#if you give this a read reblogs/comments/tags are deeply appreciated thanks! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eydi-andrius · 1 year

Text

Agape

Agape is the kind of love that is felt by a person willing to do anything for another

cw/tw: dark!reader, lowborn (undisclosed) noble reader, delusions, heartbreak, character death, graphic description of death, deception, manipulation, implied sexual content, story is soooooo long and tags are not exhausted. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!!

pairings: aemond targaryen x reader

a/n: i was thinking about writing for a dark reader for a while now but i have trashed this story for like so many times. but i felt so bad throwing it away since it was technically done. SO I hope you all like this one hehe

As always, thank you for your support. I appreciate any comments and reblogs. It motivates me and makes my day hehe

summary: the heartbreak of someone lead to the death of another

~~~~~~~~

“Gods! Would you stop fiddling?” Aegon groaned in frustration as he massaged his temple. The way his brows knit together confirmed that he must have drunk too much again. His face was much paler than it usually was and his silver hair was messy and all over his face.

Concerned, you gave the water you had with you and your nose scrunched in disgust when you caught a whip of his smell. He smells like alcohol and sweat. It is now noon, but he seems like he has woken up.

“Don’t give me that look. I would never come to this god forsaken place if you did not invite me.”

You swallowed your contempt and did your best not to roll your eyes in front of the eldest prince. He calls the library the god forsaken place because Aemond stays here to read. Although today, he was practicing the sword with Ser Criston Cole. You truly do not understand how he treats his younger brother like a twat when all his life, Aemond had to do his all to cover up for Aegon’s shortcomings.

“I never thought you would care.”

And you are only here because you were afraid of the Queen finding out that you were drunk again and left Helaena alone during dinner.You kept your mouth shut and made sure not to follow with the words you have for him. You indeed asked him to come here and insulting someone you wished to help will only give you a hard time.

Instead, you cleared your throat and you heard him tutting in annoyance as his lilac eyes stared at you.

This bastard truly acts as if you owe him something. You still do not understand how Aemond became so perfect in what he does and his oldest brother is this useless.

You breathed deeply and smiled, the sweetest as you could, before you opened your mouth to speak.

“Tell me who was chosen to be Aemond’s bride.” You held his eyes with determination. It took a while as you two stared back at each other until he laughed with mirth. His voice boomed at the corners of the room and he was gasping for air as he did his best to compose himself.

“Ha!.....You called me….in here….in secret…..to ask me about something like this?” He was holding his stomach as he continued laughing. Tears were even coming out of his eyes in amusement.

“I……did.” You bit your lip, unsure. Maybe you should have relied on bribing the servants. You cannot help but feel stupid. The danger of Aemond knowing you were asking about his marriage was more of a threat to you than being with Aegon.

“Silly girl.” He laughed a bit more before he collapsed on the chair he was sitting at. He was laying there comfortably, staring at the ceiling.

“You put yourself in danger by meeting with me in secret instead of asking my brother about his betrothal. Do you know what the people would call you if they found out you were alone with an adulterous prince? A whore.” He said as a matter of truth, still not looking at you.

You know the danger you put yourself into. It was not as if you did not try to ask Aemond. You did. Many times. Many tries. Somehow, somewhat, he evaded your questions. So you bribed his servants but none of them knew who it was. But they promised they would tell you as soon as they heard news of her name. You trusted them, not because of the payment you have given them, but because you grew up in the castle with these people. You can trust them, right?

Until you caught word of the purpose of his last flight with Vhagar. Words claimed that he went to meet his chosen betrothed that day. No news was delivered to you from the servants. When you tried to confront them, they would give you excuses and reasons. No one can even look you in the eyes. You felt betrayed and alone. All of them had turned their backs on you.

“I know the danger I put myself into. But no matter how many times I ask, no one can tell me the truth. All I wanted to know was who she was.” You gasped in surprise when your voice cracked, laced with pain. You swallowed and did your best not to look at Aegon whose head was now risen and eyes directed at you.

Silence was loud between the two of you. He was just staring. Out of habit, you fiddled with your fingers. An act you do when you are nervous. An act hated by your family. It was more than annoying, it often left your fingers wounded. A noble lady destroying her soft hands was something not wanted. But was tolerated by Aemond. No, most of the time, he would hold your hand to stop you from picking the skin out of your fingers. And you would feel the heat crawling on your face. The blood rushing to your cheeks. His calloused hands were warm and comforting.

You were woken up by your reverie when Aegon’s chair scraped the floor and he stood up. You sat still and was waiting for him to leave when he stopped beside you. You felt his large hand pat your hair. As if comforting you. You looked up and met his eyes.

In anger, you slapped his hand away from your hair and he only gave a deep sigh. He continued walking past you and was half-way opening the huge mahogany doors, when he stopped midway. Licking his lips, he spoke.

He looked at you with pity. You did not like that. Being given a look of pity from the most pitiful person in this castle is much more insulting than being a low rank noble. It disgust you because you know you were far better than Aegon. How could he?

“It was a Baratheon girl.” Then slammed the door shut. His footfalls echoes outside and slowly fades away. The sound of the door closing was ringing in your ears while his words spiraled inside your head.

A Baratheon girl……..How could you even be on par with her?

Warm tears run down your cheeks and you close your eyes to calm yourself. You had seen this coming but you still dreamt of the day he would ask for your hand. Foolish imaginations of a life with Aemond and happily being together, full with his child. You thought that your love for him would be enough for him to forget his obligation as a prince and he will choose to marry you.

You were a fool for thinking he would choose you and turn his back on his duties as a prince.

You should have known better.

After many times he had rejected you.

Especially after that night.

The rain poured heavily on your face, almost painful, and it soaked your light green dress.Yet, you still chose to stand on the place where you asked; begged Aemond to meet you. One last time. You told yourself.

You sent him a letter which contains an apology and a chance to talk to him again. The hands holding your dress grasped the satin, nails digging on your skin, as you tried your best not to cry.

You wore this beautiful dress because you noticed how his eyes linger more whenever you have this dress on. But now, it was soaking wet and the feather light fabric hugged your body heavily. It feels disgusting.

The loud crackle of thunder spook you from where you were standing and that was what made the dam break. You silently cried and stood in the same spot, you have been standing about for hours.

You don’t even know if your body was shaking from the cold or from the agony of losing your closest confidant. Of losing Aemond by admitting to him that you have been in love with since forever. It was a foolish move to stop him from seeking a highborn noble lady’s hand in marriage.

It was cold that day, you were in panic and not thinking straight, when you ran up to where he was, admitted your feelings, and kissed him with no consent.

It was vivid how his face contorted from shock into rage. You have never seen him so furious. His eyes darkened when he pushed you away and your heart broke in a million pieces when he roughly scrubbed the back of his hand on his lips. An act of trying to erase what you did. He was your first and you were sure, you were his first kiss too.

His voice boomed when he raised his head and ordered you to leave. Scared, you did not think twice, running away from him. Since then, you have never seen him again. The areas he used to walk by were changed. And you know it was to lessen his encounter with you.

Everyday, you felt like a knife was stabbed within you and someone was slowly turning it around to deepen the cut. Everyone who knew and accepted that you were inseparable with Aemond keeps asking what happened. They never caught a glimpse of him around you for days and that was new to them. There were times that even though Aemond was busy, he would find a way just to have tea with you in the afternoon. They were curious about what changed. But you knew better.

In the Red Keep, only vultures live. They wanted to know what you did to the point of losing the prince’s favor.

They act as if you do not hear the whispers and speculations. Still you kept your mouth shut or sometimes fed them with lies to stop the sound surrounding you.

You gritted your teeth as you force yourself to smile as you lie on their faces. They nod as if understanding but once they thought you would not hear them, they will start to snicker followed by an insulting remark. The grins on their lips were wide and evil.

How you pray everyday that these ladies be blessed with no fruit and be thrown away for being useless by the very people they thought cared about them.

Your evil thoughts vanished when a heavy cloth was draped over your head. You looked up with surprise and came face to face with the second prince. His hair is a mess and he was wearing his dragon gear. Later, you would realize that he draped his robe over your head. His black gloves gripping the side of his robe to make sure it will not fall.

“Don’t you dare speak!” He yelled and you flinched from the volume of his voice. You closed your gaping mouth and swallowed. It tasted like salt and you know the rain water was mixed with your tears.

He then proceeded on getting a parchment from his pocket and the familiar paper was raised on his hand.

“I was not in King's Landing the whole day. What do you think would happen to you if I did not go home and see this letter!?” He screamed at the top of his lungs and all you could do was stare at him. You don’t even know if it was tears running down your face as you look at him. You haven’t seen him for a long time and you miss him.

No servants wanted to share his whereabouts so you assumed he would be at the castle. You were lucky that he went back home.

Delighted to see him, you did not hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck. You were elated that he went right away once he had gotten your letter. You were still important to him and that made your heart sing with joy.

You pulled him out of the hug and held his hands, with a wide grin you shared with him your plans. He must have been worried sick and dying too without seeing you for a while. You were sure he would agree to what you have for him today.

“I’ve heard in passing that you were looking for a bride. I could be your lady wife and you could be my lord husband. I will always be loyal to you. And I am also the first to taste your lips and you with mine so I think this would be a marvelous idea!”

A grin was plastered on your lips as you talked to him. But he only stared at you. Then, a dark look passed through his face but you were too happy to see it.

You grimaced when you felt his hold on your hands tightened. His grip was bruising and intent to hurt.

“A-Aemond… you’re hurting me.” You tried to pull away your hand but instead, he pulled you forward. You stumbled, inches closer to him when he opened his mouth and told you something. Even with the rain and the chaos, you heard him clear as a sunny day.

“I cannot marry you. You are a lowborn noble. My family needed power which you will not be able to provide. Let the bond which we first had be the same. You are still my friend. My loyal confidant. Do not ruin it.” After staring for a while, he left you dumbfounded, standing in the rain.

His straightforward, emotion voided words, echoed throughout your head.

He has no use of you.

Your legs weakened and you fell on the ground. Staring at the pitter patter of the rain, his words stabbed you deeply and you fainted from the shock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You refused to go out of your chambers as his betrothal was officially announced. The people cheered. Even the servants were excited about the upcoming wedding of the second prince. But you know that everyone was just looking forward to the feast and freedom they would experience during their wedding day.

Meanwhile, the noble ladies were enthusiastic to meet nobles across the land who would visit to see this wedding. The days after the announcement was a torture for your heart. Although, you did your best to appear unaffected and happy for him.

Of course, there were rumors and insults thrown your way after the news, however, you did not let them in the mask you created. To save yourself and the only connection he had offered to you.

At the moment, you choose to be in your room to lessen having conversation with anyone. After the confrontation, you have been sick, fever barely going down for days. During those days, you never saw Aemond visit you. He probably chooses not to so he will not be sick, or that’s what you told yourself.

A sound of knocking caught your attention. You were confused because your servant went out and will be back for a while. If it was a visitor, you were in no mood to pretend and smile.

“I am not feeling well. I will go out some other time.” You shouted at whoever was at your door. Sometimes, some noble ladies or even servants knock at your door to check on you and invite you to go out. However, you refused them for two days now. The shock about the news was still fresh in your mind and you cannot process the pain you were suffering. They will never understand.

“My dear. ‘Tis I Alicient. May I come in?” With a jolt, you stood up and gasped, looking at the door. You did your best to fix your messy hair and straightened your days old chemise. When nothing happened, you decided to cover yourself with a shawl.

“I am going in.” She announced before she pushed the door open and you curtsied immediately. The motion made your head throb but the shock about the Queen’s visit was far greater than what you were feeling.

“Oh dear! Why are you up? You shouldn’t have. You are sick! Look at your pale face. You look so much thinner than when I last saw you.” She worriedly went over to you and held your hand, guiding you towards the nearest seat. You heard the door closed and you assumed that it must be Criston who decided to wait outside due to the status of your undress. You are an unwed lady and no man should see you looking like this.

The Queen fussed over you. You don’t even know how long until you end up sitting in front of your vanity while she brushes your hair then braids it. It was quiet for a while until she finally opened her mouth to speak.

“I know that you might not be feeling well but I needed to talk to you about an important responsibility I wish for you to accept.” You gulped when she started talking about why she was here. Alicient is a sweet woman but you have been here far too long to pretend a Queen will visit your chamber just to check how you have been. Even her own daughter Helaena doesn’t like her visits.

“The girl will be in need of a lady in waiting. And I knew Aemond had trusted you more than he trusted anyone in the palace. This position will also help your status in Red Keep and in this way, Aemond and his lady wife would be surrounded by their loyal subjects.” She finished as she tied your hair and she looked back at you in the mirror. She must have taken your surprise as a positive reaction and so she smiled.

“Fortnight, the wedding of Aemond will be held.” The eyes that had been staring at your fiddling hands, looked at her from the mirror. She is still focused on braiding your hair. Your mouth opens and closes from shock. That was way too fast. His wedding was announced days ago, yes, but he is no king that needed to be wed as soon as possible.

“We need people around us to whom we can trust. I know I can trust you. Please accept the offer for you and Aemond’s future, dear.” It was impossible that she did not hear about the rumors floating around about you and Aemond. So the fact that she was here to ask you, confirmed that she had spoken to Aemond and he denied any form of feelings for you aside from being his closest friend. With a forced smile, you accepted her offer and she gladly embraced you.

It’s not as if you have a choice either.

Being a lady in waiting for the second prince’s wife would boost your status and will also help your family. Other ladies deserve this position more than you but the Queen personally asking you to take the position, will solidify your status more than those other ladies.

She gave you one last sweet smile before she tiptoed and kissed your forehead. The action surprised you a bit but Alicient had treated you like her daughter too throughout your childhood. She had wished for you to get well soon and eat a lot so you would recover fast before she left.

Finally, alone to mourn another happy announcement.

~~~~~~~~

The ceremony was a blur.

The crowd cheered and they wished the newly wife and husband a happy marriage as you stood behind them as they waved to the crowd.

The feast tasted nothing and you did your task as they have taught you. Your body automatically helped out the bride to her needs throughout the day.

The whole day, Aegon looks miserable as he was not allowed to drink and be wasted on his brother’s wedding. Helaena helped throw the flowers and she even sang for her brother. Alicient was smiling and she looked at his son with love in her eyes. Meanwhile, you thought you were imagining it but now looking at his silver hair as he drank his wine, you realized that Aemond never looked at you, not even once in your direction. He always feels your eyes if you are looking at him and he has never been subtle calling you out before.

Standing behind them, you stare at his back the whole time but he was unnerved. The only time you pulled your eyes out of him was when the Baratheon girl called your name softly and chuckled lightly when she told you she needed help to change. She smells of wine and you know she was drunk. She was never kind when you first met her. There was an air of pride and status when you introduced yourself to her. She even told you that you should be thankful for the Queen for giving you such an important task. With a bow, you agreed and let her harsh words out of your ear.

She stumbled all the way to her chamber and you did your best to help her not fall. On the way to her room, the quiet of the hallways had made you realize something important. The two will consummate their wedding tonight and as a lady in waiting, you have to stand outside and wait for them to finish.

You will help her prepare. You will hear them. And you will see her after they do it.

What did you do to suffer so much for loving someone more than you love yourself?

“I was told you were close to my husband.” She said with a slur.

How shameful.

She acted so mighty when you first saw her but you know well that the pressure of the responsibility had made a small crack to her resolve. Ladies such as her will never know the cruelty of politics in King’s Landing until they are arranged to marry and see it for themselves.

Now, she is trying her best to assess your loyalty to her and is checking if you are a problem, a secret lover, of the said husband.

“I am merely a lowborn noble who grew up with the prince, my lady. My loyalty lies to those who stood beside him. I am entrusted for your care because he cares for you and your well-being.” You replied, as you helped her remove the pins on her hair. Her jet dark black hair spilled out. It was beautiful and well taken off.

She nodded and tapped your shoulder. You knew this would not be the last but she was drunk and out of her wits to continue for the night. She stood up and you understood that she needed help with her dress. You assisted her shimmy out of her corset and clothes. And you gave her satin chemise, that she brought for this special day. Once you did a last do over of her look, you bowed and she decided to sit on the bed.

“The one-eyed prince, Prince Aemond is here.” Your ears perked from the sound of his namee and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from looking at his figure as he walked inside the room. With a deep curtsy, you went to his wife’s side and did not dare look at Aemond even though you could feel his eyes on you for a second.

Once he went towards his lady wife. You slowly went to the door, servants followed you out and they quietly closed the door behind you.

Your eyes widened when it was Ser Criston you saw outside. He nodded in recognition and you did the same. The night will be long for you and your heart.

The sound of whispers, the creak of the bed, the groans and moans was like a torture for you. You know that being a lady in waiting means you have to make sure that they do it to secure an heir but maybe the Queen chose you to be in here to make sure that you will not be a problem. To torture you into giving up having any dreams of being with Aemond. How cruel if that was proven true.

Even with a lot of people outside their door, it was quiet. Except for the flicker of the flames from the torches and occasional hoots of owls. All the while you begged your mind to tune out the louds sounds they were making inside and let your mind wander and think of a fond memory.

You remembered those days where Aemond will look at you so softly and your heart will flutter when he smiles. His hands were soft and warm. He was so beautiful. However, the feeling inside your chest scared you. Your grandfather died from having a weak heart. What if you have it too?

You did not hesitate during that time to visit a maester and let him check your heart. He took your fear seriously when he saw your small face, paled with worry. However, you did not understand when he checked your body and you told him what happened. Not mentioning Aemond’s name. Somehow, it feels embarrassing but you do not know why.

He smiled oh so kindly and told you that you were a healthy young lady. He also refused to explain why it happened. Instead, he reassured you that your heart is normal and you would understand what it was once you get older.

And you did.

One day, when the young noble ladies sat down for an afternoon tea. They talked about love that day. They shared the feeling of falling for someone and you can’t help but blushed when you realize what your feelings were. Since then, no matter how much you try not to fall deeper for him, everything he does pulls you into him further. Everyday your heart yearns for his heart to accept your love.

Thoughts left your mind, when suddenly, the Prince’s servants enter the room. It did not take them long to help Aemond out and you curtsied once he was out. Instead of leaving right away though, he stopped in front of you and you can’t help but straighten your back and look at him.

“Make sure she will be comfortable. Help her out.” That was his last words before he walked away and slowly went back to his room.

After everyone made sure the Prince had left, followed by Ser Criston, you were the first one to enter the room and you saw the lady sitting on the side, a blanket covering her lithe body, her back turned to the door. She was shaking.

They said that the first always hurts.

Your eyes scan the bed. The sight froze you for a moment but you composed yourself and nodded to another servant to confirm that the wedding was consummated. The dark stain on the white sheet did not lie. The lady’s original servant smiled before leaving. And you knew it was supposed to be a happy moment, but deep inside, your whole heart crumbled to pieces. This night seems to last forever.

Trying not to think about it, you softly called his Lady Wife and told her you readied a bath for her, with oils that will relieve the pain of her first.

The lady nodded and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying.

~~~~~~~

Your death is upon you.

You remembered it was raining that night.

You remembered feeling hot with pure rage and anger about her lying to Aemond.

Somehow you caught rumors about the child she was carrying was truly a bastard. It turns out the reason why the Baratheon’s was rushing the wedding was because her daughter was already pregnant.

You would never care for such things because they were just rumors. Until a month after the wedding. She announced she was carrying an heir. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be pregnant that fast after the times Aemond had visited her chambers. But then you were the lucky one to witness her betrayal. You were carrying out some tasks that morning, when you saw your lady’s knight kissing her hand. The oddest thing was the way they looked at each other. It was full of longing. Then with full passion, Aemond’s wife grabbed the knight’s face and kissed him. You left a silent gasp and did your best to move far away from them, scared about what you had witnessed.

You have told yourself that maybe you saw it wrong but there’s a voice inside you, screaming in anger to save Aemond from their lies. In your free time, in secret, you looked for information about their relationship and you found out that they were indeed lovers. You have sold all your riches you hid for yourself for this important information. And this will not end well.

It was maybe the pure rage that made you do it. You do not know. But earlier all you could see were red from madness…….. until it faded and the only thing in your field of vision was her limp body full of stabbed wounds lying below you. Your hands, red from her blood, and red drips down at the tip of the knife you used to stab her.

Your legs were in between her, completely trapping the lady, and your dress was drenched with a warm, deep red color. You looked at your reflection at the bath water she was supposed to use, that you prepared for her. Your hair was all over the face and your face had scratches from her nails when she fought back.. You were breathing heavily and you watched as your face contorted from rage, to shock, into absolute terror. What have you’ve done!?

In denial, you shook your head, looked around, checking if anyone saw what you did. Once you confirmed no one was around, you quickly came near the bath water and cleaned the blood off your hands, your hair and face.The stench of iron was strong and you can’t help but vomit in disgust.

In panic you stood up, knife clattered on the floor. With shaking hands, you check her nose for any signs of breathing but only her glassy eyes stared back at you. You let out a silent scream.

You were occupied thinking and mumbling about what you should do, what you must do while scrubbing your body raw. That you did not hear the creak of the opening door and footsteps of someone entering the room. Aemond’s voice calling your name froze your body and slowly, you looked at him. His eyes were wide with fear and his mouth agape from shock. You know he doesn’t need an explanation about what happened and it was obvious what you did.

You were mumbling incoherently when you felt someone touched your arms and his calloused hand, grabbed your chin and forced you to look at his lilac eyes. His face was eerily void with emotions when he asked you a question.

Before he could speak, you were on your knees, hugging his legs, begging for forgiveness. You rambled about what you found. Told him about what you had witnessed. That the child wasn’t his and the marriage was all a plot planted by the Baratheon’s to take advantage of the throne. You even shared what you did to acquire the truth, what you have to sacrifice. But you were so mad that you confronted her yourself when you found out the truth, and it all led to this. You were a sobbing mess and you do not know if he understood your words but you still told him everything….everything you know without missing a beat.

“How sure were you that the child wasn’t mine?”

“The servants from the storm end confessed to me.” You were choking from your own tears as you mouthed where you got the confirmation. He stared at you for a while then you heard him sigh. He then dropped you to the floor and you crawled backwards when he went back out of the door. The worst was already running inside your head. You will die the cruelest way and you admit that you were not ready for it. All you did was protect Aemond. The love of your life, right?

Outside, you heard a grunt, then the door swung open with a bang. You saw him carry the Baratheon girl’s loyal servant inside. He then dropped them off the floor, in front of you. And you gulped. Confused as to what was going on.

“Change your clothes into hers. Then make sure she will wear your clothes.” You frowned about his order but then he looked at you, eyes all serious, and so you nodded and did what he told you to do. He then spoke again and you were surprised by what you were hearing coming from his mouth.

“No one will know about today and that servant will be you now.” Even not fully understanding his intention, you removed your clothes and made sure to clean off the blood on your body before you changed into the servant's uniform. While you were changing, Aemond was busy dragging bodies of the servants and knights you poisoned before killing his wife inside the room.

“Here and go to the room near the library. Everyone was outside, celebrating for Aegon and to see the celebration, and so I am sure no one will see you. Go behind the wall, we used to hide and you’ll see a secret passageway to go outside. It will take you near the sea. Pretend to be drenched, and buy a new set of clothes. Ride a public carriage boarding to riverlands. Go to my bought home and they will let you in if you show them my seal. Live there for a while and hide. From now on, you are one of the people who will die in this fire. You are now dead. Do not come back.” He instructed, carefully and clearly.

“What fire?” Confused you asked. Until you witnessed how he shoved all the candles at the flammable clothes and fabrics inside the room. You were frozen at your place as you watched the flames eat everything, everyone inside the room. You heard your name but you stood there, stone cold. You cannot take your eyes away from it until he tugged you out of the room. Running and dragging you to the chamber near the library.

He held your hand as you two made way to the secret passageway. It was quiet and only the sound of your feet walking, echoing, on the walls. He then stopped at a corner, with two different turns.

“How about you? I do not understand why you let me go.” You asked worriedly, still out of it.

“Be safe and be careful. This will be the place we must depart.” He said.

“I will be fine. This path will lead near the room I was last seen by knights. No one would suspect I was with you. Go before the sun rises. Take care and make sure to live through this night. Do not come back to King's Landing.” He squeezed your arm to reassure you one last time. He then gave you his robe he uses as a disguise, and you nodded at him as you ran towards the exit.

Once outside, you followed his instructions. You pretended to trip on the water and the people around helped you out.You laughed at the vendors and made humor of your status, and they willingly helped you change your clothes. You made sure to buy the most common dress you could buy. After you changed, you made sure that your previous clothes would be underwater, as you wrapped it tightly around a heavy rock, before you dropped it. Watching it be engulfed at the deepest of seas. Then you rode a carriage heading to the riverlands.

You watched from afar as the billow of smoke was seen at the Red Keep. The people at the market slowly moved towards the castle while your carriage continued moving forward. The truth will turn to ashes in no time. Only the two of you would know what truly happened.

~~~~~~~

In the next town, you caught the whispers about the death of the prince's wife and all of her servants and knights. The news said that the king’s landing was in chaos and the king of storm’s end was furious. They said nothing remained out of those people but ashes and black chalk.

“How cruel. Who could have done something like this? To a pregnant woman too!?” The old folks voiced their fear as they served you with your food. They looked like they were neighbors and it was too early for anyone to arrive at this place so they still have the time for nonsense chitchat.

“Ha! Whoever that was he will surely be killed. I am sure of it.” They continued gossiping and you swallowed the food as fast as you could. You did not even taste it but told the owner it tasted wonderful and gave her a bit of silver added from your bill. She thanked you and wished you well on your journey.

The walk outside was peaceful, no one was out this early and you enjoyed the sound of the wind. You decided to drop to the town before the Riverlands and throw out the plans Aemond had made for you.

You were not certain that the child wasn’t his.

You smiled at the innkeeper as she greeted you when you walked back in. You rented a room to stay at this place to do your other plans. Once inside your room, you sat in front of the fireplace and prayed for the gods for forgiveness for what you have done.

With a deep inhale, you threw his seal on the pot you put atop the scorching fire. You watched before your eyes how it melted and carefully poured it out into small pieces. Once done, you put it in the water to cool it.

The whole process did not take too long and you readied yourself to ride the horse you bought with your coins for another journey. The fire in your eyes cannot be extinguished as you yelled for the horse to run heading towards the north.

No one will know that you lied.

But if it wasn’t his, then you did it because you love him so much.

If the child was a fruit from him, then the death of that child was the karma he deserved for breaking your heart.

All your lies will die on that fire and you will start anew in the north where no one dares to live because of the unforgiving cold.

It is true that a person will do anything for love. Tragic maybe for others but you regret nothing.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #prince aemond #aemond fic #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd fic #aemond x reader #dark!reader #eydi andrius #fic: agape

456 notes · View notes

red-riding-wood · 3 months

Note

I’m so sorry about what happened to you and so many others. Disgusting misogynistic behavior. You all deserve so much better ):.

Also sending this bc I do believe he has made two new accounts. Drcranessweetestdoe and monsterfromthewoods. I have no proof these are him ,but it just strikes an absurd resemblance to his writing and he seemed to interact with both of them a few weeks ago. The first one hasn’t blogged in weeks either. Just seems strange. Once again though, I could be wrong. Just something for everyone to stay weary about. Stay safe ❤️

Thank you for the well wishes, anon! I really do appreciate you reaching out. <3

From my conversations with @drcranessweetestdoe, she does not behave like Kill (nor does her writing style compare to his), and I am pretty positive he is incapable (or at least very bad) at taking on different personalities since I believe I witnessed his attempt with the second account you mentioned. Aurora is very sweet, and she used to be a fan of Kill's writing and mine. I don't want people to be suspecting her of foul play because I do believe she is genuine. Kill has a pattern of reblogging fics as a way of seeing what victims he can latch onto and I see that as a coincidence with his reblog of Monster's.

As for @monsterfromthewoods... I was hesitant to make a callout, mainly because no one has actual solid proof that he is Kill. But, there is too much evidence for me to ignore, and I wanted to give my honest opinion and observations. Monster, if you are not this person, feel free to reach out and vouch for yourself, and if I am wrong, I am deeply sorry.

Fuck that. As I was typing this message up, I decided to check my DMs and noticed that my friend had said that he gave her the same name that, as of this morning, was revealed to me as his actual name along with his real picture and Facebook profile. That really sealed the deal for me. Here is the rest of my evidence to prove that this is "Kill":

Monster followed my friend around the same time that she blocked Kill.

Monster followed me the same day that I sent Kill a confrontational message, calling him out for his lies and pleading with him one last time for medical treatment and answers.

From the posts on Monster's account, and the one comment I know he made on my friend's post, his personality exactly fits Kill's. This is why I said I do not think he is capable or likely to be able to craft a believable persona.

Monster made a post about suicide, and a pro-Palestine post, the former of which Kill discussed with me a lot and the latter my friend pointed out as suspicious since Kill was also very strongly pro-Palestine. Seeing as Monster doesn't have that many posts yet on his blog, this isn't irrefutable evidence but it is very coincidental.

Lastly, I actually did my best to analyse and compare Kill and Monster's writing, since I had recalled a few things that stuck out to me when I read Kill's writing. Him and Monster share many similarities with their writing habits/consistencies. They are as follows (the examples listed are from 18+ content so please do not view if you are a minor):

Use periods and exclamation marks -- but never commas -- as punctuation to end dialogue tags.

Starter dialogue tag always facing outward. Like: ”So... Tight”

Tend to each use a snapshot style of writing, favouring incomplete sentences with frequent use of periods. Examples: K: "His mind, usually so sharp. Focused and organized like the most expensive machines. A killing machine, that worked in perpetual motion, living off killing, adrenaline used like a drug." M: "Your dear, understanding doctor. Doctor Jonathan Crane, who laughed out loud suddenly a couple moments ago. The dark colour covering his exotic looking eyes as he revealed his real nature to you."

Similarly, they both tend to avoid using possessive pronouns and determiners. Examples: K: "_ Pale, little pussy peaked from between her thighs." M: "The scars covering _ man's pale skin," _ = absence of "her, that, the," etc.

Often use adverbs after verbs in a way that feels out of place.

Capitalise after ellipses, always.

"Y/n" always has a lowercase "n".

Sometimes use three ellipses, often use only two.

Use "pants" but never "trousers".

Yeah, so, I may have spent way too much time on this. And I think most of this is redundant, now, especially after the name revelation, but still, I put work into it and didn't want it to go to complete waste lmao. I also had no idea until I was tagged today that apparently there are programs that do this sort of thing for you. Oops.

#asks #mrkdvidal1989 #worst con man I've ever seen

49 notes · View notes

foxgloveprincess · 25 days

Text

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader, Lance Tucker x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: You’ve never had a vacation quite like this.

Word Count: 2,996

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Stalking, Fear/Paranoia, Horror Elements, Unreliable Narrator, Yandere Vibes, Kidnapping, Bondage, Drugging, Smut (Vaginal Penetration, Fingering, Car Sex, Coitus Interruptus), Pet Names (baby, li’l birdie, pidge, etc). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: It’s time. Let me know what you think!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Trees pass outside the window. Lance holds your hand in his lap. You breathe deeply. A full week. Just the two of you. Lance’s cabin in the woods. Despite how your stomach flips, you’re excited. The first time really alone with him. Possibilities endless.

“Just another hour now,” he says with a squeeze to your hand. “How’re you doing? You need to stretch your legs?”

“I’m alright,” you say softly. “How about you?”

“I’m fine,” he says with a kiss to your knuckles.

Your sigh and look over, a contented smile quirking his lips. Gaze tracing his profile, you can’t get enough. The strong set of his jaw and the crinkle around his eyes. Even the cute little bump on his right ear. It’s not even just his dashing good looks either.

The warm fuzzy feeling whenever he puts his attention on you plenty of reason to keep you enamored. Or the way he takes care of you, thinks of you, and appreciates the things you do in return. He’s picture perfect. You could really fall for him.

“Oh,” you comment, reminding yourself in your reminiscing, “I thought you might want your electric shaver, so I packed it with a few extra batteries charged.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” He chuckles. “I wasn’t sure I wanted it.” His fingers release yours to caress the sides of his face. “But even now the stubble’s getting a little itchy.”

You smile and turn your attention back to the window. With only an hour left, you figure the time will pass quickly. It’s then you feel Lance’s fingers tickling along your thigh. You readjust in your seat, hands falling to your lap and grasping at the fabric of your skirt.

“What are you doing?” You ask in a whisper.

“Making the time fly.”

His hand disappears under your skirt. You raise yourself from your seat, wary of his intentions.

“But the road—”

“We’ll be fine, cupcake, now let Daddy play with his pretty pussy.”

You withhold the cringe and settle back in your seat, your legs spreading on the leather. He hums deep in his throat. Lips pressed together, you try to swallow down the whine when his fingertips make contact with the fabric of your panties.

The trees keep passing outside your window, stretching for miles in every direction. As the only car on the road, Lance lets his foot off the accelerator, letting more of his attention fall to you.

Your pulse thrums and flits through your veins. An excited trill that spikes higher and higher the more Lance teases.

His fingers slip between your silky panties and your cunt, already sensitive with your arousal. He toys with your lower lips, massaging them and tracing their curves. His nails gently scratch over the tops of your thighs. You shiver. The anticipation kills you.

Your lips part, breathy pleas of, “Lance, I need more. Want to feel you so bad,” falling out.

Your boyfriend simply chuckles and keeps up his game until you drip. Coat his fingers, fill the car with the scent of sex, and squelch around his playful prodding. Only then does he show mercy. Circling his thumb around your aching nub and angling his fingers to plunge into your pussy.

You grip his forearm, head tilting back in relief. Filled as much as he can. He breathes deep and shifts in his seat. Track pants tented with his dick.

As worked up as you are, you’re unsurprised when your orgasm crashes over you. Sending you spiraling through bliss and clenching on his fingers. You grip at the handle above the passenger window and roll your hips with the movement of his wrist.

“That’s it,” Lance coos, “show me everything, baby.”

Your eyes close a moment to gather your wits, a satisfied hum droning in your throat. His fingers retreat, petting over your pussy one last time. When you turn to your boyfriend, a cocky smirk plasters on his face. Looking at each mirror and out the windows, he wipes his fingers on his track pants while pulling off to the side of the road.

“Are we here?” you ask, glancing around with him.

“No,” he replies, throwing the car in park and nodding toward the backseat. “But I can’t keep driving like this.” He gestures to his pants and a thrill zips through your veins. “So I’m gonna fuck you back there until your legs give out.”

“Won’t someone see?” Your voice drops low, excitement laced through the words but still wary.

“No one will see you,” Lance promises, taking your hand in his. “Don’t you trust me?”

You inhale a shaky breath and nod.

It’s a squeeze, but you climb to the backseat of the sedan. Lance unbuckles and gets out of the driver’s side. Quick fingers discard your panties on the floor and you tug your skirt up and out of the way.

Lance opens the back door and sighs. “That’s what I love to see.”

He leans in for a kiss, pinning you to the seat and closing the door behind him. It’s a cramped space, but you make do. His hips slotting to yours and your packed pillows making just enough cushion for your back and head.

He stretches you around his cock and rocks his hips. Thrusting into you at a steady pace. Your face tucks into the side of his neck, breaths panted against his skin and fingers combing through his hair.

“Lance,” you moan, legs locking around his hips. Your eyes squeeze shut, finding that glimmer of another orgasm right within reach. “I’m gonna cum.”

He grunts and jolts you as his hips clap faster against your own. The thrill of breaking the rules, of your naughty tryst, adds to the steamy grit of the moment. You reach between your bodies with a free hand and circle your clit, cumming with a cry and clutching Lance closer to you.

His lips slant against yours, swallowing your sounds, tongues tangling. His hips stutter so close to his own release. He only stops with a knock on the car window.

“Shit,” he growls, pulling away from your lips.

Heat floods your cheeks. Heart skipping a beat, you’re too scared to look out the window behind his back.

“You folks alright in there?” a deep voice asks.

Under your breath, you chant a succession of, “oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Breathing heavily, Lance adjusts your skirt and calls out, “We’re fine, fuck off.”

“You sure? It looks like your tire’s low on air and—”

“I said, fuck off,” your boyfriend repeats with a little more bark in his tone. He glares over his shoulder, slipping out of you and pulling his pants back up.

You grimace and take a peek. The man stands outside the window. A smirk tilts his lips, his hands shoved in his pocket. He wears large glasses in retro frames. Long hair pulled away from his face but falling out of its tie. He meets your eye through the glass and winks. Nausea pools in your belly.

Your hands grip at Lance’s biceps, shaking now not from pleasure but an instinctual terror. That man is dangerous.

He shrugs after the briefest moment and says, “Well then, you best get on your way before something does happen.” He backs away and turns from your car.

Your boyfriend blows a frustrated breath between his teeth. You smooth your skirt over your thighs and breathe deep, keeping the panic at bay.

“Oh my god,” you whisper in the quiet of the car.

“Hey,” Lance says cupping your cheeks, “he didn’t see anything. We’re fine.”

You nod and wait for him to get up, freeing you to step out of the backseat and take a lungful of fresh air. The stickiness cooling on your upper thighs. You shiver and glance to where the man stood. Relief yet to settle.

Thwack.

You keep an ear out for every chop. Lance outside preparing some firewood. Wrapping the blanket more fully around your shoulders, you descend the stairs. Assured of his presence.

When the two of you had arrived, you were impressed by the cozy structure. Some running water, electricity, but no heating or cooling. With the temperature dipping, Lance insisted on getting a fire started. But that required a trip out to the shed and some time spent with an axe. If you listen closely, you can hear his labored breathing and his grunts.

And you’re listening closely. Ever since that man knocked on the car window, you’ve felt off. Something amiss, crackling in the air around you, making your hair stand on end.

You’re halfway down the steps when you hear a dull thudding sound in the kitchen. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you jump, slipping down three of the steps. A yelp flies from your mouth, hand clutching to the railing with a death grip.

Frozen in time, you try to catch your breath. You’ll drive yourself batty like this. You breathe a moment, listening for the thwack of Lance’s axe and sit on one of the steps. Your phone buzzes in your pocket again. The reminder notification that you have a text.

Sighing, you pull the device out and marvel at the reception. Lance did mention something about a cell tower nearby. The screen shines up at you. An unknown number attached to the text—and a picture.

Your finger swipes before you can comprehend what’s happening.

Grandad said to say that he doesn’t miss you!

The picture shows Harlan sitting in his personal study, a game board between him and his grandson. Bewilderment doesn’t really begin to cover how you’re feeling. Unsure why he’s contacting you. For one, he promised not to. For two, what a strange thing to say. For three…Your phone blips with a new text just received. The next message from Ransom filling in under the photo.

What he actually said was to enjoy your week off, but asked where you kept your notes on the stonefish?

Brow pinched in both confusion and concentration, you type out explicit instructions where you filed the information in your desk and what page of your notes might prove most useful.

A shadow dances in the corner of your eye as you press Send. Your head whips up to catch the figure, but find no one. You clutch your phone in a tight grip and stand back up.

You walk to the bottom of the stairs and turn to the kitchen. Peeking out the window, you expect to see Lance, hear him still hard at work. All you see are trees and the afternoon sun casting shadows across the landscape as it dips closer to the horizon.

Perhaps he’s building the fire now? You glance over your shoulder toward the living room. But he’s not there either.

Fear grips your body like an ice cold hand. Something’s definitely wrong.

A white scrap of paper sits on the kitchen counter, illuminated by an overhead light. You walk over, eyes darting about. A creak upstairs makes you scamper to the note and grab it.

“Lance?” You call up, hoping for a response from your boyfriend. Praying for one.

Your hand trembles as you fold open the paper and read the messy scrawl.

I’ll see you soon, pidge.

You swallow down a scream. Darting into the living room, you hide behind the couch. The scent of cigarette smoke clings to the cushions. Your nose scrunches in disgust. Neither you nor your boyfriend smoke. A hand raises to block out the scent.

A scratch skitters next to your ear. You stifle your shriek and whip your head around. Nothing. Your heart pounds. You’re hearing things. This is bad—this is bad.

The back door creaks open. You look over, hopeful of seeing Lance, but only make out a large, dark figure looming in the doorway.

“Lance, is that you?” you ask, voice shaking in terror.

No response. You tuck your head back behind the couch and crawl your way around it. Closer and closer to the front door. Maybe then you’ll be able to get to the car and drive. Call Lance in the safety of those four metal doors.

You make it around the arm and peek behind the back toward front door. A clear shot if you can hurry fast enough. The car keys just on the side table next to it. Casting a glance toward the back door, still wide open, the figure gone. Phantom fingers creep up the back of your neck. You swallow another shriek and bolt.

Hand wrapped around the doorknob, you struggle to actually turn it. Through your desperation, though, it finally swings open. You grab the keys and race out. Fresh air filling your lungs and spurring you faster.

Down the steps and feet away from the car, you fold in half. Over the steel band of an arm around your waist. The punch of air out of your lungs refills as you prepare to scream.

A damp cloth presses over your nose and mouth before you can even try.

Your head pounds. Like someone put a too-tight cap over your skull. Pressure behind your eyes threatens to make them pop, but you open them.

The world expands around you. Four posters to your bed, wood stained dark. Gauzy fabric draped across the frame. Wide open space with an artful rug, a black leather chair, an ottoman. The walls covered in art, arranged just so. Heavy velvet curtains hang over frosted windows. A chandelier dazzles from the center of the ceiling.

You swallow hard. You’ll admit it’s nice, design-wise. The duvet covering your body clutched tight in your fists. Panic seizes your limbs, unable to move. Even as your heart jackrabbits and tells you to gogogo.

Sweat sticks under your arms and gathers on your palms. You throw off the cover. The bite of the cold room prickles along your skin. Still dressed like you were before, at least. Though that means you’re still missing underwear. Lost somewhere behind Lance’s back seat.

One more glance around the room and you’re ready to investigate. All alone with no one lurking anywhere, you gather your wits and stand. Your left leg falls heavy to the floor. Weight following the movement down. A thick chain. Banded around your ankle. Tethered to the giant bed frame.

The length of it takes you to the closed door across your bed. Even stretching as far as you can, though, you can’t get your fingertips to reach the handle.

Not that it’s necessary when the door swings open and misses your nose by a hair. You jolt away and scurry backward, eyes and mind unable to connect the dots between them. The man before you and the circumstance in which you find yourself.

“Hey, pidge,” he says and even then you still can’t believe what’s happening. Convinced your mind must be playing a trick on you.

Ransom undoes the belt of the fancy silk robe covering him. It drops and reveals naked skin. Not a stitch of clothing left on his body once the robe puddles at his feet. His cock stands hard and bobs in the air. You swallow and look away. The flood of memories from your transaction overwhelming—enticing. Tears dot your eyes.

“I can’t wait to feel your pussy around me again.” He sighs and then groans. In the corner of your eye, you catch the movement of his hand stroking his cock. “Been waiting too fucking long.”

You whimper and back away. Hoping maybe once you get to the bed things will make sense.

Ransom follows you step for step until you fall back onto the cushion. He pins you to the covers and smirks.

“You like it?” he asks, nodding around to the surrounding room. “Once I had you, I knew you’d fit right in.” His nose traces along your throat. A shiver follows it and darts down your spine.

“What did you do?” you whisper, uncertain whether you want to hear the answer.

“I took what’s mine,” Ransom replies. His hands wander down your body, pinching at your hips before cupping your cunt in his hand. “I can’t stop thinking about this.” He squeezes gently. “About you.” He dips his head to steal a kiss. Groans against your lips. “Now there’s no more distractions for either of us.”

“But Lance—”

“Will get what’s coming to him. Thinking he could take what belongs to me.” Ransom chuckles. “Did he make you cum, pidge? Make you coo so pretty, like I did?”

You press your lips together. Refusing to respond to his crass comment and still trying to piece together what happened in the cabin.

“You texted me from Harlan’s study,” you murmur. Ransom nods in response and no longer waits for you. His mouth and hands busy reacquainting themselves with your body. “So you had a friend kidnap me?”

“Is it kidnapping if you’re mine?”

The questions hits you like a punch to the gut. Winds you as you puff out a breath. Letting his words hang in the air a moment, you shift as he sighs. Nails grazing along your hip. Your legs tremble and the chain jangles in the background. You shift and stretch, his touch plucking at your desire, coaxing it awake. Already you feel arousal pooling in your belly and making your lower lips slick. Recollection your enemy as you remember the delicious stretch of his cock, the way he took pains to ruin you completely. And cannot help but anticipate, ache for it again.

“If the door’s locked,” you finally ask, blinking away the tempting haze of lust. “Why do you have me chained to the bed?”He places a kiss right below your ear before meeting your eye. “I thought you liked to be tied up, li’l birdie,” he says with a sharp smile, descending down your body to reclaim his place between your thighs.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfic #dark #dark fic #lance tucker fanfic #lance tucker fanfiction #lance tucker x reader #smut #yandere vibes #tw stalking #stalking #kidnapping #tw kidnapping #attic wife trope #attic wives anonymous #18+#minors dni

21 notes · View notes

matildashoney · 2 years

Text

Delicate Point Of View: Chapter One

MASTERLIST // ASKS // PLAYLIST // TAGS Word Count: 10.1K CW: NA author's note: welcome to harry and hera's world. over the last month or so, i've been creating these characters and their story that mean so much to me, that i understand and relate to, all because of an album that means so much to me, to us. this is my first big story since loving you's the antidote, and i ask that you come into it with an open mind and heart, and give harry and hera a chance. i love these two so deeply, and i promise the rollercoaster you're about to go on will be well worth it. thank you to @gucciwins, @hunflowers, @loversgothumour, and @harryinsweats for listening to me ramble on and on about these characters that have become very real to me. i couldn't do this without your input and thoughts. and lastly, thank you to you, everyone that reads, because you're the reason i'm encouraged to write anything. i appreciate your love and kindness more than anything in this world. please, please leave comments and feedback and reblogs and likes and all the things! it encourages me! okay, enough rambling, welcome to harry (and hera's) house.

May is not necessarily the nicest time of year. Not in London, at least. Hera enjoys the weather in New York City in May much more than London, but it’s where she lives, where she calls home. And for the first time in nearly three months, Hera is home, soaking in the time to relax and take a break from work and travel in the comfort of her own home, with the familiarity of the people she loves around her. Like every other Thursday that Hera has off, her priority has been working on work emails and contracts to be sent out for Monday, residing on the couch with a blanket strewn over her legs, a mindless program airing in the background, and her phone tucked between her thigh and the softened cushion. Grant is at work, today, but he spends the weekends at her apartment in Hampstead Heath more often than not, and she’s expecting a call from him to say that he’s on his way.

Hera’s phone vibrates beneath her thigh, much earlier than when Grant typically calls on his way home, and not usually when Isla calls her to talk about their day. Her hand reaches for the phone, bringing it up to her face to see who’s calling.

And Hera has to look at the screen twice before fully accepting who is calling her. Grant will be arriving any minute, and she’s unsure what he will walk into if she answers the call. Hera tends to get emotional whenever she speaks to who is calling, and after not speaking to them for almost a year, it seems odd that they’re calling, especially when tomorrow is such a big day for them. Hera hesitates another second before deciding to answer, sliding her finger across the screen, and lifting the phone to her ear, clutching the device between her ear and shoulder.

“Hey, H,” is the first thing spoken through the speaker, and the name, the voice, the familiarity of it all feels like home. “It’s been a while. I’m glad you answered. How are you?”

“Hi,” she says smoothly, collecting her thoughts and picking at the fringe of the blanket thrown across her thighs. “I’m okay. I’m fresh off a tour, so I’m enjoying some time at home.” Hera waits a moment, and then says, “I’ll always answer. You know that.” One more moment. “How are you? Congratulations on your tour.”

“Thank you, H. That means a lot.” Hera can hear the ragged breathing through the speaker. He’s nervous, she can hear it. “I’m okay. Gearing up for tour, like you mentioned, and everything that comes along with that. My album comes out tomorrow, too.”

“I know,” she laughs breathily, shaking her head knowingly. The album is everywhere. Absolutely everywhere she turns, there is the album, the face she tries to shy away from, the reminder that he is always around. “I’m happy for you. Isla told me it’s your best work. I’m sure it’ll do amazing on the charts and all that. You always do.”

“I appreciate that, I do.”

Hera doesn’t mean to sound rude or harsh, but she has to ask the inevitable. Hera hasn’t spoken to him in nearly a year … it doesn’t make sense why he’s calling, now. Unless he found out. “Harry, I don’t mean to sound rude, but is everything okay? I’m honestly a bit shocked you’re calling me.”

Harry laughs breathily this time, and Hera can imagine him shaking his head. “I called you about the album, actually. It comes out at midnight, and, after much convincing from Mitch and Sarah and Isla, it seems apparent to me that I should call and give you a heads up.”

Hera knows in her gut what he’s saying, but decides to play innocent, maybe a bit naïve, hoping desperately she’s wrong. “Heads up? For what?”

“I, um, well,” Harry stutters nervously. Hera remembers that he does that when he’s anxious. “I wrote some songs about you, about experiences that involve you, and they made it on the album. I wanted to let you know beforehand before they’re out there and anyone else can tell you.”

Hera gulps and nods her head, although Harry can’t see her. Her suspicions were correct. Gut instinct always true. “Are you going to tell me which ones?”

“I mean, I think you’ll be able to tell with most of them.” Harry takes a breath and hums, almost as if he’s thinking about something in between sentences. “There is one song, though, that I want to send to you, now, if that’s okay, and hear your thoughts on it. I, I wrote it a while ago, back when you had told me about things with your family and friends when we were dating.” Harry pauses, and it feels as though he just reopened a wound Hera thought was stitched tightly closed. “I just, I thought this was the best way to tell you I was listening to you, and I was there for you. I know I should’ve shown that in other ways, but I wrote this, and I wanted you to hear it before the world hears it. It’s for you, Hera.”

“Can you send it through?” Hera asks, her voice going quiet as she sinks into the white, puffy couch, suddenly feeling very small and very seen. Harry hums on the other end. “What’s it called, Harry?”

“Matilda.”

Hera nods silently as a tear slips down her cheek, her hands reaching for her computer and opening her screen, typing in her password, and opening the new message from him. Her heart sinks as she opens the file, the name of the song written in bold, black letters. Hera knows exactly what day this song was inspired by; what happened and what was said, everything that led to the creation of this song. Choosing to block out the memory, Hera presses play on the song, leaving Harry on speaker on her thigh.

It’s strange. Hearing Harry’s voice over the speaker on her computer with him on the phone. Listening to a song written about her trauma and tragedy.

Hera blinks back tears, her heart clenching in her chest as the lyrics settle in, every word written to tell her the thing that her favorite childhood movie and novel always reminded her: you are not alone. Harry lets the words settle in before saying anything. He sighs, ready to speak, when Hera presses play, again. For another four minutes, the two sit in silence, Harry choosing to be oblivious to the streams of tears falling down Hera’s cheeks, because if he acknowledged it, he would be on his way over, closing the short fifteen-minute gap between their homes and rushing to her. He couldn’t do that, now, though. Not now.

“Hera?”

Hera sniffles when the song finishes, sucking in a breath before answering him. “Yes?”

“Is it okay? Do you hate it?”

“Of course, I don’t hate it. How could I? It’s beautiful, Harry,” Hera whispers, wiping her cheeks and closing her computer screen. “I just, thank you. Thank you for listening.”

Hera can’t see that Harry nods, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “I, um, I have a show in London on Monday. I believe Isla is coming. I sent an invitation to Grant, too. Mum and Gemma will be there.” Harry waits a second. “I’d really like it if you came. Come even for a few songs, you know? I, it would mean so much to me.”

Hera, although having fully believed that all her feelings towards Harry were gone, has a very tough time saying no to him. “I’ll see. I’ll try to come.”

“Wonderful. I’ll see you Monday, then.”

“I’ll try, yes.”

Hera moves to hang up, hearing the clicking of the lock and the sound of her boyfriend coming through the front door. Grant walks into the living room, seeing the phone clutched between her ear and shoulder and kisses her softly, murmuring a ‘hello’ before walking into the kitchen.

“H?”

Hera freezes. Did he hear Grant? It won’t be good if Harry finds out before she can tell him. Before anyone can tell him. “Yes?”

“Thanks for answering. I’ve missed you. I’ll see you on Monday.” And before Hera could properly respond, Harry’s hung up the phone call.

Hera takes a minute to calm down, wiping the tears from her eyes and setting her computer and phone aside on the coffee table. All of that can be collected later before she’s off to bed for the evening. At this moment though, she needs a warm, reassuring hug from her boyfriend that says that everything is going to be okay. Maybe she’ll call Isla before bed and tell her what happened. Maybe she’ll tell Grant. Maybe she won’t tell anyone at all.

Hera stands from her position on the couch and walks into the modernized kitchen – it was remodeled only a few weeks ago and barely looks lived in, with the exception of Grant always making a meal when he’s around – standing in the doorway for a minute and admiring the way Grant is milling about the room knowingly. Grant and Hera have been dating for nearly a year and a half, now, and he’s made himself comfortable in her home, in a space she once shared with someone else. Grant, always the most thoughtful, grabs another glass to pour water into once he notices her waiting at the doorway, a smile picking at his features as neither of them say a word.

Considering how busy their lives are, there aren’t many moments where Hera and Grant get to act like a normal couple, where they can cook dinner together and talk about their days and go to bed together. Hera wants to enjoy this tonight, and not worry about anyone else on her mind.

Grant speaks first. “How was your day, love?” Hera’s heart sinks further into her stomach as the tears well in her eyes. Grant is a good person, someone that’s been pining after her for years and has made the last year and a half as happy as it could be. Grant is good, truly good, someone that deserves to be loved as deeply as he loves her, and the moment he is brought up, it reminds Hera that that’s just not how she feels. “Oh, love, are you okay?”

Hera shakes her head silently, succumbing to her emotions, and walks towards him, laying her head on his chest. Grant cradles her head against his chest and slowly rubs her back as she silently lets the tears fall against his cotton shirt. Grant sets his chin on her head, “I’m sorry you had a bad day. Does it have to do with the call you were on earlier? Would you like to talk about it?”

“I don’t think so,” Hera sighs shakily, lifting her head and pouting out her bottom lip. Now is not the time to tell him that her ex-boyfriend called. Now is especially not the time to tell him that said ex-boyfriend has songs about her on his new album. “I’m happy you’re here with me. Thank you for being here.”

“Always, honey,” he softly smiles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her mouth. His kiss makes her smile, a half-smile that says, this feels right, and she tightens her arms around his waist. “What do you want to cook, tonight? I think you’ve got a bit of chicken we could stir up into some pasta, or we could make something from scratch if you’d prefer.”

Hera closes her eyes and soaks in the sound of his voice. Comforting, the sound of an old friend, someone she’s known nearly a decade. Loving, someone that loves her so deeply, that he would do anything, give up anything for her. Grant loves her, that much she knows. “Whatever you want, baby. Anything sounds good.”

Grant nods, cupping Hera’s cheeks and giving her another kiss, before loosening his grip and beginning to pull things out of her refrigerator to make for dinner. Hera watches him carefully, and she can see a future where their life is like this every night, not just one or two nights a week. Hera turns on the radio, closing her eyes and soaking in the last bits of sunlight piercing through the window as she washes the vegetables and sings along quietly to the songs playing through the speaker. Grant talks about his day working with the production team for an up-and-coming band on tour throughout the country, talking about how humble and sweet they were – quite the contrast from the usual artists and teams he works with day to day as a sound technician. Hera talks about the contracts that are being sent by a few different artists, saying that she has to choose which one she’s going to settle for by the end of the week. Grant offers to look over the contracts with her later that evening, and Hera smiles gratefully.

Amidst their talks of work and travelling, Hera’s ears perk to the sound of Isla’s name, Grant quickly saying that she mentioned a concert on Monday that they had been invited to. Hera can see that he walks around it as much as he possibly can, but the hurt that passes through Hera’s face at the mere mention of it is evident. Hera had decided before that conversation to not mention it, that she wouldn’t go. Now, however, it seems that it is up for discussion.

“About that,” Hera says, suddenly feeling very full and pushing her plate away from her face. Grant is staring at her intently, and she suddenly feels very sick. “Harry called me earlier. That’s who I was on the phone with.” Grant leans forward, hanging on every word she says. “He, uh, sent me a song that he wrote about me, for me. Asked, Harry asked if I would go on Monday, to the show. I, I’m not so sure I want to go. I don’t want it to be awkward or something for us to be there together, to see his family, to see him. I, I just don’t know.”

“June, my love, I would never force you to go if you don’t want to,” Grant begins, setting his fork down and grabbing her hand from across the table, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles comfortingly. Grant is so good at that, at comforting her. “I just –”

“Conditional statement incoming.”

Grant laughs at that, “However, I do think it may be good for you. Get some closure and all that. It’s okay that you miss him, baby. He was your best friend. Long before you and I were together, or any of us, pretty much. It may be nice to have him in your life again, you know, even if it’s just a little bit.”

“And I’ll have to see him eventually. Isla’s wedding is coming soon. I’ll definitely be seeing him there, you know. Maybe I should just get that initial awkward meeting out of the way,” Hera explains, taking a sip of water and swallowing dryly. All this talk of him has made her throat and mouth gone dry. “Considering we’re the Maid of Honor and Best Man.”

Grant nods, “I think this sounds like a really smart thing to do. I think it’ll be good for you,” he smiles softly, lifting her hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing her fingers gently. “I’ll be by your side the whole time. You won’t have to do it alone. You’ve got me, now. And Isla and Beau. I’m sure Mitch won’t let him do or say anything stupid, either.”

“I suppose you’re right, yeah.” Hera’s eyes travel everywhere but Grant’s face. All that has transpired in the last few hours feels surreal. Especially knowing that in a few hours, there will be songs about her released to the world, songs she’s never heard, songs she has no idea the context or what they say or how they sound. Hera wants to talk about it, to share her feelings, but how could she possibly do that with her boyfriend? “Harry said that there are songs about me on the album. Like I said, I heard one today, but there’s more. I haven’t listened to anything yet. I’m not sure I want to.”

Grant nods knowingly, “I know, baby.”

Hera’s eyes go wide, and she feels like she should sink further and further into her chair with embarrassment. “You know?”

“Mitch sent me the songs. Kind of like a warning, maybe. I don’t really know, actually. I didn’t ask what he meant by it, or what he wanted me to do with them. He’s the only one of them that knows we’re together besides Isla.”

“Did you listen? Are they, like, I don’t know.”

“I did listen.” Hera gulps, and Grant looks off into the distance for a moment, almost as if he’s searching for the right words to break this to her. His thoughts hurt him, that much she can see, and she wishes it didn’t have to be like this. Hera wishes she wasn’t still in love with another man, at the same time she loves Grant. Hera wishes he wasn’t everywhere they go, every turn a reminder of him. Hera wishes he wasn’t writing songs about her, touring the world singing them with people constantly questioning and blaming her for his heartbreak. “Harry still loves you, June. You know that, don’t you?”

Mixing all those words together in one sentence breaks Hera’s façade. All that she’s worked towards over the last two years, the therapy and talking and going out and finding closure on her own, it all feels like a lost cause with that one, singular statement.

Grant stands from his seat and takes their plates to the trash and then to the sink, rinsing them before putting them in the dishwasher and walking towards Hera. He knows that she likes a moment to collect herself before he says anything.

“Grant, I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know that, baby. I do,” Grant says, walking towards her and gently laying his hands on her shoulders, encouraging her to turn to face him. Hera leans her face on his abdomen and her eyes flutter shut when his fingers run through her hair the way she likes. “I love you, very much. And I know how hard this is for you. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m making you choose between having me and having him in your life. I’ll always be there for you. I just, I want you to know that I’m not letting you go that easily. If Harry wants you, he’s going to have to win you over fair and square. “Cause I’m here, I’m in this for the long haul. Forever, if you want.”

Hera’s skin prickles with goosebumps at the ‘forever’ comment. Grant seeing a future with her will never not make her react. “I doubt that’s what he wants, Grant.”

“Either way, I just want you to know how I feel,” Grant says calmly, leaning down and kissing Hera’s forehead. He lingers there for a moment, before pulling away and saying, “Do you want to go and run a bath for us? Might be a nice way to end the day.”

“Okay,” Hera murmurs, standing on her feet and tilting her head slightly to bring his mouth to hers. Grant doesn’t hesitate for a second, kissing her deeply and smiling when her hands come to grab his cheeks and hold him there for a moment longer. “Love you.”

“Love you.”

Grabbing her phone from the living room, she makes her way into the master bedroom and ensuite, turning on the water for the tub and shutting the door to let the steam begin to warm the room. Grant can be heard through the house, milling about, and grabbing his things as he shuffles into the bedroom, plugging in his phone and cautiously entering the bathroom. Hera’s eyes flutter shut as Grant places a kiss on the back of her neck, gently massaging her shoulders as she leans into his touch. Hera lays her hands on his, squeezing him, rolling her head back against his shoulder as his hands begin to wander down her body.

Grant doesn’t speak, merely caressing her body and cherishing the way her mouth feels on his. Hera’s words exist in whimpers and quiet moans, as they stumble into the bedroom and find their way to her mattress, her thoughts surrounded by the way she feels with her boyfriend heavy on her chest and her legs wrapped around his waist.

Grant finally decides to share his feelings when they’re in the bath together, when she’s laying on his chest, his hands running over her shoulders and down her sides. Hera is nearly asleep, her eyes fluttered shut with the feeling of his hands on her. He sucks in a deep breath, and Hera’s eyes open, knowing that he’s about to say something.

“Are you okay, Grant?”

Grant shrugs and gently turns her around, her thighs wrapping around his waist and her arms moving around his neck. “I want to be with you, June. I want to be with you and have a future with you. I don’t want to sound selfish, I don’t, but I want you, and I don’t want anything to come between us and what we have going.”

Hera nods understandingly. Hera understands Grant’s position. How could she not? Truthfully, it’s a bit surprising he’s as calm about all of this as he is. Anyone in his position would be angry, pissed, annoyed. And yet, Grant is here, encouraging Hera to find closure with Harry, promising her that he’d fight for her and their future together.

Hera leans forward and kisses Grant softly. “I won’t go on Monday if you don’t want me to. I completely respect your feelings on this.”

“I don’t think that’s the answer to this.” Grant brushes a stray strand of hair away from her face. “I think I should stay back. You and Isla can go. I’m sure you’ll have a good time seeing everyone. I do think you should tell him that we’re seeing each other, though. I think that boundary should be set from the get-go.”

“I understand, and I agree.”

“Okay,” Grant smiles, leaning forward and capturing her mouth in a kiss. His kisses are always gentle and never hurried, never rushed and needy. “I think we should get out, though. My fingers are beginning to prune.”

Hera and Grant laugh together, clambering out of the tub and grabbing their respective towels to dry off and settle into their pajamas and nightly routine. Grant is asleep before Hera, falling asleep almost instantly when his head lays against the pillow. Hera tosses and turns for a while, debating whether or not to send a text to Isla about Monday and whether or not she should go.

All of it seems like a bad decision, a poor choice. How could seeing Harry possibly go well? Hera is sure all of those old emotions will draw up again, will start stirring in her chest. How could she possibly face Grant knowing that she’s still in love with Harry, too? How could she hear all the songs written about her and not feel something? All of it seems like the start of a very big problem.

Hera sighs, tossing over and reaching for her phone and opening her messages with her best friend, typing out what she needs to before turning her phone over and cuddling into Grant’s chest to finally fall asleep.

I’ll be there on Monday. Pick me up at 6.

Grant stayed the night, and then was hurriedly called into work for the weekend for a run of shows that were last minute needing a technician. Hera sighed, disappointed that their weekend would have to be postponed, but she understood, nonetheless.

Out of all people, Hera would understand.

Hera debated on calling Harry all weekend and telling him that she would be there. On the day of the album release, Hera’s social media was flooded with congratulatory statements on the album and the radio was overwhelmed with his music. Like before, Hera couldn’t escape, even if she tried. Ultimately, she made the decision that she would simply show to the concert with her best friend and see what happens. Grant is only a phone call away if she needs to leave.

In the meanwhile, Isla did very little to hide her excitement about Hera joining her on Monday evening. Isla, nearly seconds after receiving the text, flooded Hera’s inbox with texts about what she should wear and what she would say, to which Hera dejectedly replied, “Isla, I don’t even know how I’m going to feel when I see him. Let me have a minute to think about what I’ll say.”

Isla took Grant’s place throughout the weekend, slinging a duffle over her shoulder and showing up at Hera’s house only an hour after she called, inviting her over for the few days that Grant would be gone before the show. Isla’s wedding is in a few short weeks, just under two months away, and Hera knew that she needed the time away from planning and the stress of it all – even if it was only a few blocks over at her best friend’s apartment. Hera and Isla’s days were spent with lounging around the living room and ordering in, cherishing their days off together and getting to talk about things other than the wedding.

Isla doesn’t ignore the elephant in the room, though. Hera knows it’s going to be spoken about eventually, she just, truthfully, doesn’t want to admit how she’s feeling about it.

One part of her, a very strong part, is anxious and very nervous to go. Everything is different, now. Harry and Hera haven’t seen each other in a year and a half, maybe longer, and everyone around them knows the secret she’s been trying to keep. His family will be there, and Hera will have to face two of the people that made her feel so special in the short time they were together, the two people she broke contact with afterwards. Hera will face his friends, the ones that called her after they split and begged her to just talk to him. Quite possibly the hardest one, will be facing Harry, himself, seeing the face of the man she loved so deeply, cared so much for, and risk all those emotions coming back at full force.

Another part of her, an increasingly growing part, is excited to go. Hera hasn’t seen her friends, her family in years. It’ll be a relief to see familiar faces, comforting smiles, and laugh with people she feels like she grew up with. Isla will be by her side, and there will be so many people there that she’s missed dearly. Sarah Jones possibly being the one she misses the most. Meeting new friends on the team, too, is something Hera always looks forward to. Hera has always felt most comfortable on tour, traveling, and meeting new people, and that’s exactly what she’ll get to do, tonight. Hera knows the risks, but she is very aware of the rewards that are waiting on the other end.

And as Hera is wrapped in her thoughts, Isla is in the bedroom simultaneously getting ready, nudging her towards the bodysuit and jeans that Hera had been debating on wearing for a few hours, claiming she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. Isla encouraged the outfit, knowing just how Harry would react to it. Hera isn’t blind to Isla’s intentions, and keeps reminding her that she is, in fact, with Grant. Beau is in the living room, waiting patiently for the two to finish getting ready. Hera and Isla made plans to join the after party – Isla made the plans – and they would need a designated driver home, queue the fiancé. Hera doesn’t say much as they get ready, letting Isla do most of the talking about the album and her favorite songs that Hera has yet to listen to and slyly mentioning that she may be joining the tour for the next leg, sharing her excitement for being on the road with their friends, once again.

“Are you excited, at all?” Isla wonders, smacking her lips together as she coats her mouth with gloss, her skin glistening under the lights of her bedroom.

“I mean, yeah, I suppose I am. It’s just, it’s weird. Knowing he’s going to be playing songs about me, with me there. Songs I wouldn’t know about if it wasn’t for Sarah and Mitch and you.”

“He’s excited to see you.” Isla meets Hera’s stare in the mirror. “What? Did you think I wouldn’t tell him? He’s been hounding me for weeks to get you to go.”

“This feels weird,” Hera mutters, pulling on her hair tightly to secure the hair in place, the curls falling loosely around her shoulders. “I feel like I shouldn’t be going.”

“Well, you may have to get over that feeling, my dear friend, because we have to go, otherwise we’re going to hit major traffic and never make it, and Harry will be up my ass about not seeing us before the show. Us, but mainly you.”

Hera sucks in a deep breath and nods, grabbing her purse from her dresser and opening her bedroom door, Isla following closely behind. Beau immediately stands and smiles at his fiancée, grabbing her hand and bringing her in for a kiss. Hera smiles fondly, happy that her best friend found someone that adores her as much as she deserves. Hera, in another life, always imagined that she and Harry would be the first of their friends to get married, to just one day decide and go to the courthouse and do it.

Hera shakes the thoughts from her head and follows her friends out to their car, climbing into the backseat and sending a message to Grant to let him know that she is on her way and wouldn’t be paying too much attention to her messages throughout the night, to call if he needs her. Grant assures her he would be okay and working, too, insisting on her going to have fun with her friends. Grant says he loves her, as he always does, and leaves her be.

Conversations in the car distract her for a while, enough to make it out of their neighborhood and to the venue in what feels like a blink. Hera sighs, getting out of the car and wiping her hands on her knees, the nerves growing every second.

Isla walks up first, smiling at security and giving their names. Hera is on the list.

It’s unusual, this feeling. Familiar but so foreign. Hera’s name has been on plenty of lists, especially in the last few years, but to be on Harry’s list again, it feels different.

Beau leads the way with Isla’s hand in his, walking past all of their equipment and road cases and all the different signages clinging to the rooms scattered through the hallways. Hera is in her own thoughts until she hears a familiar voice, Isla shouting, and Beau laughing. Her chest tightens, and she feels grateful that she’s hidden behind her two friends, in a way that makes her barely noticeable. Hera feels small, unsure, and her eyes dart behind her where she can make a break for it, leave without anyone saying anything. Hera is nearly turning on her heel to leave when Isla and Beau split apart, and the man she’s felt so conflicted on seeing steps between them, facing her head on, wearing the infamous crooked smile that always made her heart beat a little bit faster.

“You made it,” he says, his arms dangling awkwardly at his side, his lips parting in a softened smile. He steps forward and lowers his voice. “Can I hug you?”

Hera can’t find her voice, simply nodding and stepping forward, lifting her heavy arms from her sides, and wrapping them around his midsection, his arms coming around her shoulders and pulling her in tightly. Hera sighs, breathing him in and soaking in the familiarity of the cologne, the freshness of his toothpaste, the tightness of his arms around her body. Hera knows they’re standing there for a minute, maybe two, much longer than his hugs with Beau and Isla. Her voice is lost in her throat, and she wants to say so many things to him, to cry in his arms and say she misses him, but instead she tightens her arms around his waist and allows him to hold her.

“I’ve missed you, H. Missed you so much.”

Hera freezes, unable to say what she’s feeling without feeling guilty, and squeezes him tighter, before gently (and maybe a bit reluctantly) letting go. It’s painfully obvious that there are eyes on them, and if she’s going to say anything to him, she wants it to be private and on their own.

Harry loosens his grip, his hands falling to her arms and then her hands, his eyes travelling across her face, her body, soaking her in as though it’s a hallucination that she’s there, really there. Harry grabs Hera’s hand and intertwines their fingers, earning a smile from Isla and a warning glance from Beau. Harry shakes it off, walking forward and nodding them towards the dressing room where the band and the team were all congregated. The show begins in less than a half hour, and Harry would have to leave to get dressed and ready very soon, meaning Hera would be alone with her friends and she could figure out what she was going to say, when she was going to say it.

“Look who’s here!” Harry cheers as they walk in the room, Hera blushing instantly as their friends all stand and laugh and immediately rush over to greet her. Hera immediately feels at home, smiling brightly as she walks up to Sarah and wraps her in the tightest hug she could muster, willing the tears to go back and not ruin her face or Sarah’s outfit for the show. Mitch stands, holding their baby tightly in his arms and hugs her, smiling his infamous half smile and watching as his best friend admires the interactions from a distance. Mitch looks at her knowingly and she nods shyly, trying to avoid saying anything that will make the interaction uncomfortable for anyone, or say something she’s not ready to address just yet.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Sarah gushes, cupping her cheeks and bringing Hera in for another hug, squeezing her tightly and whispering in her ear, “Don’t shut us out, again, June. God, I’ve missed you. We’ve all missed you. Very much.”

Hera quickly wipes a tear from her cheek and nods. “God, I have missed you, Sarah Jones. I really have.”

“You and I, we have to get lunch. Make a day of it. Catch up on everything. I want to see my friend. I missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re here. Harry mentioned it to me the other day, but I didn’t really believe him.” Sarah looks at Hera for a moment. “I’m sorry for how things turned out. I didn’t want us to stop being friends, though. I want you in my life. You’re my friend.”

“You will. I promise,” Hera swears, smiling and turning over her shoulder, making eye contact with Harry momentarily before he’s looking away and walking towards the hallway, presumably going to get changed for the evening. Hera’s heart drops to her stomach, willing the uneasiness to go away, and she feels the urge to follow him and talk to him privately, to have a few moments where they’re just themselves and there’s no one around to influence what they have to say to each other. Isla quickly draws Hera out of her thoughts to introduce her to the band, everyone giving her a warm hug and greeting and saying that they’ve heard so much about her. Hera smiles and talks for what feels like hours, the comfort of being with people she loves and that love her making her nerves drift away one by one.

“On in five, everyone!” Tommy calls from the hallway, poking his head in the doorway and immediately grinning when he sees Hera’s face in the corner. “Is that June? The June Collins!”

“Hi, Tommy,” Hera smiles, walking over and accepting his arms crushing around her. “Good to see you, my friend.”

“Good to see you, June. Let me take you upstairs. Harry saved the best seats in the house for you,” Tommy grins, linking their arms and gesturing for Isla and Beau to follow behind. He walks through the backstage area and to the stairs where the entrance to the balcony is, looking at Hera intently before saying, “Are you going to be okay? Harry told me he called you about the album.”

“I will be, yeah. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

Hera, Isla, and Beau climb the stairs to the balcony. Isla squeezes Hera’s hand when they get to the platform, Hera sucking in a deep breath and trying to ignore all the whispers that were starting to surround her as she walks through the aisle and gets to their seats. Hera can hear the whispers, “Is that Harry’s ex?”, “Aren’t there songs about her on the album?”, “Next to his family?” and the overwhelming desire to leave is almost too much to ignore or deny. Hera spots her exit, making a plan for leaving in case everything gets to be too much.

And as Hera is navigating her makeshift escape route, her name is called through the balcony by a voice she could never forget. “Hera!”

Gemma immediately stands and is walking towards her, wrapping her in a hug and squeezing her tightly. “Hi, love! How are you? It’s been so long.”

“I know, I know. It’s been forever,” Hera admits, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed by the love that washes over her for the women in front of her. Anne and Gemma were nothing but welcoming and warm to her, always, from the moment they met to the moment they left. Anne never let her feel anything short of a daughter, as someone she could go to in times of trouble and lean on when she needed. Gemma was the sister Hera never had, a friend and a companion in the streets of London. And Hera, who admittedly cannot handle losing people, isolated herself when things went wrong, and lost the family that loved her more than her own family had. Hera’s eyes feel wet when she blinks out her thoughts, Gemma still standing in front of her, holding her arms. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you more,” Gemma smiles, reluctantly stepping aside when her mother gently nudges her shoulder.

“Hi, my dear,” Anne says warmly, wrapping her arms around Hera’s shoulders, much like her son, and squeezing her tightly. Hera takes deep breaths, willing herself not to break into sobs at the comfort of a mother’s hug, and her demeanor softens. “It’s so good to see you, here. Harry has not stopped talking about it. Having you here means everything to him. And to us. We’ve missed you.” Hera nods without saying a word. “Come on, you’re sitting next to me.”

Hera, Anne, Gemma, Isla, and Beau all make conversation in the meanwhile, talking about Anne’s travel down to London, Isla and Beau’s wedding, Hera’s most recent tours. Conversation flows easily, and for a moment, Hera forgets about everything that’s happened in the last two years, all the mistakes that were made and the regrets that are there, and she’s with her friends, with her family, and she’s home.

Isla nudges Hera’s side, nodding towards her knee where her phone is lighting up with a message. Hera quickly opens it, trying desperately to hide the smile on her face.

Happy to have you here. Always do better when you’re around. Enjoy the show. I’ll see you after. H x

Hera doesn’t have time to think of a response, because before she could muster up the courage to write anything, the lights are going dark, and the music is beginning to play. Anne and Gemma immediately stand, Isla and Beau following, and Hera shoves her phone in her pocket and follows suit. Everyone around her is screaming and cheering, and Hera can’t hide the smile on her face when Harry walks out and immediately finds her. He’s always done this; from the moment they started dating and she began attending his shows. He would find her first and foremost, everyone else could come after. Hera never doubted that he was in love with her. If there was one thing Hera knew for sure in this life, it was that Harry Styles was in love with her.

And that’s why when Harry begins giving the speech for “Matilda,” Hera has to hold back every emotion she’s feeling. Love. Heartbreak. Jealousy. Anger. Over the last two years, Hera has done everything in her power to accept that their story was a short chapter in her book, a thirty second clip in her movie, a singular song on the album. Hera has fought for her closure and to move on, to find love in other people, places, things. Hera has struggled to find home, to find family. And all of that, everything Hera has worked for, feels like it’s pouring down the drain as he introduces the song that she knows is meant for her.

Hera remembers the conversation like it was yesterday. Hera remembers the frustration pouring from Harry’s voice, his face, the way he was pacing around her apartment. Hera remembers the way he shouted at her, the way he said, “I hate to see you this way. I hate to see you so upset.” Hera remembers sobbing at the kitchen counter, sliding her phone towards him and for the very first time, allowing him to see all the things her mother has been saying to her.

“I just, I don’t understand why you continue to speak to them if they’re so cruel to you all the time,” Harry says, running his fingers through his hair frustratedly. “It’s killing you, Hera. All that they say to you is hurting you, every day. And yet, you still continue to pick up their calls and listen to them! I don’t understand. Make me understand.”

Hera couldn’t respond, she couldn’t tell him or make him understand. Hera couldn’t do anything, because, for a majority of her life, she never believed anything to be wrong. Hera clung to imaginary stories of mothers and daughters, of families that fought for each other instead of against, for films and novels that taught her she wouldn’t be alone forever. Hera cried until there were no more tears left in her body. Hera sat in silence while Harry calmed himself down, turning to her with tears in his eyes.

“Hera, baby, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You deserve to be happy, you know. You deserve to have a family that loves you and cares for you. Family isn’t always blood, okay? Friends, friends can be family. Friends are sometimes the best family you can have. I love you. I’m your family now, okay? Me, my mum, and sister. Our friends. That’s your family. This, this has to stop with your family. You can’t keep doing this to yourself every time you speak to them.”

Isla smiles softly as Anne wraps her arms around Hera’s body, hugging her tightly and laying her cheek against her hair as the song echoes through the venue. Anne kisses her forehead sweetly, whispering, “We’re still your family. Always.” Hera can’t bring herself to say anything, tears falling helplessly down her cheeks. Isla rubs her back sweetly, leaning into her and giving as much silent support as she could muster.

Hera looks to Harry and smiles, listening to everyone in the venue sing the song back to him. Hera can see the friends holding each other, the tears falling down cheeks, the way that everyone in some way seems to understand the pain she was going through in that moment, the pain she still continues to go through every day. Hera wants to give everyone a hug, to tell them that she understands. Hera knows the pain, the suffering that entails when your relationship with your family isn’t what you want it to be, isn’t what it should be. Hera has learned, however, that the friends you make along the way, can sometimes be the family you were always meant to have.

“Are you okay? That was a lot, I know. We can go outside for a minute, if you want,” Isla whispers, leaning towards Hera and squeezing her hand. Beau halfway steps out of the row, one foot in and one foot out, gesturing for the exit, but Hera quickly shakes her head, Isla smiling widely and suspiciously.

“I’m okay. Thank you, though. I want to see the rest of the show. I’m enjoying it,” Hera assures her friends, shaking her head and taking a deep breath to gather her emotions. Hera returns her attention to the stage and Harry grins at her, and when she smiles back, she swears she can see a blush on his cheeks. “Harry looks good. Happy.”

“Of course, he’s happy, Hera. Harry’s singing an album that just released to the person it’s about,” Isla says with a laugh, shaking her head dramatically. Isla was always the one to point out the obvious between Harry and Hera, even when Hera didn’t want to believe it.

“Oh yeah? And who would that be?”

“You.”

Hera goes quiet, unsure of what to say. Could Harry look as happy as he does because Hera is there? Maybe. Could the album be about her? Possibly. All Hera would have to do is ask for Harry to tell her. All of the questions that are swirling around her head suddenly get shoved to the corner of her mind when a security guard walks to the edge of the aisle and motions for the group to follow him, presumably backstage for the party when the show would finish.

Hera can hear Harry bidding his goodbyes to the audience as they walk backstage, her nerves beginning to bundle together and multiply as it gets even closer to the moment that’s been waiting to happen for two years, now. Harry and Hera alone, talking, sharing the things that have happened since they’ve been apart.

Hera has a beer in her hand and is talking to Gemma about the latest tour she’s working on when everyone begins to cheer and congratulate the man of the hour as he walks inside the room. Alcohol is being shoved in a million different directions and the band is beginning to file into the dressing room for everyone to talk and mingle in. Hera turns around and is immediately greeted with a sweaty hug, and she welcomes it, the feeling of his arms around her and the scent of him overwhelming her senses and the way everyone in the room seemingly disappears while they have this moment together, just the two of them. Harry grins at her and kisses her cheek without warning, and Hera can feel her face heating under his stare.

“Hi, H.” Harry’s smile couldn’t get any bigger if he tried. “Can I steal you away from my sister for a minute? I’d like to talk to you alone before everyone is pulling me in a million different directions and I don’t get to see you before you have to leave. Would that be okay with you?”

Hera smiles and nods, purposefully ignoring Isla’s grinning from across the room. Harry leads the way out of the mass of people and towards his dressing room a few doors down the hallway. Hera walks in first and sets her drink on the counter, Harry following behind quickly after shutting the door. Moments pass as the two stand together in the silence, both a bit unsure of what to say first. Hera looks at Harry longingly, and for the first time all night, she’s grateful they’re alone together, that she can say what she has to, and they can start over, as friends, and be in each other’s lives again, because the years that she’s spent without him, without her family, have been awful. Hera misses him, misses him deeply, and she’ll do anything to have him around, even if it’s in a limited capacity.

Hera opens her mouth to speak, to say this, but nothing leaves her tongue when Harry walks forward. He stands in front of her silently, his eyes travelling across her face and trying to gauge her emotions, how she’s feeling. Harry grabs her hands, holding her fingers to his heart, his heart beating erratically against her skin. He stares at her, as though the hallucination of her is going to disappear without a second thought, and he soaks in everything about this moment – that Hera is here, with him, and she’s happy to see him, to talk to him, to be alone with him. Harry has waited far too long for this, for this very moment, and there are so many things that he wants to say to her, to confess and share. He doesn’t know where to start, and by the looks of it, neither does Hera. Harry wants to go first, to get out everything before she can run away and never look back.

“Hera, I,” Harry breathes, struggling to maintain a steady rhythm as the emotions and the feelings of her touch on his skin start to cloud his judgement and his thoughts. “I’ve missed you. I miss you so much, Hera.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Harry. I have. Life hasn’t been the same without you in it.”

Harry’s eyes move from her own to her mouth, tracing over the flesh that he once knew so well. He quickly blinks back tears, breaking his stare and shaking his head, squeezing her hands before letting their hands fall from his chest. Harry sighs, swallowing all the heartbreak in his throat when he says, “You didn’t have to shut me out, H. I could’ve been around, even after everything. I wanted to be around. We all did, Hera. All of us, we all have missed you so much.”

“I couldn’t see you after, Harry. It was too hard for me. I understand that it was hard for you, I know that, but for me, I couldn’t. And that included our friends.”

“And now?”

“I just want to be around. I miss my friends. My family. I miss you.” Harry nods, his tongue poking between his lips, wetting the puffy pink flesh as his green eyes trace over her mouth. “I need to be around you all. It’s the best thing for me. In every sense of the word.”

“I need to be around you, Hera,” Harry whispers, leaning his forehead against hers, his mouth hovering dangerously close to her own.

“Harry, I, I can’t,” Hera sighs, the moment breaking and the realization beginning to hit her. Grant is waiting for her to call. Guilt is eating away at her already for being alone with him and remotely thinking about kissing him. Her emotions are confusing her, and she feels hazy, clouded. Her hands travel from her thighs to his shoulders, gently pushing his away.

“I shouldn’t ask to kiss you, I know, I’m sorry, I just, I need to, Hera. It’s been so long without you. I missed you. Us. Seeing you with Mum and Gemma and our friends and everything. I just, I need to kiss you. I miss you, Hera.”

“That’s not it, Harry. I, I miss you, too. I’m horrible for saying this, I know I am. All of this is so confusing and giving the worst signals to each other. All that I didn’t want to happen when we talked. I wanted to come and talk to you, tonight, to be friends. I just, I can’t kiss you. Not now.”

“Why is that so horrible? What’s wrong with saying that?” Harry can feel his insides churning, the anxiety and the nerves with what she’s about to say. Harry can tell something is off, the way she’s feeling guilty for this. He has a feeling, a gut feeling, and he’s praying that it’s wrong.

“Harry, I, I’m–”

Harry takes a step back, his hands running over his face and through his hair. He knows. Hera can tell that he knows and he’s struggling to say it. “You’re dating someone. Aren’t you? That’s the reason you can’t kiss me.” Hera nods without saying a word. “Is it new?” Hera shakes her head. “How long, Hera?”

“Over a year.”

Harry turns around, not wanting Hera to see the way his mouth begins to tremble, and his eyes are welling with tears. “Over a year. Congratulations.”

“Harry.”

“No, really. I mean that, Hera! That’s great, H! Good for you. Must be going well if it’s been over a year,” Harry says overly enthusiastically, and Hera can tell that he’s hurting. He won’t stare into her eyes, and he’s switching the weight from his feet over and over again. “Such a shame you didn’t bring them to the show tonight, I could’ve met them! Made a good introduction for myself. Could’ve made a new friend in the meanwhile.”

“He couldn’t make it, tonight,” Hera says sadly, wiping away the tears that are beginning to fall from her eyes involuntarily. Her voice lowers with her next statement. “He told you that.”

Harry turns around quickly, his eyes going wide and his lips pursing together in a straight line, everything beginning to make sense in his head as he adds the pieces together. All the conversations that Grant and Harry had about dating someone new and falling in love and moving on. Harry feels a wave of jealousy and anger wash over him. “Grant. As in, my friend Grant. Grant that worked for me. You’ve been dating Grant for a year and a half. And no one thought to tell me?” Harry stands in silence for a moment, stunned. “That is so fucked, Hera.”

“Harry, I’m sorry.” Harry turns around, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his back meeting her stare. He can’t look at her. Not now. Not after what she’s told him. “Harry.”

“You think that’s okay? That you’re dating my friend? Might as well have told me that you’re sleeping with my brother!”

“Harry, I am sorry that it’s Grant and that no one told you. It just happened.” Hera is crying, now, trying to wipe her cheeks and explain herself without losing her voice and her strength. Harry shakes his head. “This happened months after we broke up. Quarantine was happening, you were gone, and I was alone in London. We weren’t talking. Grant was there for me through all of it and asked me out after six months of crying over you and Isla telling me I needed to get out there if I wasn’t going to pick up the phone and call you. News articles were saying that you were already dating someone new. I, I didn’t want to be alone and still crying over someone that was rumored to be already dating someone new! That’s not fair, you know? I just, I am really sorry that no one told you, that I didn’t tell you sooner. I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“Have you forgotten that you broke up with me, Hera? Have you forgotten that tiny detail?” Harry asks sarcastically, scoffing as he walks towards her. “I was on dates trying to forget you. Have you ever thought of that? Did you ever think to call me and ask what I was doing?”

“Harry.”

“I have spent every day for the last two years miserable that I am not with you. Miserable. I think about you constantly. I write songs about you. I talk to my mother about you. I stare at your fucking social media just to see pictures of you. And you, you started dating my friend, haven’t spoken a word to me or our friends, and moved on like it didn’t matter. Like I never mattered to you. That is what hurts the most out of this. Not that it’s Grant. Not that I know him. That I didn’t matter to the person that mattered, that matters the most to me.”

“Harry, it is not like that. Out of all people, out of everyone, you mattered the most to me. I just, I wanted different things back then. I still want different things than you. Grant wants the same things as me. Grant and I, we want a future. He understands not having a family and wanting to make one of your own.”

“You never asked me what I wanted. You assumed based on one conversation you overheard. You never asked, Hera.” Harry looks at Hera for the first time in what feels like hours. “I wrote that song for you, to tell you that I listened, and that I wanted to see you make a family. I wanted to be in that family. And you didn’t even give me the chance.”

“Harry, listen to me,” Hera breathes, coming away from the dresser and walking towards him, cautiously bringing her hands to his cheeks, and making him look into her eyes. “I want you in my life. I miss you. I have missed you more than you know. I don’t want to continue not speaking. I don’t. I am very sorry that we didn’t tell you.” Hera looks at Harry softly, her heart breaking when he brings his hands to her wrists and gently pulls her hands from his face. “I am sorry, Harry. I really am.” Harry doesn’t say anything. He can’t. “I’ll go, okay? I’m sorry for ruining your night. I am. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I don’t, I don’t want you to go, Hera.”

Hera looks at Harry, her hand on the doorknob and her heart beating rapidly in her chest, unsure of what to do. “Harry, what do you want me to do, then? I miss having you as my friend. I want you in my life. I don’t want another year, two years, ten years to go by without us speaking.”

“I, I don’t know if I can just be your friend, Hera. I don’t know if I could ever just be your friend.” Hera nods, not knowing what is coming next. Hera tries to brace herself for the idea that she may never see him again, that she may never have the chance of a family with him in it. “Can we meet for coffee, tomorrow? I, I want to talk to you, alone, and we can catch up on everything I’ve missed. I, I need to talk to you about this when I’m calm and not running off adrenaline and all the emotions from seeing you.”

“Okay,” Hera says softly, turning the knob and opening the door, already beginning to walk out into the hallway.

“Are you happy, Hera?” Harry says quickly, running his hands through his hair and trying to catch his breath. All of this is too much at once, too much information and feeling and confusion for the fifteen minutes they’ve been alone. Harry walks forward, grabs her wrist and says, “Like, really happy? You would tell me if you weren’t?”

“I think, yeah, I think I’m getting there.” Harry nods and Hera turns towards the room where everyone is waiting for their return. “I think we should go back. Gemma and Anne are likely looking for you. And Isla is going to look for me soon.”

“Of course, yeah,” Harry says, smiling softly and moving towards the doorway to the room. “Are you coming in?”

“I’ll be in in a minute,” Hera smiles, waving her hand towards the congregation of people in the dressing room and turning on her heel. Hera grabs her phone from her back pocket and dials the number she knows by heart, waiting patiently for it to ring. As long as Hera can remember, it never takes more than a ring or two for the call to be answered, and sure enough, on the first ring there is a voice coming through the other line. “Hey,” she says, immediately feeling washed over with comfort.

“Hi, baby. How was the show? Missed you all day.”

#harry #harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles fanfiction #delicate point of view #1d harry #1d harry styles #harry 1d #harry styles 1d #harry x #harry x you #harry x y/n #harry fic #harry fanfic #1d fan fic #1d fanfiction #1d fan fiction #1d fic #1d ff

169 notes · View notes

darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years

Text

The Thief of your Heart - Chapter Six.

Are you ready for the reunion? Are you? Because IT IS HERE, BESTIES! A huge thank you for your reads, reblogs and beautiful reviews, my loves! I appreciate each and every one of you for your dilligence there! If you’re someone who likes, but doesn’t comment or reblog, do you think I might prompt you into leaving a wee comment? I’d love to hear from you if you’ve remained silent thus far. I don’t bite... ;)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five

Tag list - In the comments, please reply below to be added/removed

Words - 6,444

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

He was vaguely aware of his brothers, both SAMCRO and SAMBEL, whistling and calling out obscenities as he kissed Abi deeply, but it was so muted and faded into the background of what he was experiencing, with the love of his life returned to the arms that had ached for her, they might as well have not been there at all. Their kiss seemed endless, his arms tightened around her, hers draped around his neck, nails gently stroking the nape. God, he’d yearned for this. Just this.

“Well, that was a very nice hello,” she spoke softly, beaming up at him.

“Let me take you upstairs and I’ll give you an even better one.” She threw her head back and laughed, her sparkling chuckle like heavenly music to his ears. “In all seriousness, just looking at you again is good enough.”

Abi raised an eyebrow, cocking her head. “Not kissing me some more, no?”

“Oh aye. I think that can be arranged.” It was boundless, the joy she felt, after so many years of longing for him. After all this time, they’d blended back to just how they were when they were torn apart. That spoke volumes to her. And to think, she’d been nervous. As for Chibs, he felt alive again. It was that simple. His body hummed with the love he felt for her, but mostly kept stuffed deep down, too painful to ponder upon for long, the raw edge of losing her still so sharp within. Any sharp edges had been softened though, in the way they’d sank into kisses of relief at being reunited at long last.

He’d wondered, would she even still feel the same as he did? Would she have a fella by now, kids maybe, all of that, moved on without him? The way she kissed him confirmed the answer was likely a resounding no, unless she was simply too caught up in the moment. He doubted it. Where her life had taken her besides the little bit he knew, he would learn, though, both of them sitting back down at a table by themselves, Gemma quickly interrupting with the bottle of whiskey she and Abi had been sharing, laying a kiss on both of their heads before seeking out Clay.

“Jesus, I cannae believe you’re in front of me. Fuckin’ hell!” he exclaimed as they sat facing one another on the bench table, knees touching, holding hands, foreheads together. “You look good, CB.” he kissed her again then, on her forehead, Abi’s heart somersaulting. “Nah, scratch that. You look fucking stunning.” She truly had become nothing short of an exceptionally beautiful woman.

“And you? Even sexier than I remember, and believe me, what I remember is the hottest man I’ve ever goddamned seen.” He snorted a little, raising his eyebrows.

“Aye, I’m sexy, but I’m old.”

“You’re forty-six!”

“Forty-seven in five months.”

She rolled her eyes. “Still fucking gorgeous with it. God, you still make me throb in all the right places without even needing to lay a finger on me.”

He chuckled, reaching beneath her knees and hauling her closer. “Give me time, and I’m lay a lot more than a finger on you, hen. If you want me to?”

“Aye, definitely want you to.” Those were words he was very fond of hearing, his cock twitching at the very memory of being inside her as they began to kiss again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

She chuckled, tongue swirling with his again. “It isn’t a competition.”

“Yes, it is.” He rumbled with laughter at receiving a soft thump to his chest, grabbing her hands and draping her arms around his neck, his hand sliding down them slowly, pausing to squeeze. “Flex ‘em.”

She did, her nicely honed, hard worked for muscles rising in firm swells beneath his grasp. “Jesus Christ, someone found the iron.”

“I do love to lift. I should have been at the gym this morning, but I abandoned it.” She confirmed. From martial arts, she’d always been lithe rather than skinny, but her arms were impressive, he had to give her that.

“Gorgeous when you were slender, and gorgeous stacked. I look forward to updating my mental picture of what you look like naked.” He swept her hair away from her neck, kissing the side of her throat as she laughed softly, an interruption coming from his right.

“Don’t worry, Chibs. We’ll wait on an introduction,” Bobby called with his usual light sarcasm, Juice laughing at his side.

“You’ll be waiting a while.” he spoke, not even looking away from her. “So then, my little war machine. Tell me about Africa. Have you taken over yet?”

She laughed softly, moving back down from where he’d pulled her onto his thighs, pouring them both a measure of whiskey, accepting a cigarette he offered. “Not quite yet, but it’s a very large continent. Give me time.”

She then sat and detailed all about her tenure, beginning at just nineteen years old, such was the interest of the LIFG to continue trading with the IRA for guns, but only putting that trust in her family name for the actual dealings. They’d experienced a hiccup before, at the hands of one J. O’Phelan, not willing to deal with anyone else other than an offspring of the man they trusted for their continued good relations, Abi, although the human version of a hammerhead shark – small yet fierce – thusly being thrown headfirst into a world she truly didn’t understand, with a vying circle of great white sharks surrounding her every move.

“It took a lot of getting used to, the political climate out there, the tensions, the fact that while we’re cut from the same cloth, we’re very different breeds of people. It required time, to learn of the nuances, to gauge how to handle them. Thirteen years later and they still try it on occasion, notably just before you called me out of the blue two weeks ago, trying to lowball me by half a million dinar.”

Chibs sipped his drink, eyeing her with interest. “And what did you do?”

“Shot his son in the foot and lifted my goddamn chin to the motherfucker. I still never back down, I learned with them, one hint of weakness and they’re all over you, so I show them none.”

“That’s my girl.” The pride in his eyes was exactly the same as she remembered, when she was smaller in her status, causing havoc, hurling grenades, making life for the police a living nightmare. “So, I have to ask, how is Jimmy treating you?”

She breathed in a little sharply through her nose, her lips pursing a little as her eyebrows raised. “Your estranged wife funnels her venom and general contempt for me directly through him. It’s frosty, but I don’t think it’s personal on his behalf. She just can’t stand me being around here for longer than a few weeks, so it makes his life hard if I am.”

Chibs frowned, not quite believing his ears. “She’s still like that, after all this time?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s fine, so. She’ll hate me forever, I understand that. I took from her what was hers, after all. Besides, she has her own problems with Jimmy now, so I’ve heard.” There was something there in her face, a small flicker when she mentioned his wife. Nobody else would have spotted it, but he did.

“Aye, she and Kerrianne are being looked after by Kellan Ashby right now, keep them safe from harm. I take it you’re still as clueless over everything?”

She nodded, reaching to stroke his hair. “Unless they have black or brown skin, I know fuck all about it. Whenever I’m in Ireland, I’m a thorn in Jimmy’s side, for aforementioned reasons. Soon to be non-existent, I should think. I can’t see Fiona forgiving him for using hers and your daughter's safety as a pawn in whatever the fuck he’s got himself arse deep in. Anyway, I don’t want to discuss that scumbag. Tell me about you, what life is like for you in sunny California.”

He would, but the slight change in her expression when mentioning Fiona bothered him. “Abi, is there something I should know about Fi?”

She shook her head, smiling, stroking his arms reassuringly. “No, it’s fine. I just hate that she keeps me away from home so much. Like god, hasn’t she fucking punished me enough?” she leaned in, kissing him softly. “Anyway, California.” He was pacified for that moment, kissing her back before he began to talk of his life in SAMCRO. Eventually, his brothers wandered over, Abi receiving introductions, more people turning up, the mother charter’s first night in Belfast a definite cause for celebration.

As for Chibs, he was just glad to be sitting next to the woman he was still in love with while enjoying it all.

“So, how’d you smash yours?” Opie asked her from across the table, pointing at the bump in his own nose, then hers. Immediately, Chibs started to laugh.

“The moshpit, Motorhead, 1995.”

“Fucking hurled herself in there like a tornado, came out after two songs with blood running all down her face, drank her beer, cracked it back, then went in again. Fuckin’ headcase!” he spoke affectionately, giving her a nudge with his elbow.

“Right of passage,” Opie nodded with respect. Not many women would brave the carnage of a Motorhead pit, break a bone and then go straight back in. “I broke two ribs at Machine Head in 99’, fucking amazing show.”

“I’ve never got to see them! The one time they came over here, I didn’t get round to buying a ticket in time, and then after that, I was up to my arse in travelling, so free time was out of the picture, as you can imagine.” Talks of music continued, before bare knuckle fighting swiftly took precedence in their attention, Abi moving herself to Chibs’ lap.

“So, are you going for a brawl? I always did love watching you fight,” she revealed, kissing the side of his neck as he stroked her thigh.

“There’s only one exerting thing beginning with F that I’ll be doing tonight,” he winked, his mouth moving to hers.

“My place is fifteen minutes that way,” she pointed. “Shall we depart?”

He sunk his drink in one gulp. “Aye.” They got up, Clay eyeing them with raised eyebrows.

“Bring him back in one piece, Abi,” he teased, grinning widely.

“I can’t make any promises there.” He rumbled a laugh, bidding them goodnight, he and Gemma watching them walk off arm in arm.

“Mark my words, baby. She’ll be basing herself in Charming before the year is out,” she noted, nodding in their direction.

Clay turned to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “A confident statement if ever I heard one.”

She smiled, kissing him. “I know true love when I see it.”

Neither party had actually voiced it, but they felt it as they walked back to her house, still as in love with one another as they’d been walking those same streets together fifteen years before. At that point in time, both were too preoccupied by the fact that just below the surface, their desire for one another ran rampant, like dynamite with a fuse left perilously close to a naked flame; they were primed to explode.

All was calm and quiet between them as they walked, talking casually, but it swirled, like an approaching cyclone rolling in, the calm about to be shattered by the sheer power of that swirling, decimating force that was their magmatic attraction to one another. Just imagining it as they walked up her street, him all over her, the memory of him, knowing she was shortly about to receive it again made Abi throb all over, her hand sliding up beneath his hoodie and shirt to stroke his back. She needed it, to feel the heat of his skin.

That contact spurred a spark in him, Chibs turning on her rapidly, pushing her back against a lamppost and kissing her heatedly, his hands grasping her bum and squeezing, a deep moan rattling in his throat. “I’m about to get ripped apart, aren’t I? She questioned, her eyebrow arching.

Chibs smirked, laughing throatily. “Oh aye, lass. And you’re gonna love every last fuckin’ second of it.” Leaning down, he swiftly threw her over his shoulder, Abi giggling, squealing when he slapped her bum a few times. “Which one’s your house?”

“Sixty-one.” she confirmed, Chibs keeping his eye on the numbers as he walked, hand still spanking her every few steps, the lust for her burning in the pit of his stomach, especially when he felt her begin to gently claw at his back again. Fifty-three, fifty-five, fifty-seven, fifty-nine, and then, finally number sixty-one. Placing her down, his mouth was at her neck as she located her keys from her bag, hands at her tits as she opened the front door.

“Are you particularly fond of this top?” he asked, his fingertips edging along the V dip at the front.

“Not especially,” she spoke, looking between him and his hands.

“Good.” Taking a handful at either side, he tore it, his mouth crashing against hers, the material decimated as the lust that had been a gentle swirl broke forth like a burst dam, flattening her against the hallway wall, yanking her bra until it snapped, his hands bracketing her waist as he lifted her, mouth devouring her bare breasts, her hands fisting her hair as he sucked at her nipple, his cock like iron against her sex, legs tightening around him, the heat within her blazing with all the force of a thousand fires.

Pressing her against the wall with his chest, his hands yanked her jeans open, mouth hungry at her neck, putting her down as she tugged at his hoodie, their shedding of clothes and boots furious, both only with jeans remaining as once again she was hurled over his shoulder and carried upstairs, thrown onto the bed unceremoniously and dived on, his need for her beyond feral. The drag of her nails over his neck evoked raspy groans within him, her hands touring him, feeling him, squeezing, groping, his body against hers coruscating, how much her skin had missed the pressure of his against it.

Her nails dragging his back spurred his hips to drive forward against her, cock bumping against her clit, sending sparks through her, slipping from her grip to grasp her jeans, yanking them and her underwear off. A few more scars, a couple more tattoos added on her small collection of a gothic cross on her ankle and a set of angel wings on her hip, his tongue trailing the outline of those inked feathers as his hands gripped her thighs. He could have teased her, made her wait for his mouth, but fifteen years was long enough for both of them, Chibs introducing his tongue to her folds, her taste eliciting a guttural growl. God, he’d missed her in his mouth.

Her hands went to his hair, combing through, fisting at the roots as her hips rose, a long sigh of gratification leaving her mouth as his sucked on her thirstily. She rocked against his tongue, each burning lick, her clit pebbling against long, firm sweeps, the heat of his mouth driving cool fire through her veins, glimmers tingling up her spine as she cried out. That sound... his ears had yearned for it, to hear her losing her mind to the arousal he drove out of her like an exorcised spirit.

The pleasure took its root deep in her core, beginning to ascend like a creeping vine, her thighs shaking, torrid waves washing over her as she throbbed, her arousal edged in a little pain as she felt her walls widening, slick and ready for him, her breaths ragged. Jesus, he was even better than she remembered, Abi lost in the haze of white-hot pleasure, his mouth inexorable at her apex, devouring, consuming, driving each cry from her with firm, relentless licks. Relentless, until she verbalised the want, the need that consumed her, like the wave of tsunami.

“Please, fuck me.” Those words were all the spurring he needed to be out of his jeans and boxers at speed, grabbing her thighs and hauling her back across the bed to him. He was near blinded by lust as his guided himself to the hot, soaking mess of her cunt, tongue circling hers, a groan of pure gravel vibrating his chest as he pushed into her, reunited fully with her at last, fingers trailing her cheeks as he stared down at her. “Remember when I told you I’d be yours, until the last beat of my heart?”

She nodded dumbly, overcome at the feel of him inside her again. “I never forgot that.”

He kissed her softly, forehead touching hers. “It still stands. I love you, CB.”

“I love you more.” That fleeting tenderness was then lost, him driving into her so hard, she wailed, his hands clutching her face as they kissed one another with wanton need. He was overwhelming within her, cock dragging her slick with heavy, rolling thrusts, the thick of his hardness making her simmer, her veins flooded with biting, nerve ending sizzling pleasure, his teeth biting her nipples in turn, crushing pink peaks against the gold bars he’d put there, sucking thereafter, losing himself to her entirely.

Fury and instinct took over anything that bordered on contained, his need to fuck her dragging him headlong into mindlessness, her nails tearing down his back, his teeth sharp at her throat in retaliation, eyes inky and pupils blown as he looked down at her. He filled her again and again in a greedy, pounding rhythm, her mouth dropped open, crying out with every pant, sitting back on his heels as he pushed her legs apart, spreading her, watching his cock battering her insides, glistening with the gloss of her arousal in the dim light from a nearby lamppost coming in through the open window.

Her body lurched with every determined daggering of his hips against hers, cock arrowing her just as masterfully as she remembered, her cunt glimmering as he drove skitters of caustic pleasure through her, his groans deep and soaked in lust, the little switches around his shaft making the coil within him tighten sharply, a blade of ecstasy cutting through him right to his very marrow. She was a molten, slick mess around him, the sound of his driving into the clutch of her cunt so savagely, the obscene noise of their fuck filled the room. God, he still fucked like a beast.

Her shuddering body, jerking as her muscles corded and twitched beneath her blazing hot skin was a feast for his eyes, pouring pleasure into her with boundless determination, leaning to kiss her with filthy indulgence, arms locking around her, pulling her up, holding her tightly to him as he bounced her on his cock. She felt delirious, those extra few inches of thick hardness speared into her, her nails dragging over his shoulders, her head thrown back, his teeth animalistic at her neck, biting crescents, sucking welts, hands running up her back and grasping her shoulders, pulling her down onto him further, until she was entirely full, Abi screaming in blinding, boundless ecstasy.

The silken, slick throb of her walls in spasm around him began to pull it from him, a crest so acerbic he could barely hang onto it, the wild coursing of release, chest heaving as he panted raggedly, Abi feeling the glimmers streak through her like a hail of comets, pressed to him so tightly her clit rubbed deliciously against his pubic bone, that friction sending her further into the relentless abyss, her shattering closer, closer, closer...

“Fuck! Ahhh!” And there it was, the crest that rolled up through like a dark wave, knocking her sideways, his teeth crushing her neck as he growled with each fervid twitch of his cock releasing into her, her nails removing his back of a layer of skin. It fizzed through them, right to their bones. The comedown was sweet and swirling, their bodies slowing to stop as they fought for air, Abi resting her forehead to his, her fingertips stroking his face.

“Bloody hell,” he panted.

“Aye, I echo that sentiment,” she laughed, blowing her cheeks out, her arms shaky. “I dunno about a cigarette, I need a big, fat spliff after that.”

“Can you even walk to go and get your weed?” His question was delivered with a look of smug satisfaction and a raised eyebrow, Abi carefully climbing from astride him and shuffling back, making it to her feet. Her stagger on the third step she took had him in fits, flopping down on his front, a sweaty, worn-out mess. She made a stop at her bathroom to clean up the load beginning to trickle out of her, taking the stairs carefully to go and fetch her smoke box and two cold beers, considerably steadier on her feet upon her return.

“You’ve scratched the absolute living hell out of me, haven’t you?” he questioned as she sat, passing him a beer, opening the box and leaning to switch the bedside lamp on. His back was covered in red lines, some glistening with blood, all of them swollen.

“Yeah, you’ve had a thorough mauling.” her confirmation had him chuckling, sipping his beer.

“I think I’ll stay on my front for a wee while, save getting stuck to your sheets.”

She snorted, crumbling weed into the rolling paper. “Aye, might be a plan. I’ll make your chest match next, when I ride you into the bed.”

“I should probably be perturbed by that, but I’m not.” He shuffled over, kissing her knee, hand stroking her thigh as she laughed softly, winking at him.

“You still know what’s good for you,” she observed.

“Well, I had to stop for from doing it before, but not anymore. Mark me up as yours all you want, crazy baby.”

She liked the sound of that. The marking up secondary, though, to his view that he was still hers. “Don’t be offended if I physically can’t pound you into the bed as many times as I could when I was thirty-two, though. Kinda need a longer recovery time these days.”

“So do I after what you just inflicted on me, bloody hell!” she exclaimed, shifting a little bit. He’d given her the kind of pounding that was just so damned thorough, she could still feel him inside of her. Phantom cock, she’d once coined it, much to his amusement. She smiled, laughing suddenly, Chibs frowning bemusedly. “What?”

“You’re here! Next to me on my bed again! Jesus Christ!”

Her little outburst made him chuckle deeply. “It’s great, ain’t it?”

“Aye, I’ll say. Been much too long in the coming. I wondered, you know, if you’d moved on, had more kids, whether Fi had divorced you and you’d remarried,” she pondered, lighting the joint, making a motion that they should turn around, moving to the head of her bed and stacking her pillows behind her, lying back, Chibs moving to rest his head in her lap. As soon as the pressure hit his back, his silent scream had her in hysterics.

“You’re not funny,” he pointed, wincing a little. “I hope I do bloody your sheets up now!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you have.”

He was thoughtful for a moment, snorting with laughter when he remembered. “Yeah, but that was your blood, and you told me in no uncertain terms not to stop. So, good boyfriend that I was, I didn’t.”

“Don’t unplug until we get to the bathroom, or I’ll ruin my fucking floor!” she reminisced saying, Chibs laughing loudly. What they made reference to was one time not long after they’d gotten together, when she’d begun her period right in the middle of a very vigorous sex session, Chibs not bothered by it at all, but alerting her to the fact (‘Oh, I’ve either gone way too hard, or you just got your period, darlin’ she remembered him saying) but Abi demanding he didn’t stop what he was doing.

“Christ, it looked like a massacre by the time we were done, having to strip your bed down at two in the morning, get showered and try and put on fresh linen, all while being stoned as fuck,” he laughed, remembering Abi getting herself tangled in the duvet cover.

“It was an entertaining night,” she recalled, stroking his hair. “So, as I was saying before we got off track, no woman at home you’re being a bad boy and playing away from, then?” she then asked teasingly, her eyebrow arching.

“None of them ever stuck longer than a few months. You’re a hard act to follow, CB.”

“Well, I don’t like to brag,” she spoke playfully, making like she was polishing an imaginary medal upon her chest, handing him the joint.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh aye, nae much, you don’t. I remember when Fi showed up at the clubhouse one time and dragged me off for a fuck, I could hear you, pissed out of you face, shouting ‘I do it better!’ from the main room. I think that was the first time the guilt actually hit me, you know, because she started laughing and asked, ‘what’s that crazy little thing harping on about out there, I wonder?’ and I’m just playing like I’ve not got a clue. I think I said you were likely teasing Liam about beating his arse at pool, but underneath, I was silently agreeing.” He cringed a little at the memory, laughing then at the look of utter triumph on her face. “You’re so bad.”

“I know, it’s why you love me!”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Do you remember that time she knocked on your door, asking if you’d seen me after we’d been on that weapons run?”

“Yeah, and I had to stand there saying that I had no idea, all the while with your cum slowly trickling down my fucking leg. How she didn’t catch us out before she did is a miracle,” she replied, Chibs booming with laughter at the memory.

“Aye, the lads and their two-whistle system.” Whenever together, they always sat around the corner in the clubhouse, just in case Fiona ever arrived unexpectedly and caught them, the SAMBEL guys developing a warning of two loud whistles whenever she did show up. It had been too close one night, the whistles not heard, McGee spotting Fiona and hauling Abi from Chibs’ lap onto his at speed before she had time to turn around. They’d both nearly had a heart attack at how close she’d been to witnessing it.

They fell into deep reminiscence about life gone by, how things used to be so long ago, reminding one another of a few things that had been lost to their memories during the passage of time.

“Remember when you pushed me in the bush?”

He wracked his brain, unable to immediately recall said bush pushing incident. “I did?”

“Aye, you were ranting away about something Seamus had said to piss you off, Christ knows what, and I made a sarcastic comment, being the little delight I am, and you shoved me. I fell into the bush and you didn’t even notice to begin with, still ranting away, until you stopped after a few more feet, then turned around and bellowed ‘where have you gone?’ at me.”

He began to laugh softly, that laughter escalating as he remembered. “I’m fucking down here, you twat!” Yes, those had been her exact words, Chibs only spotting her when she stuck her arm up out of the bush, still clutching the bottle of vodka she’d been swigging from. “You we’re so pleased that you did’nae spill a drop. That bruise on your arse though, shit!”

“It was the size of my entire bum cheek, you bastard!” More laughter from both followed.

“Did I kiss it better?”

“You did.”

“Well? What’s your issue?” How typically him such a statement was. He handed her the joint back, hooking his arm around her thigh, stroking it, turning his head to kiss it a couple of times. He then found much more interest in what was between them, moving himself to lie flat on his front, kissing down her inner thigh until he’d reached her apex, tongue tickling at her before delving within her slit, Abi shuddering a little, taking a big drag on the joint and holding the smoke in her lungs, her high beginning to buzz, meeting with the warm wells of pleasure being gently evoked by his tongue.

Using the very tip, he licked little circles all around her clit, his touch to light, he was barely making contact, stroking the potent little bundle of nerve endings in slow, wet heat, stopping to blow on it before the contact resumed, Abi feeling her eyes virtually cross. Getting stoned with a mouth between her legs. It was one of her favourite states.

He pushed her thighs further apart, making her pretty sex spread before him, flattening his tongue against her, slow drags making her pant, the firmer contact causing comets of pleasure streak beneath her skin, spreading her wetness around before pushing inside her streaming cunt, flicking it from side to side as he thoroughly tasted her.

“You taste so fucking good. It’s making me hard again, just fucking you with my tongue.” He revealed, his voice deep and gravelly with lust, two eyes almost coal black from hugely blown pupils staring up at her as he swirled his tongue around her opening, thumb rubbing up and down in deliciously slow strokes upon her clit. As if that wasn’t mind blowing enough, her body became host to a series of juddering spasms when he moved his mouth back to her bud and began sucking on it, softly at first, increasing the pressure steadily, sliding a finger within her saturated walls.

One was followed by two, Abi abandoning her joint smoking, reaching to rest the ashtray onto the bedside table, her hands running over his forearms, moving back to grasp the pillow beneath her head as she squirmed in bliss. Long, skilled fingers drew in and out of her, twisting around with every upward thrust, tongue flicking rapidly over her bud, spurring the delicious tingles of orgasm to begin pulsing as her mouth dropped open, a cry of euphoria emanating her throat.

“Come on, beautiful. Cum for me. Fuck, you’re getting so wet.” He encouraged, working her keenly, driving the coil to continue tightening within her as he built her to sweet release rapidly, one last suck upon her clit tipping her into white-hot euphoria so hard, she forgot to breathe for a few moments. As those moments passed, Abi fighting to deliver air to her lungs, body still tingling with post orgasmic shivers, he moved from between her legs and proceeded to run his tongue all the way up her gently quivering body, kissing her hungrily when he reached her mouth.

He could have happily stayed with his mouth between her legs for much longer, but having her come undone so spectacularly against his tongue had him so hard and consumed by lust, the need to be within her again overrode that desire in shades, entering her fluidly, his mouth at her neck, exhaling a shuddered breath as he felt her viscid walls clench around him strongly.

“So, what was that about needing a longer recovery time?” she quipped, impressed.

“Yeah… I think my cock is really pleased to see you again.”

There was no slow build, no graduality to his assault upon her needy, hot little cunt, taking her by the wrists and pinning her arms above her head, concentrating his entire bodyweight down through his pelvis, delivering each thrust brutally. Carnal aggression flooded him, heavy, unyielding and decimating within her, a constellation of kisses and bites laid across her throat, groaning deep as he railed her into the bed. She thrived upon it, whenever he held her down, purposefully fighting against it a little, just to have him be more baleful with her.

“Behave yourself.” He nipped at her jaw, slowing, pulling almost all of the way out, teasing her opening before sliding back in. “The more you fight, the slower I go. Got it?”

It was the only place Abigail Maguire let a man get the better of her. In fact, he was the only man she ever truly had let dominate her. A little defiance still lingered in her eyes, the smouldering look of lust she viewed him with making his insides throb, feeling her relent, beginning to drive into her voraciously once more, evoking her wails as their flesh smacked together in carnal brutality.

The heavenly waves of delectation begin to throb strongly once more, her face contorting as she went rigid beneath him, vanquished, crying out as her nails tore down the over the ridges of muscles in his back after her struggle had won out against his grip. He’d lose himself a little, at seeing how fast she broke apart for him again, but there’d be no more of that.

“Oh, couldn’t help yourself, hmm? Fine. You’ll be pinned again.” He pulled out of her with a slick pop, throwing her onto her front, using his knees to push her thighs apart, plunging back into her soaking core. He took her wrists, holding them at the small of her back, one of his big hands easily grasping them both tightly, his other hand fisting in her hair as he pulled her head back, biting the column of her throat in a move that was steeped in burning, predatory dominance. “Now try and get out of that, pet.”

“Mmmm, I don’t want to,” she purred, feeling the thick head of his cock hit her so deeply, she saw stars.

He chuckled, deep and rumbling. “Yeah, good girl. You’ll lie there and fucking take it.”

He gave her no moment of peace to recover, fucking her like a jackhammer into the bed, the avaricious pace, the fact he had her held tight, his groans, god, those groans, it all served as nothing but a very brutal reminder of how skilled a lover he was. No one fucked like Filip Telford. No one. To even compare him to others would be unfair on them.

The trembles of rapture did not wait long before they crept up upon her, lightning flickering the base of her spine, consuming and rolling away once more, leaving her foggy and breathless it its wake.

And still, he didn’t stop.

Her wetness hugged him snugly as he cut through her plush warmth with determined thrusts, filling her completely as he laid a trail of kisses from one shoulder to the other, Abi a shaking wreck beneath him, his fingers digging into her wrists. “Oh, fucking Christ, you feel amazing!” she gritted, feeling him steady the rhythm, sparks lighting her up. He dragged her walls slow, deep and hard, his body blanketing hers completely, caging her against the mattress. He imposed his superior size upon her to dizzying results, dominating her with both his unrelenting hold and his weight upon her, knocked sideways by the slippery, wet heaven of her cunt.

He released her from the grasp that had pushed her down, turning her onto her back once more, hauling her legs up against his chest as he buried himself back within her, her soft little cries of pleasure filling the room, split around his thickness as her walls glimmered with sparkling pleasure, twitching around him as the warmth built and spread. He muttered curses through each heavy pant, her body arching into him as her hands dragged his strong forearms, his own sliding down her legs as he dipped his head to suck her nipples.

Her nerves sang a symphony only heard by his body, the fluttering around his thick cock as it spread her wide again and again spurring the pace on, turning his head to lay kisses and little bites at her inner ankle as he sank himself into her heat voraciously.

“Is that fast enough for you, my dirty girl?” he asked, reaching to grasp her face, his thumb dragging her lower lip, Abi making his insides simmer caustically when she sucked on it with a purred moan.

“Faster. Pound me into the bed like you know I love.” Leaning down, he fed her his tongue, kissing her with heated want before his hand moved to her throat, clasping gently as he pounded her rapidly, her mouth dropping open as his body rutted against hers with uncontained, primal aggression. What delighted her the most though, was the knowledge that he could and would go even harder and more speedily, his eyes fixed upon her as he watched her face contorting in bliss, panting heavily as she licked her cupids bow seductively, his hand flexing at her neck.

She trembled before him, the blaze beginning to burn ferociously, his other hand moving to begin stroking her clit from side to side, drawing wails from her throat as tingles spread like thousands of tiny knives of pleasure throughout her veins. He felt immense and overpowering, sinking into her heavily, cock so thick and steely as it pounded to the very depths of her, igniting heat down to her bones, sweat beading his chest as he continued to propel himself faster still.

A bonfire of pleasure ascended, the storm now raging, lightning striking all around as she felt herself becoming lost in the thick atmosphere, the heat consuming her, spurred by him, the catalyst of her ultimate undoing.

“You look so fucking gorgeous when you’re about tae cum.” he praised her, winking, his thumb rubbing faster upon her clit. Any chance of longevity was abandoned to chasing the ultimate lightning strike, their moans filling the room in an erotic cacophony, their bodies shunting together with furious fervour, the booms of thunder rolling, the moment approaching before there it was, his bolt lighting her sky, cock spilling into her, hot and thick as she clenched on him greedily.

Dreamy bliss settled around them like a morning mist, Chibs moving to kiss her tits, his head spinning, pleasure ebbing away again as heavy breaths blasted against her chest until they both become still, lost in sweet kisses, his cock snug inside her, the storm now passed.

Nope. No one fucked like Filip Telford.

94 notes · View notes

reluctantjoe · 1 year

Text

Just a Taste (William Agar & Caroline Lessing)

Summary: "There was always something whenever these meetings occurred - a tension too sharp. Inappropriate thoughts ran wildly and freely in Caroline’s mind at even hearing William’s determined voice. She wondered if it was ever the same for him." Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Plot with references to mature subjects. Allusions to Dom!William, Sub!Caroline. Mild injuries. Implied masturbation. Allusions to jealousy. Allusions to (somewhat) jealous sex. Allusions to extramarital affair. Teasing. Implied Sub!William, Dom!Caroline. Blood kink. Word Count: 1,347 Where To Read: Ao3 | Tumblr (you're here!) A/N: My first ever pairing fic! This is an alternative ending to 'The Madman's Trial' scene in 'Quacks' where Caroline is cleaning up William's injuries. And although I feel bad for doing so, I just can't help but ship them (Sorry, Robert.) - Caroline is too good for Robert and William is too good for Mina! In an alternate universe (or hypothetical second series), William and Caroline are a couple and living their best lives! Anyway, I hope those who read this enjoy it. As always, if I have missed any Warnings, then please let me know. Any reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated! Tag List: @jamiewintons | @pink-booty-butts

──────────

Caroline sighed as the excess water from her cloth drained into the bowl. This had become part of her weekly routine at this point. Another blood-stained cloth from another incident was beginning to form against William’s blood-stained lips. Why, oh why did he insist on getting himself into these battles when the results were always the same?

She had to admire his willingness, though. He dared to try, and he was brave to do so, knowing the insane individuals he would meet up with could (and most likely, would) cause him harm. She just wished that they didn’t. Some small part of her wished he would give up - try something new. She was tired of this weekly occurrence, and her heart broke for him when William would look at her with defeated eyes once more - another attempt to cure the mad failed.

“I’m sorry,” William winced, the cut on his lip stinging from the cloth. As much as he tried to hide the thrill of, dare say, even speaking to Caroline, the guilt of her practically becoming his nurse carried deeply. “You should be with Robert, not cleaning up a failed alienist. But you are kind enough to do this, no matter the appearance I show you every week. Thank you, Caroline.”

Despite Caroline’s ashamed thoughts of wanting William to step away from this, even just for a day, she knew that isn’t what he needed to hear right now. He needed reassurance and she was more than happy to provide that - no matter the type or repercussions.

“William, as your friend, it is my duty to care. You are so brave and what you do is extraordinary. Besides, I like taking care of you.” Caroline’s eyes met William’s and locked for a second too long.

There was always something whenever these meetings occurred - a tension too sharp. Inappropriate thoughts ran wildly and freely in Caroline’s mind at even hearing William’s determined voice. She wondered if it was ever the same for him.

Have images such as her’s ever dared to preoccupy his mind? Has he ever touched himself? Touched himself to the thought of her? Did he ever imagine the words that would be spoken into her ear, as he would run his hands down her form? Too scandalous for words, would he care that she was taken by Robert? Or would that set jealousy within - causing him to want to prove how good he could make her feel; the pleasure he could bring by his praise and worship, and the most delicate yet precise touches to the most intimate part of her body?

William’s voice brought Caroline back to reality. “Are you okay?” He asked, concernedly, “You seem to be in deep thought, Caroline. I hope my injuries haven’t disgusted you.”

It was then that she was reminded of the fight he and Harold got into during the fake trial. How helpless the crowd was; how she was. How he was. The shouting and flailing around on the floor. The punches; the gasps. The bead of blood on William’s lip that was slowly appearing by the sheer force of Harold’s outburst…

“Caroline? Caroline, are you quite alright?”

“Yes!” Caroline cleared her throat and straightened up, the continuous bending down starting to ache her lower back. “Yes, William, I am fine. Your injuries haven’t disgusted me at all. Are you turning into a mad man too?”

William chuckled at Caroline’s joke. He appreciated the humour at this embarrassing and painful time, but he also noticed a slight sense of falseness. “You seem to be a little red. Are you feeling well? Would you like me to observe you? It is the last thing I can do, I can assure you.”

Caroline went back to the bowl to soak the cloth once more. “I was just thinking back to the trial. The pure lunacy of the man! You looked so…” She tried to contain herself and her thoughts. She didn’t want to skip too far ahead to what was a frightful time for William, but God, a gorgeous mess for her. “...helpless. When Harold pushed you onto the floor and hit you. The blood…”

“Yes, it wasn’t the best sight, was it? How embarrassing of me to think I could help.”

Caroline finally squeezed the excess water back into the bowl once more, but this time, placed the cloth onto the table. She faced William and walked back to him. While attending to him, Caroline was careful not to clean up everything so quickly. She bent down again and slowly traced her finger across William’s blooded lip.

“Caroline, what are you-”

She tilted William’s chip up with her other hand, making sure his eyes were only fixated on her. On her mesmerised face. On her finger with his blood.

William’s knuckles turned white by the act. He shifted but didn’t dare to look down, as though to dismiss the shiver he felt by this new intimidating position he found himself in. A gulp came next because should he speak, he was scared of the outcome. The thought of the noise he would make sent him deeper into his perplexed yet newly founded submissive state.

“Mm, yes.” Caroline turned her attention to her blooded finger, while still holding William’s chin with her other hand. “What is it I called you earlier, William?” She circled her finger with her thumb, spreading the fluid. “Helpless?”

Caroline faced William again, the most stunned expression greeting her. She finally dropped the hand at his chin and William breathed out deeply.

What just happened? What was Caroline up to? He was stunned. He tried to compose himself. William remembered his blood was still on Caroline. His face shot up, not knowing where to begin.

“You-”

“Poor thing.” William gulped. “Oh, don’t be so nervous, William. I’m not going to hurt you.” Caroline bent down once more, but this time, made sure to get as close to William’s ear without raising suspicion to the public.

“I have a blood kink,” She breathed into his ear.

Those words sent William insane. He tried to say something, anything, but he found his throat closed up and dry; the air nearly knocked out of him by Caroline’s statement.

Caroline returned to her standing position. With only the face that could only be described as enchanted, adorned by William, she decided to take it one step further. With hesitation, she looked around, almost as if to see if the coast was clear. She locked onto William’s eyes once more and slowly put her blooded finger into her mouth. William was in a daze; hypnotised, even, by Caroline’s action. Every movement she made with her finger until his blood was on her dominant tongue was tracked by his eyes.

William was out of it. He thought this was a dream. He thought he would wake up and have to take care of things. But what Caroline did next proved to be the opposite.

With one finger now licked clean of William’s blood, there was only her thumb to go. This new found confidence Caroline had was now desperate to be shown. With less hesitation this time, she quickly glanced around, and returned her gaze to William.

Quickly and quietly, she placed her thumb onto William’s lower lip. “Open up,” She whispered. Without even realising what was happening or what he was doing, William opened his mouth and felt Caroline’s thumb in his mouth. His blood in his mouth. Caroline’s thumb, with his blood, in his mouth. He ought to find it disgusting. But he was entranced. This feeling was foreign, yet he loved it. He couldn’t help but emit a strangled whine from his throat; he prayed Caroline didn’t hear.

After she was sure the rest of William’s blood was gone, Caroline slowly removed her thumb from William’s mouth. “There we go. Thank you for being so good while I cleaned you up, William. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes? Try not to get into too many fights before then. Otherwise I may just have to clean you up again.”

11 notes · View notes

alectoperdita · 7 months

Text

What you can't bury

Part 18 of Lure

Rated: E Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters Pairing: Jounouchi Katsuya/Kaiba Seto Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Tags: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Organized Crime, Internal Conflict, Power Imbalance, Power Dynamics, Blood and Torture, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Sex as Coping Mechanism, Unhealthy Relationships, Trauma Bonding, Codependency, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Degradation, Masochism, Impact Play, Asshole Spanking, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Breeding Kink, Sex Toys, Rough Sex, Painful Sex, Mild Painplay, Punishment, Cock & Ball Torture, Mild Breathplay, Come Feeding, Praise Kink, Under-negotiated Kink, Somnophilia, Sexting, Dick Pics, Semi-Public Sex, Workplace Sex, Light Bondage, Nipple Play, Nipple Clamps, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sounding

As discontent swells amongst the Aoryu-kai's ranks, those wishing to seize power for themselves emerge. They threaten everything—Kaiba's leadership position, the tiny sliver of peace Jounouchi's managed to carve out for himself, and whatever tenuous bond exists between the two of them.

Will saving Kaiba's hide save Jounouchi too? Or is this finally his chance to escape from under the kumicho's thumb?

Read Chapter 5 on AO3 Series Masterlist

Saruwatari dropped his pipe with a clatter, kneeling to unlock the chains from the hook fastened to the ground. Sobbing quietly, the beaten man collapsed on the ground and curled in a fetal position as soon as Fuguta released his hold. He wouldn't walk under his own strength any time soon. Instead, Saruwatari looped his burly arms under his armpits and dragged him out, leaving a grisly red trail in their wake. Fuguta said nothing and produced a handkerchief. With the demeanor of a waiter cleaning spilled food, he wiped up the spots of blood on the tabletop. Hirano watched everything transpire with saucer eyes, his face further blanching. His body further locked up when Seto turned his gaze on him. "Sit."

#series: Lure #puppyshipping #violetshipping #kaijou #yugioh #ygo #my fanfiction #tags and warning has been updated with this chapter #please also read the notes at the beginning of the chapter for more details #also yes brand new kink makes an appearance this chapter #never written sounding before so 🤞#hope you enjoy #if you give this a read reblogs/comments/tags are deeply appreciated thanks!

23 notes · View notes

watchtowerindistress · 2 years

Text

we are not our demons (12/24) - bruce wayne x batmom

Gif source: oscarspoe

Author’s note: A special guest star is appearing in this chapter. I really hope you don't think I stole Oliver Queen's tic and gave it to Bruce and Damian, I seriously didn't think that. My thought process was that over the years Damian copied his father's shtick during missions and they both rub their fingers together to stimulate their minds before a fight.

Update break after this chapter. I’ll see you in two weeks again. [Read more at the end.]

Beta-read by Heidi.

Words: 5.3k

Warning: language

Please reblog/leave a comment.

Series Masterlist | Want to be tagged? | Read on AO3

Hand on the Bible (Lord, have mercy)

I think you’re the love of my life (yo)

Baby, could you hop on a flight to find me?

-FAR AWAY by Jessie Reyez-

The sizzling noise of batter hitting the frying pan and the smell of pancakes filling the air felt like a wonderful way to start the day, Ellie surmised to herself. The heavy raindrops hitting the windowpane was just the perfect reason for some pick-me-up.

Behind her, she could sense Alfred moving around, preparing coffee for the grown-ups in this household to enjoy.

Curiosity took hold of her when something crossed her mind. “Alfred, you think Babs is going to join us for breakfast?” Hesitance was shining in Ellie’s eyes when she glanced at Alfred who was wearing his trademark apron as long as he was working in the kitchen.

A heavy sigh left Alfred’s lips at the expected question. “I don’t think so.”

Now Ellie was getting deeply concerned for her friend. “Has she even left her room since she got here? You know, just to get some fresh air or a different scenery than the same four walls?”

Alfred pursed his lips, like he was as conflicted as she was. “As much as I agree with your views, Miss Ellie, perhaps we need to give her more time to come to terms with everything. Trust me, we’ll look after her,” the older man assured her warmly and surprised her by letting his hand brush her shoulder in comfort.

Involuntarily, her lips formed into a small but appreciative smile at Alfred’s display of affection. “Thanks, Alfred,” Ellie whispered in gratitude and sent him a soft glance.

The echo of a humming sound from the hallway prompted Ellie to pull out of Alfred’s embrace.

“What smells so good?” Dick’s voice called out in curiosity when he wandered into the kitchen. His hands were sitting on his waist, enticing the attention to the detective badge stuck on the belt loops of his dark-blue jeans.

“Pancakes, Master Dick,” Alfred offered and just in time to place a fresh and warm breakfast treat on a large plate.

“Help yourself.” Ellie nodded towards the small pile of pancakes.

Ellie merely arched her eyebrows at seeing Dick dump a diabetes-like coating of maple syrup on his two flapjacks.

“Coffee?” Alfred asked, lifting a full coffee pot in the air, and without missing a beat, poured the black liquid into an empty mug on the kitchen island.

“Thanks, Al,” Dick said and instantly took a sip from the energizing drink.

While hot liquid flowed down his throat, Ellie mentioned, “Black coffee, huh? Why do I get the impression that you and your father are almost the same person?”

Dick mockingly pursed his lips in thought. “Moi?” His hand covered his chest, almost in an insulted way. “Bugs me. Speaking of the less-handsome devil, where is Bruce?”

“He had to get to Wayne Enterprises early to talk to Fox about the toxins used by the clowns for experimentation,” Ellie explained with a muffled voice.

Dick sighed and took a healthy bite from his breakfast. “Yeah, I heard about that at the station. Damn assholes.”

“Why is Dick allowed to curse around here, and I get instantly reprimanded?” Damian inquired with an indignant voice while he and Tim descended from the stairs.

“That rule applies to everyone, Master Damian.” Alfred glanced at the youngest child briefly before sending a dark glower in Dick’s direction.

“Good morning, guys,” Ellie greeted both children. “You up for some pancakes?”

Tim mumbled, “G’ morning,” under his breath while Damian chose to only nod in acknowledgment.

There was a certain bounce in Tim’s steps when he made himself comfortable on one of the bar stools next to Dick and nodded in pleased consent.

His eyes were shining with excitement when he helped himself to a small pancake and dropped several types of fruit on top of it, including blueberries and sliced apples.

Ellie poured herself a cup of coffee with some milk and two spoonful of sugar and leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter while Alfred turned off the heat from the stove. Fondness lit up in her eyes when they gazed upon Damian taking a tentative sip from his refreshing mug of cocoa before trying some cut-up strawberries.

“And here I thought you weren’t a breakfast person, Damian.”

With his mouth half-full, Dick answered with his head thrown back, “Dami likes to sample or rather let others try it out first. Like he’s some sort of paranoid king.”

Damian didn’t dignify his words with a tilt of his head. “Don’t call me that,” he merely said, hinting at the chosen nickname.

“Dami, come on, look—” An obscene amount of pastry was crammed into his mouth to prove his point before eating noisily while talking, “— nom nom nom, so good.”

Dick’s antics elicited the same physical reaction Damian and Ellie were displaying. Damian furrowed his brows. “You’re disgusting.”

“Please, Master Dick, have I taught you nothing?” Alfred admonished quietly.

Dick gulped down his food contents. “Sorry, Al.” Ellie felt his gaze settle on her in question. “You ready to go?”

With a nod displaying her agreement, Ellie replied, “Sure am,” and poured the rest of the lukewarm coffee down her throat with a satisfied moan. “Okay, let’s go.” Twirling her finger in the air, Ellie was ready to go to work and placed her mug in the sink.

“Be good, boys,” Ellie called out with a small wave when her body was already moving away. Quiet murmurs brushed against her back as a goodbye.

“So, how long have you been a cop?”

The rain was still falling relentlessly while Dick was driving her on his way to work. He narrowed his eyes in the driver’s seat and stared at Ellie with speculative scrutiny. “Do I detect a certain undertone there?”

“Oh no, it totally suits you.”

After shaking his head in jest, Dick chuckled to himself. “It’s been a long time since I received a backhanded compliment,” he mused under his breath. “And I’ve been a detective for four years, most of that time I spent in Blüdhaven.”

Ellie remembered him telling her that. Not to mention, how Bruce once told her that his son used to visit from Blüdhaven.

“Oh wow, tough place to be a cop in.”

Dick sent Ellie another inquisitive glance. “Sounds about right. You ever been?” She could understand the young man’s curiosity. Ellie knew of the stereotypical status the crime-ridden city held and the way people spoke of it despite never having visited it to gain a personal perspective.

Ellie nodded once, as conflicted memories rang through her mind. “Lived there for … I don’t know, most of my childhood and youth when I lived under the roof of my aunt and uncle.”

Respect shone in his eyes when Dick’s eyebrows rose. “Gotcha,” he said.

The towering building of Wayne Enterprises would always invoke a humbling feeling in her body when Dick dropped her off in front of the square in Old Gotham before turning to his own police duties when he drove off.

It didn’t take long with her sitting at her desk and overseeing the network infrastructure before Bruce requested Ellie into his office.

Despite their nighttime activities—Jesus, weird phrasing—Bruce usually didn’t discuss their vigilante business at work. Unless there was some serious work incident she didn’t know about.

The heels of her ankle boots stomping on the marble floor beneath her gave her a strange bout of confidence as Ellie passed Atticus sitting behind his office desk.

While he was tending to a phone call, she only pointed towards the grand oak doors to Bruce’s sanctuary to which the executive assistant nodded his head in affirmation.

Ellie briefly knocked on the sturdy wood, merely to hear the deep voice of Bruce pierce through the door. “Come on in, Ellie.”

Following his invitation, she stepped inside to discover with tingling awe how his wide shoulders and back in a sharp gray suit were facing her. Bruce bent over his desk and examined several document sheets. The muscles in his back rippled with every single delicious movement. It actually rendered her speechless when she tugged on her bottom lip.

“You do know that you don’t have to knock, right?” Bruce sent her an open expression over his shoulder and gathered the rustling papers into a dossier.

Ellie shut the door behind her with a satisfying click before stepping further into the CEO’s office. Smiling briefly, the young woman shrugged her shoulders. “Just making sure I don’t disturb any … indecent undertakings.”

Bruce’s expression twisted to an uncomfortable aura when he furrowed his brows. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’d like to think that we do things differently here than at LuthorCorp.”

A worn-out sigh blew between her lips when she made herself comfortable on the couch by the high-ceiling windows.

Ellie smiled bitterly once a certain memory invaded her mind like a spider coiling around the inside of her head. “I wasn’t thinking about the Luthors actually.”

Bruce’s eyes hardened at Ellie’s mysterious words, but she had a feeling that he knew her file by memory and could guess which company she was talking about.

In her quest to shield her pride, Ellie put her tablet in her lap and cleared her throat. “So, what did you call me in for?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes before settling down next to Ellie, brushing the fabric of his suit away as he eased back on the couch.

“Just wanted to let you know what Fox found out.”

Ellie’s interest piqued at once when she stared at Bruce to display her true sentiments towards those findings. “What did he say? Are the kids safe?”

Bruce glanced at his surroundings to reveal a biting smile. “‘Safe’ is a broad term. Fox analyzed a strange chemical mix from the compound—his words, not mine. Something about stimulants and genetically modifying substances.”

A chill went through her body at the image Bruce vividly portrayed. Ellie couldn’t help but feel connected to those poor souls. Despite her own traumatic experience with Scarecrow and Professor Strange who pumped her with a highly concentrated phobia-triggering toxin, Ellie couldn’t envision what those kids had to endure and would have to face in the future.

“How high is the probability that we could be dealing with new kinds of meta-humans?”

“Very high. And an even greater danger that those kids could have died from the half-assed procedure.”

Ellie exhaled deeply at the sour reality Bruce was depicting and shook her head. “Damn clowns. What do you plan to do?”

With pursed lips, a deep furrow anchored between Bruce’s eyebrows when he sent a curious glance towards Ellie. “What makes you think I’ve got something planned?”

Ellie’s lips quirked into a teasing smile when she pointed with her finger to those brown orbs. “I know that glint in your eyes. It’s the same expression you had on your face right before you wanted to achieve your own Die Hard in an elevator.”

Bruce shook his head and effectively hid a small smirk.

“This morning, I sent over the legal documents to West Mercy that I would cover any hospital bills for the kids in the ICU.”

Despite her raised eyebrows to display her surprise, Ellie shouldn’t have been. “Healthcare in this government is a joke if you don’t have it,” she mused under her breath, with a small nod.

After she had heard the radio call about the transfer of more than dozens of children into intensive care, her curiosity had peaked. Just as she expected, all those primary locations where those kids were abducted were low-income communities. It still tore at her heart to find out that most of these children were orphans who needed a stable home more than an uncertain time in a hospital bed.

“No teasing words that I got more money to throw out the window than Ted Kord?”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Oh please, I never said that’s a dreadful thing. If anything, you’re helping these victims. I won’t condemn you for wanting to help people. Anything else you want to tell me?”

Bruce’s eyes lingered on hers, as if he was silently looking for answers only she could give. Avoiding Ellie’s gaze at the last second, he shook his head with a bittersweet look. “No, that’s all.”

Torn between confusion and wanting to make a joke, Ellie replied, “Alright, thanks for the short update, I guess?”

Bruce smiled lightly. “Anytime.”

“I’ll see you at home?”

Nodding with slow movements, he said, “I’ll see you there.”

As her body moved towards the office door, Ellie could only think, “That was so damn weird.”

Ellie hated bringing her work home—and since when did she call Wayne Manor her home? —but desperate times called for desperate measures. Especially since Bruce’s unsaid words managed to successfully distract her from work. She usually would’ve worked from the safety of her own room, but she wanted to intercept Bruce once he walked through the doors.

But once a few hours had passed, Ellie’s concern for him only rose. The scurrying form of Alfred passing behind the living room couch where she was sitting made her open her mouth. “Alfred, where’s Bruce?”

The butler tilted his head and kept the clean laundry basket in a tight grip under his arms. “Master Wayne didn’t tell you?”

Ellie raised her eyebrows in befuddlement once Alfred finally confirmed her suspicions. “Tell me what?”

Without giving her an answer, Alfred bent forward to turn on the TV with a click of the remote. The flat screen turned to life and revealed Bruce standing in front of a building, with cameras snapping in a blinding and staccato rhythm.

The headline ‘Bruce Wayne inducts renovated orphanage’ was visible at the bottom of the screen, with the small detail ‘named after Marion Grange, a close confidant of the Wayne family and former Mayor of Gotham’ underneath it.

Bruce appeared composed by the onslaught of media coverage and let a small, neutral smile thrive on his lips. These were one of those instances when Bruce’s cool-as-a-cucumber attitude in front of reporters truly astounded Ellie. How the entrepreneur could remain calm and collected in light of the media shoving cameras into his face, like it was no big feat at all. How he could render them speechless with just one look.

“—to the Marion Grange Orphanage. After the cowardly attack on Gotham’s children, the Wayne Foundation is more than willing to stand up for this young generation. We are not here to remind of this trauma, but instead I’d like us to be a unity. To support them as best as possible. Why not start by giving them a renovated home?”

Ellie breathed in deeply and felt her unfocused eyes gaze at Bruce’s bashful smile. She could sense the burning stare of Alfred’s lingering on the side of her face. Expecting some sort of reaction from the woman. No living person could stay this cold after hearing this billionaire willingly offering his money resources for the sake of the community. Rich entrepreneurs like Maxwell Lord, not included.

The brunette cleared her throat as soon as that thought unconsciously entered her head. All this time had passed, and that name still threw her off balance. “Bruce doesn’t waste any time, huh?”

Alfred supported the bottom of the laundry basket on the back of the couch. “That’s Master Bruce for you. If he wants something, he’s going to make sure he’s getting it.”

An amused smirk lifted one corner of Ellie’s mouth at the reminder of Bruce’s stubbornness. The memory of his job offers and how he sought her out, came forth.

“I figured.”

If anything, Alfred’s affirmation of his ward only revealed how Bruce and she were so much alike. At least regarding the things they believed in and felt passionate about. The cowardly assault on her best friend, Barbara, only made her realize the depths of her unconscious darkness inside her. And how far Ellie was willing to go to keep the people she loved safe.

Just as expected, catching the Joker proved to be an almost impossible accomplishment because of that undying and morbid loyalty of his entourage of killer clowns. It would work in their favor that Harley’s so-called allegiance was tenuous at best.

A sudden and unexpected thought hit her out of nowhere at the reminder of that psychotic psychiatrist.

“Something the matter, Miss Ellie?”

She cleared her throat at being roused from her contemplation. “How long do you think Bruce is going to be away for?”

“I’d reckon for the rest of the night. You know what a social butterfly he is—always making friends at those functions. Not to mention, I made him promise to mingle and not to come back until ten in the evening.”

A strained smile twitched at the corners of her lips once Alfred confirmed her assumptions before he wandered away to continue the laundry. The thought that reckless ideas only came during the night intensified.

The Arkham Asylum footage of Quinn’s breakout came to mind. Ellie narrowed her eyes as she strained her ears to the butler’s receding footsteps.

Harley had hesitated. It was all Ellie needed to be certain in her belief. That Harley would’ve gone with Ivy if given the chance.

With her resolve strengthening, Ellie stood up to turn off the TV with the push of the button. It was time to have a chat with Poison Ivy.

Famous last words.

The grass under Ellie’s shoes made soft-dewy sounds while she was walking down the path leading from the back of the manor. The strap of her backpack was a soothing anchor on her shoulder.

After pressing a few buttons on the keypad to access the CCTVs of Gotham City, Ellie was certain of Ivy’s location, the botanist’s trusted safe harbor of the Botanic Gardens, while bending over the Batcomputer in the cave. Just to be on the safe side, she filled her bag with some herbicide agent, a sonic cry gadget and her tablet.

To be honest, it kind of baffled Ellie that Bruce had some herbicide lying around. Just in case Poison Ivy would meddle too much into his vigilante work.

The long navy-blue overcoat that reached her knees was a nice comfort to ward off the strange fall/winter chilliness as Ellie pushed her lapels higher up her neck. Her thick-rimmed glasses fogged up from the brisk weather.

“Where are you going?”

The young voice carried mysteriously with the wind from behind. Strangely, the haunting effect was more startling than hearing the noise itself.

Ellie stopped in her tracks, covering her chest to slow her pounding heart. “Oh sheesh, wear a bell, why don’t you, huh?” Her body slowly turned around until she was facing the stoic-faced Damian. “Maybe I’m just going out for a walk,” Ellie defended herself and hoped that Damian wouldn’t question her backpack.

He crossed his arms over his chest, displaying his trademark stance. “And that’s why you took some herbicide with you? To obliterate some weed along the way?”

Ellie blinked profusely, trying to process Damian’s quick thinking.

“I was in the Batcave,” he explained. “I’m invisible if I want to be.”

Ellie rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Damn ninjas,” she grumbled under her breath.

Her glasses must have fooled her when she thought she saw the corners of Damian’s mouth twitch.

“You’re far more reckless than I thought you would be if you intend to face the green lady.”

“That’s why I’m just going to have a simple conversation.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Father won’t like this,” he admitted with a dark promise.

Oh God, was she proving to be a sort-of bad mother figure?

It was excruciating to even exhale the words from her mouth. “Well, I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Ellie’s revelation made Damian raise an eyebrow before stating, “Alright, I guess I’m in the mood to vanquish some plants.”

She knew Damian would be perfectly capable of defending himself but the idea of the young boy getting hurt—even the notion of it—pressed a pounding migraine behind her eyelids. One occurring event of Damian having to endure a phobia-induced episode was enough in her eyes.

Ellie’s pained thoughts prompted her to turn her head to study the side of the boy’s face, wondering what had happened in his life to being forced to face this vigilante life.

Brown eyes were staring back at her. “What?”

Ellie shook her head, not knowing if she could find the words to say how sorry she truly felt. That she felt responsible that Strange hurt him and that she left them all.

“Nothing.”

Their walk after their train ride to Robinson Park remained quiet while dawn slowly set in and cloaked them in a protective shroud. It surprised Ellie how Damian’s presence took away this uneasy fear—at least most of it.

The wraith-like silhouettes of the greenhouse stood ominously among the leafless oak trees of the Botanic Gardens. Ellie clenched her hands into fists the closer they got to the looming glasshouse and felt her nervous beating heart pound in her head like a constant reminder.

Taking the tablet out of her backpack with a quiet whirr of the zipper, Ellie accessed the CCTV of their surroundings. “No hostiles so far,” she mumbled under her breath. “I wonder where Grundy is.”

“Oh please, everybody knows Solomon Grundy keeps to the West side of the Gardens.” Damian continued with shrugging shoulders after receiving a perplexed look from Ellie, “He likes stroking and talking to the enormous Venus flytraps Ivy set up there.”

Ellie arched her eyebrows. This seemed to be public knowledge among the vigilantes. “Good to know that Grundy’s just a big ol’ softie.”

A grunting sound left Damian’s mouth. If it were any other situation that didn’t involve a cloak and dagger operation, Ellie would have teased the usually deadpan kid. But for now, Ellie metaphorically patted herself on the back for magically creating a smile on his face—she would take what she could get.

“Do you mind?”

Damian squeezed past Ellie and entered the premises with a turn of the knob, taking on a defensive stance once he was inside. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled over his head to shroud his identity. The material of the brown cord jacket he was wearing tensed under his straining muscles, as Damian was getting ready to fight some plants.

“Sure thing,” Ellie whispered at a moderate volume and hoped these words were able to reach him as she stood a few feet behind him.

They turned a corner and just as she expected, a Venus flytrap made twitching movements and hissing sounds. Right before it instinctively reared its hungry head to their direction, opening its mouth to spit a long-range attack.

“That’s just perfect,” Damian grumbled in dismay, tapping his index finger against his pant leg. An action that made Ellie narrow her eyes and invoke a feeling of déjà vu. “Stay behind me.”

Damian barely even uttered the words before he did a somersault and evaded the mutant hybrid’s seed bombs by making an enviable split in front of it. With a grunt, his arm held the plant back, choking the life out of it.

“Wait, Da—, no!” Her boots stomped on the floor as she scurried towards him. The flytrap made wheezing sounds, struggling for air. Ellie felt uncomfortable when it twisted its head towards her, despite the absence of eyes in general.

“I thought I told you to stand back,” he grunted with great exertion. Damian stood behind the hybrid plant, slowly suffocating it with his arm.

“We’re just going to have a conversation. I’m not really interested in torturing her pets.”

Damian’s eyes burned with dark malice. “You realize this thing can still spit, right?”

“I just need you to subdue it, not kill it.”

Ellie’s gaze wandered to where she imagined its eyes were. “Damian’s not going to harm you.” The boy’s answer was an indignant harrumph. “I just want to talk. Tell your … Ivy this is about Harley.”

The plant shuddered, like the connection to the botanist compelled it to, before slowly closing its mouth.

Ellie’s wide eyes met Damian’s. “Now, let go, please.”

Clenching his jaw, hesitance still ruled over his features. “Fine, but if that thing opens its mouth again, I’m hitting it.”

Sensing its freedom again, it unhurriedly turned its head at the challenge, finally meeting Damian. It was vibrating with a purring noise.

Disgust took over his face.

“Stay here, alright? I need some alone time.”

Confusion was apparent in his furrowed brows. “Oh, you’re actually serious.”

“I’m going to scream if I need you.” Ellie shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe you should follow Grundy’s example. Stroke it and talk to it.”

Damian huffed and faced his new nemesis with his arms folded and at least six feet between them. “Yeah, right.”

Ellie could feel his stare burn a hole at the back of her head with her descent down the stairs, trying to shake off the eerie feeling of being in the company of Poison Ivy’s hybrid plants sitting in every corner of her lair. Just thrumming with energy and unreleased pheromones. Simply standing back and watching Ellie with interest.

She tried to instill some courage by quietly talking to herself. “Okay, nothing freaky here. Everything’s a-okay.” She stretched her arms at her side with jerky movements.

While she was inspecting her surroundings, Ellie noticed how Ivy seemed to have dug deep under the greenhouse, restructuring the facility, and exposing the sewer system.

At the end of the drainage system, a tree monster with its head made of branches almost hit the ceiling of the corridor. Ellie’s nervous steps halted even more the closer she got to the unfamiliar branch creature. It made grumbling noises while sluggishly walking around, with every step it took, squeaking wood noises accompanied it. She felt like the guest of honor when it opened the gates on her left, intending for her to walk through.

“I guess that’s me then. Nothing weird about any of this.”

“Excuse my babies,” a sultry rich voice called out from the center of the basement.

Finally, Ellie caught sight of the woman’s red hair before her green skin did. Ivy leaves adorned her fiery head and revealed a path down her slender neck, arms, and legs. A form-fitting bodysuit revealed her long legs and ended over her hips. Up close, her upper body had a more ‘human’ tanned skin color as it progressed into a more luminous green. Inky-green veins on her jaw dispersed down her neck. Ivy’s face had a more shimmering light-green complexion, making her seem like a party girl who was just into green glitter.

Subconsciously, her feet stepped towards her, feeling fascinated by Ivy’s aura.

The red-haired woman tilted her head in enthrallment and let her eyes glint mysteriously. “If I had known I would get guests for tonight, I would have laid out the Christmas lights early.” Ivy’s red-varnished nail tapped against her jaw in speculation. “Especially if they look so delectable. Maybe litter this place with some cocoons. Make it nice and homey.”

Ellie shuddered at the thought of mummified victims lying around in every corner, depicting some haunted greenhouse instead.

“I’m not here for a date, Ivy. This is about Harley.”

Like a flipped switch, Ivy’s vibrant green eyes dimmed, giving off a serious disposition. Ivy’s naked feet padded on the floor to get closer to Ellie. She stayed rooted in place, not letting Ivy intimidate her but knowing what she was in for as soon as she would utter Harley’s name in Ivy’s presence.

“What about dear old Harley?” Her gravelly voice and stone-cold expression made her heart pound nervously in her chest. Ivy’s closeness let her body temperature rise and made Ellie realize how the botanist stood a head taller than her.

Okay, she was damn threatening if she intended to be.

“This is kinda about Harley. All I want is the Joker. What would you say to an arrangement, so I can deal with him for good?”

Ivy licked her lips and tilted her head to inspect her adversary better. Barely hidden interest was shining in her eyes. “What can I say? I wouldn’t invite him to my birthday party.”

“We have a common enemy. I want the Joker … gone.”

A bored expression took over her face. “What makes you think I’d want to help you?”

“You’re saying you lack motivation in getting a girlfriend away from her abuser?”

Ivy snorted while rolling her eyes. “You presume to know what I want, but you don’t, little girl.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes, trying to detect some cracks in her armor. “What I know is that Quinn revealed the slightest reluctance in escaping Arkham … and leaving her beloved green friend.” She coughed, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of insulting Ivy’s complexion. “I mean, you. Just in case Harley knows any other people with the same … nature-green skin.”

Ivy hummed under her breath, barely even fazed by Ellie’s words. Her eyes were focusing on a spot next to her head, lost in her own thoughts. “Is that so?”

“If it weren’t for a lunatic boyfriend knocking her unconscious, then yes. I’d say so.”

Ivy’s eyes stared at her again, dark intent was taking over. “What do you want exactly?”

“It’d be nice to have an ally, at least temporarily. Help me take him down. Keep your ears - or at least ivy twines - on the street and tell me where to find him.”

Ivy pursed her lips. “Getting Harls away from the Joker sounds perfect. But don’t get me wrong, cross me, and my beloved babies will strangle you to death.” Her fingers shaped into claws as they inched closer to her throat.

A strained smile tugged on Ellie’s lips. “Alright, duly noted.”

Ivy’s eyes reduced to slits. “What’s your name again?”

Ellie swallowed thickly, unsure if she should reveal her real name at last. “Rhodes,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Ivy smirked. “Rhodes,” she tasted the name on her lips with a sensual voice. It was strange hearing her pronounce her last name like it was a delicious dessert. “You may call me Ivy.”

A humming noise left her when she nodded her head in consent. Her brown eyes found Ivy’s gaze lingering on her lips. As much as Ellie felt flattered, she didn’t want to take the risk of her poison kiss.

“You’re not going to kiss me, are you?” Ellie asked anxiously, biting her lip with hesitation.

Ivy smirked crookedly, meeting her lips with fire shining in her eyes. “If you want me to. I wouldn’t say no, Rhodes. I mean, why not go all in to seal our arrangement, you know?” Ivy arched an eyebrow and let her breath ghost over her cheeks.

“Now, don’t get any ideas, Ivy.”

Hooded green eyes were gazing with deep longing at her mouth and purring vibrations reverberated from deep within her chest. “Pity.”

Mild concern disclosed in her furrowed eyebrows and folded arms. “What is your fascination with the Joker? He killed your dog for sport, or something?”

Ellie debated with herself on how much she could or should reveal. “That bastard mutilated a friend. I don’t take kindly to people disabling my family.”

Understanding shone in Ivy’s eyes when she nodded slowly. “He’s all yours. But for now, you should hit the night scene of Gotham. Maybe try Penguin’s club in town. Tomorrow night. I hear he has a deal going down. Keeps Harls close.” Her arms stretched at her side. “Let’s keep in touch, why don’t we?”

Smiling fondly, Ivy cocked a hip and made a humming noise. She lifted a hand, waving sultrily goodbye in a silent answer.

A/N: Just so you know, when I teased Maxwell Lord in We are not our masks, I had no idea he was going to be in Wonder Woman: 1984. You could say I'm not sticking to that universe.

Ivy's 'look' was inspired by a mix of the Arkhamverse and the game DC Universe Online. To be honest, I reaaaaalllllly loved writing the scene with Ivy and Ellie. Such a great, fascinating dynamic they both have.

Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @ravenmoore14 @alwayshave-faith @ikranfuad @daydreaming-gemini @bluegalaxyprime @liadamerondjarin @steph21369 @andrewswifes-blog @yanna-banana

#steph writes #watchtowerindistress #we are not our demons #batfleck #batfleck x oc #bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne imagines #batman x oc #bruce wayne #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman imagines #batman imagine #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #tim drake #bruce wayne x batmom

17 notes · View notes

word-wytch · 1 year

Note

I just wanted to say that where I do love your story and have left feedback on other chapters, I do think making your readers feel bad for not reblogging and almost demanding people comment on it might actually take away the joy we get from your writing.

Your chapters get a lot of love and I understand wanting as many people as possible to see it, but that's not really our job. You have people asking to be tagged when you update and I see many of the same people leaving love on your story over and over, not to mention quite a few reblogs and even more likes. You can't expect people to share it with others, it might be a very personal thing to them.

I know this comes off as mean and I'm sorry, you truly don't deserve that, but it's supposed to be about loving your craft and not a popularity contest as you've said.

But how much more engagement do you need to feel fulfilled by a story you should love even without the many fans you already have?

Thank you for reaching out to me and voicing your feelings.

I understand where you are coming from with this and why it may seem that way to you. I certainly don't expect that every person who reads my story reblog it and leave comment.

I am deeply grateful for the level of engagement I get with each chapter that I post. I understand that I am actually quite lucky to have this many people who consistently come back to read and share and that aspect is absolutely not lost on me.

However, a lot of times you don't get what you don't ask for, and if I didn't take a moment to remind people that their engagement means the world to me, I really feel like I would not have gotten the level of engagement that I do.

Is simply asking and reminding people to engage really making people feel bad if they don't? I would actually say their feelings about their own inaction are their responsibility, not mine.

When I read stories, I always try to give people the sort of feedback that I would appreciate myself. I understand that not everyone is a writer so perhaps they don't understand how important engagement is, which is why I always like to remind them.

I really don't feel like it's too much to ask for somebody to leave a brief comment or hit reblog on something that I spend hours and hours pouring my heart into each week.

If commenting and sharing is something that takes the fun out of reading my story for you, then don't do it, and by all means please don't feel bad about it. I want you to enjoy what I've created, I mean that sincerely.

But you need to understand that if everyone behaved like that then it would get no engagement at all and many other people who could potentially see my story and love it just as much as you do would be robbed of that opportunity because it was not shared. Also, I would have no idea what people thought and be lead to believe that people really don't like it enough to be moved to leave feedback.

Do you see where I am getting at with this?

Thank you for your perspective, I hope that you can see mine.

#asks #nonnie

1 note · View note

fluffyprettykitty · 2 years

Text

Night Fillings

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem! reader (no other specifications)

Word Count: 874 words

Outline: Night session with your favourite neighbor. PWP.

Warnings: Mean! Dom! Matt, unprotected sex, light exhibitionism, riding, degradation, use of slut, light biting, if I missed anything or tagged something wrong please let me know!

Author’s Note: first time writing smut for my favourite baby boy, thank you so so so much to @late-to-the-party-81 for beta reading this and helping me out, and to @bitchassbucky for encouraging me with this piece. Mwah.

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics

🌟 Please reblog and comment if you want to, all feedback is appreciated and warmly encouraged 🌟

Main Masterlist ・❥・Matt Murdock Masterlist

THIS IS A NSFW DRABBLE. MINORS PLEASE DNI.

Matt sighed deeply at the feeling of the figure in front of him. You were ready and almost too desperate, waiting for his touch, your body squirming. His beloved touch, the only reason why you’d left your friends in the middle of your night out and jumped ship once you saw him. You couldn’t deny what he gave you. Who else could give you more?

As for him, he was cocky, way too cocky, as his eyes glistened, his breath hitched, with you on top of him, some clothes thrown on the floor, others half off, his tie around your neck, your hands on his head ruffling his hair before gripping it.

What a sight to see, the good girl next door riding her neighbor like her life depended on it. From the drawn window the sight of you bouncing up and down on his cock, struggling to take him all in, could be seen and you didn't mind it at all.

“Come on sweetheart, I know you can do better than that, didn’t practically beg me to come back with your sweet ass to your house just for you to disappoint me, huh?”

He was barely moving, a smirk curled on his lips. He could feel all that was running through your body and mind, your insides burning with your desire, but unfortunately, you were not used to it, used to him; some things are way too tight. You kept on struggling, the sound of his chuckle filling you with more confidence that you could do this. You were trying harder, rotating your hips and trying to stretch yourself more, as you gripped on his hair, a loud moan escaping from your lips. He only laughed a little, his chest vibrating with the low sound.

“Looks like you got all the time in the world, little one”

In the cold of the night, your breathing was getting heavy and uneven, his hands firmly outstretched on the couch beside him, not helping at all with your struggle, instead of wanting to hear, and indulge in, all of the sounds you were making. Your mouth hung open, wet sounds filling the room. oh, he loved it so much, you could tell by the way his cock twitched inside your pussy.

You switched from rotating your hips to bouncing up and down again, his girth burning you so much that it made you squeal. His enhanced hearing allowed him to hear all of your micro noises caused by the way his cock was stretching you out, increasing his pride.

Delicately, but needily, your hands moved from his hair to his shoulders, steadying yourself as you pushed against him, finally sinking down. With a loud groan, you stilled for a moment trying to adjust to his size.

Then he laughed for a second time. Oh, he was cocky all right.

"Finally managed to take me all the way in, huh? Was starting to get bored over here, felt like taking a nap. "

You began to whine at his words, even though you loved it because you wanted to please him so bad

"Matt please, I can't -fuck Matt is it’s too big, I can't, it burns, please, please, please." Your words sounded like a chant, and he did love it when women begged, the more desperate the better.

His eyes darkened as he suddenly, and forcibly, grabbed your hands by your wrists and wrapped his body around yours, turning you around and pushing your body to the couch. You tipped your ass up in anticipation, arching your back and helping him push his cock inside you from behind. He didn’t waste a moment as he thrust inside you hard, one big arm now next to your face, the other hand holding your wrists, his chin above your head.

He pounded into you hard and fast, both your heart rates rising.

He held your wrists hostage with his strong hands as he is pounded inside you at a brutal pace, devouring your body and ruining you for any other man, just as he wanted. Your mouth hung open, only unintelligible grunts leaving your lips.

"Is this what you wanted, sweetheart, to get fucked by my cock,? You thought you could take it, that you could handle it?" He shook his head

"No you fucking can't, only I know what you can take or not. Crawling to me like a pathetic little slut wanting to get filled. No one else can fuck you like I do, huh? "

Soon though, you felt a warmth inside you as he finished, filling you up with what you had craved the most. The burn was finally gone, leaving you filled with his seed and wondering what he was going to do next as he placed soft, tender kisses on your shoulder, having bitten you as he came, slowing his movements until his hips stopped completely.

"Time to scream more, baby girl.”

He tapped on your back, pulling out of it and turning you around again. You looked at him, blissfully fucked but in need of more. He knelt in front of you and left a trail of kisses from your belly to your pussy.

Oh, this was going to be a long-ass night!

2K notes · View notes

bitsandbobsofwriting · 2 years

Note

hello! i really like your writing, and i was wondering, is it better to like or reblog your fics on here? just curious, thank you! :)

(My Masterlist)

Thank you so much for asking!!

Reblogging is DEFINITELY better!! Especially if you tag things!! I really can't express how much I ADORE reading people's tags, even if they're completely nonsensical ramblings! Reblogs and tags help things circulate a bit, so they get to a wider audience, which in turn means more notes!!

However!! Any "note" you can give any post is greatly appreciated, so if you don't want to reblog for whatever reason, comments are also deeply loved. I literally read EVERY SINGLE THING that people tag, comment, or reblog with on my posts, and I hold all of it very dear to my heart!

#bbc merlin #merlin #merthur #arthur pendragon #please reblog #send requests #send asks #asks #requests

29 notes · View notes

wicked-mind · 3 years

Text

Fast and Slow

Summary: Falling in love with Bucky was fast for both of you. Losing you, however, made time stop for him until he found you again. Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions of torture. Sad stuff. Russian translated through google translate.

Note: Wrote this pretty quickly so any mistakes are my own and parts that don’t make sense we can blame on 3 hours of sleep for the past two days. Contains a line from Clone Wars.

All Writings Masterlist

All likes, comments, and/or reblogs are deeply appreciated! I love that shit (:

*gifs not mine

Falling in love is fast. It feels like the whole world is spinning faster than it should and the only thing holding you there in place is the person you love. Without them, you’d be flying off the world with how fast everything seemed to move. And when you’re in their arms, that’s when the world finally just stops and fades away. It’s just you and them.

That’s how Bucky felt when he found you. His world suddenly went from moving too slow to spinning out of control. He fell fast and hard with the way your lips moved when you spoke, the way they’d curve into that wondrous smile just at the sight of him entering a room. It was like gravity no longer held him, you did. Like the whole universe had a meeting with all of the galaxies and decided it was his time for happiness.

The first time Bucky told you he loved you was when you were reading to him late at night. The sound of your voice always calmed him into sleep and kept the nightmares away. He had his arms wrapped around your waist, head resting on your stomach as you read the words aloud to him. He suddenly tilted his head up to look at you, reaching his vibranium arm to take the book away from your hands which made you smile down at him and complain you weren’t done with the chapter yet. Bucky just simply smiled up to you, crawling up your body until he could cup your face in his hands, “Sweetheart…” He whispered out to you before leaving a kiss on your forehead, “I think…” A kiss to your left cheek, “Maybe… possibly…” A kiss to your right cheek before he leaned his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes with a smile that had pure bliss, “I’m in love with you.”

You had smiled and tilted your head forward to press your lips to his, hands moving up his arms until your fingers tangled in his hair, “Just think?” You whisper against his lips as you pulled away, meeting those gorgeous blue eyes that were your world, “Because I know I’m completely in love with you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

The day Bucky asked you to marry him was the second best day of his life. He had asked Natasha and Wanda to set everything up because, let’s be honest, those two know how to get shit done. It was night time but candles and rose petals led you down a path to where Bucky was standing, waiting for you with that signature grin on his lips, as the rest of the team released glowing paper lanterns into the air from behind him. You walked up to him and he took your hand in his, “My love…” He began, the other hand going up to stroke some hair from your face, “I never thought I would find you, let alone deserve you. I tried to stay away from you thinking that you deserved better. But you turned that all around. Hell, you turned my whole world upside down. When I’m with you it feels like the whole world has stopped just for you and I. I love you with every piece of me and you taught me that even the broken pieces of me deserve love.” He slowly dropped to one knee, keeping your hand in his right while his other dug into his pocket until he held out a ring in front of you with a diamond in the center and rubies around the band, “I’ve waited for you for what feels like a century.” That comment made Sam snort but both of you ignored him, “Will you marry me?”

You bit your lip with a smile, trying to stop the tears that had mercilessly rolled down your cheeks at the proposal. You nodded and managed to squeak out a soft ‘yes’ before watching him slide the ring onto your left hand gently and as soon as it was secured, you flew into his arms leaving kisses all over your face.

When the day came for you to marry Bucky, Tony had gone all out with decorations in the garden. He was the biggest wedding diva out of everybody and you kept making jokes it was like he was getting married. He kept stomping around outside while you and Bucky got ready, making sure everything was absolutely perfect. It wasn’t often that two members of the Avengers got married so Tony was going all out to make this look good. When the music started and everybody was in their seats, Bucky stood up at the front with Steve at his side. You walked down the aisle after Natasha, Wanda behind you to make sure your train and veil looked perfect. Bucky could’ve swore his heart stopped when he saw you, not knowing he was holding his breath until a soft gasp escaped his lips as well as the tears that flowed freely down his face. This was it. His forever happiness he had been searching for was walking towards him to officially become forever his and him forever hers.

For three years, you and Bucky were happy. You two had your own apartment suite at the facility filled with pictures and reminders of how much you two loved each other. Not only was home life great, but the mission success record you two had was the one to beat. Every night you would read to him with one exception. On nights before missions you two would lay and stare at each other as if it was the last time you’d see each other, memorizing every feature on each other’s bodies and face. Bucky ran his fingers through your hair slowly, studying every expression that came across your face, “I love you.” He whispers out towards you, his voice breaking slightly.

You smiled gently over to him, your fingers brushing down his face to trace his lips, “Stop saying it like it’s the last time you’ll see me. I love you too, James, and I promise I won’t let them take you.” You whisper back to him. Bucky always had nightmares of Hydra taking him again, taking him away from you. Every time you two had a mission that involved Hydra, Bucky would always get lost thinking they were going to get him. That the night before the mission would be the last time he would remember you. It’s the reason why he would sit and trace every feature on your skin, trying to memorize every bit of you deep in his mind so if something were to happen, maybe deep down he would remember the way you smiled or how your lips looked when you told him you love him.

The mission came much too soon the next day. You gave your wedding ring to Bucky to put on his chain that held his dog-tags as well as his own ring as you always did, telling him to give it back to you after with a smile. Your mission was to capture one of the scientists of a Hydra facility, figure out exactly what they were working on. However, you, Bucky, and Steve were, not expecting the Hydra based to be so packed with agents. You and Bucky got separated from Steve while fighting off enemy agents but the plan was to just get out of the base as quick as possible and call it a failed mission. After fighting off enemy agents, Bucky had his arm around your waist helping you run down the hallway. You had hurt your ankle fighting off some enemy agents and couldn’t run very well and Bucky had his share of bruises and wounds across his face and body as well. You were almost to the door when a shot rang out and your body lurched forward, a gasp leaving your lips.

Bucky’s eyes widened as he looked behind the both of you to the swarm of agents chasing after the two of you. Then he heard the shot and your gasp. He stopped in his tracks for a slight moment and looked over at you, feeling your body going half-limp against him, “Baby?” He asks you in a shake voice before his eyes wondered down to your left shoulder. There was blood leaking down your tactical suite from a hole, splattering against the floor, “No no no, baby.” He says, pulling you firmly to his side as he resumed towards the exit.

“James…” You whisper out, swallowing hard. You could taste the tinge of copper in your mouth, realizing you must’ve bitten your tongue when the bullet entered your body, “Go, James. I won’t let them take you…You need to go now.” You tell him, trying to stop in your tracks to hold the agents off so he could escape. You could feel your body starting to get cold, knowing that wasn’t a good sign and the pain slowly subsiding, another bad sign. The door at the end of the hallway had an emergency shut button but one of you would have to stay on the other side to close it.

“Shut up, I’m not leaving you.” Bucky growled down to you, keeping a steady pace towards the door, keeping you upright and pulling you towards the exit. He was so focused on taking care of you that he hadn’t noticed he had been shot in the back as well, his super soldier serum not allowing him to stop. It’s not like this is the first time he had been shot before but he was damn determined not to let it slow him down from getting you to safety.

The Hydra agents were right on your heels, one grabbing your arm and pulling you from Bucky as another went to grab him. You grab the agent that attempted to grab ahold of Bucky, pulling him down to the floor. You thanked god you couldn’t feel the pain as you stood back to your feet, walking towards Bucky and shoving him out the exit before hitting the red button, causing a door to come slamming between the two of you, the only thing you could see through the small window was Bucky staring at you with wide eyes, pain across his features at you two being separated with you on the wrong side of the door with dozens of Hydra agents. You smile slightly at him, one hand on the wound to your shoulder while the other touched the glass, smearing some blood on the small window, “I promised you.” You whisper out, not knowing if he could hear you through the door, “I love you, James.”

“NO!” Bucky yelled, punching the door with his vibranium fist and barely leaving a dent, “Baby, open the door now!”

You took one last look at him before turning to look at the Hydra agents, lifting your hand to the earpiece, “Steve… Bucky needs immediate extraction and medical attention… Get him out of here.” You say into the coms before pulling the earpiece out and dropping it to the floor. You winced as you pulled out one of knives from the sheath on your thigh, ready to attempt to fight off the dozen agents approaching you slowly.

Steve ran up behind Bucky, looking through the window. He tried to help Bucky pry the door open, then both of them froze when another shot rang out and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Your body lurched again, Bucky watching as a bullet went through the right of your ribcage. He let out a loud, deep scream at the sight of your body stilling for a moment before you fell to your knees then you fell flush to the floor. Steve grabbed onto Bucky, watching the Hydra agents move around you to get to the door. Steve pulled the screaming and fighting Bucky away from the door with all his strength, eventually making it back to the quinjet they arrived on and sedating him so he wouldn’t go fight his way to recover your body.

The team went back to the Hydra base a few days later, wanting to recover your body but the base had been cleaned out and empty with all that was left of you was the blood. Bucky’s world had stopped. Every day he felt like he woke up from a bad dream of losing you just to enter the reality that he did. The empty space in the bed was haunting to go to sleep next to as well as wake up but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to switch rooms or beds. He needed you and you were gone. He tried to accept that but how could he when you were the love of his life. His person. You were supposed to be with him forever and instead he was left alone.

Losing love is slow. It feels like your world just decides to stop spinning around you. Everything seems wrong and different in a way you don’t want. It feels like a piece has been forcefully torn from your heart with no hope of it being replaced. It isn’t just a star that is taken, it feels like the whole damn sky has been ripped away from above you and you aren’t quite sure if the ground beneath your feet is holding you anymore.

Two Years Later

The team sat at the table, called in by Natasha. She was the acting head of the Avengers, an honor given to her by Nick Fury. He had told her that they needed to be lead by someone who understood and was apart of what they were, but also had a solid mind not to sway. Natasha sat, staring at the table. Obvious lost in her thoughts about this latest mission she was going to debrief the team about. It had been a while since they were all here together meaning it had to be a dangerous one.

The team took their seats, Steve watching Natasha closely in confusion of what may be bothering her. Only Steve, Bucky, and Clint were called to this meeting.

“Okay, let’s get started.” She spoke finally after a sigh, standing up and turning on the hologram to show video footage. “We have sent four teams of agents in to take down a threat we believe may be loyal to Hydra. Every time we send a team in, we lose transmissions and footage from an unknown attacker. It’s something that has never happened to us. Usually we find some sort of trace. We had no information. Until last night. Brace yourselves..” She promptly pushed play so the rest of the team could see what she meant.

The video was taken from a quiet drone, following the team of four field agents. Everything on the video was normal for the agents, clearing rooms in a building trying to find their target. But quickly, everything changed. Something came into the room, knocking the agents to the floor with ease. Then, whatever it was, paused, looking at one of the standing agents in the face. The person wore a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and combat boots. The agent pulled out his pistol, telling the person to stand down. But the person didn’t move, not even flinch at the sight of a gun pointed at them. They quickly pulled out a knife and threw it, landing right in the neck of the agent and watching him fall to the floor before turning to the drone. The person wore a mask blocking the features and the hair, unable to get recognition. The person picked up the dead agent’s gun and fired it at the drone, cutting the feed.

Steve looked at Natasha, confused, “What was that?”

Natasha sighed and turned to look at him from the screen, “I don’t know.”

“Can’t see her face.” Bucky muttered out.

“Every time we see whoever that is, they’re masked and they don’t speak. We can’t identify them.” Nat responded, placing her hands on the table, “The only thing we do know is that they have killed four teams, a total of 13 agents.” She paused for a brief moment, “I’m thinking it’s a super soldier. We have intel on a Hydra base in Russia.”

Steve looked over to Bucky, “Are you up for this mission?” He asks softly, knowing Bucky had been specifically staying away from missions to do with Hydra since he lost you. It was just too much of a reminder for him of what Hydra had managed to take away.

Bucky swallowed hard and sat back in his chair, staring down at his hands, “Yeah.” Was all he could manage to get out. It was time for him to face his demons, figure out what had happened to you. Maybe he could now finally figure out what happened to your body and bring you home where you belong, burry you so he would have a place to actually mourn. He would go through every Hydra agent until he got answers.

One Week Later

When the team arrived, they did a lot of recon. The bunker was so thick that Sam couldn’t get an accurate reading even with RedWing’s help. It was an obvious Hydra base, sometimes they would see agents coming out and going in, sealing the large doors behind them. Natasha and Steve quickly hatched a plan that when agents would leave, they would attack them and steal their gear and keycards used to enter the base.

That is how the team of Steve, Natasha, and Bucky ended up walking down the corridors of the bunker disguised as Hydra goons. It took everything in Bucky not to just kill the first agent he saw but he was here for answers and needed to complete the mission first before he could interrogate the enemy. Once they got the layout of the facility and a good idea of numbers, that was when they started their attack. The trio started at one end of the bunker, going through and eliminating agents while Sam and Clint came through the front of the bunker.

Bucky and Steve broke off once they met up with Sam and Clint, going on the search for the scientist they were looking for. They walked into a room to find the scientist, Arvloski, by himself and attempting to burn files. Steve threw his shield at Arvloski, knocking him back into the wall and this was when Bucky finally snapped. Bucky crossed the room, gripping onto the scientist’s throat with his vibranium arm and pushing him against the wall, “Two years ago you killed my wife.” He growled out, his eyes darkening near black.

“Buck.” Steve’s voice came from across the room.

“What did Hydra do with her body?!” Bucky growled out again, ignoring Steve completely. He was consumed with white hot rage, only seeing the images of you saying you loved him one last time before dropping to your knees.

Steve approached Bucky and pulled him away from Arvloski, the scientist hitting the ground gasping for air, “Buck, stop!” He said, snapping his friend back to reality, “Look!” He yelled, pointing over at a computer monitor.

Bucky frowned, looking over at the scientist before making his way over to the computer monitor Steve had pointed him to. He squints a little at the screen, it was recordings and the dates started at a year and a half ago. Bucky felt his blood run cold at the view of the monitor, his jaw dropping slightly. There you were, alive, strapped into the same type of machine they would use to wipe his memories. He watched as you were sat back up after screaming, the mouth guard falling from your mouth as you stared blankly ahead with sweat dripping down your skin.

Arvloski came into view of the screen, “Do you know who you are?”

You kept staring for a moment, a look of confusion on your face before you whispered out one word, “James…”

Arvloski shook his head, “This isn’t working. We keep running her through this her brain will melt. We’ll try something else."

Bucky’s fists clenched as the recording ended then started replaying again. He stood silent for a moment, trying to control his anger because if he didn’t then Arvloski would be ripped to shreds by Bucky’s own hands. His nostrils flared with anger as he took in deep, shaky breaths, “Where is she?” He demanded, not looking over at Arvloski.

Steve had positioned himself between the scientist and Bucky just in case things got more violent than they should be. He watched Arvloski get to his feet, brushing the dirt from his pants, “I’d answer him.” Steve said over to the scientist.

Arvloski raised an eyebrow at the two before holding up his arms as if to say he gives up, “I’ll take you to her.” He said, keeping his hands up and leading them out of the room and down some metal stairs to what looked like a containment area. He motioned down the hallway, “Third cell on the right.”

Bucky glared over at Arvloski, pushing him up against the wall and pointing a finger at him, “I’m not done with you.” He hissed out, throwing him over to Steve who secured him in an iron grasp on the arm. He took a deep breath before starting to walk down the hallway, looking at the empty cells until he reached yours. He paused, squinting in the dark of the cell to see a figure curled up in the corner. Bucky gripped onto the large padlock not he cell doors, ripping it off easily with his vibranium arm and strength before pulling the door open slowly with a soft creek, “Baby?” He whispered out towards you as he stepped into the cell. He watched your head turn slightly as if you were going to look at him but you didn’t turn enough to meet his gaze or let you see his face.

Arvloski reached into his pocket with his free hand while his other arm stayed in Steve’s grasp. He dug in his pocket until he found the small remote he was looking for, clicking the large button before speaking in Russian throughout the cell block, “солдат, атака (Soldier, Attack).”

Bucky heard the Russian words, looking over his shoulder for a moment before back to you. You seemed to flinch at first but then he watched as you slowly stood from the corner, cracking your neck on each side as you turned to face him, “Sweetheart you don’t want to do this.” He pleaded, watching you take steps closer to him. He wouldn’t fight you but he wouldn’t exactly just let you beat the shit out of him either. Bucky was caught off guard by the strength of your punch to his stomach before you landed a kick to his jaw, causing him to fly backwards into one of the stone walls. His eyes widened as he looked up at you, realizing they hadn’t just tried to brain wash you. They had done the same thing to you as they did to him. Give you some sort of super soldier serum that gave you extra strength and somehow controlled you without needed trigger words.

You walk past him out of the cell, eyes looking to the smirking scientist for a moment before up to Steve. Within moment, you moved from standing in front of him to advancing at a quick pace, throwing punches that Steve was trying his best to block. Arvloski took this chance to run up the stairs in an attempt to escape.

Steve managed to wrap his arms around you, vaulting your attacks for a moment, “Buck! Get the thing from Arvloski!” He yelled before you swung your head back into his nose, causing him to let go and stumble.

Bucky came flying out of the cell, watching you fight Steve, “What thing?!” He yelled, advancing from behind you and trying to get ahold of you through the punches and kicks you threw at the two of them, “Fuck that, you get the thing! I got her!” He growled out to Steve, gripping onto your arms and slamming you back against the wall. He could hear Steve scurrying up the stairs after Arvloski to get the remote that controlled you. Bucky stares into your emotionless eyes as you flailed against his grasp, “Baby, stop! This isn’t you!” He said to you, searching your eyes for any remembrance of him.

You frown at him, licking your lips before speaking, “хорошие солдаты следуют приказам (good soldiers follow their orders).” You tell him before lifting a knee and thrusting it not his stomach, causing him to release you from his grasp. You ran after Steve, watching him hold the remote to control you in his hands with Arvloski knocked out on the floor Your gaze darkened on him and you advanced once against the blonde super soldier, trying your best to knock him to the ground. You were able to wrap a hand around his throat, shoving him against a wall and lifting him slightly from the ground.

Steve gasped against the hold on his neck, one hand trying to pry your grasp from him while the other held the remote. He looked over to see Bucky coming up from behind you, “Buck!” Steve spat out between breaths, throwing the remote to him, “Say something in Russian!”

Bucky looked at the remote in his hand before clicking the button and watching you flinch again, releasing Steve as your hands went up to grip the sides of your head, “останавливаться (stop).” He said, watching you freeze and look over to him as if waiting for another command. Just as Bucky was about to talk to you again, he heard two shots and two needles went into your neck. You narrowed your eyes at Bucky before falling to the ground unconscious. Bucky stares at you on the floor before looking down the hallway to see Natasha, Sam, and Clint staring at the ordeal.

“What? You two weren’t going to knock her out.” Natasha said, putting the tranquilizer gun back in her holster, “Someone had to do it.”

Three Weeks Later

Much to Bucky’s dismay, you were kept in the detention center for two weeks upon your return while the team tried to figure out how exactly the remote controlled you. They had isolated you, Natasha bringing you meals and clothes. She was the only one allowed to visit you because of her ability to separate her emotions from the mission at hand. Once they figured out how the remote controlled you through a chip that had been implanted into your brain, Dr. Strange was called in to perform neurosurgery on you to remove the chip and threat you posed.

Bucky had to be physically stopped multiple times from entering the detention cell by Sam and Natasha which earned the two to feel the wrath and creative curse words that fell from Bucky’s lips. He needed to be there for you. He needed to know if you still remembered him. After the surgery to remove the chip and another week of observation, you were deemed no longer a threat but chose to stay in the detention cell as you pieced together bits of your memories. You sat in the open cell on the bed, flipping through some photos that Natasha had given you to help piece things together. The presence of Bucky made your head tilt up to meet his gaze. Your brow furrowed… You knew him. Knew everything about him- He was the one thing you couldn’t forget, “Hi.” You said softly to him before looking back down.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smile at your greeting. It’d been so long since he heard your voice and he thought he never would again. He slowly entered the cell, leaving the door open, and taking a seat on the metal chair across the room from you, “You doing okay?”

You shrug slightly, looking over at him from the corner of your eyes, “I guess. Still trying to figure things out.” You said with a sigh, tossing the photos at the end of the bed and pulling your knees to your chest in frustration, “Everything’s all jumbled and lost. Can’t put the pieces together.”

Bucky stared sadly at you, wishing he could take you into his arms but he didn’t know if you remembered what he meant to you. Or what you meant to him. You two were each other’s worlds and now it seemed like you were worlds apart. He swallowed hard before speaking, “We were pretty close before.” He said, smiling slightly at the memories, “I can help you.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, focusing on the wall in front of you with a confused look on your face still, “I don’t remember much. Everybody has been calling me Y/N so I’m assuming that’s my name.” You pause, chewing again on your bottom lip. Your eyes slowly moved to look at Bucky, remembering everything about him. He was the only person you hung onto through the brainwashing sessions and once Arvloski figured out the device in your brain, you didn’t need the brain washing treatments anymore. You were completely complicit with the click of a button and words spoken in Russian when your chip was activated. Your eyes scanned over Bucky’s face. He looked sad, a tinge of guilt and pain behind those blue eyes you adored, “I remember you, James. I remember everything about you.”

Bucky’s lips part slightly in shock. He didn’t know what to say. You remembered him, and not just who he was, but everything about him. He quickly stood, going to cross the room but stops in his tracks when he saw you tense up and curl slightly away from him. That hurt deep in his core but he understood. More than anybody he could understand some of what you went through and how damaged it could leave you. Bucky moved to sit back in the chair, keeping the space he wanted to cross so badly but couldn’t for you, “I’m here for you.”

It took one month for you to finally agree to Bucky to move out of the detention block and back up to the apartment suite with him. The detention cell wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Bucky and Wanda tried to make it as ‘homey’ as possible, bringing down blankets, pictures, flowers and even a laptop to watch movies on when you got bored. You walked into the apartment suite and looked around, hovering around the door as you took everything in like it was all brand new.

Bucky wanted more than anything just to reach out to touch you but he still knew better. Every time he would try, you would tense up and suddenly your eyes would flash to a guarded state and he would back off and try his best to give you a half-hearted smile. He watched as you slowly walked around, looking at the pictures on the wall and all of the decorations that you assumed you had done because Bucky didn’t seem like the decorating type. He watched you walk down the small hallway and pause outside the bedroom door, staring at the doorknob, “You can go in if you’d like. It’s your room too.” He said softly from behind you.

You swallow hard at his words, your eyes still glued on the doorknob as the war in your head silently raged on to whether you should go in or not. Then you just got the courage to grab the doorknob and twist, pushing it open and stepping inside before your body decided you couldn’t. You took in a sharp breath as you looked around the room slowly. The dresser was littered with pictures of you and Bucky as well as fancy perfume bottles. Your eyes floated over to the bed, it was messy and looked like it hadn’t been made in a while. The red sheets made you blink and wipe small tears away from your eyes as memories of you reading to Bucky and laying in his arms promising you’d never let Hydra take him flood your mind. You slowly turned to face Bucky who stood in the doorway, the tears free falling from your cheeks.

Bucky slowly started walking towards you when you turned to him, seeing you cry. He hadn’t seen you cry since they brought you back, you’d usually just be staring off or have this look of frustration on your face but now it looked as if the floodgates had opened and you were about to break. He paused right in front of you, staring down into your eyes, “Sweetheart…” He whispers out, “Can I touch you?” He waited until you slowly nod to take another step towards you, one hand gently touching your arm while his flesh hand went up to brush along your cheek for a moment, wiping tears away before pulling you close into his chest with his right hand brushing through your hair softly, “I’m here, doll.” He said, pressing his face into your hair, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

It took another month for Bucky to have to stop asking for permission to touch you and eventually you found herself melting into his arms, searching for his touch. You almost felt panicked without him there to ground you now. But just because you craved for his touch didn’t mean you had your limits also. You wouldn’t let him see you undress and get dressed. You’d sneak out of his arms in the middle of the night once he had fallen asleep to go sit by yourself on the couch and stare out the windows until the sun came up and Bucky came to find you.

A few months after that, you attended your first Sunday movie night with the rest of the team. Bucky made sure you two sat in a corner close to the exit in case you wanted to leave early but to his surprise you sat next to him on the small couch gripping onto his hand tightly through the entire thing until the credits rolled and you smiled and thanked everybody for the fun night before heading back up the stairs with Bucky to head to bed. You slowly laid down the bed, watching him pull off his shirt followed by his pants leaving his chest bare. You looked at the dog-tags around his neck, noticing his wedding ring tangling on the chain as well as yours. You watch him crawl in beside you, laying his head down on the pillow next to yours so you could stare into his eyes. You could see the guilt behind his half smile towards you, causing you to lift your hand to run along his stubbled cheek softly, “James… It’s not your fault.” You whisper over to him.

Bucky turned into your touch, a smile set on his lips before turning to a soft frown at your words. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh before opening them to meet your gaze again, “It is. I always made you promise to not let them get me.” He whispers back to you.

You shook your head slightly at him, “No, it’s not. I promised I wouldn’t let them get you and I kept that promise, James.” You whisper back to him, “I made the decision to close the door. Anything that happened was my fault.” You swallowed hard before continuing, “Besides, I should’ve died but Arvloski had other plans. I’m sorry I’m not the same person you loved. I’m sorry I’m broken.”

Bucky crumbled at your words, “No!” He hissed out then sighs, “Don’t say that, baby.” He replies back to you in a softer tone, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against him, “Don’t ever say that. When I thought you were gone it was like my world stopped spinning. I don’t know how I made it without you.” He cries out into your hair, “I’m so happy you’re here. I’m so sorry for everything that happened to you, and I will be here everyday to help you, but I’m happy you’re here with me now because I couldn’t go on much longer without you, Y/N. You’re my whole life.” He sat up, bringing you up with him and adjusting you to sit between his legs so your back was pressed to his chest. Bucky pulled the dog tags from his neck, unclasping it to slide your wedding ring off slowly before putting the chain around his neck again. He brought the ring out in front of you to look at, “You are and always will be my everything. I will always be here for you. I know what you’re going through, doll, and I’m here with you every step of the way because you’re my wife and I vowed to be with you through everything. You and I can be broken together and we will put ourselves back together, okay?”

You stared at the ring in front o you for a moment as you listened to his words. Through the months, things from your life had started to come back in more clear images and the one thing that you knew for sure that was never taken from you was Bucky. The way he would smile at the sight of you. The way lanterns floated through the air when he proposed to you. The way he would seem to savor every touch with you like he was memorizing every part of your body or the way when you two trained together he would pin you down and leave a soft kiss on your cheek with a chuckle before climbing off of you to go again. You slowly lifted your left hand up for him, watching him slide the ring slowly onto your left finger before wrapping his arms around you and leaning his forehead on your shoulder with a sigh of relief, “I love you, James.” You whisper out to him, “You’re the only thing I held onto for two years.”

Bucky tightened his arms around you, pulling you down to lay beside him so he could look into your eyes again, “I love you.” He says softly to you, “You’re the only thing I held onto for two years too.” He murmurs out before gently kissing your forehead, “And now that I have you back I’m never letting you go.”

_____________________________________________________________

Permanent Taglist: @buckypops @bibliophilewednesday @buckys2thicc @stcrryslibrary @princessnnylzays @redhairedfeistynerd

#bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot

281 notes · View notes

justthehiddleswrites · 2 years

Text

Ties That Bind | Chapter 5 | Little White Lies

A/N: Sorry for the delay, life is brutal. This is unlike anything else I have ever written. It is dark fic. It is a Mafia AU. There may or may not have a happy ending. So read at your own risk. The chapters are likely to be shorter in this fic from time to time. Also writing credit goes to @fadingcoast , @lokifae42 , and @emeraldrosequartz . Not only did they write parts of the first few chapters, but they created the inspiration for the entire premise and fic. And I am forever in their debt for it. Thank you.

Pairings: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Jae Birichinata), Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Madison McMahon), Loki Laufeyson x OFC (Jae Birichinata)

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Summary: When a one night stand with the only daughter of one of New York’s biggest crime bosses results in a pregnancy, Tom is trapped. Fast forward, now 10 years later, Tom is stuck in a loveless and cruel marriage with four kids (only one is his), a cheating wife, and no escape. The only bright spot is in his life is his love, Madison, the sweet bookshop clerk working a block away from the university he teaches at. Going on four years sneaking around with Madison, Tom is certain Madison’s important news is she is breaking up with him. The truth rocks his core.

Now Tom has only one goal, getting his son, William, and himself out of the hellscape called his life alive. A vindictive wife, in laws with access to money, resources, and brute force, and not to mention his wife’s lover who is more than meets the eye, Tom is starting to wonder if his father-in-law is right. No one leaves the family alive.

Trigger Warnings: Violence (both graphic and implied), forced marriage (sort of), infidelity, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childhood physical abuse and sexual abuse, implied in*$t, smut, torture, death and more as I can continue to write it.

READ WARNINGS BEFORE YOU INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY TO MONITOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION. MINORS DNI, THIS IS AN 18+ STORY.

Taglists are open, please let me know if you want to be tagged.

THANK YOU FOR READING, PLEASE REBLOG, LIKE AND COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED. I APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT!

That Saturday morning, Jae barricaded herself in her “beauty” room. Which was really the bedroom she slept most nights. She sent a text to Tom to avoid seeing him.

All the kids have playdates arranged today. Therese will take them and pick them up before dinner. Don’t fucking disturb me.

Tom exhaled in relief and texted back.

Whatever you say, Jae.

His phone beeped again.

I SAID DON’T FUCKING DISTURB ME!!!

He scoffed and tossed the phone away. Tom quickly showered and dressed for the day. He waved all the kids goodbye as Therese, their part-time nanny, picked up the kids, giving Will an extra tight hug. Once the coast was clear, he headed out too, not even bother to leave a note.

He didn’t dare pull out his burner phone until he was four blocks away.

I have the day. The witch is having a “moment”. I’m coming over.

Maddie wiped her mouth as she leaned against her bathroom wall and then flushed the toilet.

Okay. Bring saltines and ginger ale, please. Love you.

With much effort, Maddie dragged herself into the shower and dressed in a sweatshirt and shorts. She curled up on the sofa until there was a soft knock on her door.

“Princess?” Tom called out.

She groaned and opened the door. Seeing Tom’s smile brings one to her own face. “Hey.”

“Hey, princess.” He stepped inside, wrapped his arm around her waist, and kissed her deeply. “I’ve missed you. I can’t wait until I get to kiss you whenever I want.” He held up a plastic bag. “I brought ginger ale, saltines and matzo ball soup from that deli you like.”

“Grunfeld’s? You drove all the way out there?” She peeked into the bag to see the deli container of soup.

“Anything for the mother of my unborn child.” He pulled her into another kiss.

“You spoil me, Thomas.” she giggled against his lips.

“Yes, I do. Morning sickness already?” He finally let her go and goes to the kitchen, pulling out two bowls for the soup.

Maddie joined him and set the table. “That’s how I figured out to take a test. I nearly took out an entire shelf of erotica.”

Tom raised a brow. “Were you reading again on the job, Madison?” He placed the bowls on the table and takes a seat.

Her cheeks blushed. “No comment.” She moved to sit down.

“That’s not your seat, princess.” Tom commented, moving her bowl next to his. He stood up and took off his pants. It took just a few strokes of his cock to make it hard and he sat back now. Tom patted his lap.

Maddie bit her lip and walked her way over, pulling off her short. She placed her hands on the table to steady herself as she lowered herself onto Tom’s cock. His hands gripped her hips to guide her down.

“Fuck.” Maddie whimpered as her walls stretched to fit Tom.

“Only if you are good, princess.” Once he was fully sheathed inside, Tom wrapped his arm around Maddie’s waist to steady her. “Eat up.”

She reached for the spoon, but her body was shaking. “I… I…”

Tom gripped her tighter, kissing her neck. “I’ll take care of you, princess. I will always take care of you.” He grabbed the spoon and fed Maddie bites of the soup, also feeding himself.

Maddie does her best to not wiggle too much in Tom’s lap. Soon she needs more and rocks against him. “Tom…I… need…” she whined.

With a smirk, Tom held her hips still. “I need you to use your words, princess.”

She gritted her teeth, struggling against his grasp. “I need you.”

Tom grinned and loosened his grip. “That’s my girl.” He thrusted up, flexing his hips against her. “Make me cum.”

Maddie’s body fell back against Tom as she lifted her hips over and over, bringing herself and him closer to release. “You feel so good…” she moaned.

He guided her up and down his cock. “So do you princess. Always so wet and tight for me.” He growled.

Her hand moved to rub her clit. “I need to cum, please.”

“Not until I do.” He gritted his teeth as he thrusts deep into her cunt and then with a deep feral growl, he cums inside of her. His mouth sucked on her pulse point and he bit down, claiming her as his in the throes of his orgasm.

“FUCK, TOM!” Maddie screamed as she came too, gushing against his legs, her body tensing.

As they both come down from their highs, they cling to each other. Tom’s hands ran up and down Maddie’s body. “I can’t wait to be with you all the time. Just you and me. And our child.” He buried his head into her neck and inhaled her scent.

She did her best not to cry. “Me too, darling. Me too.” With a sigh, she moved and pulled her shorts back on. “So how exactly are we extracting you from the gaudy claws of the Wicked Witch of the Jersey Shore?”

Tom smiled and laughed at her. “The first thing is save up money. Lots of it. In cash. When we leave the city, we can’t—”

“—Leave the city?!?” Madison shrieked. “But everything, our lives are in New York!?”

“And so are the Birichinatas. They own at least a third of the city. Dozens of cops on their payroll. I wouldn’t be surprised if they…” Tom’s voice trailed off, as an idea formed.

Maddie furrowed her brow. “I don’t like that look. That look means trouble.”

He waved her off. “It’s just…” His fingers tapped on the table. “It’s not enough to disappear on paper. I would still be legally married to Jae. And that means she and her family can use Will as a bargaining chip. They need to be destroyed. Thoroughly. And that can only happen from the inside.”

She snorted. “You’re married to their daughter, isn’t that inside enough?” She reached for a small box of macrons. Tom’s favorite. “How much more inside do you need to get?”

“As Bond might say, deep.” He fished for his phone out of his pocket and dialed a familiar number. “Hey Vinnie, it’s Tom. I was wondering if we could have lunch sometime this week? I have a business proposition to discuss.” There was a long pause. “Sounds great.” Tom ended the call and smiled at Maddie.

“This is a terrible idea, Tom.” Maddie shook as she spoke. “You are getting involved with…” She searched for the right word. “…THE MAFIA! Killers, thieves, criminals! What if… what if…” Her mind reeled with scenarios each one more terrifying.

Tom scooted and wrapped his arms around Maddie, kissing her cheek. “I don’t like it either, my love. But she left us with little choice. Jae will use every resource available to her and her family to hunt us down. I have to make sure they can’t do that.”

She pouted. “I still don’t like it.”

He leaned over and kissed her bottom lip. “I promise to be careful. Nothing too dangerous. Just like couriering or paperwork.”

She still pouted, but then sighed. “If it means we can be together sooner, then I guess I can leave with you being a gangster. Temporarily.”

Tom smiled and then lifted her up into her arms. “Enough talk about this. I want to spend the rest of my day with you talking about our little one.” He nuzzled his beard against her neck.

“THOMAS!” Maddie squirmed in his grasp. “It tickles.”

They both giggled as Tom walked into the bedroom.

Jae didn’t emerge from her sanctuary until early afternoon on Monday. Tom was at the university and the kids either in school or preschool. Her bruises now faded to an ugly purple green. With a fair amount of concealer and some makeup magic, the everyday person would never know.

Just as she was going to call one of her girlfriends for a a day of shopping when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Spitfire.” Loki purred into the phone.

“Loki!” She perked up. “What a pleasant surprise. I don’t usually hear from you during the day.” Jae twirled her ponytail in her fingers. “Is everything okay?”

Loki inspected his nails from the back of his town car. “Everything is fine, darling. I’m actually getting ready to pass your building. My lunch date cancelled and I am wondering if you would care to join me?”

“Depends on where we are eating…” She bit her lip, already moving towards her closet to pick out an outfit.

“Tavern on the Green. Only the best for my little spitfire. Be ready and downstairs in ten minutes.”

Jae threw on her favorite black leather dress from Alice + Olivia and her tried and trued Stuart Weitzman boots before shoving on her Chanel sunglasses to hide her eye and hustling towards the elevator, boots clacking on the tile. The black town car with blackout windows stopped at her feet and the back door opened, seemingly all on its own. Jae hopped in and took the seat closest to the open door, slamming it shut.

“Hey, baby.” She leaned over to kiss Loki’s cheek as he wrapped up his phone call.

“No, I don’t care how much time it will take, do the job right.” He snapped into the phone. Loki turned to smile at Jae and leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Hello, darling. Just give me one moment.”

Loki reached up and touched his lips. He wiped away makeup with his fingers. “I got to go. Text me when it’s done.” He ended the call, pocketed the phone, and turned to her. “Jae, remove the sunglasses, please.”

She turned to face Loki. “But it’s so bright outside. I would like to keep them on. Squinting causes wrinkles.” Jae smiled at Loki.

His smile melted away to a somber face. “The windows are black out. Take the sunglasses off.”

With a shaking hand, Jae pulled off her sunglasses and tucked them into her bag. She prayed her heavy eye makeup under the low light would hide her injuries. Loki unfurled black handkerchief and wiped away her makeup to reveal the discolored skin around her eye. His green eyes flashed in anger.

“Who did this to you, spitfire?” His voice low with rage laced around the edges. “Tell me.”

A big tear fell on Jae’s cheek as Loki held her by the chin. Her lower lip trembled as she struggled to say the name. “I… it… it… was… I can’t!” she sobbed. “He’ll…”

Loki grabbed for her hand. “He won’t. Just tell me. I will protect you.”

Jae choked back another sob. “It was… Thomas.” She turned away. “He saw the marks at dinner and lost his mind. Said I had embarrassed him. Emasculated him. And then he hit him me. Hard.” Jae collapsed into tears.

“Shhh…” Loki wrapped his arms around Jae, rubbing her back. “I promise to make him pay.”

Jae nodded. “Thank you, darling.” She reached for the handkerchief and dabbed her face. “Sorry for ruining lunch.”

“You’ve ruined nothing. It’s your husband’s fault. He ruins everything.” Loki commented softly while still comforting Jae, the wheels turning in his head.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x ofc #loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x ofc #ties that bind #mafia aesthetic #mobster au

44 notes · View notes