#if you watched my life is strange stream then you know the answer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lis-likes-fics · 1 year

Text

Dark, Dirty Secrets

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Original Male Character x Reader Word Count: 19.5k Warnings: NSFW, dark themes, domestic abuse, adultery, language, character death, smut, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, praise kink, breeding kink, possessive speech, ect... A/N: I might get hate for doing this, idk, but I am going to purposefully leave out a couple of warnings because I don’t want to spoil the plots in this fic. When I say “dark themes” in the warnings, I mean dark themes. If you do not think you can handle it, please do not indulge. You have been warned. Thank you.

The morning light is warm on your naked back, but Tommy's hand is warmer as he sets his palm on your side, caressing the skin with his thumb. You smile, glancing at him over your shoulder as he reaches over for his case of cigarettes.

"How do you think the race'll go?" you ask.

Tommy picks a cigarette, rubbing it along his lips. He reaches for the light on the bedside table, coming up empty when you bring the flame to life yourself. He smiles and leans forward to let you light his cigarette, taking in the first puff before answering you. "Midsummer has been trained by the best of the best; she'll be great."

You slide your bra along your arms, fastening it tight around your chest with a sigh. "You don't think it's too soon?"

Smoke swirls around his head as he blows it out in one long stream, finally moving to sit up. "Nonsense," he sighs. "She's a natural born. She was made for the tracks." He leans over, pressing his nose into your neck before kissing you there. "Just like you were made for my bed."

A laugh bubbles out of you in response as you shoo him away. "Alright," you chuckle, smiling wide. Sorting through your pile of clothes, you raise a brow. "I'm surprised you didn't rip my clothes to hell."

He hums deeply, seemingly amused. "Me, too."

You pick your pantyhose from the mess and chuckle once as you shake your head. "Oh, nevermind then." You glance over your shoulder again, smirking devilishly at Tommy. "I guess now I have to walk around arse out."

He shrugs, raising a dark brow. "More for me, then."

"Ha ha," you mutter. You lean over to him, plucking his cigarette from between his pretty lips. Kissing him longer than you should, you push yourself to stand as you saunter over to his dresser. Tommy watches the way your hips sway as you walk away from him with his cigarette between your own lips now, stopping to pull open the top drawer where he has clothes of yours left over from so many occasions before.

You hear his footsteps as he stands, walking back over to you. He sets his hands on your sides, listening to your longing sigh as he drags them down slowly from your ribs, ending at your hips when your body jerks slightly and your sigh is interrupted by a short gasp.

"What?" he asks, brows furrowed at your strange reaction to his touch.

You shake your head, pulling a smile over your lips. You blow out some smoke. "Nothing."

He takes a step back, fixing his gaze on your hips deepening his furrowed brow when he sees a slight discoloration over the skin. It's the first time he's noticed it; when you came over last night, you were both too desperate and it was too dark to see.

"Where did this come from?" His voice is darker than it had been moments before, a dangerous edge that you know all too well.

"What?" you ask, still sifting through the drawer to find the clothes you are searching for.

His face is so close to yours, his lips are practically brushing your skin. "On your hips," he says, gently grasping you there again. Your hips jerk.

"You're not the only man who's rough in bed, Tommy Boy," you dismiss, smirking his way. You put the cigarette on the ashtray atop the dresser before pulling a new pair of your undergarments from the drawer and bending down to slip them over your legs again. As you're bent over like this, Tommy doesn't move, instead opting to enjoy the sight of your backside pressing into his own hips.

He's handsy as he caresses his palms along your back, sighing deeply at the feeling of your skin against his. "Well, tell Mr. Reddoch to stop bruising me goods."

You stand up straight again, pulling open another drawer where your thin white gowns are folded neatly beside his shirts. "First," you chuckle, "that would imply telling Henry about this." You reach back and run your hand through his dark hair. "Second, maybe you should stop bruising your goods. I've gotta cover this up now, else he murders me." You smooth your hand on your neck where he's marked you with his teeth, dark and purple and too obvious.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply. "No one is murdering my girl on my watch."

You hum, a fond smile on your lips as he wraps his arms around your center and pulls your back closer to his chest. He ducks his head and kisses your neck, lips and tongue and teeth caressing your skin there and filling the pit of your stomach with warmth.

"Stop," you chuckle half-heartedly. "We have to go soon, and no one's leaving if you're pushing me against the wall again."

He does exactly that, shifting you over and encouraging you toward the wall with an urgency that swells in both your chests. He presses you against the cold surface, your body squished between it and him as his naked body traps your partially clothed one.

"I'm not arguing," he smiles, already bunching up the thin silk of your gown to pull down your pantyhose once more.

You laugh excitedly. "Tommy!"

The venue is already heavily populated when you arrive, stepping out of your car with your hat resting on your head. The tracks are full of people eager to watch the races as you make your way through the crowd.

Tommy, who drove his own car, comes up behind you with a hand on your lower back. It's innocent enough that no one cares as you walk to meet your people. Pushing through the attendees, you find them easily.

"There they are!" Arthur's raucous voice exclaims over the conversation swarming through the place. You smile at him, already holding your arms open to welcome the oldest Shelby brother.

"Hello, Arthur," you greet him, grunting when he hugs you a little too tight before letting you go. Esme and John are the last to join the group (though there's a whole other one already waiting at your seats), saying their own greetings.

You spot Henry and offer him a smile, stepping into his space as he welcomes you happily. "What did you girls talk about?" he asks, taking you in his arms as you stand so close to his chest that you might as well be stepping on his toes. He holds you like you're dancing, hand in hand, the other supporting you.

"Telling you would spoil the purpose of girl's night, wouldn't it?" you question, raising a brow.

He sighs, "Suppose you're right."

"'Course, I am," you smile. You lean forward slowly and kiss your husband, raising a hand to his cheek as the thin, golden band on your finger caresses his skin. His hand cradles the back of your head.

"Alright," Arthur interrupts, "you gonna snog all day and miss the race or are you gonna place your bets?"

You separate, laughing. "We're coming, we're coming," you assure him. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Arthur."

He walks over, slapping his hand on either of your shoulders as he smiles wide. "My knickers are just fine," he announces.

Tommy pats his brother's back with a heavy palm as he comes up behind him. "Fine silk," he says. "Pretty and pink."

John steps up on his other side. "Only the best for a Shelby."

In high spirits, the boys laugh. When you turn to Henry again, his gaze is on your neck and you tilt your head.

"Where did that come from?" he asks, scooting in closer to speak privately to you. He's still got one of your hands intertwined with his.

"What?"

He brings his hand up, brushing the tips of his fingers over your neck. Your own hand follows as you take into account what he's talking about, offering a smile with as few nerves as you can manage. "You," you tell him, smiling gently. "Don't you remember?"

He raises a brow and shakes his head, "I didn't give you that." His hold on your hand tightens. You can feel the tingling in your fingertips but choose not to bring attention to it.

"It's probably just fuzzy," you say, stepping closer to rest your hand on his shoulder. You graze your fingertips along the back of his neck, right down the center as you smile. "You were drinking, it was late… and I was screaming."

Your suggestion darkens the look in his eyes for a different reason. His lips pull in a small smirk, and you consider yourself safe. "You were, weren't you?"

You nod gently, making sure he sees the way your eyes dart down to his lips, "'Course I was."

He pulls you in even closer, your bodies practically melded together. "Maybe you should remind me."

"Maybe I should," you agree.

He kisses you quickly. "Let's go, then, eh?"

You nod. "Give me a moment, yeah?"

"Don't keep me waiting," he says, his words almost a warning as he lets you go. You step out of his hold, walking over to Tommy with a sly grin.

He'd been watching you. It isn't hard to tell, it isn't as though he tried to hide it by looking away. He has no reason for shame.

"Be back soon," you say, stopping too close to him. "Don't send a search party."

He leans forward ever-so-slightly, raising a brow. "You're a whore," he says.

You know he's only teasing as you smile wide, laughing heartily. "I'm a wife," you correct softly. Sending him a wink and a playful kiss, you step back. "Don't wait up."

You turn on your heel to join Henry's side. He pulls you in, walking away with you as you feel Tommy's eyes burn holes into the back of your neck. Your skin is on fire only through the feeling of his eyes on you, and it's driving you insane.

As soon as a secluded corner presents itself, Henry shoves you into it with the urgency of a starving man. His lips are all over yours, a vicious attack of the skin as his hands grasp at flesh and blood. He's rough when he begins to paw at your clothes with one hand, eager to be rid of them as he tugs them down your body. His other hand gathers your wrists above your head and his hips press you against the wall as he holds you a little too tight.

You grab his bicep, pushing it back some as you speak breathlessly to him. "Wait, slow down," you urge "You're going to tear my dress."

He has little care for such things as he waves his hand dismissively. "I might as well. You don't need them."

"We're in public. I can't walk around with my arse out."

As if on cue, he reaches down and grabs a handful of the doughy flesh, kneading it in his palm as his fingers dig harshly into you. His grip on your wrists tighten, you feel your fingers tingling, burning at the sensation. It aches as he does so, and your hips jerk away from him. "Ow," you groan, clenching your teeth, "Henry, stop, you're hurting me."

He smirks wide, looking almost devilish as seems to grip your bottom harder. "I bet you love it, too," he huffs, his mouth sloppy against the skin of your exposed collarbone. He reaches down to bunch up the bottom of your dress, urging it up your legs as he exposes more and more of it.

"Henry, slow down," you bid, gasping when his teeth clamp down around your shoulder. You wriggle your hands free and push him away from you, shoving him back just enough to put some space between your bodies. You take a moment to breathe, but he doesn't give you long as he's already advancing toward you again.

"Come back here," he orders, though it's not mean. He says it as though you are playing a game as he smiles wide and mischievously, and somehow, that's much scarier than the former.

As he steps closer, you stutter backwards with an urgency in your eyes that deters him a moment. His playfulness is gone and his shoulders drop. He releases a breath and steps back.

"You don't want me."

And then the guilt sinks into your flesh and sticks to your bones like glue.

Guilt from this morning, your forbidden pleasures with Tommy, his claim on your neck, skin on skin on skin.

Henry's eyes are burdened with a sadness that aches and pulls the strings of your heart like the trigger of a gun.

You smile slowly, fixing your dress as you close the distance between the both of you by taking his face in your hands. "'Course I do." He looks away from you, not quite convinced, even as you stroke your thumb over his cheek. His hands reach up to grasp your wrists again, and you try not to wince at the feeling of his grip on your aching skin. You turn his face to look at you, shivering at the ice of his eyes.

You swallow thickly. "But the race is about to start," you place your hands on his chest, "so why don't we be quick and finish this later?" He watches you sink to your knees, slow but slightly shaking as you kneel before him.

His smile from before returns, as does the predatory gaze in his eyes. "Yeah," he nods slowly, a hand on your cheek. "Not too quick, though."

You breathe a half-hearted laugh and make quick work of his belt.

You dig in your purse to fish out your lipstick, smearing it carefully over your lips with the small mirror in your gloved palm. White lace travels up from your fingers to the middle of your arm, hiding the newly discolored bruises on your wrists. As you snap it closed and turn to see Henry, he looks satisfied and you relax.

You walk over to him, fixing his disheveled hair with deft fingers. He watches you with a smile, brushing his fingers along your hairline and down to your chin. You smile at the tenderness and lean forward to kiss him, eager for his softer touch for as long as you have it.

But as you lean forward, he leans back. "We'll be late," he says, wiping his hands down the front of his expensive suit and walking away. You watch him go, your heart heavy and your throat hot.

You follow him back to the group, finding them quickly as you take your seat between him and Tommy, cigarette between his lips. You sit down silently, your back too straight and your chest tight.

When you feel Tommy's fingers brush your hand, you look over at him. He's got a smile on his face, it's small and teasing but it makes you feel just a little lighter.

"Looking a little flustered, love," he remarks, his cigarette pinched between his fingers.

He expects a smart reply, accustomed to quick wit and far too much sass for one woman. But all he gets is a tiny, "Yeah."

Tommy frowns and whispers your name. You look at him and you see it, the care he insists isn't there. You smile at him, brushing your fingers against his hand. "I'm fine," you tell him. "Promise."

He leans in, eyes narrowed in challenge as smoke bellows from his lips. "You're a dirty liar," he mutters into your ear, motioning toward you with the burning end of his cigarette.

Your smile turns a smirk as you take it from him, the slyness he's used to sinking back in at his words. "I have to be with you." You wink and blow a stream of smoke into the air. Your gaze lingers for just a moment longer than it should before you're turning your attention to the tracks, giving his cigarette back.

Tommy watches you a few seconds more before following suit, relaxing just a bit now that he knows you're okay.

Glass clinks against glass, surrounded by cheers and shouts of celebration of Midsummer's victory. Most of the celebration is packed into one of the smaller rooms, trays of glasses and mugs littering the large table as everyone takes what they want.

"And you doubted her," Tommy tuts as he takes a sip from his glass.

You roll your eyes and laugh, "I would never doubt that beautiful beast. She was made for the tracks." You pat your husband's chest next to you.

"As I said," Tommy nods.

Henry raises his glass to him, "You sure know how to pick 'em, Tom."

"It's in me blood."

Polly comes through with her glass in hand, waving them aside. "Away with you, boy," she orders. "Go and drink and celebrate."

Arthur raises his glass as she comes to stand by him, hand on his chest to push him back. "We are celebrating, Pol. We'll be celebrating all night!"

Shouts rose from the pub in response to that, agreeing whole-heartedly with him. The only people not exclaiming their cheers are you and Henry, distracted and lip-locked as you sit on his lap.

Ada's hand grasps your arm as she pulls you off of him, rolling her eyes in slight disgust of the public display. "Hey!" you exclaim giddily.

Polly's on her side, still talking to the boys. "Yeah, well, go do it somewhere else. It's girls' time now."

John groans loudly, throwing his head back lazily over the seat. "Why is it always girls' time?" he complains, allowing Esme to pull him up and shove him into his brothers. "What are they hiding from us, you think?" he asks them.

Esme, with her hands on his chest, smiles, "Dark, dirty secrets that'll run your mind to mush." She kisses him quick. "Now off with you lot."

"Alright, fine! Don't drink all the good stuff," Arthur complies, already reaching for another glass before he turns to leave as Polly and Ada continue to usher them out.

You laugh and your eyes find Tommy's, watching you too fondly. "It's no fun otherwise," you wink. They close the doors loudly behind themselves, leaving the four of you alone to gossip.

As soon as Polly is sure no prying ears are listening in, she smiles. "So," she begins, leaning back in her seat with a cigarette between her fingers, "how are the husbands?"

Esme scoffs, although not unkindly. "Cunt drunk." You scoff as well, agreeing whole-heartedly.

Ada laughs. "Oh, we saw plenty of that."

Polly just smiles and nods once, "Good girls, then." She blows out some smoke slowly through puckered lips.

You shrug, turning back to Ada. "Polly said to keep their bellies full and their balls empty." You smile slyly, bringing your glass to your lips. "Who am I to refuse?"

Ada raises her brows playfully, motioning toward you with her drink. "You're a dirty whore, is what you are."

You mirror her expression, though you feign surprise as you sit up a little straighter. "Then I should start charging," you tease.

"A girl like you?" Esme looks you up and down, smirking just as much as you. "You'd make good money."

You chuckle, leaning back to cross your legs. "Oh, then I should definitely start charging."

They laugh with you, reveling in the smoke and liquor in the air. Esme's expression sobers a little as she turns to you again. "How's your husband, love? Still givin' you trouble?"

You lean forward again, uncrossing your legs and taking a small sip of your drink again. "Oh, he's fine," you say.

Polly stands, walking over to you in the small space. "I don't normally call this–" she pokes your side, right over your bruised hip with little tenderness, "–fine."

These three are the only ones who know about your relationship with your husband, not even Tommy knows, his best man at your wedding and your closest friend. You would tell the boys, but they would likely try to kill Henry—you've been a Shelby friend for a very long time, long before they ever even heard of Henry Reddoch. Arthur, John, and Ada are practically your siblings.

But the relationship you have with Tommy has never been familial.

You look at her, face fallen and slightly annoyed. "Ow." She raises a brow, a silent question as to whether or not you think she cares if her poking you hurt. You run a hand along your side absent-mindedly before grabbing your cup for another drink. "He's just rough, is all," you defend calmly. You look up at her with a smirk, "And I'm good at what I do."

Polly's fingers shift hair from your face and neck. "And, yet," she says, "all Tommy does is this." She reveals the mark left on your skin from this morning.

You raise your brow this time, challenging her just a tad, "How do you know that was him and not my husband?"

She breathes a humorless laugh at your foolish challenge and grabs your hand. "Because your husband does this," Polly says, pulling your glove off your hand and showing you the bruising of your wrist—as if you hadn't known it was there.

You snatch your hand from hers, replacing the glove and shaking your head lightly. "I can handle my husband." You look at her, completely serious. "Let me handle him."

"Oh, you'll handle him alright," Ada mumbles. She takes another sip of her glass.

Esme follows suit. "Then you'll come back round here with another bruise, this time around your neck."

You sigh and shake your head, tilting your head and tapping your finger against the smooth wood of the table. "It's just the war," you say, lamenting the time before all of this. The time your husband was softer, gentler. Yes, it has been a while.

You'd been married to Henry for nearly a year before he was sent off the war with Tommy and the rest of the boys. They were so different back then, kinder, lighter, happier. They were gone for so long, and when they returned, the part of them that you had cherished for their tenderness was gone. But no one lost more warmth than Henry—even Tommy, with his eyes of ice and heart of stone. Henry came back, but some of his soul had never returned: the smile that was a little bit bigger, the laugh that was a little bit fuller, the hands that were a little bit softer.

He loves you, and you love him…but the limits of where that love is sometimes feel constricting.

You breathe in deep, feigning your smile. "It changes men."

Esme sighs, muttering under her breath but unafraid to voice her feelings. "Me husband went to war, but he doesn't bruise me like a peach."

You scoff. You know they mean well, but, quite frankly, you're tired of hearing it. "We're married, we're kind of together ''til death do us part' and all that."

Polly waves her hand. "It'll always be the war." She leans in closer, raising a brow as she urges you to listen. "Doesn't mean you have to keep fighting it."

You take her in, the way she watches you. "Stop worrying," you say after a moment, looking around the table at everyone. "I'll be fine."

Ada sighs deeply, sitting back and taking a drink from her glass. "You act like a Shelby."

"You might marry one and make it official," Polly adds.

You laugh lightly. "And now she's trying to marry me off to her nephew."

Polly's hard gaze is back on you, unapologetic and hardly leaving room for argument. "Either way," her words are firm, almost prophetic, as most of them are, "this thing you've got goin', it won't last. One day…it'll turn to blood in your mouth."

You stare at her, and you almost shiver at the ice running down your spine. There's a shock to what she says, and you have half a mind, not only to heed her words, but to fear them.

Still, you steel your nerves and offer a small smile, a pitiful reassurance of well-being. "I'll take care of it, Pol." You straighten your back. "I'm a Blinder, same as you. No one fucks with the Peaky Blinders."

She scoots closer, speaking closely to you as though what she says is a secret. She never blinks as she speaks to you, never wavers. She just stares you dead in the eyes as she warns, "He's a Blinder, too, sweetheart. Don't forget that."

You grant her a sober look, a silent confirmation that you hear and understand her. "I've got it, Polly." She examines you quickly before leaning back again, tilting her chin up as she nods and hums.

"In the meantime," Esme breaks the tension, "this is meant to be a celebration."

Ada nods, a smile returning to her face as she grabs her glass. "Right," she says, a new chipper in her tone. "To Midsummer, the beautiful beast of burden."

You grab your glass, a new grin on your lips. "I'll drink to that."

The glasses clink loudly in the air as you raise a simple toast to the horse you named with Tommy. Just as you're bringing the cup to your lips, Polly snatches it from you and sets it on the table.

You roll your eyes and groan, "What now?" She hardly gives you time to process, and even less time to actually finish your two-word sentence before her hand is clasping over your breast, groping you suddenly in her palm.

"What the hell?" you exclaim, moving away from her to no avail.

She looks up at you, furrowing her brows and finally letting go of you tit. "How late are you?"

You shrug, "A few days?"

"How many is a few?" She raises a brow.

You think for half a second. "Maybe a week," you confess. "But I'm never regular, what does it matter?"

Polly moves her hand to your belly, "Matters a lot." She sits back, staring you down with an intensity you find is common in her eyes.

"You're having a baby."

"What?"

"Polly, you're serious?" Ada questions.

She shrugs, "No reason to lie."

You pale, your mouth gaping like a fish as you try to process her words. "I'm…" You shake your head. "I'm pregnant?"

"Quite."

Your eyes are glued to the table, refusing to look at anyone until you've processed enough.

"Is it a Shelby baby?"

"Esme!" Your eyes shoot up to her, staring her down at her blunt question.

She's got no shame, raising her brow and shrugging. "Am I wrong?"

You turn your focus to Polly. "If this baby comes out like Tommy, there will be trouble," you say, urgent and scared and excited.

Polly presses her hand into your belly, feeling around for something as she closes her eyes to focus. The way she looks at you when she opens her eyes again, her face a mix of pride and wariness.

"You'd better clean your guns then."

Ada tilts her head, "Pol."

She announces it without regret. "It's a Shelby boy."

Your head feels cloudy, and the world is spinning slowly. You are suddenly aware of every breath passing through your lungs, every beat of your heart in your chest and pulse in your veins.

"I'm…" your breath shudders and you look at Polly. "I'm having a Shelby baby?"

Ada smiles wide, chuckling slightly, "I honestly don't know whether to hug you or feel sorry for ya."

Reaching for your glass, Esme tilts her head. "Did ya ever want kids?"

You shrug, watching her take your drink and pour it into her own. "When the boys left for war, I put the idea away," you admit.

Ada leans forward. "And now?"

You take a deep breath, looking at her. "And now…" you shake your head, "I'm pregnant, and the baby isn't my husband's."

Esme bobs her brows, bringing her glass to her lips. "You're the fucking his best man."

You turn your gaze on her, tilting your head with an exasperated sigh. "Thank you, Esme."

She just shrugs. Am I wrong?

"Alright, boys," Ada announces, setting her glass on the bar. "I think it's time for us to go home."

It's been hours and the party is still in full swing, but that's mostly because the Shelby's are here and in high spirits.

Arthur disagrees, groaning as he holds his arms open in protest. "Oh, come on! The night's only just begun." The men agree.

Ada laughs. "Well, one of you boys is gonna have to take me and Pol home. Who's it gonna be?"

Esme steps into her husband's space, her voice low but not quiet. She intertwines their hands and tilts her head at him. "And you and I, John, have to make sure the kids have been out to bed."

John smirks slowly, looking up at Arthur with lazy eyes. "On second thought, Arthur," he chuckles, "it is a good time to go home."

Arthur sulks a little, but not unplayfully. Tommy just shakes his head with a poorly concealed grin as he walks over to his sister next to you. "I'll take you home, Ada," he says.

"And I've got ya, Pol," Arthur agrees, accepting defeat.

Polly glances at you and Ada, smiling. "Such gentlemen, these two," she teases, already headed for Arthur.

"Come now, Henry," you turn to your husband. "Off we go."

He breathes a laugh, patting your hands on his chest. "If you insist."

You smile and walk toward John, who gives you a hug before he's leaving with Esme. Arthur wraps you up in a hug and lifts you off the floor just a slight. "Good night," he says. You repeat it back to him.

When you head toward Tommy, his arms are already opening to welcome you into a hug. His hug is tight and warm. It wraps around you like Arthur's but holds an intimacy you quickly become addicted to. It lasts a second too long before Tommy breaks it with a chaste kiss to your temple.

"Get home safe," he says, only glancing at Henry for a moment to convince him he's talking to the both of you.

You nod gently at him, staring at him too long. You wonder briefly if your baby will share his eyes. "You, as well, Tom Boy." You pat his chest and turn to Henry.

"Come on, husband," you smile at him, joining his side with an arm tucked behind his back. Henry starts walking you out the door as you wave behind you at everyone.

The night is dark as Henry helps you into the car, closing your door tightly before rounding to the other side to get in. It's as he's driving away that he speaks again, a hint of indignation in his tone diluted well with teasing. "I swear, sometimes the two of you don't feel like friends."

It feels like the tiny hairs along your arms prick at your skin then as you shrug and decide to play dumb. "Who?"

"You and Tommy," he glances at you.

You smile at him, offering a fond look as you take in the side of his face. For a moment, for a half of a second, you don't feel the bloom of affection you've grown accustomed to with your husband. For a half of a second, your mouth sours and your heart palpitates worriedly. You just brush it off and smile.

"Nonsense," you say as affectionately as you can. "If we weren't friends, what would we be?"

Henry shrugs heavily, his feigned teasing fading slightly into something more bitter. "I dunno," he sighs. "I just know I don't like it much."

You swallow thickly, turning from him again and staring out of the windshield. You sigh gently, brushing a hand over your belly and feeling your chest swell with fondness and anxiety.

"Don't worry, Henry, darling," you bid gently, hardly believing your own words as they leave your mouth, "no one's replacing you."

It's late as the lot of you pile into the theatre, big and bright and expensive. There's an opera tonight that you all have tickets to—Tommy wanted to spoil everyone and decided an opera was well-deserved.

When you take your seats, once again squished between Henry and Tommy, it only lasts a half hour before Tommy is standing and brushing past your row for a smoke. Without any way to make it less suspicious, you simply stand and walk off as well, following him away. Turning at the door to look over your shoulder, Henry hasn't even glanced your way.

The both of you walk out of the auditorium and through the halls where some patrons are still lingering about. As you step outside, the first thing you do is push him into the dark cover of night where you couldn't be seen by wandering eyes.

Tommy smirks, his chin tilted up as he looks down at you. "Isn't this a little suspicious?"

You shrug, placing your hands on his chest and sliding them up to cradle his neck. "He won't even notice I'm gone."

Without another word, you bring him down to your lips, eager to taste him again after not being able to for the past few days. Tommy is just as desperate at you, holding the back of your head and grasping your side as he backs you into the wall. No words are exchanged between the two of you. It's nothing but breath and stray moans as you devour one another.

By the time you pull away from him, you're breathless and warm and wanting. You smile, stroking a finger from cheek to chin. "I missed ya, Tommy."

He stares at you, his blue eyes piercing. When you don't look away, never wavering or blinking or fluttering, he smiles. You're one of the few people who can stand his intensity, and it warms his self-proclaimed dead heart.

"Aye," he breathes. He kisses you again before letting you go, pulling a cigarette from the inside of his coat. He drags it along his lips before setting it between them. You fish your lighter from your purse, flicking it to life and holding it under the end.

He puffs it a couple of times before he's offering it to you, knowing you would probably take it in a moment anyway. You turn it down, leaning against the wall and watching him. Neither of you speak, but the way he looks at you is so close to the way you look at him that you don't suppose either of you have to.

After a moment, he tilts his head. "What's on your mind, love?"

You mirror his tilt, "Nothing."

"Go on," he says, not believing you. "Tell me."

You shake your head with a gentle laugh, shrugging once. "Nothing serious, just a thought," you tell him. You glance down at your shoes. "What if I decided to have a kid?"

He lifts his brows, breathing in as he turns to face the street. "Finally giving Henry a child, eh?"

You breathe in deep, turning away as well. "Well, he is my husband, isn't he?"

That's right. He is your husband. So why isn't the baby his?

"What brought this on?" he asks, blowing out a smoky breath.

You toy with your fingers, brushing them over your belly tentatively. Your mind wanders briefly to earlier that evening, getting ready in front of the mirror and seeing the slight bump of your belly where your baby was growing. It stole your breath away. The only thing you wanted to do was run and tell Tommy, but now that you have the opportunity, you're suddenly worried.

You shrug and lie quickly, "All of John and Esme's, babysitting Karl when Ada's busy. Who knows, maybe the maternal instincts are finally kickin' in."

He hums. "You talked to Henry about it?" He says it almost expectantly, as if you have ever told Henry something before him.

"Eventually," you sigh. "He doesn't observe like you do, I suppose."

There's a moment of hesitance, an uncomfortable silence between the both of you as he thinks. "Well," he takes one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it to the damp ground and stamping it out, "I wish you and your hypothetical child luck."

He turns to you, offering his hand. "Until then, we should go back inside before they're missing us and await our next appointment," you take his hand, "Mrs. Reddoch."

You don't like the way he says it. It's as if he's reminding you that you have a husband you vowed your loyalty to. As if he isn't the man you've broken that vow with a hundred times over.

And not once have you regretted a single moment, but the guilt runs deep sometimes and his words do not comfort you.

Still, you pull a smile on and slip your hand into his elbow. "I'd be happy to oblige," you sigh. "Lead the way, Mr. Shelby."

He walks you back to the auditorium and down the few steps to your row where Henry looks up to see the both of you. You take your seats and offer a reassuring smile before turning your attention back to the stage where a ballroom dance is in full swing as a smooth tenor belts a romantic declaration.

Tommy's arm brushes yours on the armrest, and you glance at him. He doesn't look back, but you can see the tiny curve of his lips. You curl your pinky with his, turned away.

But then you feel Henry's hand on yours. You look at him fully, his gaze still fixated on the stage. You look down at his hand covering yours softly and smile, flipping your hand to hold his, intertwining your fingers. Removing your hand from Tommy's, you lean toward Henry as you rest your head on his shoulder. He smiles, glancing down at you and leaning his head on yours in return.

Tommy's grin is gone and his eyes are trained on the stage. He shouldn't be upset; Henry is your husband and you're considering starting a family with him. But with how long you've been Tommy's, how intimate the two of you have been again and again, he feels he has the right to be upset, even if that right is limited.

He doesn't look at you for the rest of the play, but you don't seem to notice. You nestle up to Henry the whole time, content.

When the play ends and everyone goes their separate ways, Tommy's goodbye is short. You wave to him as he walks out the door, but it's all you can do.

Henry takes you home, affectionate and loving and kind the whole time.

When you get there, he carries you up the stairs in his arms and lays you on the bed. He kisses you and strokes you and contains a softness you hadn't felt from him in a while.

But when he's rutting inside of you, the softness has completely dissipated and he becomes the desperate, rabid beast you're used to. He rips your clothes and grips you tightly, he sinks teeth into flesh and holds you down so you can hardly move.

You clench your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he gives it and wishing he would return to the kindness he'd just offered you. His hand wraps around your throat and he squeezes.

When he's asleep beside you, a hand across your front as you stare up at the ceiling with damp eyes, you find yourself wishing for your best friend. You find yourself wishing to be in his bed, in his arms, with his baby in your belly.

But that won't happen—at least, not tonight. You look over at Henry's sleeping face (which still does not hold the warmth it once had before the war) and sigh, turning your body to face him as you try to cuddle close without waking him.

You close your eyes, inhaling his scent and wishing it was Tommy's, and lull yourself to sleep.

The next few days are confusing. When you're not working at the office, you're with the girls or Tommy or Henry.

Tommy's been sort of strange lately, dismissive one day and happy to be with you the next. Henry is as complicated as he always is, soft and caring one moment, rough and demanding the next.

You've spent your alone time trying to figure out how to tell them both about the baby growing inside of you.

You thought today would be the day.

The sun is shining and the breeze blowing in the wind is gentle and undisturbed. Debutante, your Morgan horse, walks slowly, the clip-clops of her hooves muffled by fields of grass next to Chance, Tommy's French Trotter.

Holding onto the reins as you ride front saddle—as you often refuse to ride side—you smile at Tommy.

Conversation has been scarce since you invited Tommy out for a ride. You missed him. You want to spend time with him, and you know this is one way he won't refuse.

"It's a wonderful day," you try, raising your brows with a smile as you tease him about the lack of conversation.

It takes him a moment to respond, but he does. "Yes, it is," he says.

You absent-mindedly pet Debbie behind her ear. "Was looking forward to it."

He sighs, glancing over at you with half a teasing expression. "Why? Are you looking for a quick fuck?"

You chuckle, although not comfortably. You feel like he's holding back from you and it's making you anxious. "Maybe," you kid. When he doesn't show any sign of amusement, you take it back. "Tommy, I'm joking. I just enjoy our time together, is all."

He practically cuts off the end of your sentence when he speaks again, his jaw slightly clenched and his eyes cold. "Do you love your husband?"

You blink, forcing a breath out of your lungs that sounds like a laugh as you shake your head. Pulling on the reins just enough, your horse stops. "What?" When he doesn't respond, although he eases his own horse to stop as well, you glance down at your hands and then back up at him. "He's my husband."

"That doesn't answer me question," he replies.

You steel your nerves and clear your throat, glancing up at him, though your eyes stop at his collar. "Of course I do."

He raises a brow. "Then why are you here with me?"

You are frustrated now, abandoning all attempts at dissolving the tension. "Maybe because I like being with the infamous Tommy Shelby." The sarcasm in your tone is not hidden, and you nearly find yourself speaking through clenched teeth.

"More than you like being with your own husband?" he inquires.

You're sick of him and you're going to push him off his horse. Not meeting his gaze, you swallow thickly. "I don't know what you mean."

He nearly rolls his eyes. He knows you, and he knows that you know exactly what he means. You're a dirty liar, and he knows it all.

"Shouldn't you be spending time with him?" he clarifies. "Or did you just want to fuck again?"

The look you give him is not as offended as it is entirely unbelieving. You run your tongue along your teeth, scoffing through your scowl. You turn away and bid Debutante to walk. "Tommy," you offer an olive branch, a chance for him to step down, "you're acting strange."

He follows after you as he continues his verbal attack. You wish he hadn't—your fists are aching to make contact with his jaw. The distance the horses give you is the only thing preventing you from such violence.

Although you know you would never actually hit him, you don't have it in you. But what you won't do in physicality, you will do in words if he does not let up.

"Do you want him?"

It sounds like an accusation and you grit your teeth. "He's my husband," you repeat, almost sounding like a broken record. You sense Tommy's words before he says them and revise your response. "Of course I want him."

He hums, "I'd argue if you wanted him, you'd be with him right now."

You guide your horse to stop in front of his own, blocking his path at a cross and staring him down with wide eyes. "Careful, Thomas," you warn. "Someone might think you're jealous."

His face doesn't betray emotion and it's infuriating. You can always read him, always…but right now, you're finding that hard to do.

"I've no reason to be jealous," he says after a beat too long. It's a blow to your heart, and you don't know why.

"Oh, really?" you seethe. "You're not upset you've gotta share me with another man?"

He shifts his head to the side, and a hint of the frustration he's feeling seeps into his face for half a second. "Careful," he says, an echo of your own words before, "someone might think you just enjoy being a skank."

The look that crosses your face is something deeper than a scowl. With wide eyes and a mouth agape, you glare this man down with all the bitterness in your soul. It is silent for a while as you both process his words. When you break that silence, it's with a voice low and dangerous, teetering on the edge of murderous.

"What the fuck…did you just say to me?"

He's too proud to take it back, lifting his chin and staring you down like you are small compared to him. "Don't you?" he continues. "You'd rather stay with that bastard and fuck me on the side. Have him wonder where all those marks on your neck are coming from, eh?" He motions toward your neck, where you've got a scarf tied securely around to hide the bite marks in your skin from Henry's excitement.

You shake your head, your breath and heartbeat fast and unsteady. "Shut up, Thomas."

"Am I wrong?"

"Yes," you urge. "As a matter of fact, you are." When he doesn't speak, you take it as your chance to add on. You take control of the reins, taking the few extra steps to sit next to him, completely facing him down as you fume.

"Maybe I'm here spending time with you because it's something I actually enjoy." you hiss, jabbing your finger into his chest before leaning back again with a sneer as you lick your bottom lip. "But, of course," you scoff, "that's hard to believe, seeing as you're Thomas fucking Shelby. Biggest arsehole in England."

He shakes his head. "No," he mutters. "Don't get angry with me because I reminded you of your husband's existence."

You burst. "D'you ever think I'm fucking angry because you called me a fucking skank, Peaky bastard?"

He shrugs, "I wouldn't have to call you one if you had thought about being loyal."

You hate him. You fucking hate him. His expressions are nearly too emotionless to read, his tone doesn't match yours as you shout in your frustration. He is way too calm as he insults you time and time again, taking your argument like it's nothing, as if he isn't fazed in the slightest. It kills you, and you hate him.

You grit your teeth and try to calm yourself, clenching and unclenching your fists as you attempt to bring your voice down to no avail. "Might I remind you, you're the one I'm fucking behind my husband's back. If you didn't enjoy us, just fucking tell me instead of using your fancy language to insult me!"

By the end of your words, you're shouting and your voice breaks. You hate it, you hate him.

He raises a finger at you and betrays the first clear emotion you've seen on his face since the fight began. Rage.

"Don't you think for one moment I didn't enjoy us."

You groan so loud, it might as well be characterized as a scream with the way it tears at your throat. You slap your hand down on your thigh, wishing you were in a room with a hard surface that you could use instead of being mounted on a horse and too concerned with hurting her to properly portray your rage. "You're fucking ridiculous! You don't make any bloody sense, Thomas." You force a breath from your lungs and look him dead in the eyes. "Do you want me or not?"

He doesn't answer your question, and you hate him. "And what about your husband?"

You practically spit the words. "Fuck my husband."

"Fuck your husband?"

"Fuck him."

"So you don't love him." He states it as fact, and you hate him.

You pull back from him. There's nothing you could do or say that could properly portray the anger and frustration and betrayal you feel in this moment and you give up. You're not going to compromise anymore, you've just given up.

"You know what?" You let it spill. "Fuck you, Thomas." You let it all out. "I'm not going to waste anymore of my time arguing with you over… I don't even fucking know what we're arguing about. I wanted to spend time with you, and you decided to shame me for wanting you." You look up to try and blink away your tears but quickly decide you don't care. If they fall, they fall, and you're just lucky enough that they linger in your eyes a little longer. "God, I thought you were fucking different." You sniff and shake your head. "But you're just some fucking Peaky bastard."

He raises his brows, pointing at himself. "I'm a Peaky bastard?" Just like you, he lays it all out on the line, and he doesn't care if it hurts. He's cruel and uncaring and his voice is too level and too quietly enraged for any of the words he unleashes upon you.

"You've got no loyalty, no fucking self respect." His voice is low and rough. "You're a dirty whore and a goddamn liar, and you can shove all that love and want up your arse. You're nothing but a pathetic slut begging for attention."

It's completely silent. Neither of you speak, neither of you look away from the other. His eyes are wide with anger and his lips are pressed in a thin line. Yours are wide with shock, mouth ajar and trembling.

Your heart is unsteady in your chest, pounding quickly and roughly against your ribcage. After staring too long, you look down at your shaking hands, unable to hold his eye contact any longer as the tears blurring your vision finally spill down your cheeks. You swallow thickly, closing your lips and licking the salty tears off of them quickly.

There's a curling feeling in your chest that grows worse and worse with each passing second you spend under his scrutinizing gaze, and you brush your hand over your stomach as the feelings get even worse. You shake your head, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you breath out a slow, trembling breath.

When you speak, your voice is tremulous, broken up by tears and breath. You don't look at his face to see the layers of aggression peeling back at the sight of you so shattered.

"...I need space."

You linger for half a second before tutting gently to Debutante. She starts moving, taking off in a sprint at your command. Tommy turns to watch you leave, but he doesn't move, he doesn't call after you, he just lets you go. He lets you leave him behind.

And he hates it.

Clouds have gathered in the darkened sky by the time you get home, hours after your fallout with Tommy which you spent crying and trying to get a hold of yourself.

It was a lot to process: the insults, the betrayal, the anger, the sorrow, the rejection of you and your unborn son. Too much.

You unlock the front door of your house just as the first drops of rain begin to sprinkle down. "Henry?" you call, closing and locking the door behind you with a sigh. "Love, I'm home."

You hear his footsteps through the house and plaster a smile on your face to see him. You meet him halfway, walking into the living room and stopping when you see his fallen face.

"Where have you been?" he inquires. His arms are crossed over his chest and his stance is wide. He's undone his tie as it lays lazily across his shoulders. His hair is tousled just enough to notice, as though he'd run his hands through it a couple of times.

You straighten your spine and clasp your hands together in front of you. "I was just out with Thomas—Tommy."

He turns his head away, clenching his jaw and nodding. "Tommy," he repeats stiffly. He looks back at you. "You're always out with Tommy."

You nod once, slowly. "I am," you agree. You look away and then back at him, struggling to meet his gaze from the uncertainty of your own words. "He's… He's my best mate, of course I am."

He hums, his jaw ticking. "You don't think maybe your husband is supposed to be the one you're always with?"

You tilt your head, eyes darting unsteadily. "Am I not allowed to have friends?"

He takes a step toward you and you're consumed by gooseflesh. "I don't like how he looks at you."

You're defensive now, but it's less in defense of Tommy and your broken relationship and more of your wavering honor which has been violated enough today.

"What are you talking about? It's Tommy, he looks at me like a person should."

He raises his brows, not believing you. "And the way he touches you?"

You swallow, taking a breath before you can lose your posture again. You stand up a little straighter again, your gaze stuck on his shoes to avoid his cold gaze. "He's just a friend."

He shakes his head, frustrated and spent. "Stop lying to me."

You shake your own head, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. "I'm not lying. He's Tommy. He's just Thomas."

He walks closer and you tense every muscle on your body to keep from flinching as he wags his finger at you. "Then you need to remind him of that because the way you are with him, the way he is with you…nothing about that is friendly."

"Henry." You step forward, taking his face in your hands and massaging your thumbs over his cheeks. You linger there for a moment, smiling, though you can smell the lingering alcohol on his breath. "Henry, there is only you. It's just you."

You hope he believes you and you pray he leaves it alone because, if not, you're afraid of how he would react. You're afraid.

He grabs your wrist and you flinch, though he does not hurt you. Pulling your hands away, he leans forward. "Then you are not to see him anymore, not without me there."

You put your hands down and take a tiny step back. "Henry…"

"I'm not the jealous type," he continues, "but what's mine is fucking mine. Tommy can't have fucking everything!"

You flinch when he shouts, stepping away from him uneasily. You steady yourself again and shake your head, daring to look at him. "Henry," you're quiet, "you can't just say I can't see him anymore."

"Yes, I can," he says, his eyes wide and wild and terrifying. "I am your husband, you are my wife. You belong to me." His tone is becoming harsh and you're afraid.

You try to remain firm, but you're afraid. "I don't belong to anyone–"

It is your fault, you admit. You should not have spoken back to him like that, it was bound to provoke him. But you did, and you pay the consequences as he steps forward and takes a hold of your wrist. You wince and you whimper when he squeezes it in a vice grip, paralyzing.

"You're mine," he growls.

You can't stop the flow of tears on your face as the overwhelming emotions from before stack onto the ones you're feeling now. It's too much, you crumble.

"You're hurting me," you mewl.

He's terrifying, glaring and bruising you. He brings down his voice, but it's no less cutting as he snarls. "Are you fucking Thomas Shelby?"

You pale, "No, Henry."

He jerks you. "Swear it."

"I swear!"

He watches you, and you watch the anger worsen into a violent rage. "You lying whore!" He lets go of you roughly, and you hold your wrist in your hand.

He circles, jabbing his finger in your direction. "I should have known," he rages. "From the fucking beginning, I should have known."

Your voice is weak, tired from yelling all day and crying even more recently. You stare at your shoes. "I swear, Henry, we've never done anything."

He swings around, delivering a harsh slap to your cheek which jerks you to the side and trips you up. You fall, catching yourself on your knees. You're unsurprised, and all you do is hold your cheek.

He stands over you, grabbing your shoulder and turning you around to face him. He's livid and you're terrified, but you're unsurprised. He points at you again, making sure he's clearly heard.

"You are not allowed to see him anymore," he commands, his voice menacing. "I own you. Don't you ever forget that."

It's silent, and you stare at him with blurry tears in your eyes. "Henry, husband, please..." You swallow thickly. "I love you.

He shakes his head, "Shut your whore mouth. Don't you sit there and lie to me."

He reaches down and pulls you close to his face by the front of your shirt. He hoists you to your feet and you panic, in fear of what he will do.

"Wait! Henry, I'm pregnant!"

He lets go of you, stumbling backward. You stand on your feet, staying still for fear that he would still attack at any sudden movement.

He stares at you, his eyes wide with shock. You can't read anything past that and it scares you to death. It's so silent, you can now clearly make out the storm outside the house, thundering and pouring against the roof and windows.

"What?" It's the softest you'd heard him all night.

You sigh and splay your hand out over your abdomen. "I'm pregnant," you repeat, straining to smile. "Polly told me. I was trying to tell you, but I was so worried. I didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry."

Henry stares at your face, then down to your hands. He swallows hard, walking back again. Then he shakes his head, staring at the floor. "No."

You blink. "What?"

He shakes his head again. "No. That's not…" He scoffs, raising a finger but dropping it, "You're not…"

You furrow your brows. "I'm pregnant," you say. You take a step forward, he takes one back. "You're going to be a father." He doesn't speak and you advance with slow steps. Your hands are shaking as you reach for his face, but you do it anyway. It takes a moment to make contact with him, and when you do, your hands jump.

You look him in the eyes. "Don't you want that?"

He stares at you, and for a moment you think maybe. Maybe there's hope. Maybe things would change. Maybe.

But then he shakes his head. "No."

Your breath hitches and shakes, "What?"

He grabs your wrists and jerks them away from him, and you wince again. He walks away, his back turned to you as he shakes his head again, leaning over the couch. "I don't want children."

You're past breathless. "Why… Why not? You don't want a baby with me?"

He turns to you, pointing and shaking his head, frantic. "I can't, I don't–"

"If you're scared, it's okay. It's okay, we'll get through it together."

He cuts you off, "I don't want a child!" He huffs, running a hand down his face. "This… That is not mine." He points at your stomach.

Your lips part and you huff. Your eyes burn. "But…" you mumble, "you married me. You said you wanted a family with me, you wanted to raise our children." Your jaw trembles and you're sick of crying.

He turns to you, his eyes hard. He's yelling again. "That was before the war. Things change. That child, that thing in your body, I don't want it."

You gape at him, your distress turning to rage. "What the fuck do you mean you don't want it?" You step forward and, in your frustration, you shove him back. "He's ours! Our son, our boy!"

He doesn't argue back, he turns and heads toward the small table in the living room where the telephone sat.

"What are you doing?"

"We're getting rid of it," he says flatly, his tone final. But you are not.

"The fuck we are!"

He turns on you quickly. He shouts louder than the crack of thunder outside and you jump. "You are not having that child! I will not have it."

You clench your fists. "How dare you?" you spit.

You step forward just to confront him again, but he's not going to take it. As soon as you step close to him, he shoves you back so hard, you fall to the ground and feel as though you've skinned your elbow trying to catch yourself.

His anger is explosive, as it always has been. His commands echo around the walls and vibrate in your bones. His hair is a mess, thrown all out of sorts with his sporadic movements.

"You will do as I fucking say! That child—yours, mine, Tommy fucking Shelby's—you are not having it. You belong to me, and I say what you can and cannot do." He kneels down in front of you, and you stare with wide eyes of fear and anger. He lowers his voice, back down to a menacing growl as he puts his face so close to yours, you can feel his breath on your cheeks as he speaks. He grips the front of your dress again, pulling you closer still. "How fucking dare you come into my house and try to put your hands on me?"

You're done yelling. You're done fighting. This is your baby, your son, and you will decide whether or not you keep him. He won't take it away, he can't.

"I hate you," you say. Your voice is so quiet, raspy from all the yelling and broken from the crying.

He lets go of you, standing up and looking down on you. "You never loved me."

You shake your head. "I did once… when you were kind." You lament the man you knew, but know that he is gone and he is never coming back.

He shakes his head, raising his brows. "You never loved me." His voice cracks at the end, but you refuse to feel guilty. You're done.

"You're a beast."

He licks his lips, tilting his chin up to increase his superiority. "And you're a whore who is not bringing a baby under my roof." He turns and walks back to the phone. "I'm calling a doctor to be rid of it."

The adrenaline that passes through your veins is too great for you to properly process what happens next until after it's already done.

You push yourself to your feet and reach for the stand next to the sofa, a drawer holding a gun. You pull the drawer open roughly, Henry hears, and moves just as quickly as you. You take the gun, but before you can secure it in your grip, he's knocking it out of your hands and kicking it away.

He moves to you next. Bending down, he wraps his hands around your throat and pushes you onto your back. He applies pressure, pressing his thumbs down onto your windpipe, and your head feels hot. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You take hold of his arms, straining to get your words out. "Fuck you," you cough. "You're not hurting him."

The look in his eyes is the most terrifying look you had ever seen in your life. They seem to light up, and his scowl stresses into a cruel grin. He lets go of you, standing and straightening his spine as he stares you down through his nose again.

"The hard way then."

Unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves, Tommy walks down his stairs as he nears the front door of his home. It's late and thundering and he has no idea why anyone would need to speak to him so far into the night.

As he reaches the bottom step, removing the gun from a drawer beside the door, he stuffs it in his belt behind his back and stretches his neck to his shoulder. He sighs, long and exhausted and ready to go back upstairs and forget this day ever existed.

He's already speaking as he's pulling open the door. "Whoever it is, I'm sure this could wait 'til–"

He stops abruptly at the sight of you. You're shuddering, bracing yourself on the door frame and doubled over with a hand across your abdomen. All he can see is your hair as you hang your head low, breathing quick, shallow breaths that sound too strained for you to still be standing.

Your car is parked haphazardly in the drive, engine still running and lights still blaring bright onto your back.

"Fucking hell," he breathes.

You look up at him, and he takes you in. Your eyes are red and wet with your hair sticking to your face, which is smeared with blood. Your clothes are a mess, glued to your body from rain and more blood. You try to shift, but it's to no avail as you groan from the pain in your ankle. You've got blood on your lips and some dripping from under your dress and down your bare foot as well. You're not wearing shoes, he can imagine the scrapes on the soles of your feet.

You shiver, willing your lips to move so you can speak. Your words are barely coherent, run together by staggered breaths and stuttering teeth and tongue.

"I didn't know where else to go."

Tommy comes to his senses then, rushing forward into the rain without care and taking you into his arms. When he tries to help you walk and it fails, he dips down and carries you into the cover of his warm house in his arms. You bury your face in his chest, still trembling in his embrace.

He set you down on the couch, slowly and carefully, afraid to hurt you more. He pulls a pillow under your head as he lays you down slowly. You're still holding your stomach, and being this close lets him see that your arm is broken. Looking down at your leg, so is your ankle. You whimper meekly, unable to keep in your pained sounds.

Tommy tilts your chin up just enough to get a better look at your face in this lighting. He delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by your mouth, saying nothing as he examines it. After a brief pause, your heart skips a nervous beat as he looks you dead in the eyes. His voice is quiet and tense, his anger barely restrained as flares of anger bubble within him and he clenches his jaw.

"Who did this to you?"

His words are dangerous, made of ice and fire, a growled threat that does not translate in your head.

A tiny, pathetic sound slips from your lips as you curl into yourself. "It hurts." Your voice is so small, it tears his heart in two and thaws it just enough to set his anger to the side for long enough to comfort you.

Tommy isn't used to seeing you so weak. You've always been too strong, tough and sarcastic with too much wit and too much bite.

Now you're lying on his couch, trembling and sobbing into the cushions, covered in blood and rain.

He strokes his hand down the side of your face, moving hair from your forehead and grazing his fingers over your cheek. Your eyes flutter at the feeling of his hand, but it somehow makes you cry harder. "Tell me where it hurts," he says, his voice softening with each second spent watching you.

You just clench your stomach, your face squishing in sorrow. He moves his hand down to rest on your side, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand. There's no sign of a wound on your stomach, no pooling blood or shred in your dress where you grasp.

"He took it all away," you sob, though it doesn’t quite reach as deeply in your soul as you need it to, to process and understand the depths of which this pains you to admit. Because he took it all away, and he can never give it back.

Tommy stiffens, looking at you as he tries to understand. "What are you saying?"

You open your eyes, staring at his face and reaching toward him with the hand not injured. Your fingertips graze his cheeks and your breath shudders. You swallow hard, pulling your hand away to clench it tightly before slamming it into the couch.

"Our son."

Tommy stills completely, staring at you in utter shock and disbelief. The way you break down on the words, hoarse—nearly silent—cries pulling from your throat and pouring out all over the place makes his heart stutter. You repeat it under your breath, reaching out and taking Tommy's hand, grasping it tight. "Our son."

"What?" he mutters.

A sorrowful smile creeps onto your lips, a terrible mix of agony for the baby you've lost and remembrance of what you could have had. "I was gonna have a baby, Tom," you cry. "'A Shelby baby,' Polly said. A boy."

He looks down at your belly again with a new consideration, moving his hand down to feel you with breath caught in his throat. "You're pregnant?" he asks.

Your mournful grin fades and you bury the top half of your face in the pillow beneath your head. Shaking your head, you gasp and hiccup on a sob.

"He took it all away."

Lighting his cigarette, Henry ventures into the living room. He stretches his arms out, releasing the tense muscles in his back from sleeping last night. He sighs as he travels to the window. When he pulls open the curtains and turns around, he startles and has half a mind to reach for his gun. But upon realizing who it is, he huffs a sigh and shakes his head.

“Jesus, Tommy,” he rolls his eyes, looking back at the man sitting on his sofa.

Tommy leans back against the chair, a cigarette between his own lips as he says nothing. He stares at Henry, still and emotionless. Henry sighs, placing his hands in his pockets. “Have you seen my wife?” he turns to the cabinet holding his liquor to pour himself a glass, regardless of the hour. “She left last night, hasn’t been back.”

Tommy doesn’t move for another moment before finally breathing in slowly. He reaches up and takes the cigarette between his fingers, taking one last drag before putting it out against the coffee table. "Last night," he sighs and points the cigarette at him, "your wife came to me house, soaked from the rain with blood on her clothes. Could barely stand."

He flicks it away, folding his hands over his lap and crossing his legs. He tilts his head, watching Henry closely. "'It hurts,' she told me. 'He took it all away'." He looks down at his lap, remembering your pitiful face, and then back up at him.

Henry doesn't speak, his face fallen in solemnity as he doesn't even pretend to not know what Tommy's talking about. He doesn't even have the decency to pretend to be concerned.

Tommy inclines his head, furrowing his brows just a little as he takes him in. A long moment of silence passes between them before he fills it again. "She was pregnant. 'A Shelby baby,' she said."

Henry shows the first signs of emotion then, scowling as he shakes his head and scoffs. "Fucking knew it," he snarls.

Tommy pulls his gun from the inside of his jacket, toying with it in his hands as if it's nothing as he looks down at it. Henry reaches for his own, but realizes quickly that it's gone. He doesn't have one of his person and the one on the side table has since been removed.

Even with the gun in his hands, Tommy's face hasn't changed. He looks calm, too calm. Even as he stands, moving slowly and with steps so small, it's a wonder how he'll ever reach Henry, who stiffens and clenches his jaw as he recognizes his shortcomings.

"We've been good friends a long time, Henry," he continues, stroking his hand over the barrel. "A long time. War time."

Henry sniffs, still scowling as his hard gaze stays glued to Tommy. "Yeah, well," he licks his bottom lip, "friends don't sleep with each other's wives."

Tommy cocks the gun, but still doesn't point it. The sound alone is enough to shut Henry up either way, so it doesn't matter. "But she and I have been friends for much longer," he says. He finally looks at him again, his eyes cold and piercing. He stops in front of him, his chin tilted up to show he stills holds power over him.

"You see," he says, "She's my girl, always has been. She was going to have a baby, a Shelby boy, my boy." His breath picks up a little, the frustration and anger rising within his chest as he looks at the man who took so much from him.

"Tommy," Henry says quietly, as if there was anything he could say or do to save his life right then and there.

Tommy motions to him with his gun. "You hurt her."

"She shouldn't have hurt me!" Henry shouts, his voice cracking at the end in rage.

Tommy raises the gun so quickly, Henry hardly had time to process it. He presses the end to his temple, watching Henry's eye twitch at the fact that Tommy could pull the trigger at any moment and blow the brains from his head.

Tommy's voice, still quiet and dangerous, is no longer as patient as he speaks down to him. "You beat my child out of her womb." He huffs, "You murdered him and almost took her with him."

Henry, despite the barrel to his skull, retaliates. "I should have taken her with it."

Tommy shouts, moving the gun from Henry's head and pointing it to his own, pressing it against his temple roughly. He shouts at the top of his voice, which is rough and cracks a little at the exclamation born of pain and rage. "It was my fucking son!"

Frightened by his behavior, Henry trembles as he holds his hands up in useless surrender, shaking his head and forcing the words from his throat. "She's my wife," he says. "She loves me."

Tommy puts the gun back to his head, watching Henry cower with heavy breath and shaky hands. He rolls his head back, staring up at the ceiling and closing his eyes.

He looks back at him, clenching his jaw once before deciding not to prolong this long away justice anymore. He shakes his head, "I love her more."

Bang!

He doesn't flinch when the warm, sticky blood splatters on his pale face. Henry's body drops to the floor, blood seeping out and soaking the carpet.

Tommy let his arm drop, letting the gun fall from his hand and clatter to the floor. He sighs.

"'He took it all away,' she said."

The feeling of consciousness washes over you in an unpleasant way, and you immediately miss the cover of sleep as you take in a lethargic breath. Your eyes flutter as you struggle to get them to open, wincing at the bright, pale light invading your senses as you slowly come to.

Once in touch with your body, you turn your head to the side and groan at the discomfort of the single movement. You can barely open your eyelids enough to see. They're so heavy, it's almost as if they're glued down by your lashes to your cheeks. You see a sliver of being from where your vision allows, a man in a suit, expensive.

You hum. Your voice is hoarse, both from sleep and the soreness that resides there. "Tommy…" you mumble intelligibly.

"Not quite." The coarseness of Arthur's voice reminds, though still muffled with exhaustion, fills your ears.

His large hands move slowly to grasp your own, taking it so gently, you almost think you imagined it. You take a deep breath in, as deep as you lungs allow without reminding you of the same reason your voice is sore. You smile softly, "Arthur."

Finally able to open your eyes, slowly but surely adjusting to the light, you look at him smile at you. There's a sluggishness in his eyes that makes your chest ache, but you dismiss it as soon as he speaks. "Hello, love," he greets in a low, gentle tone. "How are you feelin'?"

You groan, shrugging—although, you're pretty certain you didn't move an inch. "What happened?"

Arthur shifts, clearing his throat. Your vision clears as you look at him. He’s disheveled, messy hair, messy clothes. You furrow your brow, watching him decide how to respond. “You went to Tommy last night. He said you…” He clears his throat again, glancing around the room just to not have to look you in the eyes as he says it, “...you were pregnant.”

It hits you like a train, the memories of the night before flooding your mind and filling you with the dread you had greeted Tommy with before. Your throat closes up and your lips tremble. You feel as though the walls are caving in, like the world has stopped revolving as the tears prick at your eyes and threaten to well. You look away from Arthur, staring up at the ceiling and trying to blink the tears away before they can form, but it’s of no use.

You try to lift your arm to cover your face, only to groan when the pain there blossoms and shocks through your body like fire. Arthur grabs your hand again, still holding it in an attempt to soothe you. He glances away still, as though he is trying to contain his own tears.

None of the Shelby boys were used to seeing you cry, seeing you so low and pained. His lashes clump together as he blinks too quickly, struggling to watch you suffer like this.

You inhale sharply, swallowing hard. “Where’s Tommy?” you ask on a shaky breath, looking around. You try to sit up, but Arthur doesn’t let you, gently pushing you back down as soon as you wince and groan at the pain spiking all over your body.

“He’s on his way,” Arthur insists, laying you back down. He goes to softly pat your shoulder, but rethinks his decision as soon as he lifts his hand. “Had to take care of business.”

You look at him, sighing shakily. You lick your dry lips. “Business,” you repeat knowingly.

Arthur nods slowly, looking back and forth from your eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Business.”

You nod back, staring at the sterile whiteness of the ceiling with eyes beginning to blur. You clear your throat weakly, upset when your voice still comes out strained. “Can I…have the room, please?”

Arthur shakes his head quickly, refusing to be swayed. “Tom said not to let you leave my sight.” He says it finally, nodding his head to set his words in stone.

“Arthur, please,” you insist, looking at him. A tear slips down your cheek, disappearing into your hair as you stare at him. His stony resolve crumbles when you look at him like that and he looks away from you. He clears his throat, standing and shifting back and forth on his legs before motioning toward the door.

“I’ll be outside,” he informs awkwardly.

“Thank you,” you nod.

“Yeah.”

He disappears out of the door, and you let the tears fall. They stream down your face with an urgency they don’t need, hasty in their quests to wet your cheeks. You try to keep quiet, which only makes your throat burn more with the pain your silent cries hold.

You don’t know how long you cry for. You just know that, by the time that door opens again, all of your tears have dried up, leaving you feeling numb and cold. You turn your head to the door as it opens, half expecting for Arthur to come back in.

When you see Tommy, you feel as though you could spare a few tears in celebration of his return. But instead, you just stare at him and breathe in slowly.

He’s happy to see you, though he doesn’t show it nearly as much as it seems he would like to. His eyes clear some of the worry he feels when he lays them on you, and he closes the door back behind him. He doesn't move toward you, offering a small smile. “You’re awake,” he points out uselessly, putting his hands in his pockets.

“You killed him?”

Tommy's smile falters, returning to the solemn look you know well. He sighs, very quiet and unassuming, and nods his head with tiny movements. “I did,” he says plainly. He examines your face, noting the lack of change at the confession as you continue to stare. “How do you feel about that?”

It takes a moment to respond because you have to think about it, taking a moment to mull over the details—vague and unimportant details. “I dunno yet,” you say after a long while, continuing to watch Tommy, as though he’d disappear and leave you alone forever if you looked away.

Tommy nods, looking down at his dark shoes. He removes his hands from his pockets, sitting down on the chair next to the door. He’s too far away, way too far away. You shift your head, moving the hand closest to him to face palm up. “Please come here,” you bid softly, desperately.

He stands without fuss, making his way over to you and sitting on the chair Arthur had once occupied. It’s silent when he settles. There’s no shift of his clothes from moving, there’s no tick of some clock in the room, there’s no bird outside the window. Just silence.

You look down at yourself, in the bed with the covers pulled up to your chest. You shake your head, hating the way you feel—vulnerable and useless. You sigh, moving to sit up. “I’m still laying in this bed,” you ramble, pushing covers off of you. “Why am I laying in this bed? I don’t want to lay down.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth as you try to sit up, closing your eyes shut. Tommy moves, shaking his head as he tries to keep you laying under the sheets. “Don’t try to move. You’ll hurt yourself,” he tells you, a warm hand on the junction of your neck and shoulder and a warm hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You lay back, ignoring the pain as you bring your palms to your face, rubbing them into your eyes as you groan frustratedly in retaliation. “I’m fine,” you insist, looking at him again with blurry eyes.

He leans in close. “You’re a liar.”

“I have to be with you.”

The repeated words from days ago hit him in a different way as you say them now, staring at him with glossy eyes and shaking hands. He tilts his chin up, sighing to himself. You have to lie when you’re with him. You’ve been lying for years, he supposes.

Tommy clenches his jaw, letting the words sink in as he blinks away from you. His eyes fall back on you after a moment too long. “Why did you never tell me?”

You swallow hard, looking away. “It wasn’t your burden to bear.”

“Don’t give me that.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head as he says it, stopping himself with another steadying sigh. He opens his eyes and stares at you, at the cuts and bruises on your face, your chest, your arms. He remembers the blood you were soaked in when you came to him last night, the way you could hardly stand, the way you clenched your stomach and sobbed into his chest as he carried you inside. He stifles the tears in his eyes.

“What did he do to you?”

You don’t look at him yet, grounding yourself before you threw yourself into an explanation that was bound to make you want to cry. You lick your bottom lip, tasting the coppery taste of your split lip in the process. You breathe in slowly, exhale slowly, flex your fingers and blink your eyes. Stalling. Just stalling.

But you had to explain. He had to understand.

You only glance at him and shrug, struggling to find your voice but using it well when you did. “The war changed all you boys.” Tommy stares at you, not once backing down as his eyes begged to hear what you had to say, to hear what forced you to stay silent all these years. “You came back, heart of stone. Danny lost his mind… Henry became rough.”

You swallow hard at the word and Tommy understands what you mean. Your words from so many mornings before echo in his mind.

"You're not the only man who's rough in bed, Tommy Boy.”

He sighs. You continue. “It was only then, really. A little too hard here, too rough there. If he was frustrated, he held on a little too tight.” You close your eyes, trying to push the memories down. Opening your mouth to speak, the words won’t come out even as you form them. You clear your throat, shaking your head to clear your mind. “If he was beating me bloody every day, I’d have killed him myself. But I didn’t. ‘Cause he wasn’t. He was mostly kind. But he was hurt, the war caught up to him and followed him home.”

You look at Tommy finally, your eyes pained. “The war changed all you boys.”

Tommy processes everything, looking down to his lap and trying not to draw attention to the way he wiped at his teary eyes. He sniffs when he looks back up, rubbing his nose and slowly finding your eyes again. “You should have told me,” he says. It’s almost a reprimand, upset that he could have helped you from the beginning, had you told him.

You shake your head, chuckling as you slowly smile. At least he’s concerned, even if you don’t want him to be, even if you never wanted him to be—the reason you’d never told him in the first place. Tommy has enough to worry about.

“I was fine.” Your laugh is watery, and you wheeze a little at the pain in your chest with each contraction of your lungs. “I had you.” You reach out and touch his face, placing your palm on his cheek and stroking your thumb over his sharp cheekbones.

He stares at you a moment, his face still fallen with dismay. He reaches up and takes your hand from his face, only to hold it between both his large ones and squeeze gently, as if he’s reassuring yourself that you are here and safe. He leans forward, resting his forehead on your joined hands and closing his eyes, inhaling deeply and letting it out in a long, slow sigh.

You lean forward as well, moving slowly to disturb your healing body as little as possible. You set your head on his, resting your cheek in his dark hair. “You’re a Peaky bastard, Tom, but you’re my Peaky bastard.”

You both stay like that for a while, enjoying the other’s peace with closed eyes and steady breaths. He lifts his head, which shifts your head away so he can look at you. “You were wrong before,” he says.

You raise a brow, “About?”

He shakes his head, his eyes darting all over your face, from your own eyes to your lips to the cut on your brow. “I’m not jealous,” he tells you. He reaches one hand up, moving some hair from your forehead. “I can’t be jealous about something that’s already mine.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “What about my husband?” you test.

Again, he shakes his head. “Fuck your husband.”

“Fuck my husband?”

“Fuck him.”

Tommy brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, his thumbs brushing the skin. “You’re mine,” he says definitely.

The corners of your lips turn up a little, disappearing just as fast as it appeared. “Funny,” you comment. “That’s what he said.”

Tommy raises a brow. “And?”

You shrug lazily. “And when he said it, I wanted to kill him. When you say it…” You smile just a little bit, “When you say it, I just want to kiss you pretty.”

Without another moment to spare, Tommy sets a hand on your cheek and brings you forward as he leans into you. His lips press against yours, and it feels like the first time. You sigh against the feeling of his mouth on yours, lifting your hand to brush your knuckles against his jaw line. A tingle makes its way through your body, starting from your lips and rushing down your spine.

You twist your body to lean in closer, wanting more of his kiss than was physically possible. As you try to sit up, your belly burns and you groan, reluctantly pulling away from him. You place a hand over your abdomen, your face screwing up with the pain you feel.

“Careful,” Tommy says with his kiss-tingled lips. He sets his hand over yours, resting on your belly with a reassuring warmth. His other hand holds the back of your neck securely, supporting you as best as he can.

He watches the physical pain turn into a deeper, more emotional one as your lips tremble. Your breath shudders as you inhale, shaking your head and huffing as the smallest squeak forces its way from your throat in your effort to stifle your sob.

“I want him back, Tommy.”

He rests his forehead against yours, holding you to him as he closes his eyes and nods. He turns his head and brings your face to the crook of his neck, where you bury yourself and cry into his shoulder. “Don’t you worry, love,” he says in that deep, rumbling voice of his. “Everything will be alright. I promise you.”

“Would you have wanted him?”

Your words startle him as he pulls away, still holding you as he strokes his thumb over your cheek and stares at your tear-stained face. The fact that you needed to ask that question hurt him. It pained him beyond imagination that you should be laying here in a hospital bed covered in cuts and bruises made by your own husband who was cruel and selfish enough to destroy your unborn child, a child that was never even his to hurt to begin with.

Tommy finally nods, holding you close and assuring you with everything that he had. “I wanted him,” he promises, speaking slowly. “I want him and you and us.”

You smile a trembling grin, breath shuddering as you put your head against his forehead again. “I love you, Tommy,” you confess, sighing so heavily with the emotion you couldn’t contain. “I loved you for years.”

He kisses you again, holding you close and keeping you closer. You sigh against his lips and continue to ache for him, as you have done for years.

“One day, soon enough,” he’s breathless as he speaks, “I will make you my wife. I will make you a mother. We’ll have a family, you and me. ‘Cause I love ya back.”

You smile, holding on tight. “You promise? ‘Cause I’ll shoot you if you’re kidding.”

He laughs lightly, kissing you quickly once more. “I promise. You and me.”

And, months later, his promise came true.

The time following the incident was hard. You felt sick for a while, physically and emotionally drained and overworked. But Tommy was there, and he helped you. There was not one point in time where he wasn’t pulling you back, easing you when you needed easing, boosting you up when you needed boosting. It was as you always dreamed it would be on quiet nights next to your late when you allowed yourself to think about that forbidden life with Tommy.

He helped you heal, and it was the only thing you could have ever asked of him. He made you happy.

And he still makes you happy as he carries you in his arms, kicking open the door to the dimly lit room, his lips already on yours as he pushes the door closed behind him with his foot. You separate from him with a smile so wide, your face feels like it will split in two.

You open your mouth to say something, laughing in the middle of it before he cuts you off by dropping you onto the plush bed. You bounce at the impact, laughing a little harder as you readjust to look up at him. “Careful, before you rip the dress!”

Tommy scoffs carelessly, “As great as you look in white, I could care less about whether or not you wear it, love.” His body leans over you, nearly crushing you with his weight as he kisses you again. You don’t mind, wrapping your legs around his waist as the dress rides up to rest around your hips.

His lips slide against yours, on the border of sloppy. He moves from them to trail fond kisses along your jawline, wasting no time in getting to your neck to pepper you in more kisses and litter you in his possessive markings. You hum, holding him to you with gentle sighs as you run your fingers through his hair. As he busies himself with your neck, you admire the gold reflection of the ring on your finger, shining in the light and reminding you that he is now just as much yours and you are his.

“Are you going to stare at that ring all night, or are you going to kiss me, woman?” He smiles at you, one hand in your hair to take it down, pin by pin.

“When you finish taking my hair down, I’ll kiss you again.”

He laughs and continues doing so. You watch him as he works, staring at his long lashes kissing his sharp cheekbones, his pale blue eyes blinking at you, his lips swollen with kisses. He finishes way faster than you thought he would, running his hands through your hair and then holding you by the back of your head.

“I believe you owe me a kiss now.”

You giggle, already leaning toward him. “You’re pathetic.” With your lips back on his, he devours you once again with his lust for your love. When his knee brushes between your legs, pressing against the warm valley of your thighs, you sigh into his mouth.

“Strip me, Tommy,” you tell him, undoing his tie at the same time. He complies, pulling you up to gain better access to the million buttons of your dress so he can take it off you. He slips it down your body, revealing more and more skin with each inch he sheds off you. You’re pulling clothes off him like they’re dangerous, stripping him down article by article until he’s just as bare as you are.

Pushing you back down onto the bed, you smile up at him as he grips your thighs and pushes them up your body, opening you up for him in the way that makes his cock hard and stiff with an unrivaled lust. “Look at that,” he grunts. “Always so perfect for me.”

You hum at his praise, your thighs quivering with anticipation. His hands stroke your skin, feeling every inch you have to offer as your eyes flutter shut and take the praise. The sensations are magnificent, like fire through your veins as you burn for him. He bends down, kissing and nipping at your collarbones and moving down, down, down as he passes your breasts, your belly, your perfect hips.

His mouth is warm against your pussy as the tip of his tongue darts out to taste your skin. When he pulls back, his hot breath blows against your aching folds and you squirm in response to him. Your legs fall onto his shoulders as he grips your sides, stroking his thumbs over your skin fondly. “What does my girl want, eh?” he asks, teasing you with his words as he shifts his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, not close enough to where you need him.

You’re already breathless as you gaze at him, in love with the sight of his head between your legs as you imprint it into your mind. “You,” you breathe, smiling for him.

“What about me?” He’s going to drive you mad before the end of the night. The way he continues to kiss your thighs, to hold your pleasure over your head all because he can, is enough to send you over the edge of sanity.

“Fuck, Tom, I want you to make me cum with your tongue,” you spill, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling. The gentle plea that escapes from your lips is so small and pathetic, he has no choice but to give into your desires. “Please.”

He smiles at you with dark eyes, “Since you asked so nicely.”

And then he’s all over you. Your mouth drops open and your eyes squeeze shut as he devours you, shoving his tongue deep into your pussy like you possess the sweetest of wines. He grunts into you when you pull on his hair again, a rougher tug than last time. He has to hold your hips down when you try to buck up to his face. You curse under your breath, moaning his name in the way that makes him weak.

His tongue plunges inside of your pussy and you melt, biting down on your lip so hard, you taste copper. “Fuck, Tom,” you gasp. “Don’t fucking stop, please.”

He’s drunk on the taste of you, and there was no way on this Earth that you would ever get him to stop. One of his hands leaves your waist to stroke your thigh before joining his tongue, shoving one thick finger into your hole and curling it as he massages it in and out of you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he adds a second, his tongue flicking at your clit and driving you to the bitter end of your release.

Your curses multiply on your tongue, the occasional profanity turning into a string of the same word as he pulls you closer and closer to that explosive feeling gathering in the pit of your stomach.

It’s not long before it becomes too much to bear, and you clench around his fingers and tongue as he sucks on your clit like fucking candy. “Fuck, I’m so close,” you sigh, your voice high and pitchy with lust. “I’m gonna cum, Tommy. You’re gonna make me cum.”

Rather than respond, he groans deep in his throat and sucks harder on your clit, moving his fingers faster, even after his arm begins to hurt. Just teetering on the edge of your release, he licks a long, languid stripe up your cunt and commands you with black eyes. “Cum for me, love.”

A gasp fills your lungs to the fullest, and you’re a mess as you moan for him. He continues to pump his fingers into you, his tongue lapping you up as you continue to tremble, sucking in his fingers. Your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire. Tommy lets out a strangle breath when you tug on his hair again.

He eases you down from your high with his tongue. He pulls his fingers out of you, licking your wetness from each digit with special attention to each one. He ducks back down to lick up the rest of your arousal as well, making sure to collect every drop. He wouldn’t want any of it to go to waste…

His hands glide over your body as he leans up again, towering over you to kiss your swollen lips. “You’re fucking perfect,” he whispers against your lips. “My perfect fucking girl, my perfect wife.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, smiling against his lips. “My perfect husband,” you fawn. You surprise him when you flip the both of you so he’s on his back. “My perfect,” you venture down his body, your lips grazing his skin as you stop at his hips, “fucking husband.” You set a kiss on his right hip and he just smiles down at you, sitting up so he’s leaned back against the headboard.

He watches you with keen eyes, grabbing his jacket from the floor and pulling his lighter and cigarette box. You take the lighter from him—as you always do, whether he’s watching or not—and light it after he’s set it between his lips. You lean against his knee the whole time, stroking a free hand up and down his thigh.

“Go on,” he motions as the smoke gathers in the air. “Go on and give me a show.”

You lick your lips, smiling mischievously as you shift farther down. You take his erect cock in your hand, watching his eyes flutter at the feeling of you. You stroke him gingerly with your fingertips, teasing him as he had teased you. Though he looks dazed, he doesn’t appreciate it as much as he tuts and shakes his head at you.

Your smile widens and he tilts his head in warning. You think for a moment about whether or not you’ll listen to him before deciding the throbbing between your legs will be satisfied quicker if you do. You wrap your fingers around his cock, stroking your thumb over the tip and leaning down to lick the little bead of precum before it spills over. He sighs at the feeling of your tongue.

You pull your hand away, licking from your palm to your fingertips before taking his cock again and pumping it in your hand in a steady rhythm up and down, from base to tip and back again. You hold his eye contact the whole time, adoring the heat of his gaze as you lay between his legs.

You shift his cock as you lean forward again, licking the underside of it with your hot tongue and paying special attention to the bulging vein there. You lavish your tongue over the sensitive spot, humming gently as you kiss his tip and coating his cock in your spit. Kissing his tip again, you let it part your lips as you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him and tasting the beads of arousal slowly dripping out.

You take him farther into your mouth, bobbing your head to allow him deeper and deeper with skilled movements. Tommy lays his head back, closing his eyes as he allows himself to give in to your pleasure. He reaches down with his free hand to cup the side of your neck, stroking your cheek until he resolves to tangling his fingers in your hair. He doesn’t pull or push or guide you in any way, just holds onto you as you work, grunting when the head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. He feels your throat constrict momentarily, a tiny gag making its way out of you that you quickly suppress to take the rest of him down.

“That’s a good girl,” Tommy sighs, opening his eyes to watch you bob your head up and down his shaft with an efficiency he’s proud to say he’s helped you gain. When you take him all the way down, lingering there for as long as you can with your nose pressed to his pelvis and the very tip of your tongue darting out to tease his heavy balls, his breath stutters in his throat.

You pull off for air after a moment, gasping as you blink away the tears that have gathered at the corner of your eyes. When you move to go back down on him, he just holds you by your hair to keep you up. “That’s quite enough, sweetheart.” You look at him with a slight pout, darting your tongue out to kitten lick the tip. He takes a moment to adore your sweet face before he’s pulling you up by your chin, leading you to his lips.

He pulls the cigarette from his lips to kiss you. You indulge in the kiss before pulling away to grab the cigarette, taking it between your lips and inhaling deeply. You lean in for another kiss, pushing the smoke into his parted mouth. The remaining smoke billows from your nose when you pull away, and you watch more seep from his precious lips as he stares at you.

He leans forward, his lips hovering over your as he speaks gently. “I’m going to fuck your brains out now.” You shudder at his promise, though he doesn’t give you much time to react as he grabs you by your hips and lifts you up onto his lap. “But first, I want to see you do some more work.”

You’re more than happy to do it, too, as you stroke his cock in your hand, hovering over his lap with trembling thighs and holding the cigarette between two fingers in your free hand. “Whatever you wish, sir,” you sigh, swearing his eyes get darker as soon as the word leaves your mouth.

He loses his patience as you line him up with your slick pussy, feeling the head of his cock part your warm lips. He decides to take matters into his own hands, grabbing your waist and pushing you down onto his cock, watching the way your head falls and your mouth drops open as you gasp a moan.

You grind your hips down on him, drunk on the feeling of his thick cock dragging along your walls, which clench around him and flutter when met with the pleasure you were expecting. You set the cigarette between your lips as you sit up to look at him again, hands on his shoulders to steady you as you savor the burn of his cock stretching you out.

“Fuck,” you curse around it, “feels so good.”

Tommy takes the cigarette from you, setting it back into his own mouth. “Go on, wife,” he bids you, placing his hands back on your waist and gripping tightly. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

And you are more than happy to oblige as you lift yourself slowly off his lap, dropping back down before he can slip out of you and grunting roughly at the pleasure that blooms there. “Mm, Tommy,” you moan, already gasping for breath as you do it again, and again, and again.

He blinks long and slow at the feeling of your hot cunt wrapped around him. “Always so fucking tight for me,” he grunts, rutting into you once.

You ride his cock, swiveling and rocking your hips back and forth, needing to take him deeper and deeper inside of your tight pussy as you ache for him all over. Tommy watches you, groaning with you as your face squints in pleasure. Your tits bounce in his face with each movement of your hips, and eventually he just decides to set his cigarette aside to take your nipple between his lips.

His tongue massages it, sending shockwaves down your spine that has your moans turning to desperate cries. You drop your weight into his lap and grind down on his cock when his teeth graze it. Your moan breaks off into a broken whimper as you pull him closer, hugging him to your body and dropping your head into his shoulder.

That seems to be his breaking point as he grabs you and maneuvers the both of you onto your back. He pulls your legs up and over his shoulders, folding you in half when he leans forward to press his forehead against yours. He breathes hard as he stares at you, your eyes locked, though yours are hooded with pleasure. “You’re fucking mine,” he says, “and no one else can have you.”

You nod, trying to buck your hips to get him to move as he remains still inside of you, fully seated. He shakes his head at you, “No. I want to hear you say it.”

You whimper, holding him by his face. “I’m yours,” you promise. “Fuck, no one else can have me. No one, Tommy. Only you.”

He grins at your rambling, kissing your lips roughly, messily, before interrupting the union with the rough thrust of his hips. You gasp, breaking off into a moan as he does it again. He pace slowly builds until he rutting inside of you like a madman, possessive promises and declarations filling your ears as he watches you writhe in the pleasure he fucks into your body.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, spilling over the side and disappearing into your hair as he fucks into you. The pleasure is so great, it’s hard to keep in your moans. When you purse your lips in an attempt to, he shakes his head quickly. “No, don’t do that. I want to hear you scream for me. Tell me how much you love it. Look at me and tell me.”

The beginning of your words comes out as a sob as you force your eyes open to see him. The pleasure seizes your throat and makes it hard to form the words. “Fuck, so good, Tommy. Please don’t stop, please.” Tommy’s eyes flutter at your spilled words, and he thrusts into you harder, his hips snapping roughly.

“You like when I fuck you like this?” he asks, his voice dark and rough. “You like to feel my cock fuck you nice and deep?”

Your moans are just sobs at this point, the pleasure too great for you to keep it together anymore. “Yes, sir! Fuck, Thomas, yes. Don’t stop.”

Your eyes close from all the sensations mixing like a cocktail inside of you, but he’s not having it. “Open your eyes,” he commands, stroking your cheek. You obey him, though it takes a little longer than he would have liked. “Look at you, my beautiful girl. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You clench around him and he grunts, thrusting harder. “I’m gonna fucking take care of you,” he repeats, holding one of your hips down and angling you to thrust deeper. You gasp at the feeling, letting the pleasure spread. “I’m gonna fill you up and make you a fucking mother. You’re gonna have my child in that womb of yours. You’ll look good and round, full of my fucking baby. Do you want that?”

You nod quickly. Your legs are sore from this position and you’re losing feeling in your toes, but it’s nothing compared to the fire of lust consuming you in his flames. You let it devour you as you clench and whine on his cock, taking every single thrust he gives you. “Yes, sir, I want that. I want it so bad.”

He’s so close to spilling inside of you, fulfilling that dream the both of you had held for a long time now. He’s right there, ready to release it all inside of you. But he wants you to cum with him, he wants you to feel the pleasure of release together as he reaches between your bodies and begins circling your clit with deft fingers. “That’s a good girl,” he praises. “I’m gonna fill you up until it’s all leaking out.”

“I’m so close,” you sigh, your breath shuddering in your throat. “I’m gonna cum, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” You nod quickly, holding him tighter in a warm embrace. Tommy’s hips stutter as he nods, looking you dead in the eye as he speaks. “Cum for me, wife.”

And you do, with his name on your tongue and a shout on your lips, you cum loud and hard. Your cunt spasms and contracts around his cock, your back arching and your eyes rolling back as it hits you hard and fast. You gasp and feel your muscles tense with each shock of pleasure, holding him tighter as you scream Tommy’s name.

His hips jerk and he thrusts his cock rough and deep, emptying himself inside you. He paints your insides white, flooding every little crevice with his hot cum as he shoves it inside of you, ensuring none can escape. He grunts, a rough sound in his throat that kicks up with every twitch of his cock. He watches you the whole time, taking pleasure from your own and pressing you into the bed with his hips.

You both ride out your highs, exchanging nothing between the both of you but breaths and moans and whispers of the other’s name. By the time the aftershocks slow, you’ve already fallen limp against the sheets as you relish in the weight of him squishing you into the bed. Tommy doesn’t move for a while, staying like that for as long as he can to enjoy the sensations of your warm, wet cunt occasionally squeezing around him.

Tommy lets out a long, deep sigh as he sits up again. Your thighs ache as he moves them from his shoulders. You whimper when he slips out of you, placing a hand behind your back to help you sit up again. You sit in his lap, easing down with him as he leans back against the bed, his head resting on the pillows as yours rest on his chest.

You sigh deeply, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you inhale the scent of his cologne and sex in the air. “Fuck,” you breathe. Tommy chuckles lightly, holding you to him and stroking his fingers along your shoulder.

“If that doesn’t get you pregnant, I don’t know what will,” he says, reaching over to retrieve his half smoked cigarette from the ashtray on the nightstand.

Your fingertips trace patterns into his chest, following the outlines of black ink embedded in his skin. “Just in case, though,” you say, looking up at him with a small grin, “I think we should go again to make sure it really stuck.”

He grins back at you, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

Still, neither of you move as you enjoy the other’s still presence. You giggle lightly, a sound that comes out of nowhere as you continue to caress his chest. He glances down at you in question and you only laugh again. “I love you so much, Tom,” you smile.

He rolls his eyes, but in a playful way that follows his own gentle chuckle. “And I love you.”

You inhale deeply, leaning forward to press a kiss against the skin of his neck. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

He clears his throat, putting out his cigarette and sighing. “Well, it’s our honeymoon and I own this land, so we are going to stay here and kiss and fuck for as long as we wish.”

You smile wide, leaning forward slowly and speaking against his lips before bringing him into another kiss. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

You move on top of him again, straightening your back and steadying yourself on his chest. You lift your hips off of his, taking his cock and lining him up again with your soaked cunt. You feel his hands come to grip your hips as he continues to lie back and watch you. There’s an adoration in his eyes you wish you could just sit and watch forever as he stares at you.

“Good,” you smile, “‘cause I’m nowhere near done with you.”

You both groan as you sink back down on him.

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

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader smut #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader smut #thomas shelby smut #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #fanfic #fanfiction #thomas shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby fanfic #reader insert #female reader #smut

773 notes · View notes

headfarintheclouds · 2 months

Note

This has been something that's been rattling around in my head a while and I haven't seen anyone do this yet, so got any HCs for Kenji dating a Vtuber reader?

Well to be honest, when I read that ask I wasn't too sure what to write BUT I did find a few ideas :D I don't really understand the Vtuber concept but I do enjoy people my Cyno and Monarch :) Hope you'll like it and THANK YOU for the request <3 AN: I kind of wrote it more for a streamer than for a VTuber at the end ? I'm so sorry !

He didn't know you were a streamer until you told him. Remember when I said he was protective ? Yeah, when you mentioned you streamed with a camera he wasn't too happy about it. Sure you were your own person, but even he knew Internet was full of creeps and people of all kind honestly. It calmed him down when you told him about your Avatar and explained that nobody really knew how you looked like.

Kenji doesn't really care about games and streamers, but he cares about you ! So when you two decided to move in together, he renovated one of the rooms into your personal office. Taking you to IKEA to pick up furniture turned out to be the worst decision of his life, you spend hours choosing desks and chairs and other cute clutter to fill out the space to your liking. He wouldn't take no for an answer when he told you he'll pay for the stuff, even through you made enough money to afford it. "It makes you happy, right ? Let me make my princess happy." he said and kissed your forehead right then and there.

Whenever you streamed, and he had the time to do so, he would sit in the corner of your newly decorated office and watch you play. Nursing a cup of coffee or tea, depending on the time of day, he would chuckle whenever you lost a game or get scared by a monster in one of the horrors your audience begged you to play.

Speaking of Horror games ! Kenji is a little shit and we all know it, so you can imagine what would happen when you played scary games. Yep, he would scare the absolute shit out of you. One night you finally agreed to playing Phasmophobia with some of your online friends and well...

Your eyes focused on the screen, watching one of your friends place the crucifix on the floor. You were still fairly new to the game but you did know that it would stop the ghost from hunting, at least until it burned. "So what now ?" you asked, your Vtuber following your motions to a T. "Now we need last evidence." one of your co-players responded, his character crouching to pick up the walkie-talkie from the ground. At that moment something fell down from the in game table and it made you absolutely scream. "NOPE I AM OUT OF HERE !" you turned your character and walked towards the door, but it slammed in your face. The ghost started to hunt and from the looks of it it was after you ! "SUCK A CARROT, SUCK A CARROT !" you yelped, trying to run away. You could hear your friends absolutely lose it in the background, as the ghost finally caught up to you. A hand was suddenly placed on your shoulder, and you jump out from your chair so fast Ken didn't even had the time to react. Let's just say your audience started was confused about the sudden bang, and a groan of pain.... and your endless apologies. Nobody could see but you just smacked your wireless keyboard on top of his head from the fright... (BTW ! That Suck a carrot moment actually happened. My friend yelled that dying to a ghost and I thought I might share it with ya'll XD)

Yeah from that point onwards he didn't try to scare you anymore. You felt awful about the incident but some sick party of you was glad you did it, serves him right for scaring you like that. He sported a black eye for weeks after the incident, making tabloids go wild.

Emi absolutely adores your streams. Whenever you play games like Sims or Stardew valley Mina would let her watch it knowing it was friendly enough not to startle her. She was confused as to why the strange character on the screen was speaking with your voice but she still enjoyed the content.

Speaking of our baby girl ! At one point you changed your Avatar and added some stuff representing Emi. Like a Fin-like-Hairclip and a necklace with a K and E on it. Your fans asked questions but you just said you needed a change. Ken was very pleased about the necklace though !

Like any other Streamer you have your own merch, and Ken owns EVERY.SINGLE.PIECE. Limited edition ? He has double of every thing. He absolutely loved the fact you enjoyed your hobby/job so much !

He would totally share a link to your stream on his social. Imagine your surprise when you woke up one day with over 100k followers. Which was strange considering you were chilling at 2k just a few hours before that.

All in all. He would not understand much about your job, but he will support you no matter what. Even if he gets a black eye in the end XD

I'm sorry if it's bad !

#kenji sato #ken sato #ultraman rising #ken sato x reader #ken sato x you

104 notes · View notes

iznsfw · 1 year

Note

Can we get more Hyewon fics?? 🥺🥺

Negotiation

IZ*ONE's Kang Hyewon x Male Reader Smut

4,491 words

Categories | daddy kink, power dynamics, titjob

It's your usual route, to be completely clear: circling up all the newbies, clearing out the incompetents and training those who had more than a pocketful of potential. It's your job, it's what you're paid to do. So if anyone dared question your bond with any of the trainees, they can complain about it to your face, and not in the form of scattered whisperings throughout office cubicles.

Your intentions are wholly pure. You swear on your mother's life. You'd pull the typical blame-it-on-the-femme-fatale thing with this girl, but you know it's somehow your fault, too: whatever might happen. She can't bear all the weight of the sin.

You don't think sin is supposed to look this good, though.

"Sir," she says, perfect curled lashes fluttering with no ill intent at all. She's innocence, pureness, angelicness—all compiled and composed into one beautiful young girl. "Good afternoon. My name is Kang Hyewon; I'm more than eager to do my best for you."

In what way? you're tempted to ask. But then those exact words tumble from your mouth, and you're pretty sure you've fucked it all up. You, in your holier-than-thou suit and tie, asking something so suggestive to an innocent girl like her? Outrageous, that's what it is; scandalous, too. You could get fired for it.

However, it's as if she expected it—she leans forward, offering you a show of plentiful cleavage that breaks several dress code regulations and ethical rules, with a soft, rare smile.

"However you want me, sir," she says sweetly. Resting her chin on her hand, the smile on her full lips grows wider. "I'll do anything."

"I've heard something like that before, Miss Kang," you say. "Strangely, I've heard it from the same person, too."

"Oh?" Hyewon assumes an innocent naïvety, wide doe eyes almost convincing you of a clean record. "How so?"

See, she's kind of used to that subtly flirty banter. Somewhere in the city of Seoul, in a humble little apartment, she's learning to make money in other ways. By doing it, she needs not travel lengths of distance to a corporate building or spend day after day spell-checking papers. You, having checked backgrounds of probably a billion people and verifying their digital footprint as decent or in-, know all about it. Might have watched a few of it online. Might have done some stuff too.

"You might've fooled Nana and the others, kiddo, but you haven't fooled me," you inform her, offended that you actually have to tell her. You're lowering yourself down to keep up with her one-step-ahead talk. She may be playing dumb, but she knows what she's doing. "I know all about your secret streaming account. Thing is, it probably isn't a secret. You've got thousands of followers on it."

"Can't a girl have a little fun, sir?" asks Hyewon with a giggle. "I was just playing games to pass time."

"'HyemsterKang' ring a bell?"

Hyewon looks up at the ceiling, as if she could find an appropriate answer for your inquiry embedded there. There's none: only a switched-on lamp and a vent.

"Hmm," she hums, curled hands supporting her pretty face, "probably. What kind of account is it?"

"There's Twitch, YouTube, you name it. Twitch has the most followers, with over two hundred thousand. It's a surprise no one recognized you when you walked through the front door."

"Why would anyone recognize me? I'm just looking to enhance my skills here."

You're tired already. "Cut the bullshit, Hyewon," you say. Drop all the formalities and workplace language just like that. "You know what kind of videos you make. And, look, you've got to understand that I've got nothing against them, but anoth—"

Hyewon pouts. "Why are you so hot and bothered then, sir?"

"Because you can't pretend to be some pure, holy girl here. I would've gotten you on the training course if you didn't lie through your teeth. What we need is honesty, transparency. You can't lie on the job here."

Hyewon seems to consider this. Her eyes lose their glimmer as they look down to your desk. And she looks so… sad: her eyes are, as mentioned, downcast, and there's so much more to them than sadness because they hold so many raw emotions of disappointment that make even your heart hurt. Her saddened shoulders lose their sturdy posture.

For the first time since she's entered your office, Kang Hyewon looks… defeated.

"Does that mean you're not taking me in, sir?" she says after looking up at you again.

"No, and please," stress this with gritted teeth, "don't call me sir."

You've no idea why you feel that way. Many other girls have called you sir, both in a formal and informal setting. There was Kim Minju, whose experience gathered little to no potential, and Yabuki Nako, whose aspiring dream to become your corporate's airline stewardess was a pipe dream due to her petite height.

But it feels strange with Hyewon. It's like there's some hidden motive behind it. Whatever it may be, it's surely working.

Hyewon juts out one, plump lip as she rises from her seat. Instantly, your boundary alarms go off. They're blaring like ambulances now, running in purposeless trips around your mind. Interviewees are not supposed to do that. She's crossing the line, so many lines.

What sets more alarms off is her taking a seat in your lap, as if she's always done that before. As if she belongs there.

Her slim, tiny body presses up snugly against your frozen one. "What would you rather be called, hm?" she asks. Like a good girl, her hands are folded neatly on her lap, (un)fortunately covered by a gray skirt. "Please, do tell."

"Hyewon…"

You try to give her a steady look, try to tell her that it's wrong. But your hands are on her waist, and they subconsciously pull her closer. Damn her and that sexy skirt and blazer.

"Mm, your hands feel so good on me," she sighs happily. "It turns me on so much. It makes me feel warm here," she pats the space between her thighs, "and it's all your fault, sir. All your fault."

"You need to be taught a lesson, Kang Hyewon."

"Go on then, daddy." Hyewon's voice drops to a haunting whisper. "I deserve it."

There, you let go of all your morals. The fact that Hyewon's supposed to be your interviewee and you're supposed to play professional with her becomes nonexistent. You've seen what she does on those videos, and now you're eager to see the body she hides so chastely under those uniform clothes.

"Bend over."

The obedient Hyewon gets off your lap and lowers herself on the table. Her skirt rises and shows you a lack of even undershorts to save the exposed thong. Her ass cheeks sandwich the thin little thong perfectly.

"Ooh, what's daddy going to do?" she asks eagerly. She wiggles her round butt into your sprawled hand. "Is he going to spank me and make his babygirl count it all?"

"That would be too easy, don't you think?" Groping her, you look hard into her sparkling eyes full of excitement. "Daddy's going to spank you, but you can't make a single sound."

Hyewon whines. "But that's so hard, daddy. Can't you make it easier for Hyem?"

"So am I, and no. If I hear you moan, you're not allowed to cum."

Merciless is the perfect word to describe you right now. But your mind just rambles with lustful things to do to this sexy little vixen—(a hamster, if you will, as an ode to her username HyemsterKang, but that sounds less sexy; it doesn't give justice to the seductress that is Kang Hyewon)—and you're eager to perform them ruthlessly.

Trail your fingers on her wet pussy lips. You find her clit, and from there, you give it tiny, teasing brushes. Hyewon bites her lip hard, and clings to the table for support. And for a moment that's all there is to it: you rubbing her clit and her grinding her round ass to your fingers. Until:

"Ahh, daddy!"

That's one orgasm subtracted from the list. After you slap Hyewon's cheeks with all the might you have, she instantly cries out. You feel her juices dripping on your hand.

Hyewon looks back at you. And you realize why her streaming career has done so well—that face is made to be ruined. Her scared eyes portray an opposing desire for more, and you can't help but give and give exactly that.

"I'm sorry, daddy!" she whimpers. "I'm sorry!"

Nevertheless, you continue to spank her. Reddened skin blares almost as bright as the office lamp. Her thighs drip with her nectar.

You're harsh; your hand's starting to hurt from yout endless slaps on Hyewon's butt. But the pain seems like a small, sideway thought when you're witness to her cheeks bouncing with each blow. When she's holding onto the table like she wants you to go on.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," sobs Hyewon. "Please just spank me like that, treat me like a whore, use me—"

Your spanks become less and less measured—one follows the other a little too briskly. If the door weren't locked and the glass made it so any outsider couldn't hear, people would assume you're already fucking her with your brains out. But no, that's just you spanking Hyewon to teach her a lesson, to teach her to be a good girl.

"Fuck, slap my pussy like that!" she yells. Her pants sound hot and eager. "I'm going to cum, oh yes, oh fuck!"

That's your cue to stop. Hyewon doesn't deserve to orgasm yet, not until she's learned her lesson.

"This is so unfair, no," whispers Hyewon disappointedly, turning around with a pout.

"Newsflash, Hyewon: the world isn't fair. Nothing is."

Slip a finger inside her and her knee-high-clad legs curl around your hand protectively. She's riding on any good thing; she wants nothing more than your cock, and besides that, probably a job, but anything works for now.

Hyewon works herself down on your fingers. "When will I get to cum, daddy?" she asks. "Daddy? Say 'now,' please."

Execute blunt thrusts into her slick pussy, which is an impossibly tight cavern not even the bravest can make it out alive without exploding. Her back curves and she twists at the pleasure. Her delectable little cunt is sweet and closed around you, a newfound temptation to latch on for life, a vice to remember.

But there's also her fantastic chest to look at, doing what you're doing: peeking through the neckline of her blouse, which you just so happen to do as well.

"If you give me a feel of those tits," you propose, the way negotiations should go, "maybe I'll let you."

"Of– of course, daddy."

Hyewon undoes the buttons of her blouse. Like curtains, they part to a wonderful show. This show, though, would have been banned for nudity and corruption (and not in the usual way.)

Hyewon's tits are glorious—they size up to more than a handful, and have these tiny pink nipples that you'd love to squeeze any time of the day. You're hypnotized by them, in every way possible. You glance at how they rise and fall in coordination with Hyewon's breaths, and the way her nipples perk into the air hard and aroused once the black lacy bra is off. The air-conditioner wind might have had something to do with their state, but you're thankful for both, either-which-way.

"C-careful," begs the young girl, wincing. "They're sensitive…"

"Is that so? Would it feel good then if I did this?"

"Oh, ohhhh!" Hyewon gasps with a hand over her mouth. Her skin feels boiling hot, but in a strangely good way, when you begin to suck directly on her nipples. "Yes, just like that!"

Her breasts are softer and better than the stress balls your office gave away during mental health seminars. The balls are only good for squeezing and throwing. In Hyewon's case, you can completely release all your stress just by fingerfucking her tiny pussy, and sucking her tits all at the same time. With her, you forget more than your morals—you forget about work, your deadlines, your responsibilities. And, needless to say, it's all her fault.

Hyewon can't keep up with the doubled pleasure. She's constantly squirming to have your fingers deeper in her cunt, and she keeps pushing her breasts into your face. Your rhythm of thrusts in her hole doesn't wither, and neither does your sucking on her right nipple. She doesn't know what to do except squeal out replayed pleads.

"Daddy," she says. "Please keep doing that, it feels so good. I'll be a good girl, I promise I won't lie anymore."

You ride your teeth around Hyewon's areola, sucking the area around it also. If you could, you'd never let go of her breasts. You would keep sucking on them, alternating between one and the other, for days on end. You bet you'd survive even without food or water. Hyewon's tits are enough for you to live eternally. Hell is nonexistent when you're with her.

"Do you think you deserve to cum, Hyewon?" you ask. You play with her clit, making it harder for her to get her words out.

"I think so, d-daddy. Yes."

"I don't," you laugh. "I told you not to make a sound, and you disobeyed. How would you become a competent worker if you're like that?"

Hyewon's near tears. "I'll do whatever you want," she says. Breaths get lost here and there due to your fingers still swiftly exiting and entering her. "Please. I need you. I'll, I'll be your good little fuckdoll, I promise, I swear."

"Will you let me fuck your tits, then, Hyem? If you're that good and eager?"

"Yes, daddy!"

Hyewon nods over and over. A bit too excited, she pushes you down to the office chair rather roughly. But you pay no mind; in fact, your erection grows harder and lengthier at her enthusiasm. It throbs violently with how Hyewon slips off her blazer and pulls down your pants.

Her eyes brighten at the sight of your member, as if it's something that can actually make her day better.

"You're very hard, daddy." She bites her lip, looking up at you with incredulous adoration. "Let me do something about it."

Hyewon's huge tits hug your hard-on, sandwiching it between them. You groan as she holds her chest so that your cock slips in and out seamlessly, lubed up only by her spit and your precum. Her soft flesh brushes your sensitive, pink penis perfectly, giving it a feel of what heaven might actually be.

"Holy shit, Hyewon," you sigh.

It's like she's entertained by what she's doing, too. She's looking down at your cock entering her flesh as if it were an exciting movie. But she takes extra care to seal longer glances with you, knowing that her face alone can make you cum.

"Oh, daddy likes my tits, huh?" Hyewon says coyly. Playing with her nipples while titfucking you, her gaze grows more and more sultry. "Daddy's gonna let me cum after this, right? Make me learn my lesson?"

"Just… just keep moving your tits like that. And we'll see what happens."

Not a solid promise, but Hyewon is satisfied with that. She knows her power and how to use it well enough. She's practiced in the strokes and squeezes she does on your cock, the temptation calling for you in her brown eyes, everything. She has it all measured and listed down somewhere, probably, just waiting for the right time to use it.

Hyewon lifts her breasts, then slams them down on your lap again. The cycle repeats, and her boobs become like that of a real fleshlight. But hers is better—a toy pales in comparison when paired up with Hyewon's tight, hot body. And all it took to have her was a spanking session. There was no need to shed thousands of won.

"Like this?" she asks. Hyewon's letting you use her for your own pleasure, caring for your bliss rather than hers. The grip of her bosom around you tightens, and you find it difficult to catch your breath. "Do you want me to keep doing this?"

"Fuck yes. You're such a good girl for me right now, Hyewon."

Her cheeks are rosy. "Thank you. I'll make you cum, I promise."

She's made probably a hundred of oaths from the moment she walked into this building, but this one seems to be the one she's most determined to carry out. Hyewon's fiery rhythm risks you of exploding all over her pretty chest. Her smooth, pillow-soft skin knots your stomach and sets everything ablaze. Her facial expressions, which are a far cry from the saintliness she pretended to possess earlier, drive you off the edge.

"Shit… shit, I'm going to cum," you announce in a broken voice.

You can't stave your orgasm off anymore. Your dick expels liquid white strings everywhere. Hyewon's collarbone and big breasts bear most of the desirable damage, but she's sure to open her mouth, too. And she looks every bit the part of a cock-hungry slut, with her eyes rolled back and tongue lewdly hanging from her thick pink lips. White semen becomes her new lip gloss, and she'd put it on any time of the day.

"You still have more in you, daddy," says Hyewon. She strokes herself around your cock without pause. Curses leave your mouth as her evil gaze challenges you to say the opposite. "I can feel it. I want you to explode all over me."

"Fuck, yes, Hyem. I fucking will."

There isn't a single bad movie out there that matches the rapid pacing of Hyewon's titjob, and it's probably for the better. You just keep on cumming, and Hyewon keeps on titfucking you. It's a win-win situation because she enjoys being sprayed with your cum. It makes her feel like the used little doll she is.

She forces you to spurt more up until you can't anymore. All there's left are little droplets of pure white, and ragged moans from both ends.

Hyewon's blouse and chest are stained all over. But when she gazes at the mess you made on them, she doesn't look upset. She looks rather… turned on. Her squirming thighs and bitten lower lip indicate that. She may look like a porcelain doll with her angelic face and pale skin, but she's been used just like a ragdoll would.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asks. "You liked it, didn't you?"

"I did," you confess. "How wet are you after all that, Hyewon?"

Hyewon reaches under her skirt and brushes her fingers over her pussy. She gasps. "Oh, v-very wet, daddy. Won't you do something about it?"

"Yes, I will. Get ready."

Both you and Hyewon rise to your feet. You step out of the rest of your pants while she shrugs off her blouse. Now, she's only wearing her black schoolgirl skirt and her long socks with shoes.

Hyewon hops on the edge of your desk. "Will you really fuck me this time?" she asks hopefully.

"A deal's a deal, Kang Hyewon. Now spread your legs."

She opens them. You lift the skirt up to get a view of her pretty hole. Her pussy lips are plump, just like the painted lips on her face.

(You want to fuck both.)

So, you thrust.

All at once Hyewon is filled up to the brim, your balls pressing against her ass.

"Oh, oh, so deep!" gasps Hyewon. "You're so big inside me!"

Your cock throbs. The clench of her walls is amazing, but they're also tempting you to cum again, and you can't have that. So, you set slow but forceful strokes, driving yourself inside Hyewon and feeling her walls part. Her surprised moans guide blood to your erection. The expression she wears never goes far from orgasmic, and she might as well be already cumming with how tight her hole's clamping on you.

Wrap your hands around her tiny waist. You're ready now. You start to drill her tiny body down your desk. She cries out and leans her head backwards, allowing you to see how much of her neck you've covered in cum. Her glazed breasts bounce before you, getting your cock in an increased solid state to pulse and thrust in her hard and good.

"Yes, daddy, fuck me!" she prods you on, just like how your cock is prodding at her insides. "It's so good, daddy, it's so good, it's so good—"

She's promised to make you cum and delivered it out. Now, she wants you to make one, too, and return the favor. And, even if the only thing you're offered in exchange are Hyewon's loud screams that sound in your ears and her half-naked figure that's straight out of a porn video, you're glad to do so.

"Guess you aren't so innocent after all," you laugh. You're trying to keep custody of the upper hand here, but, god, does Hyewon's cunt choking your cock make it nearly impossible. "All that pretense, Hyewon, don't you get tired?"

"Oh, daddy," Hyewon sobs softly, arms hung around your neck and shoulders. Her eyelids are heavy, too wrung by pleasure. "If it gets you to fuck me, I don't mind at all."

You find her erogenous zone and rub it in the same, fire-quick way you thrust. "A little too fast there, don't you think?" you chuckle, but you're flattered.

"All I want is you going fast inside me." Hyewon's legs tense up after you grab them for easier leverage. Her moans are cut short with stutters. "I want it now."

"And what exactly do you want, Hyewon?"

"I—" She blushes furiously. Her words rarely come out in any form other than squeals. "I want to be your little office cockwarmer. I want to do nothing but be the toy who sucks daddy's dick and keeps his cock hard. I don't want to be anything else, daddy, and you know it—you know I want it—"

"Oh, you will." Pumping into her harder, you set the stone there and then of your ownership of her. "You're mine now. Everyone's gonna know about how you get on your knees for me so easily, Kang Hyewon. You'll be known as my little office slut, the one who keeps my stress relieved."

"Yes, yes, you can fill me up all the time, you can make me wear the slutty secretary outfits from my streams, daddy! Use me, oh god, I'm yours!"

It's a tempting offer. You've seen her streams while looking through her background, and you saw that one of her in the tight little secretary uniform. You think of how pretty she'd look in it, and how heads would turn at her entering your office everytime in it. You picture the outrage that does nothing since you're at such a high position in the office hierarchy, such an important person. They can't do anything if you decide at once that Hyewon's going to be your cumslut. They can only create rumors painting you out to be the exploitative bad guy, and Hyewon starring in the role of the poor head-over-heels newbie desperate for a good life.

You can live with that.

The inches of your length never get to breathe as you're constantly shoving them inside her, knocking against her cervix and making her sob for more. There's no limit to the pumps you can give to Hyewon, but you still test it out. Hyewon remains at your mercy.

"Are you going to be my slut now? Do you really want that?" you ask her. "Or are you going to back out because you're too much of a pussy to dive in?c

Grab her chin and force her gaze at you. That's how you see that Hyewon's completely serious. That's exactly what she wants. She didn't come here for a job, she came here for you, and she's not leaving without being yours.

Hyewon nods. She presses her forehead against yours. "I want you," she whispers. "So make me yours. You know you want to teach your whore of a babygirl a lesson. You know you want to fill her cunt everyday."

That's right, you do. You knew, since the minute she spent teasing and toying with you, that you want to fuck her brains out. And here you are, doing exactly that.

This could be forever if you wanted.

"Gonna cum now, Hyewon. Gonna fill your cunt up with daddy's semen. Gonna fucking breed you."

"I'm close, too, daddy. Give me your cum."

You make sure to press completely against her cervix when you cum inside her. Hyewon's girl cum and your white fluids mix together, a blend of sex and sin, and drip down your table. You can't really think of anything else except for Hyewon's screams climbing up in volume and her squirt spurting all over your best uniform. No, you're brain-dead with lust, and there's no turning back.

You make her your cum deposit. You make her your babygirl, and as corny as it sounds, straight out of a bad teen romance where everything goes too quickly for any talent to be actually seen, you're okay with that.

"And that's how I think that we should promote the book earlier this year. Thank you for listening."

The clan of higher-ups sitting at the oval-shaped table clap politely. You try to keep your clapping at the appropriate level of enthusiasm, but your heart bursts with pride for Hyewon. She's come so far without your help. She's learning to stand on her own.

"I think that's a great idea, miss Kang," says Miyawaki Sakura, your director. She's a petite woman with a soft voice, but everyone knows that she's the boss of any room she stands in. "I'll jumpstart the idea tomorrow with the board of directors."

Hyewon flushes with happiness. "Thank you, miss Miyawaki."

"I do have one concern with miss Kang about the presentation, though," you pipe up. "Miss Miyawaki, do I have your permission to speak about with Hyewon in private?"

Now everybody's looking at each other. They try to keep themselves decent, but they all know what you mean. By now, your sexual relationship with Hyewon is an open secret. It might not be eligible for the title of secrecy anymore since all of the office knows it.

But what can they do? You're the best in your team. You run too many things that keep the company going and they can't risk your loss.

Hyewon waits for the director's response with bated breath. Her hands fiddle with each other as she waits for a response.

"Of course, sir," replies Sakura finally. "You may go."

You and Hyewon exchange glances. The two of you know exactly what your "talk" would be about.

#kpop #kpop smut #smut #izone #izone smut #kang hyewon #kang hyewon smut #izone hyewon #izone hyewon smut #hyewon smut #hyewon #reader insert #x reader #male reader #request

928 notes · View notes

mrk236547789 · 4 months

Text

She's just a teenager, really, still in high school. Her name is Erin, and she's 8 months pregnant. It's supposed to be a normal day for her, going to the mall with her friends, window shopping, maybe getting some lunch. But as they stroll through the crowded store, Erin starts feeling strange. She's never had contractions before, but she's sure that's what this is. Her friend, Angela, notices the look on her face and asks her if everything's okay.

Erin takes a deep breath, struggling to find the words. "I-I think the baby kicked me. I-I think I'm having contractions." Angela's face pales in alarm. She's been through this before; she had her own baby girl just a few months ago. But she's not a doctor, and she can't tell if Erin's really in labor or not. The two friends hurry out of the store and toward Erin's car. Angela wraps her arms around Erin, supporting her as they walk.

The car is old and beat up, but it's all Erin has. She slides into the driver's seat, her heart pounding in her chest. She's never been so scared in her life. Angela start to drive when Erin’s pants start to bulge. The baby's coming out, right now, in the car. Panic rises in Angela's throat as she tries to think straight. She glances at Erin, who is doubled over in pain, and then back at the road.

They're still miles away from the hospital. There's no time to lose. Erins water breaks with a wet gush, so she pills down her pants for the whole road to see her achy, red pussy. "I'm gonna have to push now, Ang!" she gasps, clutching the wheel with white knuckles. Her friend nods frantically, trying to concentrate on the road and Erin at the same time. She pulls over to the side of the road, parking the car as quickly and safely as she can.

Erin's breath comes in short, panicked gasps as she leans back against the seat. She can feel the baby's head crowning, the pain excruciating. "Oh my god, oh my god," she whimpers, clutching Angela's hand. Angela squeezes her tightly, trying to reassure her. "You can do this, Erin. Just push when you feel the urge."

The two friends are trapped in this tiny, beat-up car, miles away from anywhere resembling help. Angela looks around desperately, her eyes darting to the glove compartment, the backseat, anywhere that might hold an answer. There's nothing. They're on their own.

Erin grits her teeth, her face contorted in agony as another contraction grips her. "FUCKING SHIT, ANG! GET THIS MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF ME NOW!" she screams, tears streaming down her face. Angela holds her hand tightly, feeling completely helpless. "You can do it, Erin. Just a few more pushes," she whispers, praying that she's right.

As another contraction begins, Erin leans forward, pushing with all her might against the car door. Her water continues to gush out, and her pants are now soaked with blood and amniotic fluid. Angela watches in horror as her friend's body convulses in pain. She wipes the sweat and tears from Erin's face, trying to keep her calm. "Almost there, Erin. Just a little bit more."

But as the contraction ebbs away, they're both left with a sickening realization: the baby still hasn't come out. Another contraction hits, and Erin screams in agony, her body tensing as she pushes again. Angela looks around the car once more, desperate for something, anything that could help. Her eyes fall on a small first aid kit in the glove compartment. She opens it, hoping against hope that it might contain something useful.

Inside, she finds a few bandages, some antiseptic wipes, and...a pair of tiny scissors. Her heart leaps into her throat as an idea begins to form in her mind. She looks at Erin, her friend who is currently in excruciating pain, and then back at the scissors. "Erin," she whispers, her voice shaking. "I need you to trust me. I think I know how to get the baby out."

Erin looks at her wildly, tears streaming down her face. "What? How? Angela, I don't understand!"

"Just...trust me, okay? I think I can do this. Just...lie back, and spread your legs as wide as you can." Angela takes a deep breath, her hands trembling as she takes the scissors and positions them between Erin's legs. The pain, the fear, the desperation all mix together into a tight knot in her stomach as she begins to cut through Erin's soaked pants.

"Oh god, Angie," Erin gasps, her body tensing as Angela continues to cut. "It hurts...so much..." She bites down on her lip, trying to ignore the burning sensation as Angela finally cuts through the last bit of fabric and the baby explodes out of her. The tiny, red, and wriggling form lands on the car seat with a wet thud, blood and amniotic fluid coating its tiny body.

Angela's heart is racing, her hands shaking as she reaches for the baby, trying to clean it off as best she can. "It's okay, Erin," she whispers, tears streaming down her face. "You did it. You're okay." She wipes the blood and fluid from the baby's face, revealing a tiny pair of scrunched-up eyes and a tiny, red mouth. The baby lets out a tiny cry, weak but determined.

#giving birth #birth kink

46 notes · View notes

isuckatwritingsobenice · 1 year

Text

Dangerously Yours

Note: Alastor with these lines has me in a chokehold, also set with Human! Alastor

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

"You lied to me!" She cried, fists clenched at her sides. "You deceived me!" Yet, he remains calm. As if this is a mere conversation about the weather.

"You tried to deceive me." He says with a shrug, carelessly, as he uses a small cloth to clean the knife in hand.

"I'm tired of listening to you." She says, and she fails to mask the pain in her voice. It's getting harder and harder for her to form her words, to think straight.

"You gave me your heart, you know?" He says, placing the knife down quickly. He begins to step towards her. "You'd like me to hand it back whole again. But I won't." He says, stopping a few inches away from her. She's quiet, tears streaming down her face. She looks so hurt, so confused. So broken. He's living in it. "You lived a long time, yet Y/n, an eternity without me." He says, moving to brush a piece of hair out of her face. Her breathing is harsh, quick. He speaks calmly again. " You will look into the faces of passers by, hoping for something that will, for an instant, bring me back to you. You will find moonlit nights strangely empty because, when you call my name through them there will be no answer." He says, before his hands move to squeeze her shoulders.

"Always your heart will be aching for me, and your mind will give you the doubtful consolation that you did a 'brave' thing." He says again, before she feels the rage build in her again.

" You dare to talk of bravery?" She asks, almost as if he is crazy. She wouldn't be wrong if she thought so.

"What else do we have to talk about Y/n?

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

╔═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╗

"You must tell her the truth." His mother says, her hands clutched tightly to her chest. She feels sorry for the poor girl her son is about to hurt.

"Tell her the truth?" He asks, and turns to his mother with a look of astonishment on his face. "Tell her the truth so she will watch the stars through tears instead of following the one cold star that is her destiny?" He asks as he stands from his desk, chair falling behind him. He pays no mind to it. Instead, he pauses for a moment, before he laughs, his hand cradling his forehead as he thinks. " No, let her think,... I never loved her." He says finally, and he can only be so honest with himself. He knows this will crush him just as much as it will ruin her.

╚═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╝

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

"He is the difference between Life and death and heaven and hell." She cried, sitting on the steps of her front porch, as her sister lightly rubbed her back. She blew her nose into the tissue again.

"Is he really?" Her sister asks, and she turns to her, eyes and nose red, cheeks flushed. Her eyes look like glass as the tears fall, and she lets out a sigh.

" Oh, don't you understand?" She asks her, before she stands and walks down the steps, standing in path of the stairs. She turns to her, one hand clutching the tissue, the other her dress. She turns around to look at her sister again, who stands up to stand with her. " If he dies I wanna die." She says, before she breaks out into sobs, her arms clutching her sister as she's pulled into an embrace. Her body shakes as sobs continue to fall, the tears staining her sisters dress.

╚═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╝

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

" Once I told you I'd kissed a thousand women. It was a lie," Alastor says, taking another spoonful of his ice cream.

"I know." She says with a laugh as she sits next to him on the bench. He grins.

"I've only kissed two or three hundred." He says, his smile never faltering as she wiggles his brows at her. "Now, how many men have you kissed?" He asked curiously.

"Very few." She says, looking at the ducks that walk by. He tilts his head upon hearing her answer.

"But you offered me a kiss? Why?" He asks.

" Such a foolish reason I'm afraid," She says with a chuckle, looking down in her lap. "I just, ... wanted to kiss you."

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

◤─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────◥

"Is there something wrong? Is there anything I can do to help you?" He asks, as he watches her light a cigarette with shaky hands.

"No,... I thought for a moment that you might help me but..." She stops and shakes her head. "I can't ask you, I simply can't ask you." She says, bringing the cigarette to her lips, before inhaling. The smoke fills her lungs, gives her brain a sort of buzz she craves more often since meeting him.

"Why can't you ask me?" He questions, getting closer to her. "Who do you want killed?" He persists. She stares at him for a second, before looking ahead of her again, watching the sunset. She doesn't answer, so he continues. " Oh look, I'd,... I'd really like to help you." He says sincerely, trying to get her to look at him.

She does.

◣─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────◢

•╔════◄░░░░░░►════╗•

"Won't you come in Mr. Lasqiuer?" She asks, sitting down at the dining table. Everyone is outside dancing at the gathering, the band playing soundly. He shuts the door behind him.

"You know who I am?" He asks, his eyes wide in surprise.

"But of course!" She says, reaching forward to light a candle. " You were the most handsome man in the gathering, and I was very lonely. So I thought tonight I will have an adventure. I will make the acquaintance of the distinguished Mr. Lasqiuer." She says with a bright smile, using the now lit candle to light the rest.

"How do you know my name?" He asks her, moving to one of the nearby chairs at the end of the table. She giggles.

"It was not difficult to find out." She says cheekily.

"How did you know I wouldn't run off with your jewels?" He questions, sitting down at the end of the table.

" I took that chance." She laughs, before sitting back down. "Are you angry?" She asks, looking to him. He laughs, fixing his glasses.

"No, I'm not angry... If some kind fate wishes to send a beautiful lady to dine with me I can only be greatful. You will do me the honors won't you mon cherie?" He grins, and she smiles, nodding at him.

" I should be delighted!" She says with a smile.

•╚════◄░░░░░░►════╝ •

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ "If I betray you I betray myself." She says, looking at the sky from the balcony. "If I betray him, I betray my family. My family is very dear to me." She says, turning around, putting her hands on the railing. Alastor steps forward, caging her in.

"Dearer than I?" He asks, his eyes searching for an answer in hers.

"No..no not dearer than you." ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• " I'm going to tell you something tonight Y/n, something that will put my life in your hands." Alastor says, as the two stand on the balcony, smoking.

"Life." She says with a giggle, inhaling more smoke.

"it would mean my life yes, if used to get into certain circles yes." He says with a nod. Y/n frowns and shakes her head.

"Then don't tell me. How do you know you can trust me?" She asks, looking at him. He can see the sadness in her eyes. See that she already knew this was going to happen. This was what she feared.

"I love you, and I believe you love me." He says, putting his cigarette out. Y/n throws hers over the balcony and walks to the door leading to into the apartment.

"You're quite wrong, this has only been but an adventure to me." She says, pushing the door open, with a quick glance over her shoulder. He's following her now.

" that isnt true Y/n." He says, hoping he's wrong. He wants to be wrong for once.

"It is true, you smiled at me I would laugh, it was an adventure for a holiday mood." She says, moving to the large couch to grab her coat. He stops a few feet away.

" You may as well take my heart Y/n, it's already full of you. You walked into it the day we met." He said, hands to his chest, resting over his heart.

"You're a fool Alastor." She says, shaking her head turning around to look at him. She backs up, knees hitting the couch behind her, and she falls.

" Isn't that any man who falls in love?" He says, and she stays quiet. " Do you know what you are to me? You're something to believe in again, You're a type of person that had ceased to exists for me. A fine, honest women." He says, bending down to take her hands in his. She shakes her head looking down at her lap.

"Darling you're such a child." She says, tears spilling. " Take your foolish little dream and your heart and go, please go." She pleads. He refuses.

"What is it what's wrong my dear?"

"You know nothing about me, You've known me only three weeks!"

"Three weeks? Y/n I've known you all my life." He says, his feelings hurt.

"All your life." She says, taking her hands away, crossing her arms and leaning back, folding them.

"It's true, I've seen you in a thousand plays, read you in as many books, When I heard beautiful music I thought 'she'd like that'. I've looked at flowers and known that one day I'd give them to you."

"Oh stop stop." She says, pushing him away to stand. She walks to the door. "You're not in love with me, I'm not that woman! Perhaps I was once but I'm not now. You see, you were wrong. You cant love me." She says sadly. He gets up and moves closer to her.

"You mean to tell me a man we both know and shall not name is holding you back?" He asks, ignoring the anger in him.

"What are you saying?" She asks.

" You see I've known all along. I had nifty look you up in the records." He said reassuringly, hands gently rubbing her arms.

"You mean, it didn't make any difference?"

"It didn't make any difference." He said with a smile. He truly loved her, and he was ready to risk it all.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor #dangerously yours

261 notes · View notes

poisonlove · 1 year

Text

Blood and Love | t.c

Tara was aware of the secret that haunted her sister: being related to Billie Loomis.

But she could have never expected to receive a late-night call that would change the course of her life.

I enter the hospital room with my heart racing wildly in my chest. My breath is ragged as I search for Tara's gaze. When her eyes lift and meet mine, I see fear and relief mingling in them.

—T/n—she whispers, her voice like a fragile thread of silver holding together tumultuous emotions.

I approach her bed with determined steps, though my insides are a storm of emotions. I sit beside her, my gaze fixed on her as if I want to shield her from any harm. I gently take her hand, trying to convey a sense of security through the touch.

—Tara, how are you?—I ask with a soft voice laced with concern. Her lips curve into a muted smile, but I still see the shadow of fear in her eyes.

Tara gazes at the hospital ceiling as if seeking comfort in its simple whiteness. —T/n— she begins, her voice trembling, —it was such a strange and terrifying call.— She takes a deep breath before continuing. —The phone rang, and I answered without thinking too much. There was this distorted, almost mechanical voice asking me unsettling things.—

I look at her, my eyes fixed on her, trying to imagine what she must have faced. —What did it ask you?— I inquire cautiously, dreading the answers that might come.

Tara nervously wets her lips. —It asked me how I was... and then it asked about my mother.— Her voice cracks slightly, and I sense her fear through her words. —It said it was watching me and my mother. It was so unsettling, T/n. It made me feel like I was being observed.—

I squeeze her hand with a bit more strength, trying to convey my silent support. —You must have been so scared—I say empathetically, feeling anger course through my veins. I wish I could confront the responsible person with my own hands, but now my role is to be there for Tara.

Tara nods with teary eyes, tears pooling in them. —And then... then the questions got creepier. It asked me what I thought about Steb.— She sighs, and I know it's a delicate topic. —Steb is the movie that... well, it's about everything that happened with my mother. It was a terrible part of my life.—

Her words shake me, but I keep holding her hand to offer my silent support. —Did you answer those questions?— I ask with curiosity and concern. I know it can't have been easy for her to confront these painful memories.

Tara nods, her voice trembling. —Yes, I answered. Then... then it happened. I heard a noise from the front door, and when I turned, he was there... Ghostface.— A tear rolls down her cheek and falls onto the hospital sheet. —He started shouting, saying terrible things. He was so menacing, T/n. He had a knife, and... and he hurt me.—

Anger and disgust well up inside me as I listen. I wish I could erase the horror she went through, make her fear vanish. I squeeze her hand even more, trying to transmit all the affection and support I feel. —We'll get you out of here, Tara. And together, we'll find a way to cope with all of this.—

Tara's tears stream down her face as she looks into my eyes, seeking comfort and security. I hold her hand affectionately, knowing I can't erase the past, but I can be here for her now, in this moment of fear and vulnerability.

The images before my eyes are a mix of pain and helplessness. I look at the oxygen tubes in Tara's nostrils, the bandages on her hand, and the wounds on her legs. Seeing her so vulnerable, so far from the strong girl I knew, tightens my heart.

I can't help but feel a lump in my throat as I watch her. My mind goes to the times we laughed together, the long and deep conversations we shared, and every moment I tried to hide what I felt for her. And now, here, seeing her like this, I feel even worse for never having found the courage to confess my feelings.

I pull the chair as close to her bed as possible, trying to offer some comfort with my proximity. I gently take her non-bandaged hand and give it a light stroke with my thumb. —Tara— I say softly, —I'm so sorry you're going through all of this.—

Her eyes shift to me, and even though they're teary, I still see strength in them. —Thank you, T/n— she murmurs gratefully. —You're here for me... and that means more than you can imagine.—

A sad smile forms on my lips as I try to find the right words. —I'm here because you matter to me, Tara. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.— My heart beats hard in my chest, but I know now is not the time to confess everything.

I take a deep breath and try to push away the sadness that threatens to overwhelm me. —We're strong together, Tara. We'll face all of this together—My words are a commitment, a way to tell her that she'll never be alone in this fight.

I glance at her wounds again, and anger towards anyone who hurt her burns within me. But now, in this moment, my priority is to be there for her, supporting her and trying to bring some comfort to that pale face marked by fear.

Amber's entrance shatters the bubble of intimacy I tried to create around me and Tara. My gaze shifts towards her as she enters the room, but I can't help but notice the disdainful look she directs at me.

Her cutting words, laced with sarcasm, pierce the air. —Oh, look who's here. The shining knight in armor coming to rescue the damsel in distress— Her voice is a mixture of sarcasm and mockery, and I can feel the irritation she's trying to convey.

I deliberately ignore her, continuing to keep my gaze fixed on Tara. Amber can think whatever she wants, but now isn't the time for her jealousy games or taunts. I have an important person to support and protect.

Amber sits next to Tara and looks at her gently, trying to offer comfort with her gaze. I can see genuine concern in her eyes as she tries to be there for Tara. I nod slightly towards her, appreciating her effort to support my friend in such a difficult moment.

However, the sense of tension doesn't ease with Sam's arrival and the boy by her side. As soon as the boy enters the room, I immediately sense that something is off. His expressions, the way he looks around with a certain detachment... everything seems out of place.

Amber might not have noticed right away, but I can't stop watching this boy. Something about him makes me uneasy, and my attention is divided between him and Tara. I keep lightly holding Tara's hand, a silent sign of support, as I try to better understand who this boy is and what he's doing here.

Emotions swirl within me: concern for Tara, suspicion towards this boy, and a growing determination to protect my friend at all costs. I know this moment could be crucial, and I need to stay vigilant for any signs of threat that might come from him.

Sam approaches Tara with concern. —Tara, how are you? I'm so glad to see you.—

Tara smiles weakly. —I'm trying to be okay, Sam. Thank you for being here.—

Sam gestures towards the boy at her side. —This is Richie, my boyfriend. Richie, this is Tara.—

Richie smiles gently. —Hello, Tara. I'm glad to finally meet you.—

Tara returns the smile. —Hi, Richie. Thank you for coming.—

I take a step back, ready to leave them alone.

Tara urgently grabs my hand, looking at me with teary yet bright eyes. Her grip on my hand makes me pause. I look at Tara, noticing her determined expression. Words aren't needed; I can feel her need for me to stay here with her. With a reassuring smile, I nod slightly, indicating that I'll stay by her side.

—Maybe we should let her rest for a bit— Richie suggests, addressing Sam.

Sam agrees with a nod. —You're right. We'll see you outside, Tara. I'll go talk to Hicks.—

As Sam, Richie and Amber leave the room, I stay by Tara's side.

Tara timidly yawns. —Sorry, I suddenly feel so tired.—

I smile gently. —Don't worry, Tara. Maybe you should close your eyes and rest.—

Tara looks at me with sweet, indecipherable eyes. —T/n, could you... could you get in bed with me? I'd just... like to have someone close while I sleep.—

—Of course, Tara. It'll be my pleasure.—

With gentleness, I shift from the chair to the bed, careful not to disturb the bandages and tubes. I lie down beside Tara, keeping one arm under the pillow to prop myself up slightly. —Is this okay?—I ask, looking at her with concern.

Tara nods with a shy smile. —Yes, perfect. Thank you, T/n.—

Carefully, I wrap my arm around Tara, pulling her gently closer to me. We embrace tenderly, and the warmth of her body is reassuring. —Rest, Tara. I'll be here as long as you want.—

Tara closes her eyes slowly, relaxing into the embrace. —Thank you, T/n. You're truly amazing.—

—And you're an extraordinary person, Tara. Goodnight— I whisper.

As the embrace grows more intimate, tranquility fills the room. Tara can finally close her eyes and find some rest, knowing that T/n is there with her. Her breath grows calmer, and sleep gently envelops her as T/n remains by her side, protective and loving.

(...)

From the initial attack to the current situation, many weeks have passed, and things have changed drastically. The sense of normalcy has been disrupted, and trust among us has been shaken. It's hard to believe that the people I've known for so long could harbor such dark secrets.

Relationships have shifted, and every look, every word seems to be under a magnifying glass. Mindy, with her keen horror enthusiast spirit, has only fueled the existing suspicions. Whenever someone seems to step out of line, her playful voice becomes an eerie reminder of the truth lurking beneath the surface.

And then there was that conversation where she excluded Liv from suspicion. Her playful tone only heightened the tension. But in the end, every laugh was accompanied by a shade of doubt. All of us are trying to decipher the puzzle, but the pieces seem to keep changing shape.

I find myself in a situation where I need to keep an eye out for anyone who might be hiding something. The friendship we had shared has become fragile, and there's a sense of isolation I can't ignore. I wish things could go back to how they were before, but I know that reality is much more complex now.

I find myself wandering amidst doubts and uncertainties, trying to balance my fear with the need to uncover the truth. Trust has been compromised, but I hope we can find a way to overcome this situation together. Amidst suspicions and tensions, there's still a part of me clinging to the idea of restoring normalcy among us, even though the future seems dark and unpredictable.

The tension seemed to increase with each passing day, and the sense of paranoia was taking over everything. Sam, in particular, seemed more paranoid than I had ever seen her. I was deeply concerned for her, but I understood that the environment we were involved in could make even the closest people doubt.

The arrival of the old survivors of Steb in the town of Woodsboro had triggered a series of even more bewildering events. The shadow of the past seemed to envelop everything, and there was an unsettling feeling in the air. Fear was growing as we tried to figure out if this was just a coincidence or if there was a deeper connection to what we were facing.

Wed, who had feelings for Tara, was one of the initial suspects. However, fate seemed to have other plans for him. The arrival of Ghostface had led to a tragic ending for Wed and his mother, Sheriff Judy Hicks. The news of their deaths had hit all of us, and the sense of threat was reaching new levels.

My mind was a mix of worry, anger, and confusion. As I tried to navigate through suspicions, new clues, and old ghosts, I knew we had to find a way to cope with all of this together. The truth was still buried beneath a layer of secrets and lies, but we had to stay united and determined to uncover what was really happening in Woodsboro.

As I stood at the crime scene with Sam, something in the context seemed off. Observing the evidence, the atmosphere was growing even more eerie, as if there was something escaping our notice. A sense of concern grew within me, and thoughts of Tara only intensified it.

That's when I felt a shiver down my spine, like an alarm indicating that something was wrong with Tara. My eyes landed on Riley, the cop, who was approaching. Without a second thought, panic gripped me, and I ran towards him, my eyes wide with fear.

—Riley!— I called, my voice filled with anxiety. —You have to help us, you have to come to the hospital with us. Tara is in danger, I feel that something's wrong.—

Sam joined me shortly after, and together we appealed to Riley. We asked for his help sincerely, begging him to come to the hospital with us. His decision seemed to come without hesitation, agreeing to accompany us without asking questions.

Without wasting time, we headed to the hospital with Riley by our side. The run seemed endless as anxiety grew within me. Tara needed us, and I knew I couldn't allow anything to happen to her. As the tension in the air grew denser, I knew we were doing everything we could to face this challenge together, hoping to protect Tara from whatever threat surrounded her.

As we were on our way in the police car, my phone suddenly rang. My anxiety reached its peak as I checked the caller ID, and my heart filled with relief when I saw Tara's name on the screen. With a trembling breath, I quickly answered.

—Tara?— I called out, trying to keep calm despite my heart still racing. Then I heard her voice, fragmented by sobs and tears. —T/n... help— she said, and her fragile voice broke my heart.

—Tara, I'm here— I responded with a gentle and concerned voice. —We're on our way to the hospital. Stay strong.— As I continued to talk to her, my mind was filled with anguish and determination. I needed to get to her, I needed to protect her from whatever was threatening her.

And then, as Tara's words continued to flow between tears and sobs, she revealed something that left me speechless.

—I don't want to die—she whispered, and the intensity of her emotions hit me like a punch in the gut. —And especially not without ever telling you how... how much I've been in love with you for so long.—

Her words resonated within me, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but the sound of her broken voice was real and sincere. My heart was filled with conflicting emotions: concern for Tara, anger towards whoever hurt her, and surprise in the face of her revelations.

I apologize for the confusion. In this situation, with Ghostface present next to Tara, the idea of diverting Ghostface's attention was even more critical.

—Tara— I said firmly, —try to keep Ghostface engaged. Ask him questions, make him lose time.—

The anxiety I felt was growing even more, but I knew this was the only possible option. Tara had to do her best to keep Ghostface focused on her and out of suspecting that we were coming to save her. Our priority was to protect her, and every second counted in this critical situation. As the car headed towards the hospital, I knew we were facing a challenge that required calmness, courage, and collaboration.

—I'm coming to you, Tara— I reassured her, trying to convey all my determination and affection through my words.

—I won't let anything happen to you. And as for what you said... we can talk about it when I'm there. For now, hang in there.—

The car continued to rush towards the hospital, and Tara's words stayed with me, a fragile thread of connection between us growing amidst all this confusion and fear. We had to face this situation together, protect the truth, and above all, protect each other.

As we stepped into the elevator, the tension in the air was palpable. Sam received a call from Tara, and our hearts skipped a beat as we heard Ghostface's distorted voice on the other end of the line. His words, "Tara or her boyfriend," echoed in our ears like a dark threat. Anxiety mingled with anger as we listened to those sinister words.

I saw Sam frantically press the button for Tara's floor, her face expressing determination and a sort of challenge towards Ghostface. When I heard his taunting grin and her bold response, I couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for her strength. It was clear she was trying to buy time, to keep Ghostface at bay as much as possible.

—Maybe I'm wasting your time, asshole— Sam said firmly, openly defying Ghostface.

The elevator doors opened in a moment of palpable tension. The cop, Riley, had managed to intervene, firing towards Ghostface. The echo of the gunshot filled the air, as fear and adrenaline seemed to mix in a whirlwind of emotions. The bullet missed the target, but its effect was tangible: Ghostface moved away from Tara, momentarily distracted by the sudden threat.

Without hesitation, Sam and I rushed towards Tara. The adrenaline coursing through our veins fueled every step we took. In an instinctive move, I lifted Tara in my arms as if she were a bride, holding her gently yet firmly. The sensation of her fragile body in my arms made me feel a mix of protectiveness and urgency. We needed to get to the elevator, away from Ghostface and any danger threatening us.

Richie, who had been assisted by Riley, joined us as we headed towards the elevator. The cop ensured that the situation was under control, allowing us to focus on Tara. The path to the elevator seemed endless, but each step took us further away from the threat.

Tara clung to me in the embrace, and I felt her ragged breath against me. The warmth of her body against mine reassured me that she was safe, that we were finally moving towards a place where she could receive proper care.

The sensation of her embrace strengthened my commitment to keeping her safe, to doing everything in my power to make her feel protected.

Finally, we reached the elevator, and the doors opened for us. As the elevator closed, I noticed that Riley wasn't entering with us. I barely heard his words— "the head"—a warning that seemed to escape his lips in a breath. His next move was clear: he loaded his weapon and headed towards Ghostface, ready to confront the threat directly.

The emotions that swept through my body at that moment were a mix of apprehension and admiration. Riley was risking his life to face the danger and protect us. His determination struck me deeply, and I felt a knot of gratitude tighten in my throat. We were all united in this challenge, each with our role to play in ensuring our safety.

As the elevator continued to descend, I knew that Tara's fate, all of our fates, hung by a thread. But we were determined to do everything in our power to come out of it, to defeat Ghostface and shed light on all this darkness. Holding Tara even tighter, I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to gather courage and hope as we headed into the unknown.

Sitting in Tara's hospital room, Sam and I found ourselves in a quiet corner. I looked at Tara with concern and said firmly—Tara, I know you want to get out of here as soon as possible, but you have to consider your safety. Running away might be the best solution right now.—

Tara looked at Sam and then at me, anxiety evident in her eyes. —I know I just want to forget all this— she said with a trembling voice, —but it seems so risky to stay here. What if Ghostface finds us again?—

—I understand— Sam responded—but maybe we should consider the possibility of leaving the town for a while. We could go somewhere where Ghostface won't easily find us.—

Just as we were about to leave the facility, we encountered Sidney Prescott and Gale, two survivors of experiences similar to ours.

Sidney followed Sam with concern.

—Running away might not be the solution. I've learned that Ghostface will always come back unless we confront him once and for all.—

—Are you asking us to help you kill him? Are you crazy?— Sam asked, confused.

—Hey, be careful how you talk, young lady. She's the original, you know? The first survivor of Ghostface...— Gale said, joining her friend.

The car with Richie at the wheel arrives. —Um... hi, I'm Richie... we've met before...— he closes his eyes and sighs. —Sam, T/n, get in... we're leaving.–

I looked at Tara with shining eyes and sighed as I opened the car door, sitting down beside her. —I'm sorry, but we have to leave town... it's for Tara's safety—Sam said, and then got into the car.

During the journey, I felt Tara's proximity. Every brush of her fingers against mine sent a shiver along my skin, and when I glanced at her, I noticed her shy and uncertain expression. Her gaze seemed to hold a world of unspoken thoughts.

My heart beat faster, knowing there was something she wanted to share with me. I accepted her touch, trying to convey reassurance through that contact. —Tara—I said gently, —if there's something you want to say, you can. We're here together.—

Her shyness was palpable, but she finally found the courage to speak. —I told you on the phone that I didn't want to die without telling you... without telling you that I've had feelings for you for a long time.— Her voice was barely a whisper, but her words resonated in my heart like a sweet and intense melody.

I kept my gaze on her, trying to communicate that I was listening carefully and that her words mattered to me. I felt a delicate smile form on my lips. —Tara—I replied, —you don't know how grateful I am to hear these words from you. I too... have had feelings for you for a long time.—

Our gazes met in a moment of deep connection. It was a secret we had kept hidden for too long, and now that we were facing this threat together, it seemed like the right time to confront our feelings as well. I felt that our bond was further strengthening in that moment, and I knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it all together.

I felt the gentle touch of Tara's bandaged hand on my cheek. It was such a sweet and intimate gesture that seemed to envelop us in a protective bubble, isolating us from the outside world. Despite her wounds, Tara still found the strength to seek my touch, to share that moment of intimacy.

I felt overwhelmed by emotions, by thoughts that I had kept hidden for so long. It was incredible how everything was coming together in that moment: the danger we were facing, the feelings we were revealing, and the sense of unity that was binding us even more.

Despite our intense private moment, I knew that Richie and Sam were there, curious eyes watching through the rearview mirror. I decided to ignore those glances and focus solely on Tara. Our connection was what mattered, and nothing could tarnish that shared intimacy.

I felt my heart beat with a certain urgency as I continued driving along the road. Every now and then, a small smile appeared on my lips, a reflection of the happiness and gratitude I was feeling in that moment. I couldn't predict what lay ahead in the future, but I knew that regardless of everything, we would face every challenge together, our bond growing stronger and our hearts open to whatever the future would bring.

Tara's smile was like a sweet melody, a prelude to what was about to happen. As she leaned in closer to me, I felt my heart beat with a mixture of excitement and tenderness. Her lips met mine in a sweet and deep kiss, and it seemed like the world around us dissolved, leaving just the two of us.

It was a kiss filled with emotions and meaning, a way to express everything we were experiencing in that moment. It was as if our feelings were being transmitted through that intimate contact, saying things that words alone couldn't convey. Her lips were warm and soft against mine, and I surrendered to that moment of sweetness.

During the kiss, I felt Tara shifting, as if she was trying to find a more comfortable position. It was then that I realized she was freeing herself from the seatbelt. I saw her straddle my lap, and I smiled against her lips. It was a bold and intimate gesture, but I felt that our bond made it perfectly natural.

We continued to kiss, our contact growing more intense and the world around us fading even more. We were united in that moment, connected by deep feelings and a bond that seemed to transcend time and space. Nothing else mattered except the two of us and the kiss we shared, a kiss that seemed to encapsulate everything we felt for each other. Richie's sudden cough interrupted our kiss, causing us to break apart with a mixture of embarrassment and smiles. Tara's cheeks were flushed, and her lips slightly swollen from the passionate kiss. We locked eyes, her gaze bright and full of emotion, and I felt my heart beat with uncontainable joy.

—Sorry— Richie said with a small embarrassed smile —but it seemed like you were so focused that I could have driven for miles without you noticing anything.—

Tara and I exchanged a knowing look and then burst into laughter together. It was true, we had become so lost in our own world that everything else seemed to fade away. Now, with our cheeks warm from embarrassment and our hearts still racing, we realized the absurdity of the situation.

—That was a bit embarrassing, wasn't it?— I said with a playful smile, turning to Tara.

Her lips curved into a shy smile as she nodded. —Yes, but it was also... nice.—

I felt a wave of affection for her as I knew that we had shared such an intimate moment together.

—Where's my inhaler?— Tara's worried voice filled the car as she began frantically searching her bag. I could feel the tension growing in the air as she looked anxiously inside her bag, hoping to find her precious inhaler. It was clear that she was realizing that her inhaler wasn't with her, and her agitation was palpable.

Sam turned slightly in her seat, looking at Tara with empathy. —Maybe you left it at the hospital by accident?— she suggested, trying to find a rational explanation.

Tara shook her head, continuing to search. —No, I'm sure I put it in my bag before leaving the hospital— she said with an anxious voice.

I turned to her, trying to convey a sense of calm. —Maybe it slipped between the seats?— I suggested, thinking of every possibility.

Tara leaned down to look under her seat, but she didn't seem to find anything. Her expression was a mix of frustration and concern. —I can't believe I forgot my inhaler— she said with a sigh.

—Take a deep breath— I said, trying to reassure her.

Tara suddenly brightened as she remembered something. —Wait, I have a spare inhaler at Amber's house!— she exclaimed with a hopeful expression.

The news shed light on the situation, and a sigh of relief spread through the car. Sam and I exchanged a reassuring look, reassured by the fact that there was a solution available. —Seriously?— I asked, seeking confirmation.

Tara nodded with a smile. —Yes, I remember leaving it there a while ago— she said. —It's been a bit chaotic, and I didn't think I'd need it out here.—

—That's good news then— Sam commented, visibly relieved.

—Absolutely— I agreed, gently taking Tara's hand and giving them both a reassuring smile. —Let's go to Amber's and get your spare inhaler. We don't want you to have any issues because of this situation.—

Tara nodded, visibly grateful for our support. The road ahead of us seemed less complicated now that we had a solution. Tara's safety and comfort were our priority, and we knew we would do everything in our power to ensure she was safe and well. With a lighter heart, we continued our journey to Amber's house, ready to face whatever challenges awaited us.

***

As soon as we entered Amber's house, we were greeted by a whirlwind of sounds and movements. Music blared loudly, while people laughed and danced. It was clear that a party was in full swing in honor of Wes, which seemed to add another layer of complexity to the already tense situation. As we moved through the crowd, I kept an eye on Tara, making sure she was okay amidst all the chaos.

All around us, people seemed oblivious to the tensions and worries that were happening in our lives. It was strange to see the normalcy of a party amidst all this, but somehow, it also helped to take our minds off the difficulties we were facing.

Richie spoke up, grabbing the attention of Sam and Tara. His voice cut through the music and the party noise. —A bit of attention, please— he said seriously. —Sam and Tara have been attacked twice by the killer. I think it's best that everyone goes home for your safety.—

There were various murmurs of disapproval, but they obeyed the request and started leaving the house, leaving only Tara's friends and Richie behind.

Tara looked at me with a small smile before turning to Amber. —I'm going to get my spare inhaler—she said. Amber nodded. —I'll come with you— she offered, walking alongside her toward the stairs.

I found myself walking down a corridor, seeking some space and tranquility. As I walked, I noticed Mindy in a rather interesting situation: she was kissing a girl on a couch.

Their intimacy seemed to contrast with the overall situation, but I knew that everyone was seeking a small escape from reality in different ways. The situation took a turn when Richie intervened, asking the girl to leave. It was clear that Richie was concerned about everyone's safety, and his reaction was understandable given the circumstances.

—Um, can someone accompany me to the basement?— Richie timidly asked, gripping the doorknob.

I shook my head, and Mindy smiled nervously. —You tried, handsome, but I'm not going down there—Mindy smiled, and Richie chuckled weakly. —You're right... you know, with the Ghostface situation...— he murmured before opening the door and descending the stairs.

I sat down next to Mindy, trying to create a small moment of calm and tranquility amidst all the tension. Our gaze landed on the screen, where "Steb," the movie he was playing, was showing. Mindy seemed to be enjoying making fun of the characters' choices and naivety, perhaps seeking a temporary escape from the troubled reality surrounding us.

Watching the movie together, I could almost forget for a moment the worries we were facing. It was as if we had entered a different world, far from the horrors we had experienced and the complex interpersonal dynamics emerging. The sound of laughter and the flicker of the screen seemed like an anchor of normalcy in a time when everything seemed topsy-turvy.

Mindy seemed to enjoy the playful aspect of the film, laughing heartily at some situations and character choices. Her laughter was a small glimmer of lightness in an otherwise tense situation. Observing Mindy, I realized how important it was to find ways to lighten the weight of the emotions we were dealing with.

The scene suddenly turned into overwhelming chaos when Mindy turned and found herself face-to-face with Ghostface, poised to strike. Without thinking twice, I instinctively moved between Mindy and the killer, taking a stab to the shoulder that made me emit a groan of pain. Confusion and fear gripped the room.

Mindy and Sam rushed toward me with concern, trying to calm me down and assess the severity of the wound. Blood was flowing from my shoulder, and the sensation of pain spread throughout my body.

Tara and Amber joined the scene, with Tara struggling on crutches due to her injuries. Her eyes expressed concern as she approached me, trying to understand how badly hurt I was.

Amber, on the other hand, observed the scene with curiosity and suspicion. —I don't know what you were all doing, but I was with Tara— she said agitatedly.

Amidst all this, Richie made his sudden entrance. —Where the hell were you?— Sam asked him agitatedly, looking at him with panic. —I was getting a beer! But no one wanted to come with me— he muttered agitatedly.

The situation became even more tumultuous when Liv entered the room again, this time crying out of stress and fear. Her hands were stained with blood, an image that struck all of us with a sense of terror and unease. It was evident that the situation was spiraling out of control, and danger seemed to be surrounding us from all sides.

—Stay back!—Amber whispered, and Liv continued to cry. —I found Chad— she said amidst tears.

—Chad?—Sam asked timidly.

—You're a damn liar!—Amber said with disgust.

—No!—Liv denied, shaking her head.

—You're the killer!— Richie said.

—No, it's not me...— Liv mumbled in panic.

—Liv, stop— Amber said, extending her hands toward Liv.

—Liv, stop!— Amber repeated impatiently.

—Fuck you, Amber. I'm not the damn killer—Liv muttered, emphasizing each word.

My eyes landed on Amber's hand, disappearing behind her, retrieving something. —I know— Amber replied, and my eyes widened when I saw Tara's best friend place a bullet in the middle of Liv's forehead.

—Welcome to Act Three— Amber said, pointing the gun at me.

Mindy, who was close by, struck Amber's arm, deflecting the shot.

The shoulder wound was painful, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins gave me the strength to scoop Tara up and seek shelter. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sam and Richie heading toward the basement, while Mindy seemed to be busy distracting Amber. It was an atmosphere of chaos and panic, but I had to focus on keeping Tara safe and addressing the situation.

With quick and silent steps, I climbed the stairs to the upper floor, carrying Tara with me. We found refuge in a room, and without hesitation, we squeezed ourselves into a relatively small closet. As my heart raced, I placed a hand over Tara's mouth to quiet her and urged her to slow her breath. The silence in that cramped space was stifling, but I knew it was necessary to avoid attracting the killer's attention.

I felt Tara's rapid heartbeat against my hand, and her eyes were filled with fear.

—Tara, I know you want me to stay here with you, but I need to go down and try to resolve the situation outside.—

Tara shook her head. —No, T/n, I can't let you go. I'm afraid you'll get hurt, that you might end up like Wes.—

I gently held her face in my hands. —Tara, I promise I'll be careful. I don't want to put myself in danger, but I also have a duty to help others. We need to find a solution to this situation.—

Tara squinted her eyes slightly. —I don't care about the others right now, I only care about you. I don't want to lose you.—

I held her hand and looked into her eyes. —Tara, I understand how worried you are, but I can't let anyone get hurt. I'll try to come back to you as soon as I can. You have to promise me that you'll stay safe here.—

—I can't promise that if I don't know what will happen. T/n, I don't know what I would do if something happened to you—Tara said with a trembling voice.

—Listen, I know it's difficult, but I have faith in you. If something goes wrong, try to find a safe place to hide. And when I come back, we'll be together again. Don't let fear make you take irrational decisions.—

Our gaze locked, and in the silence filled with emotions, Tara leaned closer to me. Our breaths mingled, and I felt her gentle touch on my cheek as she drew closer. Her kiss was intense, as if she wanted to convey everything she was feeling at that moment.

I felt every part of me respond to that needy and meaningful kiss. It was as if we wanted to share everything we felt for each other, in case we didn't have another chance. Our lips moved with passion and tenderness, and as we parted, I could read everything in her glistening eyes.

—Come back to me— she whispered, and I could hear the concern and longing in her voice.

—I promise I'll be back— I replied, trying to convey all the determination and affection I felt.

We exchanged an intense and meaningful gaze before I slowly pulled away to descend the stairs. I had a mission to complete, but the thought of Tara and her warm embrace would accompany me in every step I took.

I hurriedly descended the stairs.

The scene in front of me was unfolding incredibly fast and violent. Confusion mixed with horror as Sam pointed the gun at Amber, Sydney urged her to shoot, and Richie approached with determined steps.

My heart was racing as I tried to comprehend what was happening.

—Thank God you're okay— Richie's words resonated in the room, and I felt myself freeze. With wide eyes, I helplessly witnessed the horrifying scene: the knife lodged in Sam's side, Richie embracing her, making the situation even more dreadful. —Because I wanted it to be me to kill you—Sam whispered almost breathlessly.

Richie's gaze shifted to me.

—Don't move, T/A— I remained frozen in place as I saw him aiming the gun at me.

Sydney stared at me in panic.

Richie handed the gun to Amber, causing her to point it at Sydney's temple. —Come here if you don't want me to kill Tara— Amber whispered seriously.

Reluctantly, I approached.

Amber struck me in the face with the gun's butt, causing a cut on my eyebrow.

—I can't believe it worked...— Richie said, smiling, revealing the inhaler that Tara had lost. —I know... it's a pity it's me— Richie said with gleaming eyes, tossing the inhaler to the ground. —But it was the best thing for the movie— he added, using a voice distorter.

—This isn't a damn movie— Sam muttered through clenched teeth. —I know... but it will be— Richie said, smiling.

—Right, Amber?— Sam's ex-boyfriend asked playfully.

—Absolutely, darling. Third-act bloodbath. Done—Amber said, smiling, pressing the gun against Sydney's temple. —Killers revealed. Done— Amber murmured next, looking at me with gleaming eyes.

Pouting, the girl aimed the gun at my legs and shot me.

The pain hit me suddenly, like a lightning bolt tearing through my body. My legs gave way beneath me, and I fell to the ground, feeling the sharp, throbbing burn radiating through me. The entire world seemed to slow down, and my breath became labored as I tried to grapple with that excruciating sensation.

My hands clenched around my legs, searching for any point of support. Tears welled up in my eyes from the pain and surprise. I couldn't believe what was happening. I looked at Amber, trying to fathom the reason behind that violent and senseless act.

—Why?— I managed to whisper, my voice cracking from pain and confusion. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions: anger, fear, betrayal. I couldn't fathom how anyone could inflict such pain on another human being.

I hoped someone would intervene, put an end to this madness. As the agony consumed me, my gaze met Sydney's. I pleaded for help with my eyes, imploring someone to halt everything before irreparable harm was done.

—Let's take them to the kitchen— Amber murmured, ignoring my question. I struggled to stand and followed them, blinded by pain.

—Someone needs to save the franchise— Richie exclaimed with enthusiasm. —No one's made a Steb film after the first— Richie pushed Sam. —No one at all— he affirmed, giving me a kick.

I gritted my teeth and tried to hold back tears.

Amber jumped up and down excitedly. —Darling, could you fetch Gale?—Richie asked kindly, pointing the gun at Sam. —I'm going!— the psychopath muttered enthusiastically.

Sam tried to escape, but Richie stopped her.

—Sydney Prescott...— Richie murmured with a smile on his lips. —You know... I'm a big admirer of yours— he timidly exclaimed.

—Screw you, psycho— Sydney retorted venomously.

—Did you watch the latest Steb?— Richie asked, tilting his head. —I don't like horror movies— Sydney replied.

—Well, anyway, it was awful... Is it possible they don't take us seriously because we're enthusiasts? Is it possible they won't listen to us?— Richie said angrily. —So we decided to lend a hand... you know... a real Steb is based on real events— he added, pointing the gun at Sam.

Amber arrived with Gale and had her sit on a chair.

—Did you do all this to make me the hero of your stupid movie?— Sam asked disgustedly.

—Darling... you're not the hero... you're the villain— Richie said playfully.

—The daughter of Billy Loomis, haunted by eerie visions of her killer father— Richie murmurs, placing the tip of the gun against Sam's throat. —Sydney Prescott killed your father... you... did all of this to bring her back to Woodsboro—Richie smiles at Sam.

—Do you know what the main problem with Steb films is?— Amber says innocently, playing with the gun.

—That there's no Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees— Amber moves the gun along Sydney's face. —No recurring villain in all the movies— she states with a smile.

—But the illegitimate daughter of the original villain? Now that's one damn good villain—she whispers with a chuckle.

—How do you know?—Sam asked.

—Darling... this is a small town, and your mother is a drunk— Amber said, amused.

—I met Richie on Steb forums... I immediately realized we think alike... I had this obsession when my parents bought this house— Amber said.

—Wasn't it difficult to find you in Modesto— Richie sneered. —Sleeping with you wasn't hard either— he muttered weakly.

—Fuck you!— Sam exclaimed angrily. —So you're just quoting the original— Richie said with amusement.

—We didn't only need you, Sam... but we had to bring back the main Steb characters— Amber said.

My eyes shifted to the knife on the table.

—You can't have Halloween without a Jamie Lee!—Amber said excitedly.

—That's why we had to kill Riley— Richie said, —for once we enthusiasts will win.— Richie approaches Sydney. —And I'm sorry, Sid. But you'll have to die... we can't let you survive anymore... it would be ridiculous— Richie muttered.

— Amber, go get Tara from the closet. We need to set up the bodies— Richie said with a smile.

Amber hesitated in place.

—Did you put her in the closet?— she timidly asked, and Richie gave her a furious look. —No, you were supposed to! Damn it! Go find her!—the guy said, clearly angry.

The phone began to ring.

—It's for you— I said with a half-smile on my lips. —Yes... as if Tara's limp was the problem— Richie said, amused.

—Amber, look for her everywhere! She couldn't have gone far!— Richie yelled, pointing the gun at Sam.

—I can't find her!— Amber's screams echoed in the distance.

Sounds of struggle in the distance distracted Richie. After Sam tackled him to the ground and attempted to disarm him, she finally managed to take the gun from him and escape to another room, taking one of the two Ghostfaces with her.

Meanwhile, Gale and Sydney confronted Amber, given my inability to walk. Despite their hostile and dangerous opponent, Gale and Sydney embarked on confronting Amber and trying to control the situation. With a seemingly inexplicable force of will, I managed to lift myself off the ground despite the searing pain. I grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer and, without wasting time, hurled it at Amber with all the remaining energy I had. The liquid hit her body, and I heard her scream in pain as she recoiled, temporarily defeated. Gale and Sydney seized the opportunity, stepping in with determination to fight her. At that moment, I realized that my determination was becoming a crucial factor in this battle against Amber.

—I didn't do anything! It was his idea!—Amber exclaimed in panic after being cornered.

—You killed Riley, my friend—Gale said, aiming the gun at Amber.

—And he cried like a child— Amber said with a smile, provoking Gale's anger.

The fight continued, and after being cornered once again, Gale decided not to fall for it and shot at Amber. The girl fell against the kitchen and caught fire.

Sydney put an arm around my waist and led me out, seeing that Sam had killed Richie in the meantime.

Still in shock from the unexpected turn of events, a piercing scream echoed from the kitchen. I turned around in panic and saw Amber, half-burned, advancing towards me with a knife in hand. Everything seemed to be heading for the worst, but a sudden gunshot rang through the air, and Amber fell to the ground, motionless.

—Don't touch my girlfriend, you bitch— Tara said breathlessly, gripping the gun tightly.

Comments please

#jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #scream #love #guns n roses #gunshot #sydney prescott

182 notes · View notes

clover-blossom · 8 months

Text

ANIDALA FIC RECOMMENDATIONS- Part 1*

Realized I inadvertently left off several great fics. Stay tuned for Part 2!

Snowbaird has inspired me to revisit a favorite ship from my younger years. Inspired by @burntblueberrywaffles list, I put together one of my favorites. The vast majority of these are on ff.net BUT BUT BUT remember you can convert them here for download to your Kindle.

The Anakin Saga by geo3

A five part series published before all the prequels were released (so this is an OG). The first two are one shots. The last three are multi-chapter.

The Hour of Souls

The padawan and the Senator find that it is very difficult to be in love when everyone is watching and a shadowy figure is pulling strings....

Step into My Parlor

At the end of Episode II, why, oh why did they let Anakin travel back to Naboo with Padme? It turns out that a certain Dark Lord had something to do with it...

Children of Circumstance

A story about Anakin, his love and his path.

Winds of Change

Early days of the fall... Anakin's path after he is secretly married and returns to the Temple.

Ring of Fire

The final story in the Anakin Saga Series.

Living a Lie by Leah Naberrie

After the forbidden wedding, the reality of living a lie hits the Skywalkers.

Slight of Hand and Twist of Fate by irnan

"I suppose we should just be grateful they're not planning to televise the investigations," Anakin grouses. "Hmm," Obi-Wan says, too busy playing with Leia to answer him

Purgatory by HelenT

As if the comment Obi-Wan had made to Luke about Anakin ‘dying’ when he became Darth Vader was literally true, a newly dead Vader wakes in a strange world—as a twenty-three year old again. Post ROTJ

Kratisto by Irnan

Collection of ficlets about Anakin Skywalker

Pulse by froovygirl

AU for ROTS. As Padme's life hangs in the balance on Mustafar, a stream of brilliant light causes Anakin to reconsider his choices.

Into the Archives by skygawker

After hearing the legend of Darth Plagueis the Wise from Palpatine, Anakin decides that his best chance to save Padme is to break into the restricted Holocron Vault of the Temple Archives to search for information about Plagueis. Predictably, all does not go according to plan. Revenge of the Sith AU.

No Real Affection by Meredith Bronwen Mallory

After the second attempt on Padme's life, the young senator and Anakin find themselves getting to know each other again.

Underneath by CrazyAni

After feroscious duel on Mustafar, ObiWan Kenobi and Darth Vader are given a chance to go back and save Anakin. The Force sends them back to the past, but they wake up in each other's bodies...RotS AU*

*unfinished but worth a read

Part 2

#anidala #anakin and padme #anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #padme amidala #padme skywalker #anidala fic #anakin x padme

78 notes · View notes

alianarepasa · 6 months

Text

Meme Swap: Side Story Part 2 - Chase Ensue by the Red Italian

Summary: While Beeg and Eggdog are have their own mischief adventure, pretending as their owners, SMG3 and SMG4 have their own adventures in their pets' body as they try their best to find them to fix the bodyswap mess. This fanfic is a celebration for hitting 200+ reads on Meme Swap and will only have three parts.

Tags: Comedy, Body Swap, Family fluff

Note: It is recommended that you should read Meme Swap by @shygirl4991 first before reading this! Thanks to them for accepting and be the proof-reader for the fanfic!

1st Part/3rd Part

Three was looking down at four who had his face flat on the floor, Three let out a sigh seeing how depressed his meme guardian partner was at the expected answer. He truly thought the plan to use simple body language would let the squid girl know it was them, sadly that wasn't the case and now they are back to square one.

He looked away from his partner to notice people around them turning and staring at them strangely, it was making him feel a bit uncomfortable so he decided looking around would help distract him. That’s when his eyes locked on to Luigi’s shop and saw their meme children walking in, Three turns and headbutts Four to get the depressed guardian's attention.

“Look there they are, come on!” Four responded with an annoyed expression not pleased with the headbutt he received, Three glared at him before he began to walk. Four then followed Three, over time Four got ahead of him on their way to the shop.

As Three attempts to catch up to Four, he is blocked by a pair of strangers looking at him in amazement “Hey look! It’s an Eggdog!” one shouted before their friend chimed in “It seems like it ain’t with its owner.” Three rolled his eyes and tires to continue following Four, as he started going past them another stranger appeared right in front of him with a huge smile.

“OMG! THEY’RE SO CUTE! IMA PET THEM!” Right as the third person finishes their remark they reach over to Three to pet him, he backs away from the contact becoming uncomfortable with the attention. Three looked around trying to find a way out only for more people to show up completely surrounding him, blocking all exits. Three screams furiously as he starts to feel panic rise in him, as he keeps looking for the exit he starts to scream “UGH PLEASE! LET! ME! THROUGH!” he knew no one would hear anything but barks but at that moment it didn't matter he needed an out.

Four stops walking and turns around hearing the commotion behind him, he sees Three attempting to escape as the crowd continue to block his escape. Four panic then charges at the crowd in hopes to squeeze through, as he goes through he looks around struggling to find his partner in the crowd. Meanwhile the other meme guardian kept backing up hitting a wall, he was now cornered, the realization hit him as he began to shake frantically while everyone kept watching him in amazement reaching out to pet him. Being crowded brought back memories of his horrible endless stream he did months ago, he couldn't do anything in his life without eyes and comments surrounding him. He wanted to hug himself for comfort, but with the current body he is in, he couldn’t. All he could feel now is an intense fear of what people are about to do with him.

As he closed his eyes, he then felt someone touch him. He was expecting rough head pats, instead he felt warm arms around him. He opened his eyes to see it was Four holding him close causing him to get flustered and blush. Suddenly he was lifted in the air as Four carries Three and runs through an opening “OUT OF MY WAY! RUN AWAY MEME COMING THROUGH!”

Once they were safe, Four did one more look around before gently placing Three on the floor. Four turns looking at Three concern “You okay 3?” Three looked away to hide his blushing face, lucky for him Four didnt notice “Y-yea I’m fine! But… thanks for saving me I guess…”

As they catch their breath they don't realize a familiar figure approaching them “Oh? Why are SMG4 and SMG3’s kids here?” The pair jump in surprise hearing the familiar Italian voice. They looked up and noticed their avatar, Mario.

“Oh great… its the fatass” SMG3 complained with a displeased expression, while SMG4 came up with an idea. He grabs three doggy faces and looks at him excitedly “THREE! WE HAVEN’T ASKED MARIO TO HELP US OUT!! IF HE CAN UNDERSTAND MEMES, MAYBE HE CAN UNDERSTAND US?” Three responded with a confused look, but didn’t say anything as Four started to try to speak to their Avatar.

Four speaks up hoping that his avatar could understand, as Mario listens to Four he tilts his head only being able to hear gibberish. It reminded the plumber of a web show back in 2013 about cats with squeaky robotic voices. Mario blinks confused, he always was able to understand memes especially his guardians children, strangely at this moment the plumber couldn't understand a single word. Mario's eyes go cross “wot?”

“Mario doesn't know if it's just his weird spaghetti he just ate, or you guys just speak differently last time I checked.” Four frowns feeling disappointed that even Mario didn't seem to understand them either. Three sighs as he turns to Four “Hey now, you at least tried to speak up to him, but like the others, they don’t understand. Now can we move along and at least find our kid?” with a sad nod SMG4 looks at Three “Yea… I guess you're right… let’s press on.”

As the two meme guardians started to walk away, they heard a rumble making them turn around staring at Mario. The plumber looked down at his stomach, he was starting to feel hungry, slowly he looked up, staring at memes in front of him. His eyes locking onto ‘Eggdog’ he starts to envision the egg cracked with its egg white and yolk on the floor. Slowly he takes out a hammer not breaking eye contact with the meme guardian, his mustache grows to a comedic size as his eyes go cross again “Egg.”

The pair exchange a look feeling fearful and confused as to what their avatar meant “Uhh… is Mario ok-” right before Three could finish his sentence Mario swung his hammer at Three. Thankfully SMG3 was able to dodge the attack, the guardians exchanged frightened looks startled by what just happened. Mario takes another swing missing Three again, the pair scream as four immediately goes to his partner and carries him running far from the plumber.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT IS THAT IDIOT DOING???” SMG3 screams, feeling panicked over what happened. “I DON’T KNOW??? BUT BASED ON HOW HE IS TRYING TO SWING THE HAMMER AT YOU, I THINK HE IS TARGETING YOU?” SMG3 blinks slowly looking down at Four glaring at him “YEA! NO SHIT SHERLOCK!”

They begin to argue as Four keeps running with his partner in his arms, as they argue they both pause noticing movement, looking up they see Mario was getting ready to drop several heavy objects on them. Four starts to panickedly dodge the objects while making sure not to drop Three. Mario growls as he drops the last object on the pair, in a panic Four throws Three out of the way before rolling dodge the object. Three screams as he falls, as Four stands up from his roll he dashes and catches Three as he continues running, Mario glares at them planning another attack.

Mario gets ahead of the pair and looks around making sure he was far enough, he looks down noticing the man cover and starts to open it. Then he grabs a plank that has been cut almost in half, then he places it over the hole ready for the trap to be set. Only it didn't happen, as the pair made it across with no issue. Mario saw what happened and was baffled at the sight, he goes to his original position and looks at the hole confused on what happened. The plumber, now distracted, didn't notice SMG3 jumping off of SMG4 hold, headbutting Mario into the sewers.

The pair enter a alleway hoping to keep hidden from the plumber, four attempts to catch his breath from all the running. Three now finally on his feet let out a shaky breath trying to calm his nerves, even if he did headbutt Mario into a hole it didn't bring him full comfort. “I… I think we lost him…” Just as Four was done catching his own breath, the meme guardians both noticed that the part of the alleyway started to get darker. As they stare into the darkness they notice a hooded cloak figure moving in it, then a bone chilling whistle could be heard, it was as if death himself had found the meme guardians. Then the hooded cloak figure revealed a hammer in his hand, then with his other hand pulled down the hood showing Mario’s face full of psychotic rage . The pair started screaming and attempted to run only to realize they hit a dead end. It was at that moment they both knew they were screwed.

“AHHHHH! SMG4!! DO SOMETHING TO STOP THAT IDIOT FROM KILLING ME!!!” SMG3 holds on to Four in a panic. SMG4 looks around trying to find anything that could help them, Mario starts to close in increasing the pair’s panic. That’s when Four saw a lone display door on the floor, picking it up he then slams the door shut. Normally doing this action with the door would hit someone's face, unfortunately for Mario his lower region manages to get stuck. The fat Italian screams in pain giving the duo a chase to escape, they run past him hoping that their avatar would leave them alone.

As they escaped from the red Italian, they stopped and panted as they tried to get some air. “That… that should hold him at least…” Four let out between breaths. Three turns to four finally catching his breath “You… You think so?” Four nods “Hopefully… Look, we need to get our kids quickly and fast, or else Mario might get you and-” as SMG4 starts to explain things SMG3 smells something that causes him to lose control of himself. Four turns still explaining things then notices that his partner is gone.

“HUH?! THREE?! WHERE DID YOU GO??!” Four looked around fearfully. He starts to run looking around for his partner, after a while of searching he finds Three and notices something off. He calls out to the guardian only to get ignored, he decides to follow Three and block the way to get his attention. “THREE! WHY ARE YOU NOT RESPONDING TO ME-” Four paused as he noticed that Three’s eyes are bigger, and lost its red gradient pupil. His expression didn’t seem human anymore, his huge eyes made him seem like a lost dog drooling excitedly for food. Four blinks at the thought “Wait…food?” He turned around to see where his partner was going.

Turns out the pair ended up near a couple of fruit stands, that's when Four noticed what has Three attention, a barrel filled with strawberries. The false berry seemed to have put SMG3 in a trance, concerned over his partner he turned to him “Uhh… Three…?” Three did not respond back, instead, jumped through Four and made a run for it. Four was shocked at the sudden action, acting fast he grabs a hold of Three holding him back. The guardian pup then started to bark at him aggressively wanting to be free from his arms.

“Three! What has it gone to you?!” SMG3 only responded with a growl, as he tried to struggle his way out from Four’s hold. The guardian only replied in barks and growls, Four kept holding him back “C’mon Three! Why are you just acting like this?! It is just a strawberry-” he stops mid sentence as he remembers what Three told him a few days ago.

Fews days ago…

SMG4 was just editing his video, when suddenly SMG3 opened the door and asked a question. “Yooo SMG4, do you have strawberries anywhere in your kitchen?” Four then stopped and turned around, confused, he answered “Uhh… no… why?”

“Ok good, because just letting you know that Eggdogs are very hyperactive with strawberries, that even a single slice of it makes them out of control, so I would suggest not having that anywhere in your castle when Eggdog is around, okay?” Three grabs the doorknob waiting for the other man's reply.

“alright” Four went back to his video editing, while Three closed the door.

Few days later…

“...Ahhh fu-OOF” Four falls to the ground as he loses his grip on Three, he looks up, frightened that Three would lose himself in the red fruit.

As Three got closer to the barrel the fat plumber jumped in front of it grabbing him “GOTCHA BITCH!” The trance was interrupted making Three realize he was caught. Four panics seeing his partner grabbed, ignoring the man's scream in order to focus he looks around for something to save Three with. His eyes locked on to a pipe near him and ran to it.

Three starts to struggle as he attempts to escape the plumber's grasp, he then starts to panic when he notices Mario opens his mouth getting ready to eat him. Luckily Four was able to swing the pipe hitting Mario hard on the head making him drop his partner, he dashes and immediately catches Three and begins to run “WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE!!”

“Awww, but I didn’t get the strawberry…” Three pouted after learning they weren't staying for the fruit. “NOT NOW THREE! WE WILL BUY ONE LATER!” SMG4 responded frustratedly “NO! ME WANT STRAWBERRY!” SMG3 whined back to Four only to get an eye roll in return.

Four kept running as he carried his grumpy partner trying to find a place to hide, that's when he noticed a spaghetti shop. Knowing his Avatar loves spaghetti, he sprints inside with his partner and instantly hides under a table. The red italian was still hot on their trail. He looked around the area and noticed the shop, he sprinted inside excited to get his hand on his love. He started to cause some mayhem in the shop the moment he steps in demanding all their pasta, while distracted the pair sneak their way out of the shop.

The owner of the shop, not being pleased with the events happening in his shop, catches the red plumber and carries him away. The pair make it out only to hear the door of the shop open and the red italian get booted out. They swiftly dodge the avatar as he lands on the spot they were at, looking at him and seeing he is unconscious they took their chance and spirit towards a place they can hide.

“Now… can you explained to me on why THE FUCK, DID YOU LEAVE ME WHILE I WAS EXPLAINING?!?” Four glares at Three frustrated by the events that just happened “OH, WELL EXCUSE ME BLUE BASKETBALL LOOKING ASS, IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT I WENT ACTING LIKE A DOG WHO IS BEGGING FOR A FOOD!” Three barked at Four’s question. Four stares at Three puzzled “YOU’RE LITERALLY IN YOUR PET’S BODY!!??” Three scoffs “WELL I’M SORRY FOR NOT HAVING A CONTROL OF THIS BODY! BECAUSE UNLIKE YOU, I DID NOT BECAME A GIANT ASS MOON TO MAJORA MASK STYLE EVERYONE AAAHHHH!!!” Their argument was cut short as Mario found their hiding spot and destroyed with a giant wooden hammer. Their avatar growls, extremely angry “MARIO IS ABOUT TO DO SOMETHING VERY ILLEGAL, AND THAT STARTS WITH YOU TWO GETTING SQUASHED!!!” he starts swinging the hammer at the pair aggressively, the guardians start to scream and run from their avatar again.

Three and four are sprinting away not noticing paint cans above them, as they run past one of the empty cans falls off landing on Four. The meme guardian panics when he sees sudden darkness as he gets stuck in the can “AHHH HELP! MY HEAD STUCK!!” Three turns around and gets a bit scared as not only he saw Four with a paint can of his head, the Avatar is about to reach them. While Three is shaking, unsure what to do, Mario ends up tripping over SMG4 knocking them both to the floor. Seeing this Three jumps on top of the can Four is stuck in, once balance he starts rolling it moving as fast as he could on the can to get them out.

Mario quickly gets up seeing them escape again, he runs trying to catch them only to end up hitting a sign. Three let out a sigh of relief seeing the plumber knock himself out, he stops the can and gets off running to Four and uses his mouth to pull four out. “Hold on, l-let me just…” he pulls four while Four tries to hold the paint can still to help Three out.

“Just hold still you idiot! That stupid paint keeps rolling!�� barks out as he attempts to pull again “I’m trying dammit!” as three tries to pull out four he hears a sound behind him. He turns around seeing Mario extremely furious, Three’s eyes go wide “AHHH FUCK!”

“MARIO IS… SO DONE WITH THIS STUPID CHASE! AND YOU WHAT THAT MEANS, BITCH?! NO MORE MISTER NICE GUY.” Three starts to shake in fear when he hears the growl coming from their avatar as he keeps attempting to free his partner. Mario gets closer to them causing more panic in Three, until a tall woman grabs him. It was Saiko who wasn't happy that Mario is using her wooden hammer, as Saiko gives Mario a piece of her mind Four finally got free from his canned prison. The pair run together to find a place to hide from their avatar.

Both of them looked around making sure Mario didn’t follow them, once they felt safe they relaxed. That’s when they noticed their kids in their bodies were running to the candy shop. “THERE THEY ARE!” Three is about to run up to them, only for four to stop him which flustered and confused Three. “Three! Mario is still possibly going after you, what if he finds you and tries to eat you again?” Four explained in a furious yet concerned tone. While Three would have to complain, Four does have a point. It would be a horrifying sight if the kids see him get eaten by their avatar, Three lets out a sigh before responding for Four “Ok, you may have a point. But how in the hell are we gonna even stop that idiot from trying to crack me open?”

Four started to think of a plan, they needed something that could get the red plumber off them so they can get their bodies back from their kids. That's when the light bulb lit up as he turned to Three. Smirking at him, Three’s expression changed to one of confusion, noticing the smirk “What’s with that face?” Four gets close to Three “Oh trust me Three… I got an idea…”

Mario managed to escape Saiko’s grasp making him wish he left her a note, he just needed the hammer to catch the meme children. Knowing Saiko, she would more than likely have punched him for even thinking of her hammer. Mario sighs as he feels his stomach rumble, he was still hungry and needed that egg more than ever. Suddenly he saw the very egg meme he was looking for circling around in one spot.

“Wow, look at me! I’m just an Eggdog, who is now lost. It would’ve been ashamed if I got eaten by a red fat Italian or something! Even though saying this is pretty useless since no one can understand us, unless for some reason the readers can read me and that idiot’s word in a meme body. So come and get me you fatass!!” Three speaks in a flat tone trying to get the Avatar's attention. Mario starts to dash at him, making Three start running.

He attempted to slow the red italian down by knocking objects over that was in his path, Mario dodges them easily until he threw a banana peel which surprised Three making him giggle. SMG3 then arrived at the spot where Four was placing the trap, the trap itself was a plate of spaghetti that Four took from the shop they were at. He then mixed it with a power up to help Mario fall asleep.

“Now?” Four asked, Three looked to his side where Mario was chasing him. “Now!” Three immediately runs up to Four and hides under the box, with the hole in it to see if their plan works. Mario stopped looking around trying to figure where the egg meme went, that's when his eyes met the plate of spaghetti “ooooooooo~~” without a second thought he jumped on the plate eating it.

“Mmmmm… Yummy!” As Mario finished eating it, he instantly fell asleep, meaning Four’s plan worked. Three and Four looked at each other and smiled, and as they escaped the box, they quietly sneaked away to make sure their Avatar did not wake up. With them now out of the view from Mario, the chase is finally over. Three and Four felt relief was over them knowing they are now safe.

“Now we escaped that fatass, we should finally-” as he tries to finish his statement they hear a familiar loud scream. “HOW DOES HE TURN IT OFF!” Four turns surprised “BEEG?!” SMG4 runs to the location of the scream, with SMG3 following behind him. As the two guardians reach the area, they pause for a moment and see that Eggdog saved Beeg from tripping himself into a weapon shop.

They eavesdrop on some bits of the conversation and hear how Eggdog is willing to protect Beeg. SMG4 smiled at the kids “Aw they are such good friends!” Three frowns not being a fan of how the pair are making them seem so close, that's when he hears people talking and pointing towards the kids “They seem much closer the last time I checked,” the other person nods “They seem like they’re dating or something.” he wasn't a fan of that, to escape his thoughts he nudges four.

“Oi! Focus on our kids!” Four lets out an awkward giggle “Oh yea right.” They start to follow their kids only to bump into someone. “CAN YOU AT LEAST MOVE- Ooh…” Three went from infuriated to a frightened expression as he realized who he bumped into. Four looked at Three then turned to see they bump into Karen.

Karen then turns and looks down to see that it was those two guardians’ kids. “Awww~~, it’s you two!” she smiled at them and then picked them both up to be carried. Three tried to get out by struggling, while Four started to panic.

“AHH! ARE WE BEING KIDNAPPED?!” Three still struggling until he gave up and looked at Four. “Yep”. Karen then started to walk away, causing the two guardians to panic. Four then calls out for help to the kids “BEEG! EGGDOG! HELP US!!!”

Eggdog paused. “Did you hear that? It sounded like your dad” Beeg turns around and sees his and Eggdog’s dad are being held by Karen. He then turns back to Eggdog. “Nah, it's probably in your head” Beeg replied in a deceitful tone then continued walking. SMG4 eyes go wide as it clicks he was ignored and Beeg had no plans of switching back. Three glares at their kids “YOU NAUGHTY KIDS!! WHEN FOUR AND I GET YOU, YOU TWO ARE SO GROUNDED!!!”

#smg4 #smg34 #smg3 #smg4 smg3 #meme swap #meme swap: side story #side story part 2 #body swap #family fluff #comedy #shygirl4991

49 notes · View notes