drive her to accelerate to catch up, sprinting up the stairs two at a time.

11:59:30 P.M.

Natasha’s heart beats painfully in her chest, and she’s not sure if it’s from adrenaline or from the overwhelming sight of seeing you again—maybe it’s both.

After all, you’ve always had that effect on her.

“Three!” - 11:59:57 P.M.

Bursting through the roof door, Natasha slides to a sudden stop at the edge of the dilapidated floor. Dust rises at her movement, and small rocks roll and tumble over the edge, falling into the gaping hole.

“Two!” - 11:59:58 P.M.

On the opposite side of the large chasm, balancing precariously on the rooftop edge, the suspect stands, hands clasped behind their back, awaiting Natasha's arrival.

“One!” - 11:59:59 P.M.

With her attention now fixed on them, the figure removes the mask covering their eyes with a dramatic flourish, letting it drift off in the wind and fall gracefully towards the cheering crowd below.

12:00 A.M.

The night sky explodes in colorful lights, illuminating your silhouette.

Natasha stands frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you again, with your Cheshire smirk firmly in place as the remnants of the fireworks rain behind you.

It's a perfect reminder of who you are—beautiful yet dangerous.

In one of your hands, you teasingly wave the device with its ominous red glow at Natasha, while your other hand raises to your lips, playfully sending a mock kiss her way.

With a mischievous wink, you suddenly toss the device toward her, the gentle force of your action causing it to barely reach over to her side.

Reacting quickly, she stretches her arm to catch it before it can fall down the hole, pulling herself safely back from the edge once it is in her hand.

Regaining her balance, Natasha's gaze shoots back to you, or where you should've been, but now there's only dust kicked up by the cold wind. Furrowing her brows, she scans her surroundings again but finds no traces of you anywhere.

You've slipped away.

Returning her attention to the device in her hand, Natasha turns it around, removing the back covering.

Now knowing who she is dealing with, she is not surprised when she finds no activation triggers or wiring—just a battery-powered red LED bulb and a piece of paper folded inside.

Natasha raises her hand to her earpiece, activating the comms.

"Hill, the device is a fake. It was all just a wild goose chase."

"And the suspects?"

"Escaped," Natasha replies regretfully, looking back at the empty rooftop space.

"From you? That’s impressive."

Again, Natasha isn't surprised; time in prison clearly hasn't dulled your skills. Though, now, she needs to consider the implications of your unexpected and sudden return to the city.

"Can you check something for me?" Natasha asks into the earpiece.

"Sure, what is it?"

"The confinement statuses of all the members of the L/n family."

Maria lowly whistles before commenting, "Haven’t heard that name in a while. Isn’t that the crime family that you took down during your first solo undercover mission?"

12:01 A.M.

Natasha remains silent at that, her eyes fixated on the piece of paper in her hand. The fireworks illuminate your familiar handwriting periodically against the darkness of the night.

Happy New Year, Natasha Let’s play again soon 🤍

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading, and an additional special thanks for all who have read any of my other writings this year. I really appreciated all the likes, reblogs, and comments that you have given me (many of you are so sweet and kind for reading most or almost all of the things I wrote). Thank you again, and I hope you all have a happy New Years!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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flowerandblood · 6 months

Text

Rage | Revenge | Relief

[ modern! • Aemond x stepsister! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, kind of incest but not really, mention of marital infidelity ]

[ description: Aemond thinks his life couldn't get any more fucked up until his mother tells him and his little brother that her partner and his daughter are coming to live with them. He gives them a wide berth until one night when he overhears a conversation between his stepsister and her mother. The power of angst, dark, bitchy Aemond. Anon request. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

When his mother decided to divorce his father, he immediately knew who he was going to live with − he had no intention of sitting at home with a man who had paid him no attention all his life. What he didn't suspect at the time was that there was something else behind his parents' separation besides a total lack of affection − or, in fact, someone.

Criston Cole.

When he found out about their affair, when his mother admitted to him that it had been going on for years he didn't speak to her for a month − not because he thought she had no right to really fall in love, but because she was always telling him about the principles of faith in God, the importance of fidelity and virtue.

When he met Alys at one of the parties he went to with his friends from university, when he saw the look she gave him he decided he didn't give a damn − they fucked in the men's bathroom like animals and then went to her place to do the same.

He stayed with her for longer than he had originally intended, not taking calls from his mother.

He eventually returned home; he had his studies to finish, however it was how long he disappeared for that started to worry his mother.

He didn't tell her who he was seeing and why, recognising that he no longer trusted her.

The thought of moving in with Alys occurred to him when one day his mother announced to him and Daeron that Criston and his daughter would be moving into their house − he laughed at her words, shaking his head and said that if they moved in, he would move out, making her burst into tears.

He had the impression that he didn't feel anything anymore.

That he was empty.

Everything seemed strangely funny to him, meaningless.

The day they arrived he sat locked in his room; Alys was sending him naked pictures of herself with messages about what she wanted him to do with her when he came to visit her.

On the one hand it turned him on, on the other it embarrassed him, he wondered how a grown woman could be so desperate.

He was more cautious than her, sending her pictures of his dick didn't thrill him even though she sometimes begged him to do it.

She was just texting him about what position he was going to fuck her first when his mother knocked on his room.

"Aemond. Will you come down to say hello?" She asked softly, hopefully. He pressed his lips together feeling a squeeze in his heart, tapping out a reply to Alys on the keypad of his phone.

Silence.

He heard her give up and go down the stairs.

He felt tears under his eyes, felt rage at the thought that these strangers would now be roaming his house, taking his space, making him uncomfortable even here.

He managed not to see any of them for a few days and felt wonderful about it, going to class first thing in the morning, spending afternoons and evenings with Alys, only coming home late at night.

However, when he came back one time, he saw, putting his keys back on the shelf, that the glass patio door was pushed open.

She noticed a girl similiar to Criston, with his dark hair and big eyes; she was sitting sideways to him on one of the wicker chairs, wearing a thick, light jumper and shorts, her hair loose, as if she was already going to bed.

He saw her nervous gesture, her fingers pressed to her mouth, her eyebrows arched in pain, her whole figure tensed as if someone had just tortured her.

"And what is she like? Have you met her?" He heard the sound echoing from the speaker of her phone, saw her lower her gaze, her lips slightly parted.

"I don't know. She's just normal, Mum. Kind." She mumbled, her voice soft and calm, scared, girlish, young, innocent.

He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop on this, but he just stood and looked at her, unmoving from his spot, standing in the shadows in the corridor.

"Kind? Has she bribed you yet? Is she prettier than me?" The voice on the other end of the receiver was getting more aggressive and frustrated − he saw the girl scowl inwardly, shaking her head, lifting her shoulders up as if she didn't know what to answer.

"She didn't bribe me, she just…I don't know, Mum, I don't know what you want to hear from me, she's just a normal ordinary woman."

"DON'T LIE!"

He saw her cover her face with her hand as she trembled all over; he knew she couldn't take it, he saw tears start to run down her cheeks.

"− I'm not lying mum, I already told you, I moved out with dad for now because it's closer to my university from here, I −"

"You left me. After what he did to me. Was it worth it? For those few miles? To live in the beautiful big house of your favourite daddy's lover?"

"Mum, stop, please." She begged like a small child who asks a parent to stop hitting him already, that she had already understood her lesson, that she would be good now.

He had no idea why he felt a tightness in his throat looking at it, why his heart was pounding like crazy, why he couldn't move or breathe.

"You don't love me anymore. If you loved me you wouldn't have gone with him. You wouldn't have left me. I hope you like your new mum. Good night." She said and suddenly there was the sound of an earphone being hung up.

The girl burst out sobbing, leaning her whole body forward − he had never witnessed anything like it before in his life.

Why is it always the children who have to pay for their parents' mistakes?

He felt he should go upstairs, he felt he should leave her, but instead he moved towards the fridge, opening it. He heard her jump up surprised, only now spotting him through the glass, not knowing what to do, whether she should go or wait for him to leave first.

He, however, pulled out two cold beers and opened them with a loud pop of the cap; he walked outside, placing one in front of her, the other in front of him, sitting down in the chair opposite her, taking a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket.

"If you tell my mother I smoke, I will kill you. Do you understand? I'll make your life a living hell." He muttered, lighting his cigarette from the flame of the fire and took a drag, leaning comfortably against the backrest.

She looked at him with her mouth slightly parted, her eyes wide open, her cheeks all red − he thought she looked like a pet that children really want to have when they are little, a rabbit or a dog, a faithful companion and friend with big eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut at his words and shook her head, massaging her forehead with her hand, as if she couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Nice to meet you too. I'm guessing that you are the Nicest of Alicent's sons." She said ironically.

Despite the harshness and mockery in her words, she said them so softly and warmly that he snorted with a grimace of amusement, shaking the ash from his cigarette onto the tiles beneath them with a tap of his finger.

"Yeah, that must be me." He hummed, looking to the side, exhaling the smoke loudly through his nose, reaching for the beer bottle − he took a long, loud sip from it, setting it down with a loud hiss of the baubles inside.

"Your mummy is always so pleasant?" He asked, looking at her curiously, wondering why he was so intent on bringing her out of her shell.

Why he was so cruel.

She, however, looked at him indifferently, unmoved; she smiled at his words lowering her gaze, her cheeks red from tears. She shrugged her shoulders.

"She's had a bit of a change of heart since she discovered my father was fucking your mother in their bed. But you probably wouldn't care. You don't seem like the kind of person who enjoys unnecessary drama. Right?" She muttered, leaning back, taking the cold beer he gave her in her hand and took a sip from it, turning the bottle in her hands.

He squinted his eyelids, wondering what kind of girl she was, what she might have wanted.

He liked being in control of what was going on and he wanted to work her out as soon as possible, to see what she cared about, to have her in his grasp like he had Alys.

"And what do you think about it?" He mused, slipping his cigarette into his mouth and taking a drag with a quiet hiss, not taking his eyes off her.

He saw that she was glancing at his scar, at his fake eye, and he felt frustration.

"I think that's my business." She said softly, spreading herself comfortably in the chair, lifting her knees up so that he could see her pleasantly firm thighs perfectly. "I only confide in friends."

He raised an eyebrow and sneered, taking another deep sip of beer, finding her naivety charming in a way; he figured she was younger than him by about two or three years.

"What conditions do you have to meet to be your friend?" He asked lowly, and she looked at him indulgently, a dreamy smile on her lips.

"You have to not be a cold, sophisticated dick." She said calmly.

He smiled broadly at her words, however the smile did not reach his eyes, wide open, empty and cold.

"I don't think I meet your requirements then. What about fucking? Can you imagine the face of our parents if they found out? Sweet God." He chuckled shaking the ash off his almost-smoked cigarette again with his pointing finger − he saw that she raised an eyebrow in disbelief and laughed lightly, as if he had actually amused her.

"I admire the level of your insolence. I really do. I'm full of appreciation." She said, smiling in a way that made him feel uncomfortable − he sensed that he had drawn from her the opposite reaction to the one he wanted. He licked his lower lip, looking at her intensely.

"If I offered you to come with me to my room, would you go?" He asked teasingly, wanting to pander to her, wanting to dominate her verbally. She cocked her head, a soft smile never leaving her face.

"Why not."

He swallowed loudly glancing down at her thighs, feeling a strong throbbing in his trousers at her words, his cock expressing an overwhelming desire to carry out his plan.

Fuck.

Actually, why not?

He rose dropping his cigarette to the ground and extinguishing it with his boot, grabbing a bottle of his beer with his hand, walking back out into the dining room − he heard her get up and move behind him.

They both walked quietly upstairs and headed for his room. He walked in taking a loud sip of his beer, turning over his shoulder to look at her − she came in behind him with her bottle, closing the door quietly, just standing and looking at him in complete darkness.

"So?" She asked quietly, lightly, making him completely hard.

He could fuck her while his mother and her father slept in the next room.

He could cum inside her and then look her father straight in the eye at dinner.

"Take off your jumper." He muttered as he drank his beer to the end, setting the empty bottle down on the ground, pulling his leather jacket off his shoulders.

He watched as she obeyed his command without a word, she had a T-shirt underneath, apparently the top of her pyjamas − he could clearly see the outline of her nipples and breasts through the thin material.

"Come here." He instructed, and she approached him slowly, looking at him with those warm, soft eyes of hers; he took the beer from her and set it down on the nightstand by his bed, then glanced up at her.

"I'm not kidding. If you don't leave now, we're gonna fuck." He said dryly, and she blinked, looking at him without a shadow of surprise.

Seriously?

He chuckled seeing that she hadn't moved from her spot, reaching a hand to his belt buckle, undoing it.

"Get undressed."

He stared at her with wide eyes as she pulled her T-shirt over her head, her lovely breasts firm, looking like those of the busts of Aphrodite created by ancient sculptors.

"Not your first time, is it?" He murmured, pulling off his tight black blouse. She shook her head − he could see she was breathing a little faster at the sight of his bare chest.

"Does your daddy know about this?" He asked amused, and she shook her head quickly, looking at him horrified.

"Are you going to tell him about it?" She asked startled, and he chuckled under his breath, pulling her close in a confident motion.

"Please. I suspect you don't do fucked up stuff like me anyway, kid. My mother would be very disappointed in me if she found out, you know?" He hummed and lifted her by her hips, laying her on her back on his bed, kneeling over her.

They both looked at each other and giggled as if they were doing something joyful − he couldn't believe how turned on he was, how much his heart was pounding.

"You know they'll fucking kill us if they find out?" He asked in a trembling voice as if he wanted to make sure she knew what she was doing. She nodded, her eyes were shining.

He thought they both wanted revenge on them.

And even though it was childish, he felt a kind of affection and tenderness for her.

He thought she understood him, that he would make her feel good.

"Such a good girl. Your dad raised you well. But your big brother will teach you better." He gasped, panting along with her, slipping off his trousers and boxers. She looked at him intently, squirming beneath him, her cheeks red, her eyes big and trusting, her lips parted, plump and shiny.

She looked at him as if she had known him for years.

As if they were doing it together for the hundredth time.

With a sure, light movement he slid her shorts and panties off her thighs − they were left completely naked in front of each other, and for some reason feeling no shame, she reached out to him. He leaned over her and let her embrace his neck.

He brushed her lips with his, at first just to try how she tasted, and then he sink deeper into them, pleasantly full and moist. He slid his tongue down her throat with her loud purr, in his other hand taking his cock, jerking it a few times in his palm, the tip of it glistening and pink, sticky from his precum.

"− will you be a good girl for your big brother? hm? −" He murmured into her mouth and she nodded, panting as he did, her thighs parted in front of him in a surprising gesture of trust.

He slid his hand between her legs to check her condition and smirked feeling it was as he suspected, his fingers spreading her wetness all over her hot womanhood, teasing her clit with calm strokes, making her body shudder, her lips parted in silent, innocent moans.

"− I haven't even touched you yet, and you're already leaking? − I'm beginning to wish I'd introduced myself to you sooner −" He gasped, rubbing her with sure, circular motions, her hips coming up against him, looking for any source of friction.

He groaned low, surprised, when her small, soft hand caught his length and with a calm, sure movements began to squeeze it, massaging it up and down, feeling it throb hard in her grasp.

"− your loss, big brother −" She whispered sweetly, looking at him with such an innocent smile that he felt like laughing and telling her how adorable she was.

"− true − don't worry, we'll make up for our lost time now − hm? − we'll get to know each other better −" He purred delightedly, running the tip of his nose over her cheek, breathing faster and faster, licking his lips, their hips seeking fulfilment in the touch of their hands, their lips beginning to rub against each other again, wet and sticky, not giving each other full kisses.

"− with or without a condom? −" He whispered, running his tongue over her upper lip, and she sighed softly, writhing beneath him, his fingers teasing her slick folds with increasingly determined movements, his palm all wet with her moisture.

"− without − 'm taking pills −" She gasped with some sort of pride, her free hand combed through his short hair; he smirked under his breath, taking his hand from between her thighs.

"− good girl − spread your thighs wide − yes, just like that −" He hummed, and she let go of him immediately knowing what he wanted to do, her hands on his back and neck, stroking him in some kind of excitement and anticipation.

He directed the fat head of his cock at her entrance looking down at her, pushing against her slit, her lips parted wide when she felt it.

"− last chance − yes or no, kid? −" He exhaled and she tightened her fingers on his back.

"− yes −"

He had to kiss her to silence the loud sounds that ripped from their throats as he slid into her with one sure, sharp thrust − he began to move inside her immediately, unable to stop himself, the frame of his bed began to creak beneath them with each push of his hips.

They kissed loudly and quickly with a sticky, wet click, their bodies slapping against each other again and again, her naked breasts pressed against his chest.

He wasn't sure he'd ever let Alys embrace him so tightly, feeling him with her whole body, but she was different − he could feel the need in her fingers, she wanted him to be close and he wasn't going to deny her that.

"− look at you − so good to your big brother, hm? − so well prepared to greet him −" He panted into her mouth feeling her insides clench on him greedily at his words, intensifying his sensations, making him lose control completely, his hands clamped down on her soft, hot body smelling of pleasant, girly shampoo and shower gel.

"− you're so big −" She mumbled with some kind of awe and delight, their tongues licking and teasing as his cock with each thrust rubbed against the spot on her upper wall from which her body shuddered.

"− here? − when I fuck you here it feels good? −" He exhaled and she nodded quickly, moaning louder and louder into his mouth, her walls throbbing hard on the verge of orgasm, their naked bodies bumping against each other fast with a loud slaps.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, panting and quivering beneath him, he stifled her sounds and his own low moans with kisses, speeding up his pace, feeling that he was about to come probably harder than he had ever done before in his life.

"− quiet − do you want your daddy to look in here? − to see me taking care of his little girl? −" He hissed and she tilted her head back; he had to cover her mouth with his hand as she began to moan loudly while the orgasm shook her body, her walls began to squeeze him greedily, sucking him inside.

He only managed to make a few desperate thrusts with his hips to prolong their pleasure before he cum inside her, panting loudly, clenching his eyes, feeling such incredible relief that he felt like he was about to pass out.

"− fuck −" He gasped, collapsing on top of her − his hips rocked inside her for a moment longer with her innocent purr of satisfaction.

They both breathed loudly in an attempt to calm themselves, lying with their eyes closed, feeling that, along with the pleasure, their bodies had left the rage, grief and disappointment.

He felt her look at him and he opened his eyes, thinking she was about to cry, about to say that this was one big mistake, but she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

"− God − we're insane −" She whispered with amusement, her eyes shining − he had no idea why he was smiling too, why he felt so damn good, why he felt such immense satisfaction.

"− yeah − that's correct −" He muttered lowly, feeling the fatigue and relaxation slowly overpower his body. He hummed when he felt her hand begin to stroke his hair wordlessly in a soft, light movement, with a kind of tenderness he had completely not expected.

He didn't know himself what he thought of that; he had never allowed himself to be touched like that by Alys saying he wasn't her pet, however there was something different about her touch.

Some kind of genuine concern from which he felt a tightness in his throat.

"This will be our little secret?" She asked quietly, running her fingers through his hair, down his neck and across his cheek. He murmured under his breath and lazily brushed her hand with his lips.

"Yes."

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

544 notes · View notes

fanfics-and-love · 1 year

Text

Reclaiming a Legacy

Ghostface!Amber Freeman x reader

Not my gif

Warning(s): canon typical violence, mentions of death, mentions of blood

Word count: 4k words

Summary: You knew someone was behind the new ghostface kills, but you could have never guessed it was your girlfriend, and that the reason behind everything was you, and your past

Request: Can you write something with ghost face amber x reader. ask

A/N: I wanted to give my girl Amber a better motive bc she deserves it✨

masterlist

You knew your girlfriend was a bit of a bitch sometimes, but never a murderer. Sure, she was rude and probably lacked common decency, but when you two were alone, she was kind and sweet.

There was no way she could be ghostface.

And that was what you told Mindy, after the third time that day in which she had questioned you about Amber.

“Mindy,” you said, exasperated. “I love you. I really do, but if you keep insinuating my girlfriend is a killer I’m going to kick your ass.”

“I’m not,” Mindy said, in a tone that told you she was actually aiming at that, toeing the question but not saying it out loud. “I’m just saying, out of all of us…”

“It can also be the nerd obsessed with horror movies who’s related to one of the legacies,” you shot back. “Or the big sister that has suddenly come back after years of no contact. It can be anyone.”

“Sure thing,” Mindy said, rolling her eyes. “But if anyone would want to kill Wes…”

“No one would want to kill Wes,” you said, slamming shut your locker. “He was a good kid. No one held grudges against him. He was chosen because life isn’t fucking fair.”

You cleared your throat when you noticed kids around the hall staring at you. Great, you were going around school screaming about the unfairness of life; as if you needed people to suspect you and your group of friends more.

“Okay. Sorry,” Mindy said, putting a hand on your shoulder. You almost shook it off, still pissed off at her, but with everything that was going on you weren’t sure who could be the next victim, so instead you hugged her.

“I’m sorry too,” you said, pulling away. “It’s just— everything is too stressful. I can’t stand it.”

“I get it,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just want to discover who the fucker is so we can all be safe.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m gonna hang out with Amber and help her with the party, so I’ll see you later. ‘Kay?”

“Okay,” she kissed your cheek. “Be safe.”

“You too.”

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

“Stop fucking in my couch, horny fuckers,” Amber said, pushing two kids away from said couch.

The party was in full swing, almost everyone from school within Amber’s house walls. You thought of Wes, and how he’d take people remembering him with a party. He would have probably hated it, but it had been Amber’s idea, and it was hard to convince her not to do something once she had put her mind to it.

“Hey,” you said, glad you had finally found your girlfriend. It was hard to miss her, considering her attitude filled every room she was in, but parties like the ones she threw were so overwhelming even she could easily disappear in the crowd.

“There you are,” Amber smiled, shortening the distance between the two of you. She rested the red cup in her hand on the coffee table and wrapped her arms around you, nose caressing your neck. “Mm… I’ve missed you,” she said, pulling away to give you a kiss.

“You just saw me,” you giggled, standing on your tiptoes to give her another kiss. She smiled, pulling you even closer to kiss your cheek.

“What? Can’t I miss my girlfriend?” She raised an eyebrow, looking deeply into your eyes.

“Of course you can,” you said, wrapping your arms around her neck. She rested her head on your neck, kissing it softly. “What got you so happy?”

“I’m throwing a party and I have you in my arms,” Amber said, pulling away. There was a glee in her eyes that made your bones chill. “What else could I want?”

“A lot, actually,” you said. Despite how close you two were, it was still somewhat hard to hear her over the music coming from the kitchen. “A million dollars, three hundred puppies, world peace…”

“Nah,” she said, smirking. “I still prefer you.”

You blushed at that, kissing her again. “You dork.”

“A dork you love making out with.”

“That I do,” you smiled, tangling your hands into Amber’s hair as she put her lips on yours.

“You’re so hot,” she said, kissing your jaw. You moaned, tilting your head to the side to give her more space. “Fuck. I love you, baby,” she said. Her voice was sweet and velvety, just like how it was when she talked with you on the phone. You loved these moments where she was vulnerable; it made your heart skip a beat.

“I love you too,” you said. Amber was kissing your neck again, and you tightened your hold on her hair when she began to suck on your neck.

“You do?” She asked, pulling away. You were a little taken back by the sudden movement. “You love me?”

“Wha— of course I do,” you said, looking into her eyes. There was something there, swimming with the glee in the brown waves of her irises, something that made you want to run away from her arms. Instead, you pulled her closer. “I love you.”

“Even if I was the killer?” You tensed, trying to step away from her. She shook her head, dragging your body into hers. “Would you?”

“What the fuck, Amber?” You asked. Mindy’s voice came into the front of your mind; Do you think your girlfriend is capable of killing someone? “Are you for real?”

“Of course not,” Amber said, kissing your forehead. She sighed in anger when she noticed you were still tense. “Relax, babe. I’m just fucking with you.”

“Don’t joke about things like that, Am,” you said, resting your head on her shoulder. “It’s not funny.”

“Jesus,” she said, stroking your back. “Don’t be such a bitch. I was just playing.”

“Let’s just drop the subject, alright?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Amber said. She was swaying you softly, and the motion was helping lower your frantic heartbeat. “Would you?”

“Uh?” You raised your head.

“Would you still love me if I was the killer?”

“Fucking hell, Amber.”

“Would you?” She repeated. You remembered those random questions she would sometimes ask, out of the blue— would you still love me if I was a worm? Would you still love me if I took shits the size of cars? Would you stay with me if I lost all my teeth?

But that question… it felt different somehow. Like a test you weren’t even aware you were taking.

Would you still love her if she was ghostface?

“Of course I would still love you,” you said, hoping it was all just one of those times she would ask stupid questions.

She smiled, all perfectly lined white teeth popping out in glee. You were taken aback by her happiness, and even more when she pulled you into a passionate kiss. It left you breathless. When she moved away, you could still see the happiness dancing in her face. She looked like a kid that had gotten away with stealing a cookie from the kitchen while their parents weren’t watching.

“Oh, look,” she said, moving away from you. You were momentarily confused at the loss of her warmth. “Tara is here.”

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

The phrase “Welcome to act three” changed your life. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought as you hid from your girlfriend, Liv’s blood still fresh in your face. You had plans for the future, in which you moved into the city with Amber, and graduated college, and then got a nice job and got married. You couldn’t have planned for this. Who would?

Amber was ghostface. And you had been too blind to see the truth. If you made it out alive, you knew Mindy would never shut up about it.

How could you have been so goddamn stupid?

“Y/N.”

You turned to your side, seeing Sam kneeling beside the sofa, hiding away from Amber as she dragged someone into the kitchen. Sam raised her hand and gestured for you to go with her, and you did without even thinking. When you reached the older girl, you grabbed her arm, looking into her eyes.

“Fucking hell,” you said. You couldn’t even blink; it felt like your eyelashes had been glued to your face.

“Sh,” Sam whispered, moving closer. You could see her hands were shaking as she looked around. A gunshot was heard, followed by a ringing so deafening you closed your eyes as you covered your ears, cradling your face in your hands. “Fuck.”

“She killed someone else,” you said, still trying to wrap your mind around how she meant ghostface and also Amber.

“Ri—” Sam took a deep breath. “Richie. I— I heard his voice right before— before she—”

“Fuck,” you said. “Sam…”

“Y/N,” Amber called from the kitchen in a singsong voice. “Baby, where are you?”

Sam put her hand over your lips, pulling you closer into the sofa, as if it would magically cover the two of you. You saw Amber enter the living room, wearing the infamous ghostface robe. A chill went down your body at the sight of the blood on her face.

“Baby—”

Tara appeared then, hitting Amber with one of her crutches. Sam went quick into action, getting up and kicking away the gun that had fallen on the ground.

“Bitch,” Amber said, grabbing a handful of Tara’s jacket and pushing her away. You ran towards the girl, helping her sit up. Tara had fallen face first, and it looked like she had broken her nose, judging by the blood running down her chin.

“Fuck you,” Sam said, grabbing Amber and throwing her to the ground. She eyed the gun the same time Amber did, but you knew Sam was cursed; she had pushed Amber right into where the gun was.

“Not so fast, bitch,” Amber said, gun in hand. Sam moved to stand in front of Tara, and all you could do was stare at your girlfriend. “Baby,” she said, turning to look at you. “Come here.”

“Am—”

“Come here,” she repeated, voice sweet. You could see her finger, pressing harder onto the gun’s trigger. If you didn’t move fast, she was going to shoot Sam.

“Okay,” you said, raising your hands. You walked towards Amber, allowing her to grab your arm and turn you around, pushing you into her body.

“Ah. Much better,” she smiled, kissing your cheek. “Now we just have to wait for the bitch to show up. I’m guessing she’s close, right, Samantha?”

You saw Sam’s hand hold tighter on her phone. “How do you know about Sidney?”

“Oh, honey,” she laughed. “If Sidney is anything, it is predictable. I’m guessing she has already figured out whose house is this, and is coming with Gale to save the day, as always.”

“You’re sick in the head,” Tara said. Blood was still dripping from her face, and you were thankful when Sam held her; she looked like she was going to pass out.

“Haven’t you heard, Tara?” Amber asked. She was pushing you away from them and towards the stairs, her grip on your shoulders so hard you knew it would bruise. “We all go a little mad sometimes.”

“Fuck you,” Tara said. You admired her— she could barely stand still yet she was facing off a killer with a gun in hand; you, instead, did nothing as she manhandled you around the house. If only you could do something to stop her…

“Fuck me?” Amber laughed. “You little shit. I kept you alive and this is how you repay me?”

“Should’ve killed me,” Tara said. The girl looked terrifying, with a bloody mouth and eyes opened wide.

“Okay,” Amber said, aiming the gun towards Tara. You watched as her finger pulled the trigger, and didn’t think twice before slamming your body against her, pushing her into the ground. The bullet hit the ceiling instead of Tara’s forehead. “What the fuck?”

“Run!” Sam said, rushing towards your side to pull you up. With your help, she carried Tara upstairs, where you hid in one of the guest rooms.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. You were leaning against the door, breathing fast. “I can’t believe— fuck.”

“How are you?” Sam asked, always the protector.

“How am I? Look at Tara. I think she’s got a concussion.” Sam turned around to see her sister lying on the bed. She was resting on the side, and even though her nose had stopped bleeding, she still looked too out of it. “We should hide her,” you said.

“What?”

“We can’t stay here,” you said. You could hear the front door opening, and Amber screaming. What the hell was she doing? “She’s going to come looking for us. Tara can barely move. She needs to stay somewhere hidden.”

“She needs a fucking hospital,” Sam said, harshly.

“Yeah, but she can’t really get help until we stop Amber. She might kill the people in the ambulance.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded, swallowing hard as she looked at her sister. Running a hand through her hair, she looked around. Soon enough, your eyes met. “The closet,” you said at the same time.

You heard gunshots, followed by a door being slammed shut. You looked at Sam, and took a deep breath. “Take care of Tara.” You ran downstairs, closing the guest room’s door behind you. You hoped Sidney and Gale were okay, and that everything was over. Instead, someone dressed in a ghostface costume greeted you on the last step, making you almost fall.

“Hello, Y/N,” ghostface said. He was using a voice changer. “Fancy seeing you here.” Ghostface pushed at your legs, making you trip. When the person grabbed you by the waist and pushed into their chest, you knew immediately who it was.

“Amber,” you said. You felt tears in your eyes as you walked into the kitchen. Richie —holy shit, Richie was the other ghostface— was holding down Sidney. When he saw her, he threw her another piece of rope.

“Tie her up and go find Samantha,” Amber said. Without even looking at you, she tied your hands together.

“I’m fucking trying,” Richie said. The rope in his hand was being wrapped around Sidney’s hands. What the fuck were they doing?

“Jesus, you’re useless,” Amber said, taking off her mask. “I’ll fucking do it. Go find that bitch before she ruins everything.” Richie nodded, but still stayed until Sidney’s hands were tied. Only then did he leave, pushing the woman into Gale’s body. You followed shortly after, falling into the two injured girls.

“You won’t win,” Sidney said. You were momentarily surprised by her calmness, but of course, she was Sidney Prescott; she had probably gone through worse at the hands of ghostface and survived to tell the tale; this was probably a normal Tuesday night for her.

“Shut the fuck up,” Amber said, raising her gun.

“You never win,” she went on. “You think you do, then you make some mistake and it all goes to shit. I’ve seen it happen before, four times. It’s better if you just untie us and let us call the police.”

“I’m gonna win,” Amber said, moving closer to her. “I’m going to fucking win, okay?”

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Gale spoke. It petrified you how scared she sounded. Was this really the way you died? “You could be the first ghostface that doesn’t die. I could write about you.”

“And what? Call me the bitch that killed your ex-husband while I rot in prison?” Amber laughed. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You really want your girlfriend to see you die?” Gale asked. You were taken aback by her words. Of course she would go for manipulation, she was a writer after all. It surprised you when you saw Amber hesitate, lowering her gun slightly as she looked at you with dark brown eyes.

“I’m doing this for her,” she smiled then, all doubt cleared from her face.

“Ah, so that’s your motive,” Sidney said, sounding annoyed. “Love. I think that’s a new one.”

“You shut your fucking mouth,” Amber said, aiming the gun back at Sidney.

“Here she is,” Richie said in a singing voice. You heard struggles, and then he entered the kitchen, dragging Sam with him.

“Perfect,” Amber said. “What about Tara?”

“Passed out in the bed,” Richie said. Sam groaned in pain as she was pushed to the floor in front of you. “Tied her up and locked the door. Caught this one,” he kicked Sam on the stomach “trying to hide her.”

“Aw,” Amber said, in a mocking soft voice. “Aren’t you the perfect sister?” Richie laughed at her words, stepping away from Sam.

“Time for the big finale,” Richie said.

“Tara is tied up, then, right?” Amber asked. Richie nodded, a gleeful look on his face. “And Chad is gone too?”

“A bullet between the eyes,” Richie laughed gleefully.

“Good,” Amber said. The next second, she shot Richie in the head. All four of you stared in shock. Your ears ringed, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the loud gunshot or the sight in front of you. Richie fell to the ground, blood seeping out of his head and mouth. You almost threw up at the sight of his gray matter laying on the ground. “Now, the real finale,” Amber smiled, turning back to you. “Who wants to die first? Uh?”

“Me,” you said, sitting up straighter. It was about time you were the brave one.

“Oh, baby,” Amber said, chuckling softly. “No. No, you’re not going to die. You and I are going to survive, and we’re gonna be the final girls.”

“Jesus,” Gale said. “Are you out of your mind? All of this for… for what? To be the new Romeo and Juliet?”

“Romeo and Juliet die at the end, you dumb bitch,” Amber said. “No. This is about Samantha.”

“My father,” Sam said. Even though you couldn’t fully see her, the sadness was clear in her eyes. It wasn’t fair, all the guilt she would carry with her if she made it out alive.

“Yes,” Amber nodded. “Your father, your grandma… you have a pretty crazy family, Samantha. Once this is over, all we have to tell the cops is that you wanted to live up your father’s legacy. Once they took a look at your pills and therapist notes, there’ll be no questions about who’s the killer.”

“There’s always two ghostfaces,” Gale said.

“And the other one is right there,” Amber pointed at Richie’s body. “You convinced your boyfriend to kill those people as an act of love, and he did. Good thing I was there to stop you before you killed Y/N.”

Sidney laughed, looking at Amber with almost pity in her face. “And why would Y/N be Sam’s target? Just because? For this to work, it’d have to be Tara.”

“No, no,” Amber said, shaking her head. “You’re not taking everything into consideration.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Gale said. “You think you can outsmart us?”

“I’ve already done it,” Amber said. “Because I know something you don’t. Something that explains everything,” she shook her head, smiling. She looked crazed.

“Jesus,” Sidney said. “You’re even worse than Jill. Stop with the dramatics.”

“Y/N is Stu Macher’s daughter.”

“What?” Gale asked, looking at you. You felt as confused as she did.

“Amber, what the fuck are you talking about?” You asked.

“Stu is—”

“In an asylum,” Amber said. Something shifted in Sidney’s face, something that told you she already knew. “Locked up for years. I know what you’re gonna say,” she chuckled. “How could he have a daughter?” Amber kneeled down beside Sidney. “That’s what I told myself for months when I saw the papers. I thought, “but how? It’s not possible”, until I realized that it could be pretty easy to explain since Y/N’s mom is a psychologist.”

“What is with people in this town and leaving important documents just laying around?” You murmured.

“You can’t be serious,” Sidney said, interrupting you. “How…?”

“Why do you think she got fired?” Amber looked at you. “For sleeping with a patient. With Stu. C’mon, Sidney, I thought by now you were used to secret family members appearing out of nowhere.”

“So that’s it?” Gale asked. “You find some papers and you decide to start killing people?”

“No!” Amber said. You flinched at the scream. “No. Of course not. I had to check everything. This was too big to just say unless I knew for sure. So I investigated, and once I was sure, I searched for a partner online. Someone who would appreciate this plot. Someone who would know how important Stu Macher being alive truly was,” she eyed Richie, on the ground with blood slowly escaping his body.

“Plot? This isn’t a fucking movie!” Gale said.

“It will be, one day. The two daughters of the first Woodsboro massacre killers, facing off each other. Isn’t it perfect?” Amber turned to look at Sam. “Spoiler alert, you lose.”

“You’re sick in the head,” Sidney said. “You know the danger you’re putting her in? People are going to chase her like they will with Sam.”

“But Sam doesn’t have me,” Amber said. “I’m always going to be there to protect Y/N. Always.”

“Not if I kill you,” Gale said. Within a second, she was up, taking advantage of the surprise movement to throw Amber to the ground. Sidney got up next, grabbing a knife to cut the rope, and Sam, to your surprise, ran out of the kitchen and upstairs. You watched everything unfold before your eyes landed on the gun that had once again fallen.

“Stop!” You screamed, gun in hand as you pointed it at the three women.

Amber had Gale by the hair and Sidney had the knife in her hand, raised to stab Amber in the chest.

“Baby,” Amber said, pushing Gale into Sidney’s body. “Lower the gun.”

“Y/N,” it was Sidney this time, looking at you hesitantly. As if you were going to shoot her. Were you? “Don’t listen to Amber. You can’t be sure.”

“I would never lie to her,” Amber said. She turned her face to look at you. “You know I wouldn’t. You know it, baby. I’ve told you nothing but the truth.”

Your hands shook, but you didn’t lower the gun.

“I love you,” Amber said, in that soft voice you only heard late at night, head pressed on her neck while she ran her hands through your hair. “I’ve done this for you, so you could be the new Sidney— so you wouldn’t have to live under the shadow of Samantha.”

“Am…”

“She’s lying,” Gale said. “Once this is over, the moment you do something she doesn’t like you’ll be next.”

“I’d never hurt her,” Amber said through gritted teeth, grabbing Gale by the shirt. “I’ve done nothing but take care of her.”

You knew your time was running out. Sam had probably opened the guest room upstairs already, and once she was done checking in on Tara, she would come back, more than likely with a weapon. She would be ready to kill Amber, and Sidney and Gale will help her.

Did you want them to kill her? Was it an honor reserved just for you?

Were you going to kill everyone but Amber, and save her?

You weren’t sure, not as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, getting ready for your next move. Still, you pulled the trigger and hoped to god you had made the right choice.

#amber freeman #amber freeman x reader #amber freeman imagine #scream franchise #scream 5 #scream v #ghostface #ghostface!amber freeman #ghostface!amber #ghostface!amber x reader #mikey madison #tara carpenter #sidney prescott #sam carpenter #Reclaiming a Legacy

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yawarakaizai · 6 months

Note

Yan!dazai mindbreaking angel!reader ooo

ⵌ WATCH HER BREAK JUST LIKE A DOLL

SENDER Angel!Reader (Fem) RECIPITENT Yandere!Dazai (BSD) CONTENTS NSFW DARK CONTENT 16+ , obsession/possession, drugging, mind-breaking, reader is a hostage?, unhealthy relationship, dubcon/nc??, abuse (physical implied + mental), slight somnophilia, lowkey angsty, dazai is an asshole!, smut part isn't really detailed (WARNING; This relationship is unhealthy and should not be used as an example. Reader here does not hold Dazai accountable. If you are in an abusive relationship, please seek help from someone you trust or a professional! This fanfic does not idolise nor condone abuse within relationships) NOTE All these years of feeling inadequate and dumb. You were proud to have grown accustomed to Dazai's routine, even if he had promised you months ago he had changed. COMPANY Dolly

A/N combined 2 asks I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ASK BUT IT WAS A YANDERE DAZAI NSFW IDEA im so sorryy ... also any other yan dazai req ! !! srry for the long wait ;; !! reader is an angel !! she was kind of created ,,? kinda like sigma !! the og req had an idea abt aphrodisiacs but ... not sure if i want to write about them just yet :( so sorry!!

Dutiful and pristine, you were a model wife.

Delicate and gorgeous. Just how he liked you to be.

You were brought her to serve as his prize. His reward for years of watching you from afar, stalking you like a lions meal. And you, pure and kind-hearted, not once ever suspected a thing.

Dazai was your co-worker after all. A smart, handsome man with a positive future.

Back before this all, you were nothing but a mere fascination to not only him, but your peers as well. You were never offended or hesitant to answer questions others would have about you. How you came to be, whether you remember anything, and if those feathers of yours regrow.

You coped with everything by dissociating as much as possible. If you could believe hard enough - Dazai was still the Dazai you knew before. The man next to you who'd pout when ordered to finish his report, the one who would turn to you and try to flirt or make you giggle, knowing Kunikida would never dare give out to you.

How could anyone, after all? You only manifested a few years ago. What was it, eleven, or twelve. You can't remember. There was little you remember anyway.

The first few months with Dazai were a blur. You'd have blacked out for the majority of the day until he'd wake you up and force you to eat. If you'd refuse, he'd starve you until you'd beg.

You had tried to protest by going days without food or water but he always got his way in the end. You had to give in at some point.

The biggest obstacle was finding the guts to hate Dazai.

You were afraid to hate him. You were afraid to hate.

He'd treat you so gently and with love. Funnily enough, you blamed yourself for it all. You didn't know why or how, but you felt like if you had done things different, none of this would have happened.

Osamu was sweet. He always did what was right. You respected Kunikida and Fukuzawa immensely. If they trust Dazai, then so did you.

If you knew that you were a lamb handed to a wolf, maybe you would have ran much earlier.

Dazai did not show himself upfront. No. First, it was the mind games. The ghastly figures that would appear outside of your window in the form of blackened shadows, doors you remember closing being wide open when you return home, bangs and creaks around your home when you lived alone, your items disappearing from their usual spot, laundry vanishing completely, and countless mysterious messages from anonymous.

Second, it was you asking for help. You turned to who you admired best. The Armed Detective Agency. Ranpo scanned your phone. He read each message out loud before looking at you, then back down at your screen. He slid it back towards you. " There's nothing suspicious. It's just a prank. "

You felt relief. Ranpo had his ability, after all. The ability to figure out any mystery. He could not be wrong.

How dumb of you to think Ranpo would not be the first person Dazai would go to for his sick joke.

Third was the fever. It hit you like a brick. It was the first time you had been infected with a human illness. Dazai kindly offered to tend to you in his free-time, as everyone else was too busy. You were grateful that Dazai, an important member of the ADA, was sacrificing his time in helping you. He'd stop by almost every day and night to feed you and make sure you're alright. The more you drank that chalky water he'd give you daily before bed, the more you lost your ability to walk.

Fourth, was the inevitable. You waking up in a bed that was harder than yours. Upon observing around you, you realised you weren't in your house. And you don't recall ever sleeping next to Dazai. Naturally, you were afraid. You were in hysterics while he tried to calm you down, telling you stories on how it's safer for you to be here, and that you were an ungrateful bitch for not being grateful enough to him.

You didn't want to hear any of it. So? You were kept in his lovely basement.

There, you were badly treated. Sleeping on cold concrete and eating what scraps he'd leave on the floor for you like some animal - any form of resistance was met with harsh punishment.

You lacked survival instincts. You not once ever felt the need to. Working in the ADA, you were nothing but an accountant. You'd hear about the missions they'd go on, but to you it all seemed like the things you'd see in action films.

But this was real. The way your heart pounded in your ears every time you'd hear steps coming down and the way he'd tug your hair 'till your scalp would burn is something that the actors would never be able to portray properly.

It took you a while to realise you weren't going to make any progress by doing the opposite of what he wanted.

Though, you were admittedly conflicted.

You provided Dazai something interesting. If you let him use you, to spare yourself of his harsh punishments, would he get bored of you? Would he rid of you completely? Would he treat you more terribly to purposely make you act out just so he'd have a reason to strike you?

These were questions that would keep you up.

You couldn't be strong-willed for long. Hope that Kunikida or anyone else would come looking for you dwindled as the days went by and none would come but Dazai.

At some point, you had lost your voice for a while. In that period, Dazai took complete advantage of the fact. When you could do nothing but thrash and cry until you submit underneath him.

He'd pull out, collapse next to you and hold you close to his bandaged chest and apologise until he fell asleep with your hot breath against his skin.

Dazai had been your first time. He took an angel's virginity. You were frozen for the rest of the night. You were almost neutral to what had happened. You even wiped his tears away with your thumb. He apologised. He must surely be remorseful. He promised he wouldn't do it again.

You lost your halo that day.

'' Fetch me some water, I'm thirsty. "

His hand came off your head where it had been caressing.

You looked up at him through long lashes, slowly nodding your head and raising to unstable feet.

Ever since you were allowed to stay out of the basement, he's been helping you regain your ability to walk after the drugs had left your knees shaky.

Your movement was slow but gradual, at least.

If you wished to remain with Dazai, you'd have to obey him. And obey you did.

You fetched him his requested glass of water albeit spilling a tad bit on your way back, you presented him with it.

He peered in, then slouched back into the couch, gaze returning to the television screen. " I said orange juice. "

You were sure he said water.

" But you said water. " Your voice was meek compared to his.

" Are you saying I am lying? "

That shut you up.

You apologised, and travelled back to the kitchen to throw away the water and replace it with orange juice.

You'd bring it back, and he'd look at you with disappointment. " Why are you bringing me orange juice when I asked for apple juice? "

He sounded so convincing that you thought maybe you were mishearing. You held the orange juice in your hand tightly, apologised, and left to get the apple juice.

By the time you returned, you were shaking. The apple juice was dripping from the overfilled glass and onto the floor. You were trembling. " It's- It's apple juice. Because y-ou said.. "

Your gaze was so distant. You were so far away. You were no longer on this Earth. Dazai had to keep you grounded.

" You must be taking me for a fucking idiot. "

He slapped the glass right from your hand, your whole body jolted in shock when the glass shattered against the floor.

You two had just been cuddling on the couch, watching a noir movie like a happy couple would.

Dazai had to keep you grounded. He had to keep you on a leash lest you wander.

" Get over here. " He sighed out after a long pause. Instinctively, you answered, " No. "

It's been so long since you were punished. You didn't want to go back to them.

" I didn't do anything wrong ", your voice croaked out to reason. You should have figured at some point Dazai would get bored of a normal life style.

" I said get over here, Y/N, my patience is already running low. I'm not going to hit you. "

And no matter what you've been through, you'd wake up praying Dazai was kinder. He had overheard your nightly prayers one day and in an act of irony or sympathy - hung a cross over your bed.

You fiddled with the hem of your skirt before waddling to between his spread thighs. Hand reaching for your hip and guiding you down to sit on his lap, you avoided eye contact.

You were clearly afraid of being punished for something that was not your fault. You couldn't tell Dazai it wasn't your fault. That would be calling Dazai a liar. And that would get you hit. Good wives don't get hit.

True to his word, he did not raise his hand to you at all.

Once he opened his mouth to speak, you attentively turned to him. His training worked wonders on you. He made himself your God in a matter of months. You no longer worried your pretty little head on whether Kunikida would save you. All you had to do was clean around the house and prepare Dazai's meal - living to serve your husband.

" You've been such a good girl, don't ruin it with this, 'kay? " He didn't sound mad anymore, but you could still pick up on the fact he was not exactly happy with you either.

" Yes, 'samu. " You nod, toying with your fingers nervously.

" You're such a sweet wife. So dumb. So cute. Love seeing you panic. "

You bit your bottom lip at that, chewing on skin.

'' D'ya think It's about time we started our own family? "

You thought at first you didn't hear him properly. You knew you were trying to convince yourself so.

" Ahah.. " You were hesitant. He picked up on it. His dark brown eyes felt like lasers. " I don't think I can. I'd love to, 'samu, but I can't. "

He let go of his soft grasp on your hip to allow you to stand up.

It was 9pm. You should head to bed.

His silence and poker face felt foreboding.

" Goodnight, love. " You tried to remain cheerful.

You went to bed earlier than Dazai. You climbed into your shared bed after having taken your nightly medication.

You fluffed out your wings - once white, now grey - then tossed and turned until you slept.

" Hah.. hah.. "

The burning heat is what hit you first.

Confusion was second.

" Wakin' up, pretty baby? "

Your mouth opened by itself before your eyes did, and when you tried to speak, to ask what is going on, you let out a soft moan.

You feel something sink in deeper in your pussy, the wooden bed frame hitting against a wall. Oh.

" 'Samu! " Your eyes shot open upon realising what was happening. Dazai had not done this for a while. The room was dark. Judging by how dry your mouth was, you had been fast asleep for a while.

Dazai was propped on his knees between your thighs, naked from what you could make out.

You looked further down to realise that he had shoved his dick in you while you were asleep. Your nightgown was pulled up over your stomach and his hands were holding on loosely to your hips.

Your hand reached out to grip onto his wrist, your legs unable to close. " No, you said you were gonna be better, you said no more of this. " Oh, you sweet poor child.

" It's alright. " He responded casually, pulling out just to slam back in. Although your vision was limited, you could feel his piercing stare studying your contorting features. " Just this once, yeah? "

You remembered your conversation with Dazai earlier. The sudden question about having a child.

When you tightened around the base of his shaft, he knew what you were thinking.

" Don't get all scared, baby. You'd make an amazing mom. " He would bend down, his mouth next to your ear as he'd begin thrusting.

You lay unresponsive and silent, staring at the ceiling - your only solace.

His huffs, groans and sighs muffle themselves on your pillow, your body would temporarily jolt in spasms with each orgasm.

Dazai continued for hours.

At some point, your hands were tangled in messy brown hair, your mouth hung and your voice would plead for 'more', 'there', 'deeper'.

Your sweet husband never pulled you back when you drifted off to space with your longing gaze.

He barely even met you in the eye.

Dazai finished his rounds before you noticed. It was a period of him not touching you that made you turn your head sideways to meet him laying next to you, his chest still raising and falling as he'd regain his breath.

You hadn't moved your body.

Adjusted to the dark, you couldn't help but stare at the pitiful man who spoke nothing to you.

An emptiness weighed your heart down and the liquid love he had planted in you seeped - unwelcomed.

You still felt bad for him. Surely, definitely, this was not his fault.

" I'd like a girl. "

Your lips trembled, you smiled to hide it.

" Two.. daughters. "

The corners of your lips quivered with your fake expression. He could see your eyes gloss and your shivering body, blinking rapidly until your tears slid down.

You never did want children. Not with Dazai, at least. Not for another few years. Not here, not now, not with him. Not this Dazai.

He left you waiting for a while, until he rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling that enamoured you with amazement when he had made love to you.

" Yeah. "

He sounded uncertain, before continuing his response. You had expected it. All these years of feeling inadequate and dumb. You were proud to have grown accustomed to Dazai's routine, even if he had promised you months ago he had changed.

" 'm sorry. "

" I know. "

#dazai x reader #yandere dazai #bsd x reader #yandere dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader

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rowretro · 3 months

Text

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

request by @heeseung-min <3 thankuzz my bae

✧warnings: spiking drinks, violent descriptions, yandere/toxic themes, mentions of a makeout sesh

✧synopsis: Jake is a sweet guy as everyone'd say, no one really knew about his love interest and no one would ever suspect that he's into Heeseung's darling girlfriend. He will do everything and anything to keep her to himself...

✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧

He's a pretty boy, social, stunning, sweet guy, everyone on campus knows him and would say he's a great guy. Y/n is beautiful, peaceful, a little less social than Jake, and has a little sass. The two would just look so perfect together right? Jake believed it. Sure she wasn't in any of his classes as he was her junior, but, it's not like she had a boyfriend.

when he first saw her, he could've sworn everyone else had disappeared. All he saw was this beautiful girl, surrounded in hearts. It's as if, cupid struck him in the heart and whispered "she's all yours" in his ears. Jake believed it. "She's mine" he mumbled to himself as Jay raised an eyebrow at the male's weird behaviour, but brushed it off.

Since the day he laid eyes on her, he followed her everywhere, he took notes of her workplace, her classes, the times he can catch her alone, her favourite things, foods, her favourite places, every little detail about her. By now Jake had the perfect plan to lure his little princess into his palace of wonders. However there was one barrier...

"Babyyyy~" y/n sang as she hugged Heeseung, the male chuckling as he hugged her back, his lips placing a soft kiss on her forehead. Jake was shocked at first, how could a shy boy like Hee get girls. Then he was pissed. How could his hyung steal what's meant to be his?!

God he felt sick seeing how y/n snuggled into the man's chest, her eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration. That look should only be for him. But it's not going to be a problem for long... all he has to do is get rid of Heeseung. He can't just kill him yet. He needs to grow close to y/n first, and so he did.

The male purposefully failed in literature, just so she can tutor him, and during those tutoring sessions, he managed to befriend her and somewhat gain her trust. "Babe, I'm heading out with the boys to the night kay?... keep the doors locked, and stay safe, don't wait up for me I may be late" Heeseung said, as he kissed her soft lips. "Kay baby... take care- and don't get drunk-" y/n said, as she stared up at him.

Jake smirked to himself as they arrived at the bar. All was falling into place. He slipped a viagra pill into Heeseung's drink when no one was looking, and turned to Yena, Heeseung's deary ex that still wants Him. The girl was all for the plan, Jake gets what he wants, Yena atleast gets a night with her ex, and Heeseung won't be able to go near y/n ever again.

It was only a matter of time, Heeseung was shuffling, and pulling out his phone to text y/n. Before he could even send her a text, Yena was on his lap. Boy he didn't know what got over him, but he just couldn't push her off there and then. Seeing them roughly make out there and then, Jake filmed the two, he got extremely lucky when Heeseung carried her away.

Jake arrived at y/n's house the next day, only to see her eyes were bloodshot from crying, she looked dreadful. But it was worth it. "3 years of dating Jake... I-I can't believe he ended up running to her again... especially while being my boyfriend... is it because she's pretty or something?" The girl finally cried.

"Oh no, sweetheart you know too well that you're way too good for him... don't worry soon enough you'll find the perfect match, till then I'll give you my shoulder, cry it all out darling" Jake said as he hugged her, the girl crying into his chest as he fiddled with her hair. God she was so easy to fool...

#yandere jake #yandere #sim jake #sim jaeyun #enhypen #enhypen yandere #yandere enhypen #kpop yandere #yandere kpop #kpop #enhypen jake #enhypen angst #enhypen sim jaeyun #enhypen sim jake #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction #jake

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ask-the-rag-dolly · 21 days

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PLSPLSPLS can we know more about the office ?? like what everyone did and their personalities and stuff. i love the office sm

this is going to be long

everyone has this weird thing where they're referred to by a nickname in the workplace , which corresponds to their job , appearance or generally something else they're known for . there is no deep story reason to this i just do not want to think of first and last names

they work in c&a which was at first a chill company but after the disappearance of its two valuable employees everything went to Shit™

the boss was a pretty eccentric man that bears a lot of similarities to his mascot , caine . there was only one person he allowed to call him mr. bossman . after the incident though he became more intolerant of imperfection and have a shorter temper .

king and queen were like those corny as hell old couple that unintentionally adopted their department . king was the goofy dad that always cheered everyone up and queen was a mysterious little thing with passionate dreams of arson ( there was no heater in the office )

i think you can garner a guess on where their nicknames came from

clown was the laid-back janitor that always wanted to lighten the mood with his Very hit-or-miss jokes , which is what earned him his nickname . was dolly's anchor through The Incident and the worst of bossman

disappeared after spreading rumors about the company

dolly's the darling secretary of c&a who often did her tasks with a smile and got along with everyone in the office . called ' dolly ' because of her ( suspected to be unhealthy ) obsession of raggedy ann which she often has sitting on her desk . for Emotional Support , she claims

disappeared a week after her eye surgery

jester was the accountant that was always the butt of the joke in the office . she was often the victim of pranks and was never taken seriously by a lot of her co-workers - which is how she got her nickname .

a nervous wreck but don't let that fool you .

was good friends with ribbons but that's because she was one of the only people that didn't approve of her treatment

rabbit's the only one who didn't work for the company . instead he was a feral child that kept breaking into the building and messing with everyone . given a nickname because no one fucking knows who he is or where his parents are at WHOSE MENACE IS THIS

never came back one day . for all they know he got lost in a forest and Never Returned

ribbons was the artist who helps with conceptualizing the products . she was called ribbons because she wore a bajillion ribbons on her hair . would often sleep on the job because she only ever gets 3 hours of sleep

disappeared sometime after rabbit .

scramble was the moody intern that would come back years after as a worker - to where they would last for a month before disappearing . a rebellious teen who just went to adopt a random , mentally ill 23 year old woman as their adopted mom . called scramble due to how their fashion looks like ' a bunch of things mashed together '

#[ ooc ]#[ office lore ]

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hollygracesworld · 3 months

Text

Innocent | Ed Warren x Reader

pairing : Ed Warren (Conjuring) x Female Reader

summary : You have been frequently bothered by a bride ghosts since you were little. But as you grow older you feel increasingly disturbed and you ask for help from Ed and Lorraine Warren, a demonologist, to help you escape the curse.

Instead of focusing on the exorcism case this time, you are caught up in a hot affair with Ed Warren.

After all, who would refuse his cock?

warning : full of smut, cheating, masturbation, virginity loss, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink, rough sex.

for another patrick wilson ff ➡️ masterlist

You snuck into Massachusetts Western University, Wakefield. You’re obviously not a student there, you graduated from uni last year. You knew that Ed and Lorraine Warren would be lecture in there so you disguised yourself as a student.

You’re wearing a white shirt matching with a black short skirt that is above the knee. Your beautiful legs are covered with sheer stockings.

Because of your appearance, many men stare at you stunned, even women seem to steal glances at you. You’re really beautiful and different from others. Your outfit is certainly the opposite in the 70s, but it’s not because of your outfit that makes many people admire you, but because you have a beautiful face with hair that looks very soft.

You have responded politely several times when several people tried to get to know you, and they were surprised why they had never seen you here.

Even though you attract attention there, you remain focused on your purpose here. The thought that told you to focus appeared when you saw the bride's figure appear again at the end of the room while Ed and Lorraine Warren were teaching in front. The bride looks at you with red eyes, and blood comes out of her eyes.

The blood dripped on the floor and when Lorraine walked backwards and stepped on the blood, in an instant the figure disappeared.

Lorraine gasped. She froze in place, looking at the floor which now had no blood at all- then she saw you.

Ed grabbed his wife’s shoulder, and he asked, “what is it, hon?”

“Nothing,” said Lorraine briefly, her eyes still looking straight at you. Ed followed his wife’s gaze, and he’s looking at you now.

“We have to,” Lorraine stopped because she was still trying to digest everything, “we have to continue this.”

Ed nodded, he then turned the video back on, “A French-Canadian farmer with no more than a third-grade education yet after he was possessed, spoke some of the best Latin I’d ever heard.”

You looked at the screen seriously. Suddenly you felt goosebumps, but when you looked to the side of the screen, you saw Ed caught staring at you, then Ed immediately continued talking, “S-sometimes backwards.” said Ed, who surprisingly, he’s stammer.

“He’d been molested by his father, who had also tortured him repeatedly.” Ed said still unable to take his eyes off you.

You realize this. It seems like you stole Ed Warren’s attention since Lorraine stared at you intently- she knew and could feel that you were being followed by the ghost. But her husband gaze at you... seemed different.

To ensure that, you pulled up your short skirt and crossed your legs. Your thighs are clearly visible in the sheer stockings which makes Ed even more unable to focus.

“A dark spirit…” Ed’s hungry gaze at your thighs, made his wife, Lorraine, suspect her husband’s strange behavior. Ed nervously continued, “A dark spirit made its home in- in th- this man.”

“Now, if you look into his eyes, you can see him tearing blood.” said Lorraine. You watched carefully and felt increasingly goosebumps all over your body.

Again, Ed couldn’t stop looking at you. You know that just by looking, you know this is wrong. He’s a married man and maybe they already have children. But you can’t deny that you like being seen by Ed, you feel like you want to tease him again.

“And like that…” Lorraine said while glaring at her husband and you alternately, “an upside-down cross started to appear from within his body.”

“All right, Drew, you can hit the lights.”

Suddenly everyone raised their hands to ask questions. You are surprised by this, not because of the enthusiasm of the class so that everyone wants to ask questions except you, but you are surprised because you feel like you didn’t get anything from their explanation.

Because Ed keeps looking at you and you in your seat keep teasing him. It seems like no one noticed, but if anyone in the room noticed besides his wife, they couldn’t blame you. He’s hot.

You can feel Ed and Lorraine’s relationship immediately strain. After answering questions from various students, they immediately left the room at a fast pace. You immediately follow their steps towards their car.

“Hey,” you said walking over to them as they were about to get into their car, “hey, I need your help.”

Before Ed could reply to your words, you quickly said, “I’m not a student here. I’m not even from this city, I came all the way here because I got news that you were lecture here, and...”

“That ghost bride….” said Lorraine still looking straight at you, “she follows you all the time, wherever you are.”

“And the worst part is…” you lowered your head, “she was the one who made my best friend die. I was driving a car, and I saw her figure right in front of my car, and I was fooled, I...”

“I’m sorry about what happened…” Ed said looking at you guiltily, then he looked at his wife who seemed to be trying to digest something, “I’m sure we can help…”

Lorraine turned to her husband. Don’t know why he really wants to help you even though they were very busy handling other cases that they should have investigated right away. Of course Lorraine wants to help you, but she feels bad instincts between her husband and you.

She knows that you have seduced her husband and his husband can’t take his eyes off you, but she had seen everything through her vision, about a bride ghost who always haunts and disturbs you.

“Of course we can help you,” said Lorraine smiling at you, gesturing for you to get into their car.

When you got into the car, Lorraine’s smile faded as she looked at her husband. She knew that something like this would happen, they had been together for a very long time, she knew that one day her husband would give another woman his gaze as if he wanted to strip her naked. But she didn’t think she could bear this much pain, however she had to focus on her purpose this time to helping you.

“How long have you been bothered by that ghost?”Lorraine asked when you arrived at her house.

You thought that the house will contain terrible things, but it turns out that all of them have been stored in one room. Her house is the same as most houses, classic interior design, and various paintings... Lorraine said that her husband likes pictures.

“When I was little,” you said, then you looked at Ed for a moment. And you realize that you look at him too often, “I don't remember exactly, but I could see her when I was 6 years old.”

“I felt very scared. especially when I no longer live with my parents, I...” you give up. You can’t control yourself from looking at Ed. His proportional body makes you want to be fucked by him.

“I'm not from this country. I studied in America and I have graduated from university and now I live here.” You could feel Ed constantly looking at you.

You bit your bottom lip, “I was alone, in the past if I was disturbed every night I could ask my parents to look after me. I know it was the actions of a spoiled child, but now everything is different, I endure all this alone, and I’m afraid...”

“You are not alone, we are here to help you...” said Lorraine holding your hand gently, “can you explain to us what you experienced…apart from your friend’s accident?”

You think for a moment, then you say quietly, “she often comes into my dreams, I don’t know, she always says something but I never remember it. And the weird thing is, I feel like I dreamed of her only for a moment, maybe 2 minutes ago, and when I woke up, it was already morning.”

“Ed...” said Lorraine softly.

He nodded his head, “yes hon?”

“Can you be here accompany her? I will be right back.” said Lorraine as she stood up. And then she whispered something to her husband, making you feel strange. She turned to you and smiled faintly then left the place.

“Where did she go?” you asked as Ed now sat down next to you.

“She’s just… want to do her thing.”

“No, you always work together. I don’t believe that.” you said feeling suspicious.

“And you believe what?” said Ed, “After you showed me your thighs and bit your sexy lips while me and my wife were lecture in there.”

Ed’s soft fingers touched your pink lips, his thumb combing every corner of your lips while his other fingers held your chin.

You let go of Ed’s hand with a slow movement. “No, Ed, we can’t.” You said trying to avoid eye contact from him.

Ed grinned, “Why not?” he tucked your hair behind your ear, holding your chin, “look at me.”

You’re looking at each other now. You can’t help yourself when you see Ed in his formal suit and tie... his body is very proportional with his very handsome face. You only looked into his eyes for 5 seconds and you immediately kissed Ed’s lips hungrily.

Ed kissed you back, your fingers undoing Ed’s tie. He kissed your neck aggressively, then with quick movements he placed your entire body lying on the sofa. He took off his suit and shirt, as did you at the same time taking off your shirt.

When you were about to take off your skirt-- Ed, who was already topless, bit your neck and then said in a deep, hoarse voice in your ear, “leave the skirt in place. as are those filthy stockings...”

Ed ripped your sheer stocking right at your cunt. He moved your panties to look at your pussy. You could feel Ed’s fingers playing on your clit. His thumb rubs your clit with lazy movements while his other 2 fingers into your cunt.

You groaned in pain, Ed said, “damn, 2 fingers won't really go inside. You’re so tight, honey.”

“You're a virgin huh?” said Ed, who was still playing with your clitoris and with his fingers, you could only nod weakly.

“What a surprise.” You felt his fingers force their way into your vagina making you scream in pain.

You can hear Lorraine calling her husband because he heard your moan, “don't worry hon, this is part of the exorcism I’m doing. I can do it myself.” Ed lied so stupidly.

“Ed...please...” you let out a weak moan, you looked at the door of the house which was still wide open, “Ed... shouldn't we close the door first?”

His fingers slipped from your cunt. He started to unbutton his trousers. You can see his cock which is so big and hard in front of you.

You can feel his cock starting to enter the walls of your cunt which are already very wet. He kisses your thighs which are still covered in stockings then enters his entire penis into you. Makes you groan in pain and shed tears.

You felt sore because Ed’s big cock was inside you, but you really liked it.

“Ed, we have to close the door...”

Ed now put your legs over his shoulders and fucked you very aggressively, he answered, “That's not necessary. If someone else passes by this house, at least they can see what a slut you are.” He squeezed out the last word by thrusting his cock deeper into you.

You were drunk with the pleasure he was giving you. You accidentally said a sentence you didn’t want to say.

“Ed Warren.....a sexy demonologist that I just met. A married man that would exorcise all the demons in my body. Please have my baby, put it all in me…. I want you..” you moaned as he insert his cock into your wet cunt with fast movements.

Ed looked at you with pity, “I really wanted to see you have my baby the first time I saw you with those thighs that were so tempting... obey me and be a good slut.”

You nod and you feel increasingly excited and want to climax when Ed kisses both of your tits and licks your nipples while still inserting his large penis inside you.

“Ed... I want to cum.” you moaned when Ed bit your nipple.

He then kissed your collarbones then you could feel his rough breath on your neck now. He kissed your neck then you felt something flowing inside you.

He releases a lot of sperm inside you. With nothing left. His big cock was still inside you when Lorraine caught you both in the living room.

“So, can we start now?” She asked with a straight face, “of course you can do an exorcism faster than this, right, Ed?”

Ed chuckled, he still hadn't removed his cock from inside you, “yeah hon, give us some time to get dressed again.”

Lorraine left the room still with a straight face. But you know that she really jealous and hurt because she obviously heard all your moans and can imagine how great your sex was. But she can’t do anything for that because she wants her husband to be happy.

You kissed his lips as he pulled his cock out of your pussy, “that was amazing.” you said then he smiled happily.

Your still naked bodies stood up and Ed hugged you from behind, “ready for round two?”

***

#ed warren #ed warren smut #ed warren x you #ed warren x female reader #ed warren x fem!reader #ed warren x reader #the conjuring #fanfics #patrick wilson #aquaman and the lost kingdom #josh lambert #patrick wilson x reader #aquaman 2018 #ocean master #orm marius x reader #orm marius #king orm

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