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inkwolvesandcoffee · 2 years

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TH Characters as Writers

TH Masterlist

Tag list: @buttercup32sstuff @potter-solomons @zablife @ilovemanypeople @vir-tual @liliac-dreamer @alikaheroes

I was inspired by @hecatemoon87‘s TH Characters as series and oddly, in particular, her Tom Hardy characters as vampires post. So... let’s just say some writers have a side they keep hidden.

Now, I might one day write individual little pieces for each of these or perhaps a whole fic (because we all know I struggle with doing one-shots). However, for now, this is what I came up with.

James Delaney ‘The Devil in the Shadows’

Genres: Mysticism & Horror

Possessing a taste for cruelty and rumoured to be a vampire, James has everyone (publishers, agents, fans) quaking in their boots. The fact he seems to know an awful lot about what’s generally seen as ‘savage’ and ‘dark magick’ only feeds his image in the public eye.

His writing style is reminiscent of Edgar Allan Poe and the dark Gothic genre, the stories often set in the shadows of the Victorian era. They feel so life-like you’d think he’d actually experienced his own stories, but surely he’s just done a lot of research and done it very well.

Right?

James is very closed off from the public and strays away from social media. Any account on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or whatever other platform claiming to be him is fake. The only person he ‘talks’ (in his own way) to and occasionally gets him out of the house is his neighbour. She’s his proofreader and grateful for him escorting her to and from work (she’s supporting herself by working a waitress and singer on Friday nights), but the relationship remains difficult because she can’t get a read on him. He supports her small business and often can be found in her vicinity.

If you saw the both of them and read between the lines of his novel Taboo, you’d notice the female protagonist is eerily similar to her while the character’s counterpart resembles him.

Alfie Solomons ‘The Secret Romantic’

Genre: Romance

Alfie works under the pen name Edna Spector to prevent the men working at his bakery from finding out about his hidden side. The only one who knows the real face behind the name on the covers is a young female barista who works at a café he’s fond of, close to his bakery. It’s also with her he exchanges books and sometimes goes bookshop hopping. Totally not dating her, no, not at all.

Or are they?

Though he might not show it and the novels by other writers are carefully stowed away in his home, but Alfie is an absolute sucker for bakery love stories. So it’s no wonder the majority of his are exactly what he loves and they tend to have a very smutty side. No one’s complaining, though.

Reggie & Ron Kray ‘The Twin Menaces’

Genres: True crime & biography

The Kray twins are among the most famous (or, rather, infamous) co-authors in the publishing industry. They’ve made good money with their biography and now also write books to offer an insight into England’s underworld. It’s rumoured Ron still partakes in what goes on in the shadows, but Reggie claims they’ve both gone fully legal.

Eames ‘The Gentleman’

Genres: Dystopia & Sci-fi

No one but his publishing house and agent know his true identity. Described as Loki incarnate, Eames is THE gentleman among British writers. While his charm has influenced the acceptance of his manuscripts, it’s still mostly his natural talent for the pen that’s made him come this far.

Underlined by realism, Eames’s stories take place in a more dystopian version of our world and explores the possibilities of technology. His debut novel, Inception, is still a bestseller to this day.

Eddie Brock ‘The Vigilante’

Genre: Non-Fiction

Eddie is a journalist gone author who writes about current affairs. More often than not, his books border on true crime and have led to the downfall of some powerful people and companies. Therefore, it isn’t surprising each new release causes at least some controversy and leads to a heated debate.

He has the odd tendency to talk to himself, but most people write it off as a ‘writer thing’ and think he’s simply thinking out loud or talking through scenarios for his book.

A little known fact about Eddie is that he’s secretly a fan of fluffy romance and especially Edna Spector’s. As soon as a new book by the author is up for pre-order, he’s one of the first to place an order. Now, he could do it himself, using his laptop. However, Eddie visits the independently run bookshop he frequents to support its owner (on who he secretly has a crush). It’s also here where he can often be found working on a new book, sitting in the romance section, or, if it’s Monday, helping out with the weekly shipment.

Leo Demidov ‘The Brooding Lion’

Genre: Thriller

Leo is an ex-KGB agent who uses his own experiences for his detective/spy series, which is set in the country he once called home. After losing his wife to the Russian regime, the widower fled from Russia. The decision was also in part due to his unwillingness to partake in the war with Ukraine.

The British stiff upper lip is easier to break through than the walls Leo has erected around himself. The only person or, rather, thing who knows him best is his keyboard. Sounds strange, but he bought one that’s like a typewriter since it reminds him of his grandfather’s typewriter he used to use to write letters. Although, perhaps there’s one person he occasionally shows what lies beneath the cold and distant attitude: his agent. And she’s known him long enough to pick up on the hidden hints of distress between the lines of his stories.

He has co-written a book with the Kray Twins about the ties between Russia, the Russian underworld and the English criminal underbelly.

Bob Saginowski ‘The Storyteller’

Genre: Urban fantasy

Bob bases his stories on what happens during his shifts at the pub he works at as a barman. To think of it, it was only a matter of time before he’d turn to writing because he certainly has the classic ‘writer personality’. He’s a bit of a dreamer, shy, and quiet. However, he tends to be chatty when he drops by his favourite café for breakfast after a late-night shift or is hungover. Although, it should be noted he’s only like that when a particular girl is at work. She’s the only person he’s fond of in a way he’s never been of anyone else and it leaves him puzzled. All that he knows is that he enjoys her company and values her feedback. Also, in his words, she smells nice. Really, really nice.

His most popular book is about Tom, a werewolf barman who saves the girl he has a crush on from a Victorian vampire. It’s rumoured a spin-off is in the works focusing on the relationship between the two.

By the way, has anyone else noticed he isn’t on duty when there’s a full moon?

Forrest Bondurant ‘The Writing Husband’

Genre: Adventure

Forrest isn’t good with words, that is, when it comes to talking. However, on the page, he has a natural flow in which each word is chosen with purpose. So it seems anyways, but if you’d ask him about his style and vocabulary choices you’ll get nothing more than a shrug and a “I write, that’s all there is to it.”

His main inspirations are Defoe’s Robin Crusoe, Henri Charriére’s Papillon and Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (also a source of inspiration for James Delaney). Henceforth, his protagonists often find themselves out in the wild with all the dangers it accompanies. Moreover, and only his wife knows how unashamed he is in this, he loves the Indiana Jones, Assassin’s Creed and Uncharted franchises so there’s often the hunt for some lost artefact in his tales. Also, yes, he loves video games. He might not be good at them, but nothing beats a night filled with beer and gaming (preferably with his wife).

Two little treasures I found;

#Tom Hardy #Facepuller #Alfie Solomons #Eddie Brock #Reggie Kray #James Delaney #Eames #Forrest Bondurant #Ron Kray #Bob Saginowski #Leo Demidov

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solomons-finest-rum · 2 years

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Hi! I'm so happy you want to get back to writing, your fics are amazing!

I'm not sure what to ask, like a fic/drabble or something else, but since i'm pretty sure you'll get plenty of asksabout Alfie, i was wondering if you have more headcanons/ideas for my baby Leo? 💜

If not that's fine, but I just think he doesn't get enough love for such a fine man.... 🥰

Thanks!

Thank you so so much!!! 🥰 Yes, he is one of those unloved characters that I have a soft spot for!

I don't think he would be very happy if he wasn't a soldier/in service somehow. Leo seems restless to me and honestly, as much as I don't believe him to be violent, he doesn't strike me as someone who has great control over his emotions. He needs to let it out somewhere.

Speaking of which, I don't see him as very experienced with women. He wouldn't necessarily surprise you with amazing seduction skills or bedroom prowess. I'm sorry but that's the vibe I'm getting from Leo. He isn't one of the Hardy characters that make you instantly swoon (*cough* James Delaney *cough*)

I personally had a hard time writing for this character, because it's very difficult to sypathise with him due to his allegiance. I don't want to get political, but I'm sure you know what I mean.

I don't think he necessarily believes in the propaganda, but still I can't be sure.

He's a rare Hardy character that I completely headcanon as a cat lover and I won't take any criticism 🤣

But he is loyal to a fault and one thing that is very attractive in Leo and what makes him such a complicated beast is the ferocity with which he protects his own.

#leo demidov #tom hardy characters #child 44 #leo demidov headcanons #ask #leo demidov imagine

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anadelaney79 · 2 years

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Midnight fire

Summary: You can't deny yourself to a man like James Delaney.

Pairing: James Delaney x Reader

Words: 6.5k

Warnings: 18+ Sex (p in v). Inappropriate Language. A bit of violence

A/N: As usual, I'm really sorry about all the spelling mistakes, as english is not my main language.

Title: Midnight fire

The night was deep, silent. You were cold, barefoot in the middle of the kitchen, drinking a glass of warm milk. You couldn't sleep. You've been sleepless all week, feeling his presence. You knew he was trying to reach for you. But you didn't want him. Not in that way.

The slam of the front door closing made you shudder. He was here, coming in like if everything, everywhere and everyone was his dominion. His footsteps down the hallway quickened your breathing. He broke into the kitchen like if there is something that's bothering him, on the brink of madness. You expected that. You've been waiting for this moment all week. His eyes pure fire, his lips bright and puffed, his fists containing anger and raby, his chest swelling with each breathing.

He tossed his hat aside and began to unbotton his coat, staring at you and not saying a word. The only sound in the room was the heavy breathings, mingling into one, both of you iluminated by the fireplace. You clung to the counter, as if waiting for the hurricane.

"You…" was all he said through clenched teeth. "What the hell do you think you are doing?", her index finger wrapped in her leather glove pointing at you, inquisitor.

"James, if you have any sense..." you said, almost inaudible.

A kick flew, rolling a chair next to him across the floor.

"People who do not know me soon come to understand that I do not have any sense", he murmured, as if nothing had happened.

He took off his coat and then, layer by layer, the rest of his clothes, slowly and without taking his eyes off you. Your body vibrated, as if fear and uncontrollable desire condensed deep in your belly. The desire to flee and to pounce on him, licking every inch of his skin, were the same.

"What are you doing?" you asked, but you knew the answer.

Black tattoos peeked out as, one by one, the buttons on his shirt were undone, coming down to a side of his neck and going down, forming an intricate geometric figure on his chest and on his arm.

You've never seen anything like it. His skin shone with the nervous light of the unruly fire. Your nipples perked up under the fine cotton nightgown. The moisture between your legs began to make you restless, seeking release.

"James..."

"Hush," he whispered, his heavy eyelids closing slightly. "You will learn not to close yourself from me anymore. You…" he finished taking off his shirt "…you are mine."

"No," your mouth said, though your body writhed with desire, "I am not yours, James Delaney."

He walked without a word and with long strides to you, your skin was fire between in the light nightgown. The scent of his skin reached your nostrils, running through you. His eyes swept over you as he growled like a wild beast admiring his helpless prey.

"I'm not afraid of you"… the words came softly out of your mouth.

"That we will see". The words just came out of his mouth when his whole body avalanched on yours. In one quick, firm motion, he imprisoned your body against a wall, your cheek against the cold tiles. He brought your arms over your head and gripped your wrists with one of his huge hands.

"You are hurting me!" you said in a sob.

"And you still haven't seen anything," he whispered in your ear. Your skin prickled at the feel of his lips on your earlobe, his tongue licking the skin of your ear and working its way down, biting hard into the delicate flesh between your shoulder and neck.

You felt his other hand on your thigh, lifting the fabric of your nightgown with difficulty.

"You will feel me. And you will not deny yourself to me anymore."

You instinctively lifted your hips to allow him entry, which was immediate. Pinned down with his hand on your wrists, above your head, you felt the tip of his erection force its way between your legs.

"No!" you cry out, but you were not resisting.

"No?", he sneered at you. "Tell me you don't want it and I'll stop"

But you didn't say a word. You loved it as much as he did. You needed it. You longed for it and even though you knew it wasn't right, you wanted it.

The wetness in your pussy welcomed him warmly, and he moaned with pleasure.

"Fuck…" he let out between his teeth before starting to move like an animal inside of you. Your walls coupled as best as they could to the tremendous invasion of his hard member, which lashed out mercilessly. He released your wrists pulling hard on your hair instead. With your head tilted back he sought your lips with his, without kissing them. Your moans turned into cries of pleasure, releasing all the tension.

"This is you" he said in his deep, unchanging voice. "This is us..." His other hand flew to your mouth, and you licked his fingers, rough and dirty. His scent permeated your skin, sweat drops moistening your hips as they slid down his torso.

Unintelligible words left his mouth and he turned your body to him with one hand, forcing your hip. Your back arched off the wall and your leg got tangled on his hip. You clung to the back of his neck and scratched at his skin with your fingernails impatiently, making him hurt. His eyes looked for yours, dark with desire, and his tongue tangled with yours desperately. Your moans merged with his growls, your skin merged with his skin, his essence and yours were one.

His hand flew to your throat, pressing his fingers into it with increasing strength. You opened your eyes. Fear washed over you, and you sought his gaze.

"Don't…" you started to say.

"Do not think," he interrupted you. "We are not good at thinking."

You felt your face get red as his fingers apply more and more pressure on your throat, the air running out of your lungs. All of your senses heightened, you could feel the blood pumping in your ears, your pussy pulsing around his cock, making it wetter, allowing the two of you to slide like the most perfect and violent sonnet.

An animal scream tore from your chest, and you almost didn't recognize your voice as the most impetuous orgasm pierced through you like a flaming dagger. His arrhythmic and uncontrolled thrusts united to your beating cunt milking his member, giving you the pearly and warm liquid from the depths of his being like a treasure. You whole body trembled, and you felt his teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck.

He came out of you and you felt his slimy liquid spilling between your thighs with a sigh. He let his warm forehead rest on your chest. But you couldn't move. You didn't want to either. You kenw it would be the beginning of everything, and that was the real fear.

#james delaney #fan fic author #tom hardy #james delaney fic #james delaney fanfiction #james delaney smut #tom hardy x reader #james delaney x reader #tom hardy fanfic

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hecatemoon87 · 1 year

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Mano a Mano: Tom Hardy Characters

Alfie Solomons vs. James Delaney

This is just a fun game. I love all of Tom's characters!

Alfie: Alright then, who's this cunt?

James: *silently glares*

Alfie: Are you fuckin' gonna say something? Or are you just here to waste me bloody time?!

James: You speak as if you think you're the one in command, a foolish assumption.

Alfie: Oh, ho, the fuckin' bastard can speak! Let me guess, you think you're the fuckin' Queen of England?

James: I detest the empire. No, I am James Delaney, and I perhaps have a use for you.

Alfie: You fuckin' what? A use for me? No, no, mate. I have a use for you. You see this fist? Yeah? Your face would be brilliantly useful for slamming it against.

James: If it is a duel you're suggesting, I can oblige.

Alfie: Well then, let's get on with it already.

My personal opinion: they would destroy each other. They cancel each other out based on similarities like being soldiers, having rage issues, and both having an incredible knack for manipulation, control, and strategy.

#tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #facepuller #tom hardy fan fic #james delaney #alfie solomons

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noladyme · 3 years

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The Wife - Chapter 7

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. As rumors spread that Mr. James Delaney had returned to England – making a dramatic arrival at his father’s funeral – you might imagine mothers throughout London, rushing to present their marriable daughters to the man. They did not; and for three very good reasons. First; James Keziah Delaney was clearly damaged from his travels, and not a little dangerous. Secondly; it was the general opinion of the better society that Mr. Delaney had inherited his mother’s madness. Thirdly; Mr. Delaney was not single. In fact, he was very much married.

TW: angst, violence, blood, smut (6351 words)

(You guys, I did it! I finished chapter 7! Yay!)

Rosalind took some time to recover. Every day she would be kept warm in front of the fireplace; and the dog stayed near her, lifting its head and whining every time she shifted in her seat. Whenever she felt the inkling to stand, it would put its head on her lap, to get her to stay in place.

Most nights she would sleep next to James, in his bed in the attic. Sleeping in his arms, while unable to give in to lust due to her injuries, was frustrating beyond belief. More than once, she would let her hands wander towards his groin after they’d settled in for the night; but each time, James would grab her wrists. “You are still healing, Rose”, he’d say, and no matter how much she wanted him, and let him know both verbally and physically, she would always end up disappointed. One time she even straddled him as he sat looking over ledgers at his desk, and refused to get off his lap; whereafter he simply continued his work as she sat there. In the end, James refused to come to bed before she’d fallen asleep; sitting in front of the fireplace in the attic, telling her stories of his travels, until she dozed off. On the nights when James did not come home before she retired, she would go to sleep in her own bed, and wake to him watching her from the chair by the fireplace. Then he would carry her up to the attic, and she’d spend the rest of the night in his bed.

Different men would be stationed in the front yard during the days, while James was not in the house – off on one of his secret ventures, making the last preparations for their travels. There would always be at least two men in the yard, and one posted by the back door to the kitchen. Still, Rosalind only felt truly safe when James was there. She carried the knife he had given her, either up her sleeve, or strapped to her leg. She prayed that she’d never have to use it for anything other than opening her many letters; written by acquaintances inquiring about her health. She knew that gossip was running rampant; especially as some of the letters came from countess Musgrove, and her cohorts. Along with the countess, all of them were upper-class ladies, with not much to quell their boredom, other than sharing both true and untrue stories about people they knew; or at least thought they did.

Winter would visit with her almost every day, arriving with Pearl. She would insist she was there to protect Rosalind; even showing her the knife she would use to “carve out the heart of any man who dared enter the house, without an invitation”. Mostly, Rosalind thought the girl felt safe and happy in the house of the man she seemingly admired and held above anyone else. Also, having regular hot meals and cake was a bonus. Whenever James came home, Winter’s face would light up; and she’d follow him around like a puppy, until she had to go back to Helga with Pearl. James, in turn, would speak softly to the girl, continuously asking if she was treated right by Helga, and telling her to come for him if needed.

“There is goodness in you", Rosalind said one evening, after James had sent the girl away with a shilling in her pocket, for protecting what was his. “There is no darkness without light”, James replied, repeating the words she’d spoken to him, weeks before. Rosalind laid down the embroidery she had been working on, and let James take her hand to help her up, so they could go to the dinner-table. She was perfectly capable of getting up herself, by now; but was glad to accept these small tokens of affection, seeing as James was otherwise either too occupied with business, or worried Rosalind would get hurt if he let himself go with her. “Who told you that?”, she smiled. “A very clever, yet very foolish woman". “She sounds quite intelligent to me. You should marry her”, Rosalind said, and sat down in her chair. James poured her some wine, a slight smile on his lips. “I would, but she’s already married to a brutish, dangerous man”, he said, and placed a soft kiss to her temple, before going to sit down himself.

Atticus had managed to produce a fat salmon for them, and by sneaking in some herbs from the market, Brace had made the fish beyond edible – quite delicious, in fact. Even James slowed down his usual inhalation of his dinner, and seemed to take pleasure in the taste. His good mood taken in consideration, Rosalind thought this was as good a time as any to mention her letters. Before she even had a chance to open her mouth, James spoke. “Yes? What is this thing you’re afraid to tell me?”, he said, meeting her eyes. “How did you…?”, Rosalind began. “You were scrunching your nose. You always do, when you’re about to say something, you think I will disapprove of”. She looked down, and laid her fork gently on the plate. “I’m sorry. You have too much to think about already”, she said quietly.

James put down his own fork, and sighed deeply; his expression strangely hurt. “You said you did not fear me”, he said softly. “I don’t, James”, Rosalind replied. “Then why are you suddenly so meek? Have I made you doubt my affection? My love for you?”. “No…”, Rosalind said. “I only want to do everything you ask of me, so that there are no hindrances to your plans”. “Not knowing what is bothering my wife, will keep me unfocused. That will certainly come in the way of our plans”, James said. He inclined his head towards her, as if trying to dig her thoughts out of her mind. “I want you to have anything and everything you ask for, if it is within my power to get it. And if it is not, I will still find a way. So, what is it? Hmm? Jewelry? Silk for a new gown?”. “James! Do you think so little of me, that I’d want any such frivolous things?”, Rosalind exclaimed. James smiled softly. “No; but suggesting it made you speak to me in a tone I recognize better than the one you had before”, he said. “The one that reminds me that beyond being a fool for your choice of husband, you’re also a willful and headstrong woman”.

Rosalind sat silently for a moment, before deciding to live up to James words. She pulled one of the countess’ letters from her pocket. “I have been receiving inquiries about my health. My acquaintances pretend to worry for me… They’ve been sending invitations to social gatherings, tea-parties and the like”, she said. James’ expression darkened. “And you would like to attend these functions, I take it?”, he said. “Not so much want, as need. We need it”, Rosalind said. She put the letter on the table, and pushed it towards James; who reached out to take it. “Though we no longer have to pretend when it comes to our relationship and affections towards each other, we still need to make all your enemies believe that we plan to stay in London. Me hiding away here will cause suspicion as to that”. “How?”, James asked, glancing through the countess’ writings. “We are gentlepeople. I must take part in society; it is only proper”, Rosalind said. “You asked me to live with you again, be your wife, and keep up appearances. You said you had use for me, and this is what I can do”.

James took a moment, seemingly to think over her words, before getting up from his seat, and walking over to her chair. He went down on one knee, and took her hand. “Always speak your mind. You are warm, kind, patient and good. I need you to be those things for me, because I cannot be them myself. Do not ever think yourself below me, in any matter. I rely on you as an equal. As the part of me I am missing; do you understand?”. Rosalind felt a smile tug at her lips, and she nodded. “I will always listen to your opinions, even when they differ from my own”. “In that case, I will begin visiting again”, Rosalind smiled. James got on his feet, and returned to his seat. “No”, he said shortly. Once seated, he met Rosalind’s frown with a determined gaze. “I understand your worries about propriety; but I will not risk your safety for anything”.

Rosalind fought the urge to groan loudly at her husband; settling for a deep sigh. “James… I cannot stay cooped up in the bloody house! You just said that I am your equal. I should be able to…”. “You are my equal in everything but your ability to stay alive”, James said, his voice nearing a growl. “I will not take any chances, and neither will you”. Rosalind gritted her teeth, and gave James a short nod. “Of course, husband”, she sneered. She pushed away her plate, and got on her feet. “Pardon me. I’ve lost my appetite”.

She all but stormed up the stairs to her room, hearing James snarling foreign curses from the parlor. Closing the door behind her, she went to sit in front of the fireplace; staring in to the embers. After her ordeal in Bedlam, she knew very well of how dangerous her situation was; but at the same time, she wanted to keep doing her part. She felt like an invalid – a pawn pushed off the chessboard – and the thought of not taking charge of her life and future with her husband was frustrating beyond belief. She had been taken, abused and threatened; and for years before that, she’d been robbed of her love, because of rich and evil men’s dealings. Leaving London with James – being by his side as he claimed Nootka Sound – was the revenge she needed; but he would not let her do her part to make that happen. In spite of him claiming that she was his missing half, he once again seemed to have no need for her.

Her nails created crescent shaped marks in her palms, from her clenching her hands in anger; and when she relaxed them, a tingling sort of pain streamed across her skin. James entered the room, and walked up behind her. She knew he was there, not from the sound of his footfall, but rather the lack of it. When he decided to enter a room quietly, it was always as if there was a void of sound, and even the howling from the drafty windows would halt for a few moments, until he announced himself.

“I will not apologize for trying to protect what is mine”, he said, as he went to stand next to her chair. “And I will not apologize for wanting to be a part of claiming what is mine, either”, Rosalind retorted; struggling hard to keep her voice leveled. “Yours?”, James muttered, shooting her a confused look out of the corner of his eye. “My future… Our future”, she said. “I cannot simply let things happen tome, or be done for me. I am a grown woman, who has taken care of herself for years before you came back; with close to no help…”. A hint of shame ghosted James’ face. “You are still angry that I left you”, he said. “No… Well, yes. But I’m not angry with you about that”, Rosalind said. “Then why are you angry with me?”, James asked quietly. She turned to look at him, and his eyes flickered, as if he was afraid to meet hers. “I’m angry with you, because you’re treating me like a belonging to be kept in one of your coffers or safes”, she said. “I am yours, but you are also mine. You need to go to America, and I need to help make that happen”.

James crouched in front of the fireplace, and began poking at the embers with the fire poke. “You have nightmares”, he said. “I saw what they did to you… The darkness, and the pain”. She frowned, and shook her head. “No… I’ve slept perfectly well. No dreams of any kind”. “I’ve fought them off for you”. Straining to remember any dream she might have had in the last couple of weeks, Rosalind frowned deeply. They had all been dull and nonsensical, as if any event that might have occurred in them, had been cut short, or had been kept from happening at all. “You’ve been there…”, she whispered. “Hmm", James nodded. He stood up again, and turned to look down at her; his eyes piercing and serious. “I have spent ten years missing half of myself; but when I got you back, I felt whole once more. I will never let them touch you again; not out here, and not in there…”. He put his index-finger to her forehead. “You hurt; I hurt”.

Taking his hand, she kissed his knuckles; beginning to understand his point of view. James wanted to protect her, that was clear; but her fragile brute of a husband was also protecting himself. “You are kind, my love… But I cannot hide from what happened to me for the rest of my life”, she said. “I have to… feel”. It was difficult to find a better word for her need to process her experience. “You told me to grow strong from my anger… Let me remember why I am angry, and let me have my revenge…”.

James frowned for a moment, before nodding shortly. “I will let you have your dreams”, he said. “But I fear for your sanity”. “I’ve been mad with love, since I met you the first time at that ball”, Rosalind said softly. Taking both her hands, James pulled her up to stand, and ran his thumbs over the marks her nails had left in her palms. “I love you, my Rose”, he breathed. “And I love you”, Rosalind replied. James let a smile ghost his face. “I want you to be safe”. “I understand… But I cannot help but feel set aside”, she muttered. In an uncharacteristically tender movement, James wrapped his arm around Rosalind’s waist, and held her close to him; brushing his lips to her cheek. “I hold you to highly to set you aside, wife”, he said, and pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. “But I admit I’ve been hiding you away; and maybe for too long. If you feel well enough, we can begin promenading again. But I don’t want you leaving the house without me”. Rosalind sighed, and nodded.

They stood for a moment in silence, before Rosalind spoke again. “I think I need to take to bed". “Are you unwell?”, James asked worriedly. “Just very tired”, she said. He nodded, and made to lead her out of the room. “No, James… I will stay in here tonight… alone". He looked at her warily. “Alone”, he repeated, as if the word was completely foreign. “Why?”. “Because, though I love you and understand your stance on all of this, I am still angry; and need some time to come to my senses”. “And you cannot do that in my bed?”, James asked. “No, I have to do it in my bed, alone… Please, don’t ask me to explain it further”. “Rose, your nightmares…”.

“James, please!”. Rosalind’s tone made clear she was serious. “I have to be able to handle myself. I must do this for me”.

James let out a deep, clearly agitated breath; before nodding shortly. He pressed a possessive kiss to Rosalind’s lips; the kind that made her already weak knees even weaker. It was all she could do, to avoid giving in; and beg for her husband to take her then and there. “Goodnight…”, she breathed. He held her even tighter, and seemed to be fighting some inner battle; before finally stepping back, with only a hand on her arm, to steady her, as she regained her composure.

“Goodnight”, he said, and walked quickly out of the room; leaving Rosalind to collapse on the chair, trying to remember how to breathe.

---

That night, her dreams were dark, and James was nowhere to be found.

Leering smiles from otherwise faceless figures, as strong hands held her down, and pulled at her clothes. Unwelcome fingers travelling up the inside of her thighs, and over her breasts, as she screamed for him. He never came. Someone grabbing her hair, and scissors cutting through it. “You’re mad, miss Beauchamp. He never came back. You imagined it all”. The collar around her neck was tight; strangling her. “He is gone. He has left you. He is never coming back. It wasn’t real”. A black room. The smell of stale piss and sick. Cold and shivering, she cried into the dark. Alone.

Her eyes blinked open, and she could hardly see for tears. Rosalind almost fell out of her bed, and stumbled out of the room; running up the stairs to the attic. James was seated on the floor, dressed in only his shirt. He didn’t look up as she entered, simply opened his arms, as she fell onto the floor in front of him, and buried herself in his embrace. “Say you are here. Say you are really here!”, she sobbed; her tears drenching the fabric on his chest. “I am here”, James breathed into her ear, while running his fingers through her hair.

After some time, Rosalind managed to calm down; by pressing her ear to James’ chest, to focus on his heartbeat. “I couldn’t do it alone. I couldn’t sleep without you…”, she whimpered sadly. “I’m too weak". “No, no", James said. Her tightened his hold on her. “But just like you are what I need; I am what makes you whole and strong as well. We cannot be apart, my love”. “You are here”, Rosalind said quietly. “Hmm", James nodded. “I am here now. And when I go, you will come with me”.

She fell asleep there, on the floor in front of the fireplace, as James cradled her still shaking body.

---

“You seem healthy”, James proclaimed out of the blue, some days later as they were strolling – very slowly – down the street in Wapping. “We will soon be able to leave”. Rosalind looked at him confusedly. “Do you mean to tell me that you have postponed our departure due to my health?”. She could not help but feel guilty at the thought of it. “Hmm”, James nodded. “Had you needed a doctor, we would not have been able to reach one, if we’d left already”. He led her around a pile of horse droppings. “I am sorry”, she muttered. “Don’t be…”, James smiled slightly. “I’ve been able to finish some business without rushing; and it gave me time to arrange for more comfortable travelling”. “How so?”, Rosalind asked, before nodding politely at some acquaintances they passed.

Another smile ghosted James face. “I had walls built in the hull. We will be able to have a private cabin”. He looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh…”, Rosalind said, taking a moment to catch on. “Oh!”. She instantly blushed. “The journey will take a few weeks, and I do not want to spend that much time without being between your legs”, James said. “Your recuperation has been torture”. Rosalind cleared her throat embarrassedly. “I have been more than willing to let you…”, she said quietly. “Willing and able are two very different things. I told you; I do not wish to hurt you, and having my way with you would do that, while you are healing”. “I’m done healing, James”, Rosalind sighed; realizing how her voice sounded almost pleading.

James took her hand, and lifted it to his lips. “Are you asking me to fuck you, Rose?”, he asked hoarsely, and kissed her knuckles. Rosalind drew in a short breath, and the heat spreading throughout her core made it difficult for her to walk properly. “I… I should like…”, she whispered; her cheeks positively burning red. “Say it, Rose… Say what you would like me to do”, James demanded. She swallowed thickly, and stopped in her tracks. A couple taking an afternoon stroll as they were, passed them, and she hid her expression, by turning her head; embarrassed by her wantonness. James raised his brows at her, goading her to reply. “I want to be fucked by my husband”, she whispered. “Hmm”, James smiled, examining her with his eyes. “It will rain soon. Let us go back to the house”. Rosalind looked up. “There isn’t a cloud in the sky…”, she said, and looked at James again, meeting his bemused eyes. “Oh…”, she said in realization. “I suppose the air is becoming a bit heavy with… rain”. James nodded shortly, and sped up; half dragging her with him.

Once back at the house, Rosalind was swiftly transported upstairs to her bedroom. After he’d closed the door, James prowled towards his wife; who stood as if frozen in place. As she made no move towards undressing, he raised a brow at her. “You may remove your hat and jacket yourself. And your boots”, he said; more an order than a statement. Rosalind unbuttoned her jacket, and took it off; letting James put it over a chair. She untied her capote under her chin, and put it on the vanity. Her gloves went down next to it, and she tugged off her boots nudging them away with her toes. “Do you want me to take off…?”, she began, and reached for the buttons on the back of her dress. “No… no, I said that once we were to share this bed, I wanted to undress you myself, and I will”, James replied.

Rosalind felt her heart skip a beat, as her husband stepped up close to her, and glanced over her body. He put his hands on her waist, and gaged any possible pain reaction from Rosalind, due to the damage to her ribs, but she felt none. “Hmm. It’s not your wedding dress, but it will do”, he said. Spinning her around, he unfastened the buttons of her gown, and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “I love you”, he breathed into her hair, and hooked his fingers into the shoulders of the dress, and pulled it down; letting it pool at her feet. Rosalind stepped out of it, and began unfastening the laces of her stay. “No, let me”, James insisted. “Yes…”, Rosalind said with bated breath. With nimble fingers, James pulled the laces through the loops, and soon the stay was on the floor next to the dress. He quickly shed his vest and shirt, before grabbing the skirt of her chemise, and pulling it over her head.

Having her finally naked in front of him, he sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked at her. His fingers ghosted her ribs, and a furrow formed between his brows. “Are you in pain?”, he asked. “No”, she assured him, and took the examining hand; pressing his palm to her lips. James’ breath hitched, and his pupils dilated for a fraction of a second. “You said these last few weeks have been torture…”. “Hmm, I did”, James nodded. “So, you missed me?”, Rosalind smiled. The draft from the window made goosebumps form on her skin, and her nipples hardened. James noticed, and his eyes flickered. Rosalind felt a boldness like she’d never experienced before rise inside her. “Tell me, what did you miss?”.

James reached for her, but she stepped back, and walked slowly towards the small table by the fireplace, where James had left a bottle of port a few nights before. She let her silhouette cast a shadow over the floor; very aware of James observing her every move. “What are you doing, Rose?”, he said. She poured herself a glass, and lifted it to her lips. “I was thirsty”, she smiled. “You didn’t answer my question”. Her husband cleared his throat, and shifted in his seat; seemingly adjusting himself. “Rosalind…”, he said warningly. She took a sip of her drink, and raised a brow at him. “James…”, she replied, and slowly walked back towards him. “Tell me what you missed… What it has been like to be without my touch”. She licked her lips, and James furrowed his brows. “Are you wanting flattery, my love?”, he said. Rosalind shrugged non-committedly, and downed her drink, before walking over to reach for her robe. “If you don’t want to say what it is about me that it is such torture to be without, then…”.

Before she knew what had happened, the robe was torn from her hands, and she was pinned against one of the bedposts, holding up the canopy. James pressed his groin against her, and his eyes burrowed deep into hers. “This… your face when you’re just about to burst from lust”, he almost growled. “This has been my face every night for weeks, my love; wanting you…”, Rosalind breathed, and pressed her palms against James’ chest, to get him to step back. “What else?”. She took his hand, and led him to sit back down on the bed. He swallowed thickly. “Your breasts… how they fit perfectly in my hands”, he said. Rosalind put one of said hands on her right breast, and smiled in pleasure, as he squeezed it. “And…?”. James stroked his fingertips up the outside of her thigh. “Your legs… when they clamp around my hips, as if you want to keep me close to you, and never leave; while I move on top of you… inside you”. He moved his hand between her legs, and one finger stroked over her labia. “And this… Your perfect, warm and wet cunt…”. She felt her cheeks burn, feeling desired and needed.

James pushed two fingers inside her, and Rosalind gasped; throwing her head back. “So… it’s, truly been torture then?”, she whimpered. “Hmm”, James nodded. “I’ve been hard as a rock every night, having to sleep with you pressed against me”. He curled his fingers forwards, and stroked them against the spot inside her that always made her see stars. “Really?”, she squeaked. He let his thumb massage the hardened nub hidden by her curls. “I’ve wanted to fuck you; feel you tighten around me”, he said. “I’ve dreamt of burying my face between your legs and feast on you. I would have gladly given up every meal, if I could only have your taste on my tongue”.

His words reminded Rosalind that she had in fact never tasted James in that manner. The thought was intriguing, and yet her newfound boldness came short, and she felt herself blush. This man had protected her and loved her deeply; and he’d wanted her as much as she had wanted him. Yet, he’d kept himself from acting on his wants, to avoid harming her. She wanted to give him all the pleasure in the world, as a way to thank him. Feeling James’s ministrations of her privates driving her closer and closer to the edge, Rosalind grabbed his wrist, and pulled his hand away from her warmth; leading his fingers to her lips. Taking them into her mouth, she hummed softly as she tasted herself on them. James eyes were wide, and his lips twitched, when she released his fingers with a small pop. “Would you like me to… use my mouth on you?”, she asked timidly. “Hmm. Mouth. Yes”, he said, flushed and with a ragged voice. Letting out a small, nervous breath, Rosalind leaned down, and kissed James deeply; letting her tongue find his, and brushing wantonly against it. He let out a guttural moan when she moved her lips down his neck, and kissed her way across his chest.

Kneeling in front of him, Rosalind began unbuttoning his trousers. He pulled the combs from her hair, and ran his fingers through the tangles, to let it fall down her back. She slipped her hand under the waistband of his trousers, and found him hard and wet at the tip. James lifted his bottom, and let Rosalind pull his trousers and pants all the way off; leaving him as naked as her. She folded her left hand around him, and smiled as the light from a candle caught in the garnet in the ring on her finger. She stroked him a few times, and heard him gasp as she opened her mouth and closed her lips around him. She let the tip of her tongue stroke against the back of his member, and made a swallowing movement. “Have you, uhm… have you done this before?”, James asked. She lifted her head, suddenly embarrassed. “No… Am I doing it wrong?”. “Ahh, no… No, that is just… It is perfectly correct… good”, he croaked.

Rosalind lowered her head, and took him in her mouth again. Moving her head up and down, she relished in the taste of her husband. He was salty and sweet, all at once, and she couldn’t help but let out a moan; which must have felt pleasurable to James, who in turn let out a deep wanton sigh. He took her hand, and placed it on his testicles. “Gently…”, he said. She softly stroked the skin there, before gently squeezing them in her palm. Sucking in her cheeks, she quickened her pace on his hardness, and let out muffled whimpers. If she’d been able to smile, she would have been doing so, ear to ear.

James played with her hair as she went, and soon fisted it; guiding her pace. He pushed her down as far as she could go, before she had to pull back. She raised her eyes to meet his, and saw his strained expression, from trying to hold back his climax. Sucking even harder, James suddenly let out a guttural groan, and pulled her off him. “I’ve ruined you”, he said, not looking guilty about that fact in the slightest. She got back on her feet. “Ruin me more”, she breathed. For a long agonizing moment, James just looked at her. “My sweet fool of a wife. I will”.

James grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her down to kiss her. Rosalind let out a small whimper of glee, when, with an arm around her back, he made her lay on the bed. Pressing a knee between her legs, he lapped at her right nipple with his tongue, and sucked hard at it. Rosalind began moving her hips to create friction against her warmth; and felt her slick spread on his thigh. James lifted his head, and attacked her mouth with deep kisses. Fisting his short locks, Rosalind held his head there, so she could reciprocate accordingly. Soon, she was shivering in pleasure from the pressure of James thigh, and the hair growing on it tickling against the sensitive skin in her groin.

Suddenly, he dove down between her legs, and sucked her lower lips into his mouth. When she reached for him, James took her hand, and their fingers merged. At first, he gently nibbled her labia, but then began ferociously flicking his tongue against her nub. Her legs began shaking, and James used his free hand to soothingly stroke her thigh, and up her side. Within a short while, everything went white, and Rosalind moaned loudly as her climax hit her.

“James…”, she whimpered. “Hmm”, James said – slight smile on his face – and crawled up her body, kissing her again; her slick still covering his beard. He gingerly stroked her side, where the guard had kicked her. “Any pain?”, he asked “No. I am alright. Please, James… I want you". James smiled mischievously at her. “Well, you will have to wait”, he said. “No… Why?”, she whimpered. “Because I want you clenching when I enter you”, he replied. “You’re going to come again. Turn around”. Her heart in her throat, Rosalind did as she was told, and went to lay on her stomach. With strong hands, James lifted her hips, so she was on her knees, while her chest rested on the bed.

He entered her with two fingers, crooked them, and began stroking against her front wall. Rosalind cried out, while his fingers pushed harder, and a tidal wave of pleasure spread through her body. It was becoming too much, and a tear escaped her eye. “Please… I can’t, James…”, she said. “Yes you can. Just let it happen, my love”. Kneeling behind her, James leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss between her shoulder blades, and sped up his movements inside her. A fire spread from her loins, and down her legs. “James…”, Rosalind whimpered. “Come, Rose”, he demanded. At his words, she lost control of her limbs, and every muscle in her lower body tensed up. It was like an explosion in her abdomen; and she buried her face in the pillow, screaming out his James’ name. When all air had left her lungs, she collapsed against the mattress.

James turned her around as gently as he was capable of in his current state. Placing himself between his wife’s thighs, he looked at her tear-stained face with wary eyes. “Did I hurt you?”, he asked. “No…”, she sniveled. “It was just… so much”. She couldn’t help but laugh a little at her own words. They didn’t even come close to describe the intense pleasure she’d just felt. James gave her a slightly confused smile, before brushing his lips against hers; and then kissed away her tears. “Good… good. Because I can’t wait any longer”.

Rosalind cried out when suddenly she felt James enter her with a hard thrust of his hips. He searched her eyes for any sign of discomfort, and when she simply gave him a blissful smile, he began moving. “My love…”, James panted, and pressed his lips to hers. “My Rose…”.

---

They did not share many words during dinner, only looks and slight smiles. Rosalind’s were properly demure and flustered; whereas James’ were smug, and his occasional hums were satisfied ones.

The post had come while Rosalind and James had been otherwise occupied, and after finishing their meal, Rosalind began to sort her way through invitations for tea and private concerts. “You should begin saying yes to invitations again”, James said abruptly. “But you said… Aren’t we leaving soon?”, Rosalind asked confusedly. “It would be impolite to accept invitations we have no intention of honoring”. “Quite soon, yes”, James said. “Which is why it is especially important that we are seen socializing”. “Giving away no motive to leave”, Rosalind said. James nodded.

She sighed, and threw the stack of papers in the table in front of her. “Take a pick”, she said. “Part for a few of them, they’re all for the both of us”. James picked up a few of the perfumed letters, and frowned. “Mrs. Collins seems quite insistent that you join them for supper this Thursday”, he grunted. “That we join them”, Rosalind corrected him. “You’ve made it clear you don’t want me leaving the house alone, and I cannot stand the thought of sitting through a dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Collins on my own. The man is flatulent beyond belief!”. “I have no intention of leaving you alone with anyone”, James said. “Unfortunately, you will have to reply negatively to the invitation, as we have other plans”. “We do?”, Rosalind asked. “Yes. Another ball at the Musgrove estate”, James replied.

Rosalind instantly blushed. “What is wrong?”, James asked. “I’m afraid I will have to ask for something I swore I never would…”. “And what is that?”. She met his eyes hesitantly. “A new gown”. A smile ghosted James’ face, and Rosalind clenched her fists to keep her temper down. “Do not laugh at me, James. The red gown is the only one I have for such an occasion, and I cannot wear it twice in such a short period”. “I am not laughing at you”, her husband said. “I am smiling because I have already thought of that. One will be delivered in the morning”. “You picked a gown for me…? Will you be dressing me as well?”, Rosalind scoffed; a little agitated about the fact that James would not let her pic her own clothes. “I prefer undressing you, Rose. You should know that”. She couldn’t help but smile at this scandalous reply.

She cleared her throat, and decided to get the conversation back on track. “Will it be like last time? When you left me to fend for myself?”, she challenged. James lit his pipe, and sat in the chair across from her. “No, not the whole time. But we will be leaving separately”, he said. “At 9 pm. you will feign a headache, and leave the ball. You will go to the harbor, where Atticus will look after you, until I arrive an hour later; having told our hosts that I am worried about you”. “Why?”, Rosalind asked confusedly.

James huffed at his pipe, and looked at her through the smoke. “Because on Thursday, we leave England”.

---

tag: @justchillin-inhell

#james delaney smut #james delaney #james delaney angst #james delaney x oc #james delaney fic #tom hardy

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 2 years

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Hello! I was snooping through your headcanons (they all sound bomb btw), and I noticed you did some for Werewolf!Leo mentioning some future ideas for fics about him; i was just curious to know if you still have plans for him... 😊 (the headcanons were so cute & sad at the same time! 🥺❤️ I'm just trying to find some somewhat-happy fics with him, he deserves A LOT of love! [& cuddles, should he want them]) 🥰)

Thanks!

Hiya,

I do still wanna do something for Werewolf!Leo, but I don’t know what. I had one idea, which vanished without being penned down to remind me of it later. (This is why I now keep a little black book of ideas.)

Then I had another and couldn’t make it work whatsoever. I tried writing it twice, opting for different versions, both of which failed. So, yeah, currently I don’t know what I’d do for him.

There is one song, though, that sparked an idea a while ago and now every time I hear it, I’m like “oh, right, yeah, I should do that one”. It’s called ‘nostalgia’ and is by JUNNY & Jay B.

However, I do admit I’m an extremely moody writer who works with bursts of inspiration and concepts. In essence, it means some stories might never see the light of day because I just don’t have the drive to finish them. Also, I can’t channel one particular character to work on something for them at random. Like, I can’t jump from, let’s say, Eddie Brock to James Delaney. I need to be in the right headspace to connect with them. And right now, my writer persona has no connection to Leo, unfortunately.

Lastly, I don’t like writing happy stories. I can’t, in fact, because that’s not what I like reading and creating. I suppose the following quote by W.B. Yeats best describes me as a person and a writer: “Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.”

I won’t lie, he and James Joyce (and Oscar Wilde too) have heavily influenced my fiction and, well, me as an individual. I won’t make this any longer than necessary nor overly explain myself, but don’t expect happy tales from me. Especially when Wolves are involved.

Because time goes on for all of them.

And one day, the final grain of sand slips through the crack in the hourglass.

#ask #answered

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mlmxreader · 4 months

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Killer | James Delaney x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ James Delaney x Reader -> "They pay me the money and I do the job, I got a contract on you" [No one expected Delaney to be on their list, least of all reader] ❞

: ̗̀➛ Delaney settles down with a bounty hunter, but there's still a fair few surprises to come your way; even if one of them requires both a lot of gall and even more stupidity to even think about.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, mentions of death and murder

↳ word count: 1000

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

“Fuck.”

Delaney looked up from his desk with a soft huff, slowly putting his pen down as he watched you carefully; you walked with great tension in your shoulders and back, hunched over slightly and staring at the piece of paper in your hands with furrowed brows and a tight sneer.

He knew that look.

You had a new client, and they had just sent you your orders. A bounty hunter by trade, you took money from whatever and wherever you could within reason; usually it was just murderers who had escaped justice one way or another - often because they were of a pale complexion.

Delaney knew you all too well, though, and knew that this one was likely not that - or it was someone who was genuinely innocent.

So he watched, listening to the harsh, marching sounds of your pacing as you went back and forth in front of his desk as if you were a caged animal, starving and parched and yearning for freedom - about to risk it all to escape the iron bars.

He leaned back, abandoning his few bits of paperwork for a moment as he tilted his head to the side and kept watching; you kept rereading the paper, as if it would make any more sense the more you studied it. He knew you only did that when you were genuinely conflicted about the bounty.

Often because it wasn’t enough money. You sneered and scowled when you read the section that he guessed held the name, so it couldn’t have been the money. They must have asked you to go after someone innocent. But he couldn’t tell, and he knew that the only way of finding out would be to ask.

“What?”

You turned to him with a sharpness in your eyes that he usually smiled at; so professionally cold and cruel at times, your stare could rival his. Although his was animalistic, yours was trained.

“They pay me the money and I do the job, I got a contract on you now, and I’m not fucking doing it.”

Delaney nodded, partially in agreement as he hummed and looked for his pen; he grabbed a new bit of paper, and started to write something down, but you couldn’t see what.

“James!” You barked with all the authority and brutality of a general. “Did you not fucking hear me?!”

He nodded again, his words just grunting out past his lips. “I’m writing a letter.”

Sure, he was surprised that anyone would have the gall to ask you to hunt him down and kill him, given the fact that you had recently changed your last name to his and constantly wore a ring with his name engraved on it; but he couldn’t be surprised that there was a bounty on his head.

It was brave to ask you to be the one, of course, but bravery was incredibly fucking stupid as well. So he grabbed his pen, and he started to write out the letter as he ignored your continued pacing and loud grumbling.

A tiger trapped in a cage, it wasn’t long until you screwed the contract up and threw it at his head.

“Did that make you feel better?” Delaney grumbled, only looking up at you for a moment.

You huffed as you collapsed in the chair next to his desk, folding your arms across your chest and bouncing your leg. “They want me to fucking kill you, and your response is to… to fucking write a letter?! Are you stupid?!”

Delaney shook his head as he glanced at you, almost smiling as he carried on scratching the pen against the paper. “Stupidity was sending you the fucking contract.”

You couldn’t argue with that. “Oh, so you did hear!”

“Fuck off,” he rumbled, shaking his head. “Do you want this to go away or not?”

You huffed, watching him carefully and curiously as he took the screwed up contract and unfurled it; he studied the lettering and the return address, and grunted to himself before continuing to write.

You guessed that either he was going to ask one of his contacts to kill the person who had placed the bounty, or he was writing directly to them and threatening them himself - either way, you couldn’t see the person who took the contract out living to see the dawn. If they were lucky.

You weren’t quite sure what to do, though; you knew that it was only a matter of time before someone asked the same again, but you also needed the money that came through from the jobs.

You couldn’t hurt Delaney, even when you accidentally tripped over his feet, you always felt immense guilt for it; anyone else, you wouldn’t have batted an eye but he… he was different.

He had always been different. You didn’t want to see him hurt, but maybe… maybe you were the only person who could truly protect him - you knew how bounty hunters and assassins operated, you knew how they worked and how they thought.

Maybe you were his best option for any sort of defence.

But he would never let you do it so outwardly; he said that the second he put the ring on your finger, he would not allow you to become his bodyguard. You were not to get involved with his affairs at all, and you were not to start using your talents and skills to ensure his survival.

But obviously it wasn’t as easy as it all seemed, and from the way his hands shook when he grabbed the contract again, you knew that he was about two seconds away from grabbing his hat and fucking off to find the person himself.

“James,” you said softly. “If you’re gonna kill the cunt, do me a favour?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t get blood all over our floors when you come home,” you told him with a soft laugh, almost too quiet to be heard. “I spent far too fucking long cleaning it up last time.”

thank you for reading! now, if I may, I would like to direct your attention to Sara - she is a 12 year old in Gaza whose family is trying to flee the genocide and seek medical care for her. If you have any, any money at all, even if it's just £1, then please, consider sending it to Sara and her family. Every little bit of money will go such a long, long way in helping this family, so please, consider making a contribution.

#mlem writes #james delaney x reader #james delaney x you #james delaney x y/n #james delaney x yn #james delaney imagine #james keziah delaney x reader #james keziah delaney x you #james keziah delaney #james delaney #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy x you #tom hardy x y/n #tom hardy x yn #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fic #tom hardy

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hecatemoon87 · 2 years

Text

ABCs of Smut with Tom Hardy Characters

It starts off smutty - no minors allowed.

Part II

Angry sex with Alfie

"Now, what did I tell you about being a needy brat, eh? You come in my office, straddle my knee and grind that perfect cunt on me thigh? I'm in a fucking bad mood, luv. And I'm going to take it out on your poor cunny."

Bondage sex with Bane

You wiggle with anticipation as Bane wraps a black silk cord around your wrists. His muscles bulge as he settles in front of you. "So it's the darkness in me you wish to see, hmmm? Well, I'm going to give you a taste of it. Now open your mouth like a good girl. Let's see how much darkness you can swallow."

Erradic sex with Eddie

"I'm sorry, I just gotta have you again." He whines gruffly against your ear. He is behind you, his strong arms holding you against his chest, his pant covered erection grinding over your bottom. You two are rival journalists. You should be competing, not fucking. But, god, you want and need him too, don't you? So go ahead, relax and let Eddie’s thick cock glide up your cunt as he sets you on top of your desk. You were after all, supposed to have a meeting.

Fertility sex with Forrest

Forrest doesn't like to fool around. He wants to settle down and have a family. He's traditional, no sex before marriage. But as soon as you become his wife, he's your sugar bear between your legs. "You're beautiful, baby girl. Mind if I fill your sweetness up? I'll be gentle. You'll be such a good mama."

Freaky sex with Freddie

"Bloody hell, baby. I knew you'd look sexy as fuck wearing that." Freddie gazes upon you with lust as you walk into the bedroom dressed in a French maid outfit. He likes to fuck you in every position he can think of, and that outfit just adds to his kink. He's all about domination with a touch of humiliation. But that's just fine, because you enjoy everything he has to offer. "Why don't you spread those gorgeous legs for daddy, you little slut."

Hedonistic sex with Heathcliff

This man has utter disregard for society. He likes to push boundaries and the limits of other people. It means he does the same in the bedroom. He likes to indulge in kinky sex on occasion, but mostly, he enjoys teasing your clit and nipples until you're a trembling mess. Your cunt will be aching and your honey will be coating your thighs. You will beg him for cock, and you'll have it...when he's good and ready. "That's right, darling. Beg you little slut. You've reached your limit, haven't you? Good, let's push you some more."

Intimate sex with Ian Eames

No doubt this man can deliver some delectable intense sex. But he's a bit of a stickler for the intimate side. He likes thrusting at a slow pace as he gazes down into your needy eyes. You think he does this to tease you. As you badly desire him to rail you. But the slow burn, the build-up of his lovemaking has always delivered some explosive orgasms. So just lay back and enjoy his cock between your legs and his tongue inside your hungry mouth.

Jesuitical sex with James

James doesn't often speak. He is a thinker, a man of action. When he does something, it needs to have a purpose. You have a purpose, a use for him. You weren't exactly certain what that was until he has you naked in his bed, covering your quivering body with hot, wet kisses. "You are part of my soul," he whispers as he enters your tight little core.

Lazy weekend sex with Leo

Leo works hard during the week. When the weekend comes, he wants nothing more than to stay in bed with you. His agenda is to spend time with you, especially between your legs. "Please, malyshka, say it again." He moans as his cock is planted firmly in your cunt. You tell him what he wants to hear, "I love you, my lion."

Tantric sex with Tommy

Tommy is a bit naive when it comes to experimenting with sex. He knows how to do it the good old-fashioned way, but when you tell him about tantric sex he wrinkles his nose. "That some sort of new age stuff?" You laugh, then proceed to show him how it's done. Through sensual kissing, touching, stroking, and petting, you are successful in getting Tommy hard as a rock. "When can I be inside you?" he almost whimpers. "You don't," you whisper against his ear and kiss his temple sweetly. "What?" He is very frustrated. "It's all about our aura and sensual contact, baby boy." He stares at you in disbelief, causing you to laugh again. "Just kidding!" "Oh, I'm so gonna give your bratty pussy a good pounding." He says.

#tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fan fic #facepuller #tom hardy smut #eddie brock #james delaney #alfie solomons #freddie jackson #tommy conlon #Heathcliff #leo demidov #bane #forrest bondurant #ian eames

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noladyme · 4 years

Text

The Wife - Chapter 1

TW: angst, violence, blood, smut (6573 words)

First; James Keziah Delaney was clearly damaged from his travels, and not a little dangerous. Strange reports were made of late night magic rituals, and more than once the gentleman had been seen with red stained hands – though it was unclear whether the stains stemmed from blood, or the powders he would use to draw markings on his face.

Secondly; it was the general opinion of the better society that Mr. Delaney had inherited his mother’s madness; and no one wanted to risk a familiar connection with a woman who ended her days in Bethlem Royal Hospital – in common tongue, Bedlam Insane Asylum.

Thirdly; Mr. Delaney was not single. In fact, he was very much married.

---

Rosalind was seated in front of the small fireplace in her room at Mrs. Owen’s boarding house, fiddling with the garnet ring she wore on the long finger of her right hand. The fire had long since gone out, but she hadn’t the stamina or even will to get up and feed the dying embers with more wood. As it was, the cold she felt streaming through her veins went well with the chill of the room.

In her hand, she held a letter sent by Mr. Thoyt; the lawyer of her late father-in-law. She’d read it twice; and then once more, just to see if she had not been mistaken.

To; Rosalind Beauchamp c/o Mrs. Fanny Owen

Dear Madam, I sincerely hope this letter finds you well, as I received information that your absence from the funeral of your late father-in-law, was due to an ailment of some kind. Had you attended, I had a seat saved for you in the front pew, where it would have been proper for the heiress of Mr. Horace Delaney to be seated. Alas, I had to take the seat myself, as to not leave it unused; and make the fullness of the pews in the church seem uneven.

Rosalind rolled her eyes at this. There was no doubt in her mind that Thoyt would have filled the seat right next to her, if she had been there; claiming that would be proper, as he was the executor of the elder Delaney’s will.

I should like to extend the well wishes of Mr. Thorne Geary, who has asked if it would be in your wish to promenade with him one of the coming days. I counsel you to accept his visit; as you know he has only your well-being in mind, and bears warm sentiments towards you.

These sentiments Rosalind was well aware of; and was in fact doing her best to avoid the man, so she would not have to spend another drawn out visit, avoiding the topic of widows and widowers remarrying.

It is my hope that your ailment is not of the heart, for I fear I have rather disturbing news to pass on to you; and would not want to make you even more frail. I must inform you that James Keziah Delaney has returned to London. He arrived at the funeral service shortly before the minister began his sermon. These past ten years have changed him much, but it is indeed him.

James. After 3 years as a scorned wife, with a runaway husband, and then 7 more as a widow; he’d returned. A hard knot had formed in her stomach as she read on.

My dear, I urge you to avoid any contact with Mr. Delaney. He is, I reiterate, very different than the gentleman you knew; and from the looks of him, more beast than man. I will be happy to offer any legal aid you might need to separate from him, and fight for your inheritance. James Delaney was proclaimed dead 7 years ago; but as he has been gone for so long, I am sure we can find some legal way to proclaim you continued sole heiress of the Delaney fortunes – among them, the rights to the area in America known as Nootka Sound. I should like to call on you at your earliest disposal. With regards; Robert Thoyt, solicitor.

Rosalind’s hands were shaking, as she held on to the letter. She got on her feet, gazing at the intricately decorated chest in front of the bed in her small room. It had been a gift from her father-in-law; one that he had purchased on one of his many travels. It was the only gift she had ever received from the man, that hadn’t been given out of some sense of responsibility to her. She laid down the letter on the bedside table, and walked over and opened the chest. Moving around gloves, fabrics, unfinished embroidery works, and small boxes of beads and trinkets; she reached the bottom of the chest, where a for years untouched muslin gown lay, next to a veil of fragile lace. She pulled out the delicate dress, and laid it on the bed. It still had a dark stain on the front, from where the minister had spilt wine on her, as her husband and she had taken communion together after being wed. Once outside the church, James had stroked his index finger over the red stain – which was just over the left breast, and smiled. “It matches your lips, Rose”, he’d said; and her distress over having her wedding gown ruined in such a manner, left way to happiness. The way any woman should feel on her wedding day. She hadn’t realized she was crying, until another stain disgraced the muslin; one from a tear.

It was all too much to believe. This man, whom she’d cherished with a naïve and young heart, had suddenly reappeared, after being proclaimed dead. She had to see if it was true; if it was truly him.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Owen stepped inside; her large figure filling the doorway. “Lunch is ready, miss Beauchamp”, she said. “Thank you, but I will be going out”, Rosalind said. Mrs. Owen smiled brightly. “Will you be meeting Mr. Geary, then?”, she asked. “I will not”. “Mr. Thoyt?”. Rosalind had become a master at keeping her composure in regards to her nosy landlady; but today she was a little less inclined to be polite. “It is a private matter. Please call a carriage for me”, she said shortly, and the stout woman recoiled slightly at her tone. “Right away, miss”.

After the door closed again, Rosalind stripped off her plain, cotton day dress, and put on a dark blue gown; more suited for an afternoon visit. She shrugged off her inclination to wear the red gown. That would be too much. Her dark grey jacket, a purse and a capote to match, finished her ensemble. Her boots weren’t much to speak of, but they kept her feet mostly dry; though the soles were wearing thin.

The carriage was waiting for her outside the boarding house. She asked the driver to take her back to her former home.

---

Chamber House was even more dreary than when she’d been there last. The smell from the river running behind the house struck her nose, and Rosalind felt a chill go through her body. Trying to open the metal gate, she had to lean against it; putting her whole weight on the rusty thing. It made a loud screeching sound, when it finally opened.

The garden in front of the house was unkempt, and the windows on the bottom floor had been boarded up. For a moment, she considered leaving, as the building seemed abandoned. Maybe Thoyt had been mistaken, and the man at the funeral was an imposter. Smoke from the chimney let Rosalind know that someone was inside, but she had also heard stories of mudlarks roaming empty houses for warmth and the occasional cat that could be made in to dinner. This wasn’t a place for proper ladies, as countess Musgrove would say, but the countess was hardly a proper lady herself, and Rosalind had business to attend.

She went up the few steps to the door, and took a deep breath, before knocking on the door. There was the sound of a dog barking, and then some shuffling around, followed by a voice muttering at the dog. The door opened, and a slight, tired looking man appeared in front of her. “Brace…”, Rosalind greeted him quietly. The old butler stood seemingly dumbfounded at her arrival. She looked up at the sky. “It seems about to rain. May I please come in?”. “Of course, ma’am", Brace muttered, and stepped aside.

The grand hallway was less grand than it had been, years before. The house seemed dark and cold, and Rosalind did not feel inclined to take of her hat or jacket, when Brace reached for them. “I won’t be staying long”, she said. “I just came to see… Is it true? Is he back?”. “He is…”, Brace said with a nod. “This last week". “And you didn’t feel it necessary to inform me?”. Brace looked at the floor in front of him, and fidgeted with the hem of his tattered jacket. “He is changed, Mrs. Delaney…”, Brace began. “Miss Beauchamp”, Rosalind corrected him. Brace recoiled at this, but kept his expression as indifferent as possible. “Yes, miss”.

Rosalind walked towards the sitting room with as much calm as she could muster. “Is he here?”, she asked. “No”, Brace replied. “He is… on business. I don’t know when he’ll return”. “I’ll have to wait, then”, Rosalind sighed. Brace stepped in front of her. “Ma’am… Miss”, he said. “You shouldn’t. James isn’t… He is not the young man you knew”. “And I’m not the girl he knew either”, Rosalind retorted. “In any case, I need to speak with him…”. Brace must have seen the determination on her face, because he stepped aside, and let Rosalind enter the room.

It was dark, and smelled of a mixture of spices, whiskey; and wet firewood and ashes – only slightly taking away from the smell of the river. The furniture was the same, though damaged from the moisture seeping through the walls from the Thames. A large grey dog rested by the unlit fireplace, and lifted its head slightly as she entered. Though it had made its presence known earlier, it seemed to be more bark than bite; and simply let out a huff, as she seated herself on the sofa. It raised its eyes to look at her, and she smiled slightly at it; feeling like she got a sort of smile in return. “Tea, miss?”, Brace asked. “No, thank you”, Rosalind said. “Good. We don’t have any”, the butler smiled. “And from what I remember, you prefer coffee”. His expression had warmed, since he’d apparently accepted that Rosalind had no intention of leaving. She suspected he was trying to soften the blow of whatever she was about to face. “That sounds lovely. Thank you, Brace”.

After the butler had disappeared, Rosalind took some time to get reacquainted with the room in which she’d spent many hours, years before. Seated on this same couch, she’d kept her father-in-law company, as he rambled about his business and how everyone was trying to cheat him. She’d had tea with uninteresting ladies from all over town, who all came with well wishes after the wedding, combined with insincere regrets upon the departure of her husband, so soon after. The same night, in fact. A whole year she’d managed to keep her sanity in the house, which became draftier and drearier almost by the second. When his son had up and left suddenly, the elder Delaney had gone into a strange bout of melancholy; almost seeming to feel guilty about the fact. Rosalind did her best to keep up the façade of a good wife and daughter-in-law, but found it harder and harder to keep up with Mr. Delaney’s moods, and when the letters from her husband stopped, she found no reason to stay in the house any longer. She would visit weekly, but never for long, as the old man seemed rather indifferent to whether she was there or not, and mostly stared into the fireplace, and muttered to himself.

Horace Delaney had made sure she received an allowance to keep up with expenses; but 4£ a month did not stretch far. In the end, Rosalind had taken up work as a chaperone and occasional tutor to young ladies in the south-east of England – never straying too far from London.

Two years after leaving the Chamber House, Rosalind received a letter, letting her know that her husband was suspected dead in a shipwreck. The news hit her painfully hard. Deep down, she had always hoped that James would return to her one day, even after he was thought of as dead; though rationally, she knew better. She’d dreamed of him often. He was always at a distance, always out of reach. It was agony to miss him so. Now, he had returned, and as it was, clearly not for his wife.

Soon after, her visits became rarer. The elder Delaney more or less ignored her when she came, and more than once, he’d asked Brace to tell her to leave, while she was still in the room; so he could get back to work. She’d attended Zilpha's wedding, but the two had never been close; merely friendly acquaintances, with a dead brother and husband in common. Once Zilpha had passed, after a sudden disease that made her seem old beyond her years in just weeks, Horace made it clear he had no wish to see any kind if family; so for two years, Rosalind had stayed away from Chamber House.

Until today.

Brace returned with a tray of coffee and biscuits that looked hard enough to crack a tooth on. Out of sheer politeness, Rosalind picked up one, and dipped it in her cup of coffee, to soften the treat. Brace threw a biscuit at the dog, who gulped it up without much trouble chewing it. Rosalind dropped her biscuit on the floor herself, and the dog got up, and slowly walked over to eat it. It lifted its head, and looked at her; and she timidly scratched it behind its ear.

Suddenly, it turned its head, and looked towards the hallway. The door opened, and a gust of wind blew through the house; making it sound like the building was whimpering, as it passed through the cracks in the walls. A dark figure stepped into the hallway; the sound of his boots loud as canons. A long coat covered his broad frame, and he wore a hat; pushed forward on his head, and hiding his face in shadow. “Brace! Coffee…”, he ordered; his hoarse voice leaving very little trace of the raspy, warm one Rosalind remembered. Brace hurried to greet his master, and took his hat and coat. Rosalind sat very still, with bated breath and beating heart. “In the sitting room, but… sir, you have a guest”, Brace said. “I’m not inclined to receive anyone. Tell them to go away”. “You will want to see her… Maybe”. Rosalind got on her feet, and slowly turned to face the doorway.

James Delaney had indeed changed. Gone was the young gentleman, with the boyish charm and nervous smile; and instead, there stood a bearded, brute man, who had danger and darkness written all over his expression. A scar ran from his brow, and down over his eye and cheek.

Yet, she could not find a flaw on him. He was even more striking than the day they’d met. Love and pain streamed through her body. James took one look at his wife; nodded, and let out a breathy grunt. “Rosalind…”, he said. “James…”, she breathed; trying to keep her composure. Rosalind felt as if she might faint at any moment. She regretted coming to see him, and unsure what had been her reason. But now she was here, as was he; and internally, she struggled not to throw herself into his arms, or attack him with the fire poke.

Rosalind sat back down, and James took his place in what had been his father’s chair, opposite her; looking at the dog. He took a biscuit, and threw it in the air. The dog caught it, and gobbled it down. Brace went over to the samovar, and looked at Rosalind. “More coffee, miss Beauchamp?”, he asked. James eyes flew towards Rosalind, and then down at the ring adorning her right hand; and something hard ghosted his face. She immediately regretted not having worn gloves. “Yes. More coffee for miss Beauchamp, and then maybe a cup for your master, hmm?”, James said. “Of course, sir. And I’ve prepared a cod for dinner. Atticus brought it”. James replied with a grunt, and Brace poured coffee for them. “Will you be staying, miss?”. “No, thank you Brace. My landlady is expecting me at the boarding house”, Rosalind said. Once again, James gave her an unreadable, hard look.

Brace stood uncomfortably by the fireplace, before finally pretending to remember something he had to see to, and scuttered off. James and Rosalind sat in silence for a long moment. Trying to calm herself, Rosalind took a sip of her coffee. “I was told you died”, she said quietly. “I did”, James replied, and drank the entire content of his cup in one go. “You’re a widow, miss Beauchamp”. Rosalind’s cheeks flushed red. “It was easier to use my maiden name…”. “To separate yourself from my father, or me…?”, James grunted. Rosalind looked down. “To start anew”, she whispered. “I had to start over, after you left”.

James seemingly ignored that last sentence. “You did not attend my father’s funeral”, he said, his eyes fixed on something on the far wall. You did not attend our wedding night, Rosalind wanted to reply; but thought the better of it. “I felt indisposed”, she said meekly. “Too indisposed to say a last farewell to the man who has been keeping up your expenses these last 10 years?”, James challenged. “Whom you were set to inherit this house and the rest of his fortune from?”. “I am not kept”, she retorted. James eyes flickered. “I felt indisposed to sit through a sham of a service set up by a lawyer, who had no love for the deceased; and to then have to avoid the wandering eyes of every man in the room, hoping to get his hand on said fortune. And me”.

James raised his brows at her, making the scar on his face even more prominent. “You’ve had suitors, then?”, he asked. “I’ve been a widow, not a nun”, Rosalind retorted, an angry edge to her voice. James’ lip twitched into a slight smile, which was gone as soon as it had arrived. “But never remarried…”, he said. “You know I didn’t…”. “You could have gone to France. Stayed with relatives there. They could have found a suitable match for you”. “I have no family to speak of in France. And I’ve never met any of the few I have”.

With a loud bang, James put one foot up on the ottoman in front of his chair, and pulled off his boot. “So, is that why you are here? Because you want to be married?”, he asked, and took off the other boot. “You said my husband was dead. It seems that is not an option”. Rosalind did not understand why uttering the words brought her as much pain as it did; but she felt something break inside her when she did. “Then why?”. “I need to know where I stand. Dead as you may be, here you are; and my situation is much different than I thought it to be”, she said. “It is clear that I am no longer the heiress of this… grand house, and your father’s holdings. To add to that is that, legally I am bound to you; and you to me…”. “I will keep up with your expenses”, James said, interrupting her. “How much was my father providing?”. Rosalind bit her cheek, and looked down again. “4£ a month”, she whispered.

James eyes widened. “My father only granted you 4£ a month?”, he said. “That is not much money for hats, lace gloves and whatnot”. “Don’t insult me, James”, Rosalind said. “You know full well that I couldn’t care less about hats and gloves”. “Do I? I have not seen you in ten years”, James shrugged. “And who’s fault is that?”, Rosalind hissed. “Hmm”, James muttered. “How have you been making a living? I take it you have had to take on employment? There aren’t many ways for a gentle woman to make money. I hope you have not been forced to solicit yourself”. His voice was cold, and his eyes traced her figure. “You are cruel…”, Rosalind said. “And you are not first to have uttered those words. Though; vicious and evil are more common, when I am spoken of". James took a sip of his coffee, and studied her face for a reaction. Rosalind kept her composure, surprising even herself at her ability to do so.

“You should know I have received a letter from Mr. Thoyt, your father’s lawyer", she said. James met her eyes again, narrowing his own. “He has offered me legal aid in regards to claiming your inheritance”. “Which you will accept, of course". James said. “No. I will not. It is not my inheritance. I didn’t even truly want it, when I thought you were dead". He looked down at her feet, and she instinctively pulled them backwards, and tried to cover them with her skirts. “You could have used it", James said. “I don’t want your family’s money. That was not why I married you".

James got on his feet abruptly, making it clear it was time for Rosalind to leave. She stood up, and walked towards the hallway; clutching her purse. “I will provide you with 15£ a month. I do not want you taking on employment with anyone anymore… no matter what it is”, James said. “Why do you care? Very few people know I am your wife; and I do not use your name”, Rosalind replied. “I will not be dragging it through the mud”. “Call it taking responsibility for my mistakes”, he said. “Is that what I am?”. Her voice was shaking at this point.

James met her eyes, and let out a short, audible breath. “Take yourself to a shoemaker, and have him make you some better boots”, he said. “The ones you have on, are almost worn out. Have them send the bill to me”. “No, thank you. I shall mend them”, Rosalind replied. She went to leave, but James put a hand on the doorhandle; and blocked her exit. “You will buy new boots, and I will see that your current accommodations are suitable”, he said, looking seriously at her. “You don’t know where I live”, Rosalind said. “I will find out”. There was no doubt in his voice, he was merely making a statement of fact.

James opened the door for her, but before she could exit, he stepped outside, and looked across the garden, and turned his head to gaze down the road; almost as if making sure no one was watching them. When he finally stepped aside, Rosalind walked down the steps; and turned to face him one last time. “James…”, she said. “Rose…”, he replied; making her breath hitch. His eyes warmed for a second, before he stepped back inside, and closed the door.

---

Rosalind had a strange dream that night.

She was walking along the shore of a muddied lake. A way out in the water, with his back to her, stood a broad-shouldered man with markings on his skin. He wore no clothes, save a cloth to cover his privates. A dark gravelly voice was speaking strange words she did not understand, and when she called out to the figure in the water, he turned around. He was the one speaking, but the words were sounding as if they were coming from somewhere very close; not from where he was standing.

She closed her eyes in fear, and when she opened them again, he was standing right in front of her. It was James, but he had a painted face, and his eyes were black. She closed her eyes again, and covered her face. A strong pair of hands grabbed her wrists, and pulled them down. “Look at me”, James said. “No… You’re dead”, Rosalind said. “Am I? I am here now…”. “You left me. And then you came back as someone else”.

She opened her eyes again, and saw James as she had seen him earlier that day. No paint on his face, and bright blue eyes. “I was always here”. He put his index finger on her forehead, and then just over her left breast. “And here…”. When he removed his hand, a red stain marked her nightgown. “It matches your lips, Rose”.

She woke up in a jolt, and held her hand to her chest. Looking down, she saw a red stain on her nightgown, just over her left breast.

Getting out of bed, Rosalind walked over to the washbasin, and splashed her face with the cold water. She rubbed at the stain with a moist finger, but all that did, was make it more prominent, and her nipple harden from the cold, damp fabric now covering it. She walked over to the window and looked outside. Across the street, she saw a dark figure; looking up towards her. She didn’t recognize the face, but the menacing glare she thought she could see from under the rim of the persons hat, made her instantly move backwards, and out of view of the window.

The bed felt cold and unwelcoming when she got back under the sheets.

---

As she finished her breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Owen came into the dining room, holding a medium sized parcel. “This came for you, miss. Might you have a secret admirer?”, she said. She handed Rosalind the parcel, and a letter. “And your mail”. Rosalind thanked her, and went up to her room, to examine the parcel, and read her letter in private.

Inside the parcel lay a pair of half boots, in soft, yet sturdy leather. They would keep Rosalind’s feet dry and warm, and it was clear they had not been cheap. There was no note attached to the gift; though gift might be the wrong word, as James seemed to see her more as a responsibility to take care of, rather than someone to bestow presents upon. She threw the boots in a corner, unable to define her emotions – anger or sadness, she was not sure. After a few moments of frustrated groans and a few stray tears, she walked over, and gingerly picked up the boots; dusting them off with her hand. She set them down on top of the chest.

Rosalind turned her attentions to her letter. The writing was in the blunt and crude, yet feminine hand and wording of countess Musgrove.

To; Rosalind Beauchamp c/o Fanny Owen

Dearest friend, It has come to my attention that you have recently been made aware of some rather disturbing news. An acquaintance of mine has informed me that your apparently not so late husband has returned to London. It seems to come at a terrible time, as you were so close to inheriting somewhat of a fortune; at least enough to attract a new husband. Am I mistaken in thinking Mr. Thorne Geary has taken an interest in you? In any case, please call upon me for tea this Friday afternoon, so we might play a round of cassino, and discuss your plans for your now much changed future.

Sincerely; Genevieve Musgrove, countess.

Rosalind let out a very unfeminine and impolite noise. She would rather take an ice bath of lime, than sit through another afternoon of the countess and her friends gossiping and filling their gobs with sweets. None the less, she was obliged to attend, to stay in Musgrove’s good graces; and have a chance for another employment with her. And it was not like she had a husband, who could give her a good excuse to stay away.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Owen stepped inside. “You have a visitor, miss”, she said, a mischievous smile on her plump face. “Perhaps the green gown, for a promenade?”. “Mr. Geary, then?”, Rosalind sighed. “Indeed. And he has mentioned on many occasions, how lovely the green goes with your ten”. Rosalind cocked a brow at her landlady. “May I trouble your maid for help with preparing? I am finding myself out of sorts”. Mrs. Owen nodded, and left the room. Soon the young maid entered. “Please, will you fetch my blue gown?”.

---

Thorne Geary was waiting in the sitting room, politely smiling at Mrs. Owen; when Rosalind entered. “Miss Beauchamp! I came to enquire upon your health, after your absence from the funeral service”, he said. “Mr. Thoyt let me know you wished to call upon me; but I am quite sure I did not respond affirmatively”, Rosalind said. A dissatisfied expression ghosted Mr. Geary’s face. “Alas, I believe we have matters to discuss”, he said through an insincere smile. “Will you do me the honor of promenading with me?”.

A little while later, Mr. Geary and Rosalind were strolling along the lanes of Hyde Park. “Your gown is quite fetching, miss Beauchamp”, the gentleman proclaimed. “Almost as fetching as the green you wore when I last called upon you”. “I am unsure whether that is a compliment, or an insult”, Rosalind replied. Geary cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable about her response.

“It was quite a shock to see James Delaney at the funeral”, Geary said. He was holding his arm in such a manner, that Rosalind was invited to take it. She ignored the gesture. “I am sure it was”, she muttered; and moved her body to put a little more distance between them. Geary stepped after her, and the smell of the herring he had obviously eaten earlier hit her nose. Rosalind detested herring. “I am sure it came as an even greater shock for you, my dear Rosalind”, he said. “Please, Mr. Geary. I do not think we are quite close enough acquaintances for pet names”. “Are we not family? In-laws?”, Geary smiled. “Now, more than ever, it would seem, as you… husband has reappeared”.

He gestured for them to walk down a smaller lane, away from curious ears. “Ever since we first met, I’ve felt a close connection to you”, Geary said. “And, then when my dear Zilpha passed… well, I must admit, I hoped we might build on that bond”. Rosalind felt bile rise in her throat. “Mr. Geary…”, she began. “Thorne, please…”, Geary insisted. “Mr. Geary!”, Rosalind said firmly. “This conversation is highly improper, and I beg of you to stop”.

Geary sighed, and looked down. “You know of my sentiments towards you. Those have not changed, merely because that savage, who forced matrimony on you years ago, is back”. “You do not know him”, Rosalind said quietly. “Neither do you. From what I am told, your courtship was very brief. There were even rumors of you being in unfortunate circumstances…”. Rosalind stopped in her tracks. “Gossip mongering, Mr. Geary? So much for close connections”, she said.

Geary stepped over to a bench in an alcove, and gestured for Rosalind to sit. “Please, miss Beauchamp… for I insist on still calling you that, and not Mrs. Delaney, if you will not let me call you by your first name”, he said. They sat down together; Rosalind aiming for sitting as far from her companion as she could. “I, of course, am well aware that your chasteness can never be questioned. You are beyond doubt the kindest, most virtuous woman I have had the pleasure to meet. Even as my betrothed walked up the aisle to become my wife, I could not take my eyes off you…”. “You should stop speaking”, Rosalind said. “Please, let me get this off my chest!”, Geary said. His voice was not pleading; but hard – and Rosalind was reminded of how her sister-in-law had wilted from a lively and smiling favorite in London society, to a grey ghost of her former self, after she married. In this moment, Rosalind knew that Mr. Geary had been the one to make his wife such.

Geary took a firm hold of her hand, and when she tried to pull it away, he grabbed her wrist; and continued his speech. “Delaney is mad. I have spoken to more than one sailor, who have told me stories, I cannot repeat in present company”, Geary said. “He should have stayed dead, and let you keep the inheritance. You and I could…”. “There is no you and I, Mr. Geary”, Rosalind tried.

Geary’s hand around her wrist tightened. “I know I am not a very wealthy man, but you and I… we both married in to the Delaney family; and we saw how that mad old bastard brought shame on the name”. “Perhaps we should have helped him, instead of standing by?”, Rosalind muttered; trying to keep herself calm, as the man held on to her. He leaned in closer, and his hot breath hit her face. “No… He got everything he deserved; and sired two wretches, who continued to do the same”. “How can you speak of your wife in such a manner?”. “She was a barren fool…”.

Rosalind finally pried herself free from Geary’s grasp, and stood up; but he grabbed her by the arm, and forced her to sit again. “Let me go”, Rosalind whimpered. She was sure to have marks on her arm after his manhandling her. Geary looked at her intently. “I can do much with the money I can make from selling that plot of land in America; and with you as my wife…”. “I am already married, sir!”, Rosalind sneered. “Are you? Delaney was back for more than a week, without letting himself be known to you. It wasn’t until Thoyt wrote you, that you knew. He hasn’t taken you in; you are still living in that boarding house”. A vile grin, which Geary clearly thought came across as calming, spread across his lips. “But, never mind that. That can all be taken care of”. “What is that supposed to mean?”. A knot had begun forming in the pit of Rosalind’s stomach, and she was shaking.

“You speak ill of my dear sister, and now you have intentions on my wife”. James appeared in front of them; a dark look about him. “Let her go”. “You interrupted our conversation, Mr. Delaney”, Geary said. “Is that what you were doing? Conversing? Or plotting my demise…”, James retorted. “In any case, you have your hands and mind on what is still mine. Release the lady”.

Rosalind tore herself from Geary, and got on her feet, moving away from the bench; and towards James. He gave her a look of dissatisfied confusion, and she went to stand next to him, her eyes on the ground. “You should have stayed dead”, Geary sneered, and got on his feet. He stood taller than James, but in no way seemed as dangerous as him. “Is that what you tell my sister, when she haunts your nightmares?”, James asked. Geary recoiled at James’ words; and James half turned towards Rosalind. “I will escort you back to your lodgings”, he said, and turned his back to Geary. Rosalind followed his lead, and they walked down the path. She felt Geary’s eyes on her back as they went.

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They walked in silence. Rosalind struggled to keep up with James’ long strides; and after a while, she stopped, and went to sit on a bench at the side of the lane. “I have things to do. If you need to catch your breath, then be quick about it”, James said. “You don’t have to escort me. Go about your business”, Rosalind retorted. “And risk the predators setting on you? Come now, we have eyes on us”. Rosalind looked around her, seeing no one but ladies, gentlemen, and the occasional governess taking a child on a stroll. “What eyes?”.

James narrowed his eyes for a moment, as if making a decision of whether to tell her more, or hold his tongue. In the end, he settled for continuing. “Your Mr. Geary made it clear”, he said. “He is not my Mr. Geary. I’d prefer to avoid the connection all together”, Rosalind retorted. “Hmm”, James grunted. “He made it clear, as I said. I am to be taken care of. There are evil men who are out to kill me”. “And my sore feet put you in danger?”. James seemed taken aback, and slightly amused at her retort. “Perhaps you should have worn your new boots”, he said, and stretched out his hand for her to stand. Rosalind was about to take it, when she saw that James had removed his glove. “Come…”, he said; and with her heart in her throat, she took his hand.

It was as warm as she remembered, and his touch sent the same shivers down her spine, as it had those many years before. As she stood in front of him, everything around Rosalind disappeared; and all she could see, was the man in front of her. She breathed him in. Musk, fresh tobacco, grass, dirt, coffee – and that undefinable thing that was merely him. “James…”, she whispered. James expression hardened, and his eyes became dark. “No… None of that. Do not make yourself a weakness”, he said. “And do not let me become one, either. You are too good for that”. “But you…”. James let go of her hand, and his face grew almost saddened. She looked down at his hand, and saw that the tip of his index finger was red. Rosalind let out a soft gasp; and when she opened her mouth to speak, he was already walking down the path again. He slowed his pace, so she could keep up; but did not speak to her for the rest of the walk.

Once back at the boarding house, Mrs. Owen met them in the door. “Going out with one gentleman, and coming back with another… Really, miss Beauchamp”, she said in a chiding voice. “Not a common occurrence, then?”, James said. Rosalind had to will herself not to slap him. Mrs. Owen raised a pair of cold eyes. “I beg your pardon… This is a proper establishment, sir!”, she exclaimed. “And who are you?”. “Her husband”.

Mrs. Owen looked stunned, and for once, she didn’t seem to know what to say. “You are… Well, that’s… You are recently wed, then?”, she asked. “No”, James said shortly. He looked at Rosalind one final time, before turning around, and walking away.

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#james delaney #james delaney x oc #james delaney fic #james delaney angst #tom hardy

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