#he so desperately wants love and to be loved and he had such an estranged relationship with Declan so for long and his parents are dead and

[tumbleweed-writes]

Death and the Lady: Chapter Thirteen: Chibs Telford X Reader

PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE

Tag List: @youngadult9016 @mrsfilipchibstelford @mamawiggers1980 @ravennaortiz @liveinsteadofdreaming @redwoodmaya

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18+ Only please. Smut ahead.

Chapter Thirteen: Where the Heart Lies

Her hand felt delicate in his. Of course the longer he knew her the more Chibs Telford realized that Y/N Y/L/N was far less demure than she appeared at first glance. She might appear at first glance to be so prim and proper, but she was far more fierce and strongwilled than anyone really gave her proper credit for.

Her determination was disregarded as her just being too stubborn for her own good and at times written off as a sign of immaturity to those who weren’t willing to attempt to work through the walls she placed up. Her fierceness was written off as her simply having a smart mouth and never knowing when to shut up and stop being so hostile. 

Chibs had found though that he appreciated the stubbornness and the wit. He’d admired these traits in her from their first meeting, and had only grown to adore this facet of her personality as the months wore on. 

He was perfectly content coaxing her to trust him and let go of her need for control. He was happy to put up with the occasional sass and even willing to allow her to give him a hard time. He was willing to encourage her to not build walls around herself and isolate her heart. He allowed her to be vulnerable without judgment, thankful she trusted him enough to be open with him.

Still, even with as strong willed as he was aware she was; he couldn’t help but to focus on how fragile her hand felt against his as she led him down the hallway back to her bedroom.

His heart began to pound in his chest though the blood flowing through his veins began to fill in a lower region of his body. His body was already eagerly and joyfully anticipating what she was asking of him.

He let out a shaky breath at the thought of what she’d asked of him.

He felt ridiculous admitting it, but the notion of what she had asked of him made him feel a sense of anxiety. A nervous energy began to bubble up in his gut along with the lust coursing through him. 

He felt foolish for feeling anxious at the thought of taking her to bed and loving her at her request. 

He was far from a blushing virgin. He was more than sexually experienced. He would like to think that he was quite gifted in that department. He had enough experience under his belt to know how to pleasure a woman. He was confident in his sexual prowess.

He knew though of course, that quite a bit of his experience involved less of the act of loving and more of the simply primal act of fucking. Bedding the croweaters did not require such tenderness nor gentleness.

Sex with a croweater was just that; sex. There was no feeling behind it. He didn’t want to cherish them and hold them close to him. He didn’t want to protect them and make it clear to them that he adored them with every last ounce of his heart. 

Bedding a croweater was usually more of an act of finding release. There were no soft kisses, no gentle touches, and no words of adoration passed between lovers.

It was more of a pure physical act. There might be some occasional dirty talk but the end goal was always the same. Find release and then move on. Kisses and touches could be rough and desperate and movements could be harsh. There was no love there. His heart had not been involved in the process of bedding a croweater. 

Chibs Telford knew that this was no romp in bed with a sweetbutt who honestly cared less about him and more about the fact that she had attracted the attention of a patched in member of SAMCRO.

He knew that what Y/N was asking from him was an act he’d not engaged in in such a long time.

He knew that his estranged wife was probably the last person he’d attempted to make love to.

He shoved the thought from his mind not wanting to focus on any thought of Fiona at the moment.

He’d begun to realize that thoughts of his estranged wife did not fill him with the same aching sense of longing that had once overtaken him. He felt a fondness for the life they’d had and a care for her, but his heart had begun to pull in a different direction. Thoughts of Fiona filled him with a sense of guilt more often than not nowadays.

It was an equally exciting and terrifying realization to have that his heart was shifting and changing. 

Chibs was certain he was following her too closely as they neared her room and to be honest it took everything in him not to attempt to scoop her up and throw her over his shoulder to get her there a little quicker. 

He silently told himself that throwing her over his shoulder could be reserved for a future time.

He was also tempted to kick his shoes off and perhaps lose a few articles of clothing as they made their way to her bedroom. He pushed back the temptation telling himself that she would be none too amused if he left a trail of clothing down the hallway especially considering his gun and knives would have to join this discarded clothing.

She turned to face him as they finally reached her bedroom, they entered the room, he kicking the door shut behind them. 

Her lips met his, his hands sliding along her body once again taking in the curves he’d been dying to caress from their first meeting. Caressing her and holding her was a privilege she’d allowed him as their relationship had grown more serious. It was a privilege he was taking full advantage of.

Her hands slid along his body caressing him in return not helping but to always enjoy the feel of him. She knew that she could easily describe him as being sturdy and strong. When she thought of his form she associated him with a sense of dependability and security.

He reluctantly parted his lips from hers, he moving away from her embrace. He reached down to slide his kutte from his body gently folding it and placing it where it rested most nights he slept over; over the red velvet living chair in the corner of her room. 

He avoided her gaze as he placed his gun and knife over the kutte. He hated to admit that it made him feel uneasy to reveal the weapons to her. He always feared that it would be a reminder of just who and what he was for her.

He knew her past with the club might make her feel a sense of unease when she allowed herself to think too long and hard about the fact that the man she was allowing to be by her side was very much an outlaw. 

He’d realized her memories of being around the club were filled with more bitterness than sweetness. He was hoping to ease her back into his world and feared pushing for too much and making her pull away. 

He knew of course that her past with Gunner might aid this sense of unease and bitterness. Chibs had recently begun to wonder if Gunner had lorded his status as a Son over her head to intimidate her. She had been so young then and so vulnerable; the thought floated around in his mind. He imagined that the Tacoma Son had been quite proud to show off any means he had to harm Y/N to her, as a little reminder to keep in her place when he perceived her as being too difficult. The man had proudly declared that he’d flashed a gun at a woman more than once the few times Chibs had been unfortunate enough to overhear Gunner’s bragging over his past sexual encounters.

Chibs felt sick having to admit that he’d begun to wonder if any of the horrifying stories he’d heard in the past from Gunner had possibly featured Y/N as unnamed the sexual partner in question. The thought made his stomach turn considering that he’d realized Gunner’s propensity for rough sex apparently did not always involve a partner that consented to violent acts. If he knew then what he knew now; he had a feeling he would have been less inclined to sit by and let Gunner run his mouth so smugly. 

Chibs pushed the thought from his mind not wanting to focus on the asshole when he was about to experience this moment with the woman he adored. He had already promised himself that Y/N would never know that pain again. She’d certainly never know it from him. 

Y/N kicked off her shoes and socks as Chibs focused on removing his rings lining them along her dresser allowing the silver cross he wore around his neck to join the rings.

He kicked his own shoes and socks off before he made his way back over to her his lips sliding along hers.

She felt her knees grow weak against his kiss and was certain she might easily collapse to the floor if he was not so lovingly holding on to her keeping her pressed close against his body.

She allowed him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding along hers with skill, the act working a moan from her lips.

She placed a hand against his back allowing her other hand to mess his hair. He pulled his lips from hers sliding them across her cheek working them down her neck. He nipped at the delicate skin of her neck determined to leave evidence of his affections behind.

He smirked as she let out a soft gasp at the action, her knees feeling all the more wobbly.

She pulled back from him her voice soft suddenly feeling far more bashful than she’d ever felt about the act of sex in her life. “Bed?”

“Aye, bed sounds perfect, Hen.” He replied, tempted to tease her that they didn’t need a bed. He’d gladly take her on the floor or against a wall.

He held in the remark though reminding himself that it would be best saved for a different time. He was suddenly reminded of that night on her sofa when he’d gone down on her after she’d opened up to him about her past. He remembered his determination to show her exactly how she deserved to be treated by a man. He was still determined to do just that.

He knew that he needed to make sure she was comfortable. He needed to be sure that she knew that the act of loving her was all about making sure she felt as good and as secure as she possibly could.

They laid back against the bed he lying by her side. His hands reached out to embrace her, his lips sliding along hers, the kiss feather light allowing her to be the one to deepen it this time around.

He let out a soft moan as she pulled her lips from his pressing them against his cheek. He closed his eyes, soaking up the affection the act still filling him with that cozy sense of warmth. He’d recently realized the warm feeling he had anytime her lips pressed against one of the scars embedded along his cheeks was a sense of feeling adored and accepted. It was a feeling he’d not thought he’d ever have again in his life.

His hand slid down her side as her lips moved along his jawline pressing soft kisses to his skin. He opened his eyes as he let out a soft content sigh, his hand sliding underneath the soft cotton of her shirt. He gently caressed her skin as her lips slid along his neck.

He felt a soft moan leave his lips the words leaving him as she nipped and sucked along his pulse line making it clear she intended to leave a few marks of her own along his skin. “Yer, so fuckin soft, Hen. Warm an perfect.”

She felt a soft moan of her own leave her lips. She was tempted to shrug off his comment and insist to him that no one was perfect. There was something about the certainty of his words though that told her that he was convinced she was perfection and that was enough to make her not want to shake off his praise.

She ran a hand of her own up his shirt relieved he’d not worn layers of shirts today. It seemed that she only had one long sleeved shirt and an undershirt to contend with as she caressed his skin lovingly.

He sighed, his hand still caressing her side sliding it along her back pressing her closer to him. He rubbed soothing circles into her back as she continued to press sucking kisses against his neck.

She pulled from his neck her voice soft. “Can I take this off?”

He furrowed his brow, it taking his lust hazed brain a moment to realize what she was asking. “Aye, ye can.”

She began to pull his shirt up he sitting up to aid her in pulling both it and his undershirt up and over his head.

He laid back down his stomach churning, he was not entirely thrilled with his torso. He knew that in the years since his banishment from Belfast he’d neglected his health. He drank too much, smoked far too much, and ate a poor diet. He had not really seen a reason to take care of himself. That meant his midsection had grown wider than he would prefer. He also knew his face carried more weight than he’d like.

The insecurity he felt over his physique was not noticed by Y/N her eyes scanning his bare torso landing on the tattoo over his heart.

She slid her fingers across it, her voice soft as she read the name; Kerrianne. “Told you, you’re sweet.”

He felt a smile spread across his face, the comment making his worries about his less than fit form leave his brain in an instant.

She leaned up her lips sliding along his, her hand pulling from his chest sliding along his back, her touch loving and far more gentle than anyone had ever been with him.

He pulled from her lips his hand running along the hem of her shirt it his turn to ask. “Can this come off?”

She nodded her head sitting up allowing him to pull the shirt up and over her head. He tossed it across the room to join his discarded shirts.

He moaned at the sight of her torso, his eyes landing on the white lace over her breasts. He resisted the urge to bury his face against her lace covered tits the way the lower region of his body was insisting he should do. 

He wanted to yank her bra off and take one of her tits in his mouth. He wanted to suckle at the skin making her nipples harden. He wanted to suck and kiss the delicate skin leaving love bites in his wake. He wanted to massage her breasts taking in how soft they truly were. He wanted to slide his dick along her soft smooth skin cumming against her skin. He wanted to watch her breasts bounce as she rode him out. 

He swallowed the lump developing in the back of his throat putting a lid on his hormones. There would be plenty of time to do every single filthy thing he wanted to do involving her breasts later. Right now he needed to take his time with her and worship her body. 

She pressed her lips to his, the kiss brief the words that left her taking him by surprise. “Remember that thing we talked about a moment ago? The thing you teased me I haven’t given you the privilege of doing yet?”

He nodded his head eagerly, his heart and his cock jolting at what she was hinting at. “Aye, I recall it.”

She spoke her voice soft as she pressed her lips along his chest. “I want to suck you off, Filip. You made me feel so good the other night when you ate me out. I want to make you feel good too. Can I suck your cock?”

He groaned at the words, his response spilling from his lips. “Shite, Hen. Aye, do it, Love.”

She gently pushed him down to rest on his back, her body moving over his. She straddled his hips, he groaning at the image. He grunted as she teasingly rocked her hips against his, a soft gasp leaving her lips. He groaned, rocking up against her his hands placed at her hips enjoying the delicious friction they were building up.

He cursed their jeans for separating the lower regions of their bodies from building up the friction he wanted to create. He wanted to rip those jeans off her body and feel her hot center through her panties. He could imagine her panties growing so damp with need as she grinded against him. 

She leaned down her lips pressing to his a moan leaving him at the feel of her lace covered breasts pressing against his torso. He ran his hands along her back toying with the clasp of her bra. He wanted nothing more than to unclasp it and feel her bare torso against his own. 

He did not have the opportunity to unclasp it though as she moved down his body, her lips sliding along his torso, her lips pressing along the million dollar tattoo at the center of his chest she making a mental note to ask him about it at a later date. 

 He reluctantly allowed her to slide down his body, her lips soft against his skin, he knowing the promise of what she was about to give him was enough for him to wait to reveal her breasts.

He moaned as she slid her lips down his stomach pressing soft kisses along the scar along his belly; another gift from Jimmy O’. 

She placed a hand over the obvious bulge contained in his jeans giving it a squeeze, the action making him grunt.

She slid her hand along his belt making quick work of unfastening it. He groaned as she unfastened the belt unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He managed to aid her in pulling the denim from his body without kicking her in the process.

The jeans were tossed aside her lips pressing to his thighs a soft moan leaving his lips as she slowly pressed her lips along his skin avoiding his boxer clad cock. She took her time pressing soft teasing kisses to both thighs, her movements far too slow. He whined as she finally pressed her lips against the bulge in his boxers. 

The kisses didn’t last nearly long enough but he didn’t have long to mourn their loss as her fingers slid underneath the hem of his boxers. She gazed up at him, her voice soft. “Is this okay, Baby?”

He groaned, nodding his head eagerly at the words leaving him. ‘Aye, Hen.”

She pulled the garment from his body, he lifting his lips helping her remove his boxers. They were dropped over the side of the bed to join his other clothing.

She moaned at the sight of him standing at full attention, her voice teasing mirroring what she’d said the night she’d given him a handjob. “Still impressive, Filip.”

He groaned, his cock twitching at the praise. He parted his lips to reply but only managed to let a moan leave his lips as she pressed her lips to the underside of his cock pressing gentle kisses to the velvety skin.

She spoke, her voice filled with admiration. “You have a gorgeous cock, Filip.” 

He grunted, unable to form words as she ran her tongue along his cock tracing the veins, her hand reaching down to caress his balls gently massaging them.

He felt a strangled moan leave him as he reached down pushing her hair aside giving him full view of her as she wrapped a hand around his cock her tongue running along his tip lapping at the precum leaking from the slit.

She took his tip between her lips, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. She hallowed her cheeks lowering her mouth taking more of him. He gripped down at the bedsheets with the hand not currently holding back her hair as she began to bob her head. 

She stared up at him, maintaining eye contact as she bobbed her head, her hand still massaging his balls.

She moaned around his cock as she took him deeper with each bob of her head engulfing his cock in the wet heat of her mouth. He grunted her actions, working praise from him. “Fuck, Hen, fuckin perfect, Love. Takin my cock like this, oh, shite. Fuck yes, take it so fuckin good.”

She pulled her lips from his cock stroking him his cock slick from her treatment, her voice teasing her lips swollen. “I love this cock, Filip. Can’t wait for you to bury it in me. It’s going to make me feel so good, Baby.”

“Fuck, Hen. It is, I’m gonna make you cum on this cock.” He grunted his balls aching at the words he having to admit he was an absolute sucker for dirty talk both giving and receiving.

She took him back between her lips bobbing more enthusiastically, her cheeks hallowing. He groaned, unable to take his eyes off her his voice still so full of praise. “Christ, Love. Look at ye. Ye look so fuckin prim and sweet, but ye love suckin my cock. I can fuckin tell ye love this.”

She moaned around him giving him the affirmation that she did in fact enjoy this. She could admit that she’d not quite been fond of oral in the past or at least she’d not been fond of giving it to most of her past sexual partners. 

Most of the guys she’d gone down on were too forceful and seemed to not always care about her comfort. They seemed to think that porn was a guidebook for how to react when a girl went down on them. She didn’t exactly appreciate it when a guy tried to slam down her throat to the point that she wanted to vomit. Sore throats and having to take a guy’s release because he didn’t bother to warn you was not ideal nor enjoyable.

There was something about giving head to Chibs that just felt so rewarding and pleasurable. He was so adoring and so lovely with her. She had to appreciate the fact that she was clearly pleasing him. It was a turn on to know that she was able to make him feel this good.

She took him deeper breathing through her nose and relaxing her throat, the act making his eyes practically roll into the back of his head. He groaned as she took him so deep the praise leaving him. “Fuckin, perfect, Hen. So fuckin gorgeous, Lass. Shite.”

He whined as her hand left his balls but the disappointment was short lived as she slid a hand down her body unfastening her jeans just enough to slide her fingers underneath the waistband of the denim.

He groaned as she moaned against his cock it taking his lust hazed brain a moment to realize she’d slid her fingers underneath her panties and was currently touching herself.

He spoke his voice thick with lust at the realization of just what she was doing. “Fuck, look at ye, Love. Touchin that sweet pussy while ye suck my cock. Does havin my cock in yer mouth get ye that wet?”

She moaned around his cock her fingers teasingly sliding along her slit she toying with her clit the bud aching at the stimulation.

She pulled her lips from him, her voice teasing. “I’m so wet, Filip. I’m so ready for you.”

He groaned not having a chance to respond as she took his cock back between her lips bobbing her head.

He grunted, beginning to rock against her ever so slightly, his grip on her sheets remaining tight, resisting the urge to rock against her face as eagerly as he wanted to. He told himself he could fuck her mouth later if she’d allow it. Right now he was doing his best to chase his release and treat her with care without getting too lost in lust. 

He spoke his voice thick with need, his balls drawing up closer to his body, the stimulation and the knowledge that she was touching herself bringing him closer and closer to orgasm. “Gonna make me cum, Hen. Shite, yer gonna make me cum so hard, Love.”

She moaned around his cock bobbing her head with even more enthusiasm gagging around him as she took him as deeply as she could the blow job, easily growing sloppy.

He grunted his body tensing, his pelvis thrusting more freely, his balls aching the words leaving him his accent growing so thick his words were nearly intelligible as he came his load shooting from him in hot spurts . “Fuck, perfect, Hen, Shite, Lovely Girl, Makin me cum. Fuck yes. Mo ghràidh.”

She took his release moaning around his cock surprised to find that she did not mind taking all he had to give her and felt no desire to spit his release out the same way she’d felt with some men. The taste of him was at least not unpleasant, it was far more tolerable than some of her past experiences in this act. 

She allowed him to ride out his orgasm continuing to bob her head, her fingers continuing to slide along her aching clit and her soaking slit.

He groaned, his body feeling heavy and satisfied as the last of his release seeped from his aching cock.

She pulled from him pressing soft kisses to his oversensitive cock it softening and resting against his belly.

He groaned, it taking him a moment to recover from his orgasm and for his body to feel less like putty.

He leaned up resting on his elbows a groan leaving him when he realized her hand was still down her jeans and she was still playing with herself.

He spoke, his voice gentle and lazy despite the fact that he very much knew that he still had plenty of plans with her tonight. “Come here, Hen.”

She moved up his body, Chibs gently taking a hold of her arm pulling her hand from her jeans. She whimpered at the loss, her clit throbbing. Her hips rocked chasing the stimulation she’d been so happily enjoying.

He pulled the hand she’d had pressed against her pussy up to his lips. He took her fingers between his lips suckling greedily at her wetness, the action making her moan.

He spoke as he pulled from her lips his voice husky with need. “Fuckin’ sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, Hen. Jus’ as sweet as ye.”

She whined as he reached out, unfastening her jeans and working them down her legs. He groaned glancing down at her pink cotton panties spotting the wet patch along the front of them revealing that she was as soaked as she’d told him she was.

He was tied between wanting to yank her panties off or wanting to rid her of her bra.

He made his choice, unfastening her bra with one hand, tossing it across the room. He stared down at her bare breasts praise leaving him. “Perfect breasts, Hen. Shite, better than I imagined.”

She didn’t have time to tease him over the admission that he’d imagined her breasts as he eagerly leaned forward taking a nipple between his lips suckling.

She whined her head falling back as he attended to both breasts sucking, licking, and kissing. He slid a hand down her torso, his fingers sliding under the waistband of her panties. His fingers slid along her slit, his voice muffled against her breasts. “Ye really are fuckin soaked, Hen. Shite, this all fer me?”

“Uh huh.” The words barely managed to leave her as his fingers slid along her slit teasingly sliding along her clit before sliding back down.

She rocked her hips against his ministrations, Chibs rewarding her by dipping one finger into her entrance quickly followed by another.

She whined as he thrust his fingers into her curling them just right to hit her in an angle she could rarely manage to find on her own. 

She rode his fingers unashamed of the moans that left her lips as he continued to finger her his lips focusing on her breasts.

She whimpered as he spoke against her breasts. “Feels so good ‘round my fingers, Mo ghràidh. Christ, yer gonna feel like heaven round my cock. Not gonna ever want to leave yer pussy.”

He reached forward with his other hand yanking her panties down to her knees wanting to watch in full view as his fingers thrust in and out of her.

He moaned at the sight of it she obediently parting her legs for him giving him more room to work with. He stared down at her the sight gorgeous; her legs spread for him, his fingers sliding in and out of her soaked with her.

He buried his face back against her breasts suckling them as he fingered her.

Her head fell back, his name leaving her lips, he continuing to murmur praise against her breasts, his fingers continuing to thrust in and out of her. “Fuckin, gorgeous. Perfect tight pussy, fuckin wet and hot. Perfect, Hen. Made me feel so good, gonna keep makin me feel good once I bury my cock in ye.”

She gasped, her body flushing knowing no man had ever managed to make her feel this amazing with his fingers alone and the praise he was giving her made the pleasure all the more palatable. She’d never imagined herself having a praise kink but there was something about pleasing him and being admired for it that made her wetter than she was certain she’d ever been in her life.

She managed to speak her voice a broken whine. “Gonna feel so good, Filip. Want you so bad.”

“Ye got me love, always.” He remarked continuing to please her knowing he wanted to make her cum on his cock. He knew he had to wait longer than he might have had to wait had she met him in his twenties.

He groaned knowing had he met her in his twenties they would have been absolute sex addicts. He had a feeling that had he known her in his twenties then neither he nor she would have ever left the bed or whatever surface they could manage to find. He had a feeling had he met her years ago he would have knocked her up several times over by now or at the very least had to buy stock in a condom company as to not have dozens of wild little Telfords running around causing havoc.

He continued to finger her, they both moaning at how wet she was. The sound of just how soaked she was as his fingers slid in and out of her was audible and would have made her feel embarrassed if she wasn’t so lost in the pleasurable sensations washing over her. 

She spoke her voice shaky uncertain if she was begging to cum or begging him to bury himself in her and never leave. “Please, Filip, fuck, Baby, please.”

He groaned knowing that she wouldn’t have to wait much longer. He could feel himself starting to perk back up his refractory period ending.

He was shocked that his cock was perking back up this quickly. He had a feeling the woman he was currently pleasing was a perfect inspiration for the lower region of his body to get back into the game so quickly.

He spoke, his fingers finally pulling from her as he realized he was finally ready. “Ye ready fer me, Hen?”

She nodded her head sliding her panties down the rest of the way tossing them across the room.

"Want you, Filip." The words left her she feeling needy as she rolled onto her back, her legs spreading for him eagerly.

He groaned at the sight, unable to stop himself from speaking. “Look at ye, Love. So fuckin eager fer me.”

He pressed the fingers he’d had buried in her to his lips, cleaning her taste from them, a pleased moan leaving him.

He spoke as he moved over her reluctantly pulling his fingers from his lips. “If I wasn’t so eager to bury my cock in ye, I’d eat ye out right now.”

“There’s always later.” She remarked, the comment working a giggle from him.

“Aye, there is definitely later.” He agreed a moan leaving him as his cock slid along her soaked center. She was so soaked that it made his cock ache almost painfully.

She spoke a sigh leaving her, her lust filled brain clearing enough for her to motion towards the nightstand. “Condoms in the drawer.”

He groaned reluctantly, pulling away from her enough to reach into the nightstand finding several boxes of condoms, her cheeks flushing as she explained., “Bought them a few weeks ago when it hit me that we were headed in this direction…it was before I saw your dick. I didn’t know what to expect and I wasn’t about to just try to casually ask you what size dick you have?”

He snorted at the comment nodding his head finding the appropriate size. “We can dump the ones that don’ fit at the clubhouse. Lads’ll appreciate free rubbers. I’ll drop em off without em knowin the source. Migh’ give the smalls to Half-Sack.”

She rolled her eyes giving his shoulder a playful nudge. “Please, don’t mention your prospect when your dick is this close to being inside me.”

He giggled at the comment, tearing the foil packet open, working eagerly to slide the condom over his aching cock a groan leaving him at the action and the realization of what he was about to experience.

He tossed the package of condoms aside, turning his focus back to her. He took himself in hand positioning himself against her, opening his words soft and filled with reverence for her. “Christ, yer fuckin beautiful.”

She spoke the words sliding from her lips without hesitation. “So are you.”

He snorted at the comment, shaking his head. “I still think ye need glasses, Hen. Ye think I’m pretty I worry bout yer vision. Shite, the state of California lets ye drive…we let ye drive a Hearse and yer blind ‘nough to think I’m pretty.”

He didn’t give her a chance to protest as he did his best to make sure he was positioned against her just right. “Ye ready, Hen?”

“Yes, please.” She replied knowing she’d never been so certain that she wanted a man inside of her before in her entire life.

He pressed his lips to hers the kiss light as he thrusted his hips forward pressing himself inside of her slowly inch by inch.

She gasped her arms wrapping around him, her head falling back a gasp leaving her. She moaned knowing she was right to assume he would be capable of providing a pleasant stretch at his size. 

He groaned as his cock was enveloped by her snug heat, his cock aching remembering how wet she was underneath the barrier of the condom.

She gasped his name as he finally pressed all the way within her, her body taking him to the hilt. She slid her hands along his back enjoying the wonderful stretch of her body adjusting to his thickness. He pressed his lips against her face pressing them to every bit of skin he could reach, praise spilling from his lips. “Fuckin perfect, feels amazin’ Lass. Mo leannan.”

She whined the words leaving her they broken as she struggled to speak through the blinding pleasure washing over her. “Feels amazing, Filip.”

He kept still for a moment wanting to give her time to adjust to the feel of him, his lips continuing to press to her skin, her hands sliding up and down his back.

She rocked her hips slightly giving him the hint that she was more than ready her voice soft. “Please, Filip. Love me.”

He groaned at the comment, a voice in the back of his head exclaiming I do love you.

He bit back the words, he rocking his hips against her gently, groaning at the sensation of her center around him. He was overwhelmed with the realization that he could not remember if any past lover he’d had at least in the past decade had felt this incredible wrapped around his cock. 

She whined at the sensation not helping but to realize no man had ever been this gentle with her before. She’d had very few lovers who had approached sex with a sense of ease and tenderness. Most of her past experiences managed to be rushed, rough, or clumsy. 

She wasn’t going to claim that she had not had good sex before. She’d had at least a small amount of decent lovers who managed to get her off. There had been a couple of guys who managed to figure out how to make her feel good though it was a rare treat. She was sure most of her experiences of her late teens and twenties at SAMCRO’s clubhouse had been hazy and less about tenderness. 

Experiences with Gunner had held zero tenderness to them. She shoved the thought from her mind refusing to allow the man to taint what she was experiencing in the moment with Chibs.

She could admit that sex had never felt quite this satisfying before and she was astounded by the knowledge as they’d barely gotten started. 

He began to thrust in and out of her moving at a slow pace both wanting to appreciate the sensation of making love to her. He found himself wanting to move slow with her, remembering her request to love her.

He found himself determined to show her exactly how a man should have been making love to her all this time. He wanted to fuck away any memories of the awful sexual encounters she’d had with Gunner. He wanted to fuck away any of the experiences she’d had with any man in a kutte during her years hanging around with SAMCRO. A possessive voice in the back of his head told him that he wanted to show her that he was the only man in a kutte who should have the privilege of being inside of her. 

He found that he even wanted to out-fuck any man who she’d known in her time in New York. He wanted to ruin her for other men because she’d already ruined him for any other woman without being aware of it. 

He spoke his words needy and adoring. “Yer so perfect, Hen. Shite, never thought I could have this. Wanted ye from the second we met. Fuckin saw ye that firs time and couldn’t stop starin at ye, couldn’t stop thinkin bout ye. Had to have ye.”

She whined remembering the lust that had washed over her the moment he’d peered at her over his sunglasses upon their first meeting in the crematorium.

She was certain if someone had told her that the strange Scottish Son who had come along with Jackson Teller and a few other Sons to complicate her life, would one day not only be in her bed but have his dick buried in her, she would not believe it.

She managed to speak her voice soft. “Oh, Filip. Fuck, wanted you too, didn’t want ot admit it, but my body knew it wanted you. You feel so good.”

“Aye, how do I feel, Hen?” He dared to ask continuing his thrusts the words strained it taking everything in him not to just give into lust and fuck her hard up into her headboard.

He wanted to slam into her ensuring she’d not be able to walk the next day without remembering his dick inside of her. He wanted to flip her over and take her from behind spanking her backside. He wanted to lie on his back and have her ride him so he could watch his cock disappear into her tight heat. 

He held back knowing he’d have plenty of opportunities to take her in every position she’d allow. 

She spoke, her nails digging into his back, her head falling back, her eyes sliding shut as she soaked up the pleasure. “You feel so big, amazing.”

He nipped at her neck knowing he had already probably left several love bites along her skin so what was another?

He continued to thrust in her, his eyes unable to leave her features. He was certain he’d never seen a more stunning sight; her head fallen back against the pillows, her skin flushed with arousal and damp with sweat, her lips parted sweet moans leaving her, her eyes fluttering caught between wanting to sink into pleasure and wanting to watch him.

He rocked into her eagerly, her legs wrapping around his hips, her hips tilting back allowing him to thrust at a deeper angle.

He grunted at the deeper angle knowing that he was not lying to her earlier. She did feel like heaven and he was almost certain he never wanted to leave her tight body. He was quite certain she could ask him for anything in this moment and he’d readily agree to it without hesitation.

He was once again overtaken with the knowledge that he’d do anything for her. It was a realization that should make him nervous, but all he felt was a sense of ease and comfort.

He knew she’d never ask him for anything that would betray his trust or his loyalty to the club or any of his brothers. She wanted him as he was, SAMCRO, his tragic past, the complicated life he’d left in Belfast, the danger that he was capable of, and the danger that might follow him.

She wanted him. It was a beautiful realization knowing Y/N wanted him. 

He was once again taken with the desire to be worthy of her wanting him. He didn’t feel nearly deserving of her affection or her desire. 

A voice in the back of his head exclaimed that she could do a hell of a lot better than him. She could date some nice normal guy; someone like Deputy Hale.

It would be so easy for her to find a good guy after dealing with all the horror dating bad guys had subjected her to with Gunner. 

She’d chosen Chibs though. It was a shock to him but he was thankful she’d chosen him. He was astounded that she’d chosen Filip the outlaw with the complicated past who wore evidence of that past along his face. 

He was in awe that she’d chosen him and seemingly adored him.

She whined her fingers digging into his back the longer he thrusted her hips rocking against his overwhelmed with how good he felt.

She had a feeling with as overwhelming as this was, if it had been any other man she might have tapped out.

She was once again overtaken with the awareness that sex had ever felt so good with a guy. Her past encounters after leaving Charming had been unsatisfying.

She knew she and her traumas were partially to blame. After her violent relationship with Gunner, she had not quite felt comfortable in most sexual situations. 

The few boyfriends she had in New York had realized she was jumpy and closed off in the bedroom and cold and distant outside the bedroom. She’d struggled to relax during sex enough to actually feel good. 

With Chibs it was so easy to relax. She had to wonder if it was just that he knew about her past and knew exactly how to approach all of this without freaking her out. Or perhaps it was just simply that she trusted him so deeply. She knew he would never harm her.

She knew it was a contradictory thought; the dangerous outlaw would not hurt her. She was well aware of what he was capable of by seeing what little she’d been forced to see of his rap sheet. 

She trusted in her heart though that Filip Chibs Telford would never harm her. This was the man who had been so gentle with her from the start. She knew what was in his heart. She knew she was lucky enough to be in his heart.

She gasped, her voice pleading. “More, Filip, Please.” 

He groaned, willing himself to speed up his pace, his thrusts growing a little more frantic, struggling to keep his pace and the rhythm that seemed to be pleasing her.

She whined her hand sliding down her body finding her clit. She caressed the bundle of nerves rubbing tight circles into it, the sensation increasing everything she was feeling.

Chibs groaned it hitting him what she was doing. He gazed down at her hating that he couldn’t angle his body enough to fully appreciate the sight of what she was doing. He made a note to get her to do this again when he got  her to ride his cock. 

“Fuck, Hen. Touch that clit fer me. That’s my Lass.” he groaned, encouraging her.

She rubbed more rapidly the combination of her fingers against her clit and his cock sliding in and out of her making her slide closer and closer to the edge.

She moaned his name, the sound urging him on his cock aching. He was certain his name never sounded so perfect on anyone’s lips. He could remember how overjoyed he’d been when she’d told him she would prefer to call him Filip during that first proper phone conversation they’d had. 

She moaned all the more, her clit throbbing as her end approached closer and closer by the second. She felt it building within her so close she could almost grasp it. It felt as though a spring was coiling tightly within her bound to release at any moment. 

Chibs moaned his voice low and full of adoration encouraging her. “Come on, Hen. Cum fer me, Love. Let go fer me.”

She moaned, her body shuddering as she fell over the edge shockwaves washing over her. Her fingers continued to rub circles into her clit as she came, her center contracting around his cock causing him to groan.

His thrusts sped up all the more growing sloppy his cock throbbing as his end drew nearer and nearer.

She whined moving her fingers from her clit, it quickly becoming overstimulating. She gasped her hands sliding along his back caressing him as he continued to thrust chasing his own end. 

Her body felt heavy and sensitive underneath him, the feel of him sliding in and out of her almost too much. She resisted the urge to pull from him wanting him to find his release in her. 

He groaned his voice thick and slurred the closer he got to the edge. “Gonna fuckin cum, Shite, Lass.”

She spoke encouraging him to reach his end, wanting so badly to please him as much as he’d pleased her. “Please, Filip. Cum.”

He groaned his end hitting him hard, his last thrusts desperate and clumsy as he slid over the edge releasing into the condom. His body jerked his cock pulsing as he fell apart. His release spilled into the condom with far more force than he’d anticipated. A voice in the back of his head marveled that he’d not cum with this much force since his earliest sexual encounters. 

She rocked her hips against his encouraging him working her pelvic floor to help work his end the action making him groan her name leaving his lips along with a few low curse words. 

He moaned it hitting him this was the second time he’d cum tonight, the thought making a pleasant shudder run through his body.

He collapsed against her thrusting weakly against her, rocking the last of his orgasm into the condom, his cock twitching as he spilled the last drops of himself.

He pressed lazy kisses against her skin as he came down from his orgasm. He found himself unwilling to pull from her just yet wanting to soak up the feeling of her underneath him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

She kept a tight grip on him, apparently just as eager to keep him within her and over her, the sensation making her feel safe and adored.

He groaned as his cock began to soften, it slipping from her against his will. He reluctantly rolled off of her, she allowing him to do so.

They laid on their backs, their breathing heavy and their bodies soaked in sweat.

She spoke weakly waving off towards the nightstand, her hand feeling heavy. “There should be tissue somewhere…for the condom.”

He nodded his head lying there for a moment trying to find the will to move his body feeling so heavy and relaxed.

He reached out, grabbing a tissue, removing the condom and tying it off. He tossed it in a little wicker wastebasket by the bed before he collapsed back into the bed.

He opened his arms for her, relieved as she scooted close to him, her head resting against his chest.

She wrapped an arm around his waist finding it easy to sink against his embrace, her body feeling so relaxed a sense of security washing over her.

He found the bedsheets as the cool room began to make them both feel clammy. He spoke his voice drowsy, he wanting to check in on her hoping he’d managed to love her the way she’d requested. “How’re ye doin, Hen?”

“Perfect…you?” She responded, unable to deny the giddy drowsy feeling washing over her.

“Perfect.” He replied, his eyes growing heavy, struggling not to give into the desire to pass out his body feeling satisfied and he feeling completely at ease.

She felt her own eyes grow heavy, she overcome with how adored and secure she felt at the moment. She couldn’t remember feeling this at ease with a man before in her entire life. The words left her lips before she could stop them. “I love you, Filip.”

She felt her stomach drop as soon as it hit her just what she’d blurted out. She shot up in bed certain that she had just screwed everything up.

A voice in the back of her head exclaimed that she was an idiot for blurting this statement out like this. What if he didn’t feel the same? The voice claimed that he couldn’t be in love with her. In her experience she wasn’t the kind of woman men loved. It was too soon for declarations of love, a voice taunted her. She was most likely coming across as a clingy mess. Men hated clingy. 

Chibs widened his eyes, the words washing over him. He gazed up at her stunned by her reaction to her declaration of love.

He sat up gently reaching out for her terrified that her reaction meant she regretted saying the words.

A voice in the back of his head told him that she could not actually love him. He was not the kind of man that was deserving of something so pure. He’d done so many awful things and was not the kind of man women wanted to give love to. 

Y/N spoke hoping to do some damage control. “I am a big girl and can take it if you ….don’t feel the same, or aren’t there yet. I just, I can’t hide how I feel. I promise this isn’t just the fact that you gave me an amazing orgasm talking. I love you. How could I not? I-uh. So, you don’t have to feel pressured to say it back because I said it. I’m fine if you aren’t ready to say it back.”

Chibs furrowed his brow, thrown off by her comments. How could she not realize he loved her? How could she think he couldn’t?

He pressed his lips to her temple, his voice gentle. “Look at me, Hen.” 

She turned her head to face him cringing fearing the worse. He spoke, his lips pressing to hers, his voice reassuring. “How could I not love ye, Hen? I don’t know if ye noticed, but I’m a wee bit crazy fer ye. Pretty sure I offered to kill fer ye.”

He cringed at the last part of his statement; he was not quite sure if bringing up his offer to kill Gunner was welcome when she was clearly feeling vulnerable.

He spoke again soothing any possibility that he’d made this so much worse. “I love ye, Y/N. I have already said I love ye to ye…I technically said it firs, Hen. Ye were jus asleep the firs time I said it.”

“I was?” She blurted out, he nodding his head, his cheeks darkening somewhat.

“Aye…it was ah…after that fuckin incredible handjob ye gave me a few weeks back. I promise that was not my orgasm talkin, Hen. Ye made me cum hard, but I swear to ye that I was speakin from the heart and not my dick. I promise, I love ye.”

She spoke the words leaving her before her lips pressed to his. “I love you, Filip.”

He smiled against the kiss he reluctantly pulling back the words leaving him. “I love ye too.”

He managed to pull her back against him, settling down into her bed, his lips pressing to the top of her head as she rested her head against his chest.

He held her against him, his words soft as he allowed sleep to flood his system exhaustion hitting him. “I love ye, Mo leannan.”

She spoke, her own eyes growing heavy, the words spilling from her without hesitation or shame. “I love you.”

The thought washed over her making her feel secure and cozy as sleep took hold. He loved her. Filip Chibs Telford loved her. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Chibs groaned reluctantly, pulling from her embrace and her warm bed his aching bladder making it clear that he would not be able to hold off needing to pee much longer.

He found his boxers on the floor sliding them on the air conditioning flipping on making her bedroom icy.

He was certain that she’d practically ran to the bathroom an hour or so ago. He had only woken briefly long enough to hear her grumble something about UTI’s and how peeing after sex was the best way to avoid them. She was half asleep, the comment being clearly not meant for his ears. 

He was so drowsy though that he was unsure if he’d heard her correctly.

The run to her bathroom and back into bed had been quick; she clearly wanted to get back to the warm bed and back to his embrace.

He walked his movements slow and careful not to wake her as he went into her master bathroom shutting the door behind him before he flipped on the lightswitch.

He took care of business washing his hands, the cold room and the overhead lights making his brain wake up more than he would prefer.

He groaned, wanting nothing more than to slide back into bed with her and embrace the comfort of sleep.

The file sitting out in her living room was a sirens call though. His mind could not pull from it the need to see just what Agent Stahl had shown Y/N too tempting to ignore.

He shut off the light in the bathroom blinking trying to adjust to the darkness around him as he left the bathroom making his way through her bedroom thankfully without causing any noise.

He made his way down the hall, his stomach in knots as he approached her living room.

He felt his stomach turn as he spotted the file even with all the clutter she complained about in her home; past heirlooms from the generations that had lived here before her.

He sat down on her sofa thankful she’d forgotten to turn off the lamp on the table before she’d asked him to take her to bed.

He reached out his hands shaking as he opened the folder, his eyes scanning the police reports, nothing featured within them a surprise.

At least Stahl had not doctored some fake reports in an attempt to make him appear to be more brutal than he knew he was.

He felt his stomach churn knowing that there was far more that he’d done than was featured in these reports. These were just the actions he’d been caught doing.

He felt his stomach churn all the more, spotting the mugshot of his estranged wife within the folder.

He remembered the arrest as she’d been handcuffed by his side and shoved into the back of a police car beside him. He’d been cursing up a storm and throwing out expletives about the arresting officers insulting their loyalty to the crown calling them dirty loyalist pigs.

Fiona had been so calm though; elegant even in the back of a police car. She had said nothing, only occasionally telling her husband to calm himself. 

They’d been arrested for a brawl. There was always fighting in the streets back in those days. His twenties were a haze of bombings, bullets, and fists. He had thrived in the violence and the chaos.

He had loved the chaos. He had found a home in the horror of it all. He had found a cause to dedicate himself to and he was willing to die for it. He was a loyal man when he found something to fight for, even back then. 

He was certain that he’d die at any moment and he’d been at peace with it. He had told himself he’d be dying for a cause he believed in.

When Kerrianne had been born in his thirties he no longer was at peace with the thought of dying for the cause. His baby had shifted his heart. He was no longer as filled with rage and pure spite. He was still loyal to the cause but he was less quick to fly off the handle without a second's notice. He had learned to hold back the need to fight first and ask questions later. He was more prone to sit back and observe.

He knew his hesitance to fly into a rage had made him appear weak. His loyalties to the cause had been joined by loyalties to his baby.

Jimmy O’ had used this appearance of weakness to push Chibs from the cause. All it took was the suggestion of disloyalty and weakness and Jimmy O’ had been given the go ahead to dispose of Filip Telford. 

Chibs was unsure if Jimmy O’ had also been given the go ahead to take Fiona and Kerrianne for his own, or if that had been a personal choice that had just been tolerated from the Army Council. 

Chibs knew Jimmy O’ had won over favor with the Army Council. He was proving to be a smart and resourceful soldier to the cause. He’d earned leadership of his own crew who he ran with an iron fist. He didn’t care about risk or danger when it came to his actions. He was willing to cost lives for the cause and the council only saw it as Jimmy O’ being dedicated and capable of bringing out that dedication in others. 

They saw him as someone who was willing to get his hands dirty and deal with the day to day tasks that were required of the cause. 

Chibs knew that Jimmy O’ was still in favor with the Army Council. He only had to answer to them for any of his actions. He was still running his own crew. He was still involved in recruitment and he was good at it. He had found himself a cushy position in the True IRA.

Chibs frowned at the photo of Fiona overtaken by the thought that her first love had always been the cause. He was sure she’d loved in order; the cause and then him. Then when Kerrianne had come along she’d loved her of course, though she’d not been entirely pleased to be pregnant seeing it as a hindrance in her fight for the cause.

She had been a good mother though; she’d loved their child. She had remained a loyal soldier though.

He at times had wondered if it had been so easy to believe in the cause and fight for it because he associated the fight for a free Ireland with his love for Fiona. He had loved her therefore her passions had become his own.

He knew of course that he was unable to blame her for the path he’d taken. She had introduced him to the concept of a free Ireland, but he’d been the one to listen so intently and practically trip over himself to become involved. He’d been loyal to the cause. He could admit he’d found an outlet for his anger in it. He fell into the promises of the True IRA hook line and sinker. Fiona had been an encouragement of his dedication to the cause, but he’d made the choice on his own.

He was overcome with mixed feelings at the sight of Fiona’s mugshot. A few years ago he would have wanted to take the photo and keep it close to him. He would have cherished the captured image of her even if it had been taken in a moment of such chaos.

He found that he had no desire to cradle it close to his heart though. He felt no need to cherish the image. He found that gazing upon it only filled him with sorrow and a mix of feelings he could not place. He did love her; though he’d found that it was not that deep longing love he had always assumed he felt for her. He cared for her. He did not want to cherish an image of her though and long for her to be by his side. 

It was a shock; not feeling the longing that he’d become so familiar with when it came to thoughts of Fiona. 

He picked up a mugshot sitting alongside it, a younger version of himself staring back up at him.

He felt his heart twist at the image. The man in the photo looked like a stranger. His face was free of the scars Jimmy O’ had left him with. He was in his twenties in the photo. He was far too thin, his hair dark and free of the hints of silver that had developed over the past few years. His mouth was fixed into a scowl and his gaze was intense and dark. He’d been young and so filled with an immature and honestly unearned sense of pride. 

Chibs jerked almost dropping the photo as a soft voice sounded out beside him. “What are you doing up? I’m missing my in-bed furnace. I need someone to shove my feet against when I get too chilly.”

He gazed up at the owner of the voice, his heart lifting at the sight of her. The sight of her was a welcome distraction from his trip down memory lane.

She’d found a nightgown from her dresser, this one a long pale green silk gown with thin straps and white lace along the trim. He admired the sight of her, sure he’d never get enough of seeing her in a nightgown.

He had found that he enjoyed lying by her side at night, the soft silk of her nightgowns pressed to him the material soft against her curves. 

She sat down beside him, her stomach turning at the open file in front of them and the photo of his estranged wife sitting out. 

An insecure voice in the back of her head told her he’d been gazing at it longing for a woman he could not have.

She shoved the insecure paranoid voice back as Chibs spoke nodding down to the mugshot he was holding in his hand. “Jus rememberin how young I use to be. Shite, look at me. Fuckin full of piss vinegar and cum.”

She rolled her eyes at the last part of his statement. She gazed at the photo in his hand studying it closer than she’d allowed herself to do in front of Agent Stahl. “You look like you were an intense guy.”

“Aye, I was. I had a fuckin loud mouth too…never knew when to shut up until I learned the hard way.” Chibs admitted staring down at the photo of himself.

She dared to ask, unable to shove back her curiosity. “What was the hard way?”

“Fuckin bomb almost took me out. Was helpin plant some explosives with an older lad…he was more experienced than me, but I didn’t care. I was too cocky and runnin my mouth, not listenin to his warnings...one of em got set off and I was at least smart nough to hear it and run. Thank god the one that went off was weaker than it shoulda been. Wasn’t hooked up righ so it was a small fire more than anythin… Still got knocked flat on the ground, broke my damn arm. Taught me to shut up more often. I learned to listen and not assume I knew what I was doin. I learned to take direction a wee bit better. I learned to sit back and let people act before I jumped into action and got myself a world of hurt….I was still an angry lad of course, but I was less stupid in my rage. It was a hard lesson to learn, but it probably kept me alive.” He admitted not wanting to meet her gaze at the mention of bombs.

He spoke again, shaking his head a soft sigh leaving him. “It was a miracle I survived my twenties. Belfast in the eighties and early nineties was somethin else. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have survived it…and I didn’t care….not till my Kerrianne was born. She made dyin in fer the cause seem less noble.”

Y/N dared to speak, trying not to focus on the mention of his deeds in Belfast knowing it was something she might never feel at peace with but it was his past all the same. “She was four the last time you saw her?”

He cringed, nodding his head, the memory feeling so fresh still. “Maureen Ashby…she was a lass that hung round SAMBEL…datin our club pres…she an Fiona were close…she managed to sneak me by a market she knew Kerrianne would be at with Fiona…I was only able to see em from far away…Jimmy O’ never let em out of his sight without one of his lads nearby. I was able to see her for a moment…watch her smelling the flowers…She was so tiny…head full of curls and my nose and ears…She was carrying this wee stuffed animal…a white teddy bear. It should have been comfortin…but it was jus torture. Seeing my baby knowin I couldn’t go near her. She was a baby when Jimmy O’ attacked me. I loved her…loved her so much it hurt. I loved bein a Da. I thought it was a chance to be better than my own Da…I wanted so much fer her, had so many dreams fer her…Maureen promised to give her photos of me as the years went by…let her know I exist, let her know I love her. Don’t know if she jus told me that to comfort me. It would probably be too dangerous…lettin Kerrianne know her da is out there and he loves her. Jimmy O’ wouldn’ stand fer it. Even if he allowed it I’m sure he told her I ran off to America and abandoned her like some sort of arse, running from his family and the cause. Sometimes I dream bout my baby…memories of her. It hurts. I hate it.”

He paused, his throat growing tight he shaking his head. “Pretty soon after that tensions between the True IRA, SAMBEL, and SAMCRO started gettin too much and hinting they might fall apart…sendin a lad over to patch into SAMCRO and help deal with the Irish was a suggested way to ease tensions. I was a perfect candidate given my involvement with the cause and the MC. They knew where my loyalties would lie. I took the chance to get the hell out of Belfast…ain’ been back since.”

She wrapped her arms around his upper arm, her head resting against his shoulder as she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

He furrowed his brow, tempted to tell her that she did not need to apologize for bringing up the memory. 

She spoke, her head turning to press a kiss against his arm. “For what it’s worth…I hope Kerrianne does know you’re out there. I hope she knows you love her…if you didn’t love her you wouldn’t keep her so close to your heart.”

He felt a small smile cross his lips knowing she was referencing the tattoo across his heart. His daughter’s name in celtic print. “Aye, it's all I can do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, she daring to speak. “What do you want me to do with the file…do you want it?”

He frowned, understanding that she was not exactly asking about the file itself nor the police reports. This was about the mugshot of his estranged wife. 

He could feel the tension in her body as she continued to hold on to his arm. She was testing him, waiting to see where and with whom his heart laid. 

He felt the words leave him without hesitation. “Fuckin burn it, Hen. Ain’ nothin in there I need.”

He paused, not missing the chance to tease her. “Though…we can save one of these mugshots of me…ya can frame it to put by yer bed…or I can get ye a locket and ye can size down one of the photos to keep in it. Ye can show it off when people ask bout yer boyfriend…really give em a shock. We can put one of yer mugshots on the other side of the locket…make it real romantic.”

She rolled her eyes at this comment, the tension leaving her body a giggle leaving her the sound a relief to him given the tension of the conversation. “I think if I want a photo of you by my bed or in a locket, I would prefer you to look less pissed off…and more sober judging by a few of those mugshots I spotted in there.”

“Aye, fine. I do think there is a photo in there of me was when I was fuckin shitefaced. Pretty sure I’m flippin the bird at the camera…I look like hell in it. I got picked up with fuckin Juice fer some shite, I don’t even remember it, I think I was fightin though…maybe breakin and enterin too. I jus remember the hangover more than anything. It aint the one we have hangin in the clubhouse though I was pretty stoned in that one  and I’m flippin the bird in it. That one was from Kern county. Pretty sure I was on a run with Tig and Bobby in that one, or on the way back from a run. I had a wee bit of a joint with Bobby and ye can see it in my face…Got pulled over and ran my mouth, cops weren’t amused.” He admitted recalling a few of the mugshots in the file. He knew those were the milder offenses on his record. 

He paused an idea entering his brain, unable to avoid the temptation to tease her.

“ Still gettin ye a mugshot of me…ye know fer yer fridge or somethin…or in yer office…really make Skeeter cringe.” He teased not wanting to admit that he was pretty tempted to make good on the offer.

She shook her head standing up, her voice drowsy. “I am both starving and exhausted…we literally did not eat dinner…and don’t you say that you fed me your cock.”

He snorted at the comment biting his tongue to keep any smart comments from leaving him.

She spoke nodding at the file. “If I get you the matches will you burn that damn file in the fireplace in the dining room? I have some leftover Chinese takeout in the fridge that I can heat up for us and some beer too.”

He chuckled standing up from the sofa as he spoke, tossing the mugshot down on the file more than eager to burn it to ashes. “Aye, takeout and burnin my criminal record. Sounds like a good night in.”

She shook her head, her lips pressing to his cheek before she headed to the kitchen. He called out behind her the words leaving him without hesitation. “I love ye.”

“I love you too.” She replied over her shoulder the comment filling them both with ease.

He gazed down at the file shutting it knowing that he’d been telling her the truth. There was nothing in that file he wanted nor needed.

He knew where his heart laid.

#chibs telford #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs telford fanfiction #soa #chibs #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford smut #death and the lady #chapter thirteen #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction

[vague-homosexual-crimes]

theres something about pynch fan art when they’re both just clinging to each other like they’ll disappear if they let go

#I’m #I’m thinking about Ronan and Adam hours #and also Ronan over analyzing and over relating to Ronan hours #he so desperately wants love and to be loved and he had such an estranged relationship with Declan so for long and his parents are dead and #and he’s so in love and devoted to Adam and #‘what if I dreamt you’ #like if he lets go Adam will disappear #hhhhhhhh #ronan lynch #Adam Parrish #pynch #ronan x adam

[katebishopsbow]

MISSING PIECE • F1 GRID

pairing: f1 grid x driver!reader (platonic)

summary: you have always taken pride in your ability to handle the press, until a journalist mentioned a sensitive topic that you had tried desperately to avoid – your estranged father. you struggled to give a response, and your fellow drivers showed no hesitation to jump in and defend you.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, daddy issues, mentions of abusive parent, found family

word count: 3k

(image is not mine)

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Formula 1 journalists have always been known to be brutal – asking questions that teetered on the brink of privacy violation and unnecessarily hostile probing with the excuse of “providing insightful coverage” on the highly competitive sport.

That was why media training existed – to prepare drivers for the harshest, most demanding questions thrown at them and rewire their brains such that instead of lashing out, they would be able to gracefully divert the focus to something else while also preserving their pristine image.

You had always excelled at handling the media, and your ability to constantly remain level-headed even when they asked the most ridiculous of questions was something you took pride in – until a journalist purposefully asked about a subject you had desperately tried to avoid ever since your F1 career started.

The relationship you and your father had was rather difficult to explain. The two of you became distant since the day your parents divorced and you decided to walk away from his constant emotional unavailability and manipulation he so skillfully disguised as paternal love. He didn’t bother asking you to stay – well, he never bothered doing anything when it came to you. He called occasionally, only when he needed something from you and your mother, and sent birthday cards out of obligation a month late because god forbid he remembered your birthday if your mother hadn’t reminded him.

Then the calls became less frequent, and then they stopped altogether, and his empty promises of visiting became blatant lies that you no longer believed in. Your father gradually turned into a stranger, a missing piece, a clouded memory left behind in the childhood days of your life.

It was a hard subject for you to talk about, something you would much rather keep away from the limelight and scrutiny of the world. Unfortunately for you, secrets weren’t really a thing in F1, and the obvious absence of one of your parents on the grid and in all your victory celebrations had been noticed by the public’s watchful eyes.

So your secret was no longer a secret. All the drivers on the grid were aware of it, and a few closest to you had known the full truth of your strained relationship with your father, but they all avoided mentioning it as they knew it was a family matter you wanted to remain private. Most journalists were also respectful enough to avoid asking insensitive questions when interviewing you, phrasing their words like “How will you celebrate the win with your family?” instead of using the term “parents”, and you were more than appreciative of that.

So when the voice of a certain reporter who was known to be ruthless with his questioning echoed through the press conference, directing the uncomfortable and out-of-the-blue question toward you, you suddenly found yourself at a loss for words.

“Rumors have been circulating the Internet recently about you and your father. There are accusations against you claiming that you were ‘selfish’ and ‘ungrateful’ for cutting off ties with your parent, that a callous and unforgiving person such as yourself does not deserve a seat or to be the inspiration for young minds. What are your comments on such claims, and have you ever experienced regret for turning your back on your family – your very own flesh and blood?”

The sudden silence in the room was suffocating, and the only sound you could hear was the heartbeat that was drumming loudly in your ears as the colour drained from your face. The discussion revolving around your relationship with your father wasn’t anything you were unfamiliar with, but to hear it being brought up so directly in front of the press and all your fellow drivers, and all the demeaning names that people had called you – it had felt so demoralizing.

What happened between you and your dad was entirely private, people outside of your family who had never gone through what you had experienced should never have the right to make comments on your decision to leave. They didn’t know what it was like to have a father who was never there, who constantly let you down with his lies and broken promises, who subjected all his volatile temper and toxic outbursts to his daughter and wife.

You had enough of his bullshit and were simply sick of pretending to be the perfect little family, so you left with your mother and told yourself that you would never look back. It would be a lie if you said that you didn’t miss the presence of your dad every now and then – the palpable emptiness he left behind had and would continue to haunt you – but you also never once regretted your decision.

“I – I don’t think… these accusations… umm –” The composure you had always displayed in front of the media was long gone, and you struggled to find the right words to say in response to such an uncomfortable question. Every pair of eyes in the room was fixated on you while that journalist watched you with an inspective expression on his face, just waiting for the moment when you break – wanting you to lose control so that he could have the reaction he needed to write his article.

And all of a sudden, you were back in your childhood home, standing in the living room with your head hung low, fighting back tears as your father unleashed his wrath at you over the smallest, most trivial things. “What’re you crying for, huh? You want me to give you something to cry about?” he would say to you, his voice harsh and venomous as he screamed out insults that scarred your fragile little heart.

Then you were back in your grade school classroom, standing in front of the whole class and staying completely silent after your teacher assigned you the speech topic “My dad is my hero”. Your classmates looked at you as if you had grown a second head, confused by the way you were struggling to speak about a topic they could so easily blabber on for hours. You just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything – your dad was never your hero, he was a distant stranger who struck fear within you whenever he was around.

Then you were back in the bedroom at your new home, reading the birthday card that your dad had sent to you a month late. Written in the top left corner of the page was a scribble of your name, completely misspelled. You closed the card with tears brimming in your eyes, knowing that your existence was slowly beginning to fade from your father’s memories. You tried to remember what his voice sounded like, his calloused hands, his boisterous laughter on the rare days when he wasn’t screaming profanities at you and your mother, and then you realized that he was beginning to fade from yours, and it had felt so, so painful.

Blinking away the hectic memories, you were quickly dragged back to the reality of the press conference. Everyone was still waiting for your response, and the reporter continued to wait for you to crumble under pressure, but all you wanted to do was to run out of the room and hide from people’s blazing eyes, to not have the world criticize you on how you dealt with your family trauma.

“I think that is an absolutely unprofessional question to ask if I am being honest.” Max’s stern voice finally broke the silence, and you were still attempting to process the situation when he continued to chastise the overstepping journalist with an irritated scowl, “The focus of the press conference is to discuss the races and the drivers’ performances on the track, not to delve into people’s personal matter and bring up their family situations which clearly do not have any relevance to the sport.”

The Dutch driver had always been brutally honest, never afraid to speak his mind and call out the press for their bullshit, and this was no exception. Having a complicated relationship with his father himself, he knew the hardships of being in your situation and struggling with toxic family dynamics, and he experienced first-hand how the media loved exploiting such issues for the sake of a story. More importantly, you were his friend, and he would do anything to defend you.

You exchanged thankful glances with the driver next to you, feeling the warmth that blossomed over your heart when Max placed his hand over your trembling ones beneath the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze in a way that meant “Don’t worry. I got your back”.

Upon hearing what Max had to say, the reporter was quick to defend himself. “I was merely hoping to get some insights on whether or not the recent rumors had affected her performance on the track. That’s all,” he attempted to reason, trying to rationalize his intrusive question but was interrupted by another driver who frankly also had enough.

“I think everybody in this room is well aware that is not your intention,” Charles spoke up from his seat, staring at the lying journalist with a tight-lipped smile that was far from friendly. Being one of your closest friends on the grid, Charles was also no stranger to your father’s abusive tendencies and knew how tough it was for you to open up to him about such horrible memories. To see the press tried to take advantage of your vulnerability and blatantly lie about their ill intention sickened him, and he was not going to just sit and watch it happen.

The McLaren driver sitting beside him nodded as he let out a light chuckle, “Yeah I mean – I’m literally an idiot at reading the room but even I can tell that getting racing insights was not your only intention, mate.” The audacity some of these journalists and reporters had was astounding, thinking they could get away with asking disrespectful questions just because of their job titles. When it came to snapping back at their baleful antics, Lando did it once on camera with his iconic “Who are you?” and he would certainly do it again.

Carlos couldn’t help but smirk at Lando's cleverness – masking his reproval at the journalist with a self-deprecating joke. When his attention landed on the audience seated before him, he allowed himself to enjoy the caught-off-guard look on the journalist's now reddened face. “Serves him right for asking stupid questions,” Carlos muttered in a hushed voice just loud enough for himself to hear before turning his head to catch your eyes, shooting you a quick smile as a sign of support. You returned the kind gesture, thankful that your friends were standing by your side when you needed help.

As the journalist busied himself with trying to recollect his composure, an awkward silence hung upon the room once again. That was when Daniel perked up from his seat, the usual cheerful smile on his face as he proceeded to do what he did best – easing the tense atmosphere and diffusing the tension with a touch of humour. “Well, I can totally affirm that Lando can be an idiot sometimes,” he joked while grinning mischievously at the papaya driver, and the mood in the room visibly lightened as a few reporters laughed at his playful words.

“But on a more serious note though, I do believe it’s important to remember that drivers are also human beings, and we all have our own struggles and difficulties both on and off track. It’s crucial to respect drivers’ boundaries and not exploit their personal struggles, and our sole focus should always be on the sport and racing,” Daniel voiced out respectfully, emphasizing the one thing that people always seemed to forget – that drivers deserved privacy and owed nobody any explanations on their personal lives, even if they lived under the spotlight.

Oscar and Pierre who were seated at the further end of the table also nodded at Daniel’s resonating words, expressing their agreement on the importance of maintaining a respectful and uplifting environment for all drivers. “What are your thoughts, y/n?” A female reporter in the crowd raised the question, subtly giving you an encouraging smile as she steered the attention back to you, offering you the chance to speak your truth and address the situation directly.

The fear and dread within you slowly dissipated, replacing them was the heartwarming gratitude at your fellow drivers who showed no hesitation in defending you in the face of intrusive questioning. It was then that you realized you were never alone in this journey, that the other drivers on the grid were not only your competitors but your family who understood what you had gone through and would unconditionally have your back.

It was their reassuring glances, their wholehearted support, and their willingness to stand up for you that enveloped you with the strength and courage needed to finally speak up for yourself. “I would like to start off by thanking all the drivers here with me, and thank you to the journalist for that rather personal question,” you spoke clearly at your microphone, your voice emboldened by the newly found determination as you watched the journalist shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“While I do appreciate the public’s concern regarding my family issues, I would prefer to keep my personal life private. The decision to distance myself from my father to prioritize my well-being and emotional health is not something I regret doing, and it is not fair for people outside my family who don’t understand the complexities of our relationship to make assumptions on the matter.”

Taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts, you made the closing remarks to your statement, “Which is why I kindly ask for your understanding and space moving forward, to respect the privacy of not only me but everybody on the grid and allow us to deal with our personal matter privately, and ultimately create a respectful community within Formula 1.”

You looked around the room when you had finally finished speaking, meeting the eyes of your fellow drivers and the rows of reporters sitting before you. Your hands were still shaking from the nerves that pulsated through you, but a firm squeeze of Max’s hand pulled you back to the present before you could begin spiraling. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he said with a gentle smile.

The media training sessions had come in handy once again, and you managed to address the situation in a graceful manner without revealing more details than you were comfortable sharing while also highlighting the importance of personal boundaries in the world of motorsports. “Thank you, y/n,” the previous female reporter nodded at you with a proud smile, glad that you put those unprofessional reporters who had no sense of boundaries back in their place.

Among the sea of cameras and eager reporters who could so easily expose the vulnerabilities of the drivers with a simple flick of their pens, some suddenly found themselves becoming the subject of such exposure, called out for their prying questions and insatiable need to twist people’s words for a click-worthy story.

It was evident that what you and the other drivers said had struck something within them as they silently began reflecting on their roles and responsibilities as reporters, and perhaps remembering the reason why they had chosen journalism in the first place – to report the factual truth to the public, or to fabricate things in exchange for views and attention?

The press conference proceeded to continue, but the shift in the atmosphere was apparent when journalists asked their questions with more sensitivity and introspection, mentioning topics that genuinely mattered instead of blindly chasing exclusive headlines. When the conference finally ended, you and all the drivers collectively exuded a breath of relief, feeling a weight being lifted off your shoulders now that the far-from-enjoyable media day was over.

As you exited the room and were away from the cameras and people, you turned around and gave your friends an appreciative smile. “Thank you all… for standing up for me.” You must have sounded like you were close to tears because Daniel began cooing at you teasingly as if he were comforting a crying child, “Aww… don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

Charles leaned forward to ruffle your hair almost like what an older brother would, and he said to you tenderly, “We’re a team, and we’ll always have your back.” You were not going to cry initially, but now you weren’t so sure. At that moment, you had felt so loved, so supported, and it made you want to hide under the covers and bawl your eyes out from the rush of emotions that crashed over you.

Your friends, understanding the depths of your emotions, gathered around to offer you their words of encouragement and gentle pats on your back. “I love you guys, really…” you whispered quietly, looking at them with such sincerity and gratitude. How lucky were you to be able to have these people as your competitors, your friends, your found family?

“Who wants to go and eat because I’m actually starving,” Lando exclaimed as he began walking in the direction of the restaurants, and a few of the drivers tailed behind him as they joined in on the rant about how hungry they were. You watched them with an overwhelming sense of fondness, and when Max reached out his hand for you to take, you gladly accepted it.

Listening to the light-hearted banter and laughs that filled the air with your best friend right next to you, you knew that this was exactly where you belonged. Not in the tiny living room with your father screaming at you, not in the classroom with the kids who didn’t understand what you had been through, not in the bedroom where you cried over your fading memories with your father, but right here – with your favourite people who would always be there to fight your battles with you.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #f1 drivers x reader

[little-diable]

In My Arms - Tommy Shelby (smut)

I stumbled upon an imagine about Tommy coming home from war and how the first night with reader would be, but as a historian I just needed to take a slightly different angle on this. I think this is my new fave fic of mine ngl. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tommy comes home from war, but he no longer is the man (y/n) has once fallen in love with, he’s no longer the man she had once touched without thinking twice.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, talks of war and estrangement, but a soft, loving ending

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (1.7k words)

The smell of cigarettes hung in the air, a smell she hadn’t picked up for the past years. In the beginning, she had missed it, alighting a cigarette just to feel him near, to get a glimpse of how her everyday life with Tommy would be if he weren’t so far away from home. But then the seasons had changed, and with the war dragging on, the prices of things had risen immensely, the behaviour of those surrounding her had changed, and so the cigarettes were slowly left behind, just like the life she kept mourning.

Now, as Tommy was sitting near her, cigarette hanging between her lips, (y/n) had to bite down the need to ask him to stop smoking, no longer used to the biting smell. Her uneasy eyes kept studying his face, wandering over every inch she had only seen in her dreams ever since Tommy had left for war. Once a man she had known like the palm of her hand, now a stranger whom she only knew the name of. 

“Tommy,” she murmured his name, trying not to spare the way it tasted almost unfamiliar on her tongue any mind. “Can I touch you?”

His piercing eyes met hers, stone cold like the biting breeze keeping those living near them inside their homes. Smoke kept blowing from his nose, leaving the man as if he was the devil himself. She started counting the passing seconds, wondering if he’d ever speak up again. Even though it had been hours since Tommy had returned, (y/n) could barely remember the sound of his voice, aching to hear it like a bleeding-out woman desperate for anything she could cling to stop her bleeding. Yet deep down she knew she was about to bleed out, he could help her no more, nothing but another familiar face becoming one with the cold soil. 

Just as she tried to part her lips, wanting to call out his name again, Tommy cleared his throat. She watched him stub out his cigarette, watched him rise to his feet with his piercing though empty eyes set on her. Tommy came to a halt in front of (y/n), staring down at her for another handful of seconds before he cupped her warm cheek. He moved slowly as if he was waiting for her to flinch from the unfamiliar touch, but (y/n) held still, grasping any chance to be close to him.

Tommy dipped his head down, breath clashing against hers. It had been too long since his lips had found hers, too long since their tongues had met, too long since she had tasted his taste on her tongue. Yet, even though her hunger for his touch drove her on, (y/n) couldn’t help but realise how unfamiliar his lips felt like two puzzle pieces not made to fit. 

“Tommy,” she choked on his name, pulling back to get lost in those eyes she had once loved. Her heart skipped a beat at the smallest hint of a smile widening on his lips, oh how she longed to get a glimpse into his mind, desperate to read his thoughts. “Touch me.”

For a second she felt him moving forward, hands wandering lower to grip her waist, but the second his eyes wandered down to his fingers, the hands that had been dirty from the tunnels only a handful of days ago, he froze. She saw the hesitation swimming in his pupils, saw the fear, saw the pain. Gods how he must have suffered; suffered like no other she had crossed paths with before. 

“It’s alright, take your time.” (Y/n)’s murmurs seemed to pull him out of his thoughts, out of the place he never wanted to return to ever again. “I’m here, Tommy, I’ll always be right here.”

“That’s a nice thought. Something I dreamt of whenever I found myself longing for peace.” A humourless chuckle left Tommy at the words rolling off his tongue. Words that instantly drew tears to her eyes, forcing her to realise that she’d never fully understand what he had been through, the unspoken truth both would have to live with. Though while Tommy didn’t dare speak of the pain he’d been forced to endure, the endless trauma he’d never shake, (y/n) had to accept that she’d never hear of the things he had been forced to do, that she’d never hear of the unanswered prayers he had spoken in moments of desperation. 

No further word left Tommy as he now properly touched her, almost like he would have touched her all these years ago. He pulled her to her feet, lips meeting hers once again, with some more passion, some more heat than before. A moan flushed through her, a sound Tommy almost groaned at. 

With their fingers interlaced, he pulled her towards their bedroom, the door falling shut with a heavy thud. And once again they were engulfed by silence. Silence – something (y/n) had found solace in; silence – something Tommy now feared, scared to pick up on sounds that would foretell his cruel death. 

“Turn around, love.” Wordlessly she turned her back towards him, breath hitching in her chest as she felt Tommy undoing her dress, watching the fabric fall to the ground. Perhaps he was stuck in a dream, still forced to accept the biting darkness around him, but fuck he couldn’t care at that moment, eyes not daring to leave her naked frame. “Lay down, let me have a look at my beautiful wife.”

“Come closer, please Tommy.” He undid his shirt, not daring to meet her eyes, no longer familiar with the feeling of her gaze taking in his marked naked body. He stepped out of his trousers, eyes focused on her naked chest, hoping that the sight of her body could distract him from the demons calling his name. Tommy could only pray that his fears wouldn’t get the best of him, making his cock grow softer, telling her that he no longer wanted this, even though he wanted this more than he could ever express. 

Within seconds he hovered over (y/n), taking in the warm and encouraging smile she shot at him. He could find peace here, with her close, Tommy’s own kind of heaven, he was sure of it. Her fingernails traced his skin, leaving him shuddering as they made their way down his front, finding his hardening cock. She pumped him a few times, feeling him twitch in her grasp, forcing curses to claw through him.

“Fuck me, Tommy, show me how much you love me.” He shifted his weight, wanting to get his hand on her cunt before his cock would force her walls apart. With his eyes flickering down to her heat, he watched her arousal coat his fingers, movements that left her moaning for him. (Y/n) was at his mercy, not daring to move, not daring to do anything that could push him away from her. “Please, just please Tommy.”

His tongue kissed her teeth as he pulled his hand away, replacing it with his cock. Just for a second the both of them couldn’t help but wonder if they had unlearned how to do this, how to touch one another like they wanted to, deserved to. But the moment passed by all too quickly, ripped from them as Tommy thrust into her, groaning against her mouth at the feeling of her tightness around him. 

“Shit, you’re even tighter than I remember.” Tommy choked on his words, slowly beginning to set a comfortable pace that left (y/n) clawing at his back, making her legs tighten their grasp around his waist. The sound of their bodies meeting left the couple panting, knowing that this would be over far too soon, and yet they couldn’t care, couldn’t worry about time slipping through their fingers - not when they’ve grown to count every single minute ever since parting ways. 

“I missed you, missed you so much.” Even though (y/n)’s words dripped with love, love Tommy felt for her just as much, she knew that these were the wrong words to leave her the second she had spoken them out loud. The speed of his thrusts began to falter, Tommy had fallen straight from heaven, clashing to the cold ground like a disowned angel locked out of the pearly gates. 

He kept on fucking her, kept on moving with almost soulless eyes. The sight tore her heart to shreds, fingers moving up his face to his hair, murmuring his name. But Tommy didn’t react, at least not till a loud “Stop!” clawed through (y/n). He froze on top of her, eyes squeezed shut as if he was hiding away from her.

“Look at me, Thomas.” The use of his name forced Tommy to follow the softly spoken command, glassy eyes meeting (y/n)’s. “Oh, love. It’s alright, you’re safe, you’re with me. I won’t let anybody harm you.”

A tear rolled down Tommy’s cheek, a tear she kissed away, needing to take away his pain. For a second they kept holding still, clinging to one another, but then he kissed her palm, moving once again. Within seconds their pain once again turned into love, trying to focus on the way their bodies were connected so intimately. 

Tommy’s thumb found her bundle, rubbing it to match the speed of his thrusts. His touch pushed (y/n) closer to the edge, and yet she didn’t dare close her eyes, not wanting to miss the pleasure tugging on her husband’s features. A sight so pure. A sight so raw. A sight so loving.

He kissed (y/n) as he felt her clenching around him, letting go with his name leaving her. The sight was enough to make Tommy follow her down the edge, eyes fluttering close, lips parted as he imprinted himself on her walls. He plopped down next to her, arm instantly finding its way around (y/n)’s waist to pull her close.

“I love you, and,” she felt him swallow heavily before he kept on speaking, softly whispering the words, “and I missed you too, so much.”

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

[illyrianbitch]

Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths

Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel

Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.

Warnings: ANGST, Helion being compassionate and its sexy, Inner Circle slander (sorry feyre baby), Y/N is kind of a bitch (but its warranted and a slay), family trauma.

Word Count: 2.9k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was Helion, the High Lord of Day, who had seen the flicker of hope in your eyes. A man of discerning wisdom, he recognized your yearnings of a better world. He knew you, he knew your heart, and he trusted your vision— with the promise of your support shall he need it. You knew that your support, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing to Helion. He had always held a heart of gold, of understanding, and he would have helped you without anything in return. But you had insisted, declared that you needed to give him something to thank him. Your support, he had agreed on. It was all you had left, anyway. 

Now, you stood before him, pleading. Your chest was tight and a calm panic filled your veins. You needed to act. You needed to keep things in place.

"Helion, please," your voice, normally composed, now carried a tremor, a plea that hung in the air, reeking of desperation. Low light poured through stained glass windows as the sun slowly set, painting a kaleidoscope of muted colors on the marble floors.

His eyes, usually filled with warmth, held a regretful sympathy. 

"Y/N, I wish I could," He replied, his voice caressing the air,  "But with the current state of affairs and your father’s growing paranoia, it's too risky. I can't jeopardize my people. My help is needed elsewhere."

Approaching you, he extended a large hand, gently cupping your chin, his touch reassuring and pained. "Give me some time, sweetheart."

Desperation deepened in your eyes, and the intensity of your plea swelled. Aching with fear and worry, your gaze remained locked on his. "I don’t have time. Hewn City corrupts swiftly. You know this.”

Helion sighed, a sound filled with a blend of both compassion and helplessness. "Perhaps you should reach out to Rhysand. His influence might help, now more than ever."

Yor felt a bitterness surface, like bile rising through your throat. A soft scoff left your mouth as you roughly pulled Helion’s hand away from your chin, withdrawing from his touch in offense. "Rhys had a chance to help. He didn’t. He couldn’t care less. I won’t go crawling to him."

Helion's gaze softened, a tender response to your rough tone. He let out a sigh and pulled you close to him once more. His touch sent a wave of comfort through you, something that happened often when you visited him to discuss these things. Helion was a man who loved physical connection— you didn’t mind it. It made you feel seen, understood. Now, you craved that feeling more than ever.

 "I don’t understand this contempt you hold. Surely they will want to help you. They miss you."

You rolled your eyes at this. Of course Helion would think so. As much as you trusted him and his admiration for you, he always did love your family. Your sister and your cousin would always be in your life, tied to you in one way or another. Frustration tinged your voice. 

"It's too late. Going to Rhysand now would draw unwanted attention or, worse, he’d halt my efforts because of some perceived danger."

There was a moment of silence, and your eyes bounced around the room, searching for somewhere to land that wasn’t Helion's burning gaze. Once more, he moved a hand to gently cradle your face.

"You cannot foresee every outcome. You're not a mind reader, Y/N."

A bitter laugh escaped you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "I might as well be when it comes to family."

 "You've accomplished so much. Allow yourself a reprieve. You can't bear the weight of the innocents lives in Hewn City alone."

You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes as you admitted, "I can't afford to stop. If I do, they'll think I've given up." 

"No," Helion asserted, his voice unwavering. "Your dedication is commendable, but you need to care for yourself. Let me help you."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him, his brows furrowed slightly and a sad smile on his face. He moved his hand once more, gently tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then, he ran a finger along it, a soft caress carried by a weight of understanding. You shuddered at the lightness of his touch. 

 "Stay, Y/N,” He suggested, his voice smooth and low, “Let me be a distraction. You take care of others; let someone take care of you."

You leaned slightly into his caress, feeling the warmth radiating from his hand. A fleeting sense of comfort teased at the edges of your weary soul. Yet, reality swiftly reasserted its grasp, and you gently withdrew, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

"I appreciate the offer," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. Your hand delicately intercepted his, guiding it away from your cheek. "But I can't afford the luxury of distraction right now."

He acknowledged your decision with a small nod. 

“I wish I could do more for you."

A tender smile found its way to your lips and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment of gratitude.

“I know.” You replied before you winnowed away, leaving the luminous embrace of the Day Court behind.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were on edge. You had been for the last few weeks. Now, after failing to convince Helion, you could feel it catching up to you, a dark hole forming in the pit of your stomach. It felt like you were being swallowed alive, eaten by your own anxieties and fear. But you didn’t have time for this. You couldn’t risk falling apart, becoming vulnerable. No, not at a time like this.

You had mastered the art of drowning your thoughts, of discarding the weight that threatened to pull you under. Tonight would be no different. The impending storm would be weathered, as it always had been. You would begin to drink your worries away, give them time to manifest, and then shove them away into the crawlspace of your mind, free to collect dust and rot away.

You moved toward a small table where a simple platter of dark amber liquid awaited. Your fingers tightened around a small crystal glass as you poured. As the first sip touched your lips, you felt the familiar burn, a welcomed distraction. The amber liquid offered solace, if only for a fleeting moment.

And then, you stilled. The creak of the floorboards behind you announced their presence, and you felt it—a pricking at the base of your neck, the subtle disturbance of the air as someone entered, no, appeared. Your body tensed instinctively, shoulders rigid, as you ceased your movements. You took a moment to compose yourself, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply-- a futile attempt to ground yourself.

You downed the drink, the warmth spreading through your veins, and set your glass down, a definitive thud echoing in the silence as it met the table. You turned around slowly, the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety beneath your skin momentarily masked by a face of composure. The simple décor of your home surrounded you—the tattered tapestries, broken furniture—all a testament to a life you had built in the aftermath of your return. One that lacked the color that you once held.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Your voice, laced with both mockery and a hint of something darker, hung in the air.

In front of you, Rhysand stood tall and proud, a figure of authority. His eyes, once familiar and comforting, now held a look determination. His gaze held yours strongly, and for a swift moment, you saw them soften. But the tenderness quickly dissipated, his eyes narrowing with a slight tilt of his head. You ran your eyes along his face, then down his form, taking in the detailed and intricate patterns of his clothing— an embodiment of Night Court royalty. Then, you looked at him again, your jaw clenching. It had been a while since you looked into his eyes, a violet color deeply embedded into your mind. For a moment, his presence consumed your thoughts, distracting you from the other man that you felt in your home.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark figure stepping out from the corners of your room. A darkness licked at your skin.

"Hello, Azriel," you acknowledged him, your eyes remaining fixed on Rhysand.

Azriel's presence was a dark whisper. The edges of your room seemed to blur with shadows as he stood there, a silent observer.

"I’ve come to request your help," Rhysand's voice cut through the stillness, his words carrying the weight of urgency.

Your response was swift, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that's rich."

The corners of the room seemed to darken further as Rhysand's frustration manifested in the clenching of his jaw. The subtle play of shadows accentuated the lines on his face, revealing the strain of a desperate plea.

"Please hear me out."

You shook your head. They shouldn’t be here. This was risky, dangerous. You needed them to leave. They needed to disappear, to let you go and never find you again. That was the only way you would be able to survive.

But every fiber in your being was screaming to do the opposite, to embrace your cousin and explain to him, tell him everything. You wanted to get on your knees and beg for the kindness he always showed you, to ask him about your sister. For him to tell you about his life, his love, his child. But you couldn’t. And from inside you, your heart tugged you to Azriel, his stoic form. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to catch his gaze. It was all so wrong. This disconnect, this anger you felt for them, for your situation, for yourself… it was eating you up. But this wasn't the time. So you pulled your thoughts together and focused on the one thing that had never let you down: your fire.

You reminded yourself of the resentment you held, deep down. Reminded yourself of how they had failed you, separated themselves from you, your vision, and the suffering of the good people here, in Hewn City— your city. Rhysand's city.

Ignoring his original words, you looked at Rhysand with the hint of a wicked grin on your face.

"Where’s your child bride? I heard she’s reading at the same level as your babe. You must be overjoyed."

Rhysand's expression tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. The mention of his mate touched a clear nerve, and for a brief moment, you reveled in the discomfort you had caused. It was a twisted satisfaction, a way to regain some sliver of control in this unexpected encounter.

His temper flared, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability replaced by a presence of anger that you knew all too well. He bit down on his frustration, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure. But you pressed on.

“I’m only kidding, take a joke, Rhysand. 500 years and you still have the emotional regulation of a teenager. Nice to see some things don’t change."

Rhysand's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and confusion, observing you and your wall of icy nonchalance. His name sounded foreign on your lips, spoken with such malice and distaste. Even the last time he had seen you, during a bloody war against Hybern, you had not been so venomous. This was a fact you both thought of as you stood here, now, in front of one another again. You moved gracefully through the room, ignoring their presence, and opened a small box that sat on your table. The delicate aroma of sugar wafted through the air. You took a seat.

Azriel and Rhysand exchanged glances. Your fingers idly played with the box, an ornate creation that held delicate, candied treats. With an almost casual indifference, you brought one of the sweet confections to your mouth, savoring the taste as if the weight of their presence meant nothing to you. You could feel the tension building in the atmosphere, heightened by their growing sense of agitation and frustration. It radiated off of them like heat. You welcomed it with open arms, like a freezing child in the cold.

"These are the loveliest desserts,” You explained, bringing the candy close to your face with an examining eye, “Hard to come across here. But I know a guy.”

“Want one?" you offered, dropping your candy back into the box and extending it toward Azriel, whose stoic expression remained unchanged.

"What? Doggy can’t take a treat?" You taunted with a measured smile. You didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, or the way his shadows began to snake up his arms, angry and riled up.

A tense silence lingered as Azriel remained perfectly unmoving, his eyes holding a depth of attentiveness that made you uncomfortable. But the discomfort within you sought distraction, and you continued with your mockery. You waved your hands in the air as a dismissal.

"Bah, you guys are no fun."

The room felt charged as you baited them, your attempts to deflect the gravity of their visit becoming slowly evident in every casual gesture.

Rhysand's frustration reached a boiling point, and he took a step forward, shifting the conversation.

"We didn't come here for sweets and jests. We came for you."

You chuckled, a sound that held a bitter edge. "Me? You must be desperate, Rhysand."

A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, swiftly replaced by a steely resolve. "There are rumors of rebellion here,” He took a pause, glancing around the room as if he was contemplating continuing. He spoke again, “But, I'm dealing with a larger threat that has me on the defense. I cannot afford an uprising."

Your laughter cut through the air like a blade. "Is the idea of civil unrest among your people an inconvenience? My, what an issue, must be terrible."

Rhysand's patience waned, his features hardening. "Stop this, Y/N. We need your help to prevent a disaster."

You leaned back against your furniture, your eyes narrowing as you regarded him with a chilling indifference. "I've heard nothing about any unrest. You've wasted a trip."

Rhysand's gaze bore into yours, an unspoken challenge. "Azriel has been in Hewn City, gathering information. He's heard the rumors. I know you're lying."

In that moment, a silent battle waged within you. The desire to help, to make a difference, warred against the fear of exposing yourself to the dangers lurking beyond your sanctuary. The memories of the past, the reasons you returned, echoed in your mind. You wanted to help, but you knew their presence could unravel the delicate life you had crafted.

Rhysand's voice softened, a genuine plea beneath the layers of frustration. "Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. Why do you refuse to acknowledge that?"

Then, his eyes softened, sensing a crack in your facade. Inner turmoil clouded your eyes as you locked gazes with him. The conflict within you played out in the subtle tremor of your fingers, a telltale sign of something bubbling beneath your icy exterior. But as quickly as it manifested, you shut it down, fast enough to resolve Rhys of his attentive eyes. He swallowed and fixed his composure.

"Azriel has gained information that it's not just a rise against me. There are whispers of a rebellion against Keir himself. I need you to listen for information from your father."

Your father. A wave of nausea rippled throughout your body and you clenched your jaw in response. The title sounded strange coming from Rhysand, a stark reminder of your place here, of your place in his family. No, no. You thought. I will not let them see me falter.

Rhysand continued, "Azriel has gathered intelligence, but we need someone on the inside. We need you."

A cynical smile now played on your lips as you taunted them, "Maybe it's time for a change. The mighty High Lord struggling to keep control – how novel."

Azriel, who had maintained a cold silence until now, spoke up for the first time, taking a heavy step forward towards where you sat.

"We both know you do not mean that."

You turned your gaze to him, eyes dark. "And what do you know about what I mean, Azriel? You don't know anything about me."

Rhysand put a hand out in front of Azriel’s form, biting back his retort. The room hung heavy as you finally declared, "You've overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Rhysand's eyes met yours with a determined glint.

"I will be back. Family does not give up."

His words pulled out a surge of anger bubbling within you. Family? Without a second thought, you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "Family, huh?" Your voice dripped with bitterness, and you moved toward him, anger etched on your face.

But before you could reach him, Rhysand winnowed away with a controlled fury, leaving Azriel lingering.

Azriel stood still, his eyes slightly narrowed, his brows furrowed at you. You met his gaze and felt a wave of guilt through your body, filling the hole where your fury once was a second before. If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Azriel was….. Disappointed? Hurt? But you stabilized yourself, pushing the observation away. Your anger, raw and unfiltered, had an intensity that took even him by surprise. He held your gaze. Then, like a wisp of darkness, he too disappeared, leaving you alone with the remnants of unresolved tension and the taste of bittersweet candied treats lingering in the air.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

a/n: hello hello!! welcome to my lil new fic!! im new here and i have no idea what im doing but i hope at least one person enjoys what has become my creative fictional baby. when i tell you this story has a place in my HEART....y/n here is multilayered and complex and flawed but that is why i love her!! serving cunt 24/7!!!

tumblr scares me so any feedback is so very loved and any advice is great too!! mwuah

#azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #azriel x y/n #azriel/reader #acotarfandom #acotar #acotar writing #reader insert #acotar reader fic #a court of thorns and roses #helion acotar #high lord helion #rhysand #morrigan #hewn city #night court #court of nightmares #this is terrifying #im so sorry feyre baby its for the plot #pls validate my new writer heart #beneath the ashes of our broken oaths #baobo #about baobo

[yuzurins]

# i’m smitten with the thought of you

itoshi rin x gn!reader. sae and rin don’t have an estranged relationship. childhood friends to (eventual) lovers. crack don’t take this too srsly pls

“rin, say ahh!” you hold out a spoonful of cake in front of his face.

“shut the fuck up.” rin pouts, turning his head away from you.

you snicker, but your hand doesn’t falter. “come on! you know you want it~” you tease, dragging the end of the sentence as if you were talking to a small child.

he keeps his mouth shut, and you gush internally at the fact that he’s blatantly sulking. rin will never beat the allegations for being the cutest boy ever, even if he’s not the same as the sweet little boy you knew years ago.

desperately trying to hold back a laugh, you purse your lips and mimic rin’s little pout. “you used to listen to me much more obediently when you were younger.”

“you-“ you shoved the spoon into his mouth as soon as you get the chance. rin reluctantly complies but is quick to complain after. “that’s foul!”

you raise an eyebrow. “and that’s what the naughty boys get. tsk tsk.”

it’s obvious you don’t understand how wrongly your words could be interpreted by the way your expression stays unwavering. perhaps it was your dense disposition, or the fact that you’ve known rin since he was a kid in preschool.

rin thinks he’s being — and has been — painfully obvious about his feelings, yet you still fail to notice the faint blush creeping onto his face. even sae found out about it, and rin had to fight for his life to defend himself.

“rin. that’s practically incest-“

“oh my god nii-chan, you know that’s not true!”

sae can think you’re like a sibling to him, but rin doesn’t. in fact, he has never. he can’t deny that he’s had a crush on you the moment you were introduced to him as sae’s friend, and though it might seem like it was just puppy love, his current actions can prove that it isn’t.

“and you used to be so well-behaved back then.” you sigh dramatically. “did you know you would stick to me all the time, and get super jealous whenever i did anything with sae?”

the younger boy scoffs, standing up to go get a drink of water to make sure he doesn’t go insane from your ruthless teasing.

“hey! don’t run away!” you smile, eyes twinkling in amusement, as you get up to follow him. “it was really cute, i swear!”

choosing not the humour you, rin continues on with his task (that he could not care less about), humming in response.

you stand next to him and watch, occasionally feeling the need to poke him. starting from his arm, you string a line of pokes all the way up to his face, where you change your stance to pinch his cheek, a frequent action of endearment you used to do when you were younger.

needless to say, you were not expecting rin to grab your hand so promptly. and you most definitely were not expecting him to then lean towards you, not stopping until his face was merely an inch away.

“woah-“ you exhale as you stumble back slightly. he’s close enough for you to study all the details of his face, from the strands of his hair to the sharp curve of his jaw. he towers over you, his broad shoulders wide enough to engulf you completely into his presence. it’s funny, this scene is the complete opposite of what it was like as children, your roles entirely switched.

your breath hitches as his gaze locks onto yours, showing you all his pent-up feelings over the years for the first time. he’s determined, you can tell at least that much, but what surprises you the most is how dilated his pupils are; his eyes are begging to let you know his story, one of his long, endless pining for you, and you only.

it goes without saying you weren’t ignorant enough to overlook the reality that rin grew up, that he’s matured now. would it be cowardly for you to admit that you have indeed taken notice of his feelings at times, but refused to act on them in fear of losing him? what if you were wrong? what if rin didn’t like you that way? there was too much on the line, and you didn’t want to risk every memory you’ve made with him and sae for the past 12 years.

like an unspoken condition between you two, rin also knows the risks. he knows, but he’s so smitten it’s driving him insane. you’re a risk that he’s willing to take, and he’s had his mind made up since the beginning.

“yeah?” he whispers. “how about now?”

dumbstruck, you nod absentmindedly in response. almost like you were under a spell, and rin was the mastermind enchanting you.

rin smirks at the sight of your face heating up and flushing to a light red. “you still think i’m cute, y/n?”

“the cutest ever.” you’re quick to recover, flashing a small smile of your own. shameless, but you refuse to concede now. “care to prove me wrong, itoshi?”

“what the fuck are you two doing in the kitchen, oh my god.” sae deadpans. “rin, please pick and choose a better time to confess your feelings, thanks.”

you jump. rin groans.

“you need to pick and choose a better time to interrupt, THANK YOU.” rin scowls, letting go of your hand. the sudden withdrawal of his warmth disappoints you, but you smile nonetheless hearing their brotherly antics.

sae’s impassive, walking in between the two of you to refill his own water. “you two forgot all about me, i was getting worried that rin might’ve killed y/n or something.”

“as if!” rin rolls his eyes. “get out of here, at least let me finish.”

shooting him a quick side-eye, sae smirks at his little brother. “okay loverboy, just make sure to not make a mess in the kitchen.” and he swiftly makes an exit before any further retaliation.

“i hate him.”

“you know you don’t.”

rin sighs, closing his eyes for a few seconds.“i guess the cat’s out of the bag now.”

you laugh, and grab his hand to play with his fingers, a not very subtle attempt to hide your beet red face. “think it was obvious enough, rinnie.”

his heart throbs at your use of his childhood nickname. “took you long enough.”

“so, will you continue to show me how cute you are?” you ponder as you look up at rin.

“stop treating me like a child, jeez.” and that pout is back onto his face once again. “i’ll show you anything you want, but i’ll make sure you won’t see me as just a cute little boy anymore.”

a/n: this was so crack of me. not proofread btw i wrote this in one sitting. ^_^ @kouyun <3

#yumi writes ✎ #hes kinda cute don’t you think #rin the little baby #little 16 y/o child #jk i’m the same age as him #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi rin fluff #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x you #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x y/n #itoshi rin x you #blue lock drabbles #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #blue lock rin itoshi #blue lock #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #blue lock imagines

[uzubebe]

purgatory

type: one shot

pairings: dean winchester x fem!reader (mutual pining, friends to lovers?), sam winchester x fem!reader (estranged besties)

disclaimer: i don’t write often, but i’ve been rewatching supernatural and i have so many idea. this may not be the best, but just some self indulgence. i love sammy with my whole heart but he needed to be told off ok.

summary: the dick was dead. dean and cas were gone. and you didn’t rest a wink while searching for them. unfortunately it turns out dean wasn’t the only one sam abandoned that year.

“cmon there has the be something” you sighed, aimlessly scrolling through 14 open tabs on your laptop and a pile of messy papers scattered across the motel table. you slammed your hands on the table in frustration, letting out a shaky breath and gripping your fists tight.

it had been a year. an entire year without dean winchester. the second he vanished you had delved into aimless research in a desperate attempt to find him. you had to busy yourself, because thinking about his absence for too long caused an indescribable pain to open up in your chest.

you had only broken down three times in your year long search, which you figured was a record for someone going through what you were. you’d spent countless nights crying yourself into restless sleep, sleep filled with dreams and nightmares about the eldest winchester.

you crammed your hands to your tired eyes in a hurry, shaking your head vigorously in an attempt to wake yourself. you had to focus because you sure as hell knew sam wasn’t doing anything about it.

after deans disappearance sam explained that he needed time and space, which you understood. you cared for him just as much as you cared for his eldest brother. he had been your best friend for as long as you could remeber. and this was his brother, someone he didn’t want to learn how to live without.

you didn’t realize that time and space meant him also disappearing for an entire year with zero contact. you tried to understand him in the beginning, tried to rationalize why he would leave with no warning or explanation, because there had to be one right ? after four months you decided he wasn’t coming back and it was your job to find his brother.

you felt tears well in the corners on your eyes, inhaling a sharp breath and stretching your arms to regain your composure, gearing up for more research instead of dwelling on the loneliness.

you were pulled from your thoughts as your phone began vibrating vigorously from your bag. you quickly pulled yourself from the chair, feeling your body creak, this year had aged you in more ways than one.

you pulled your phone from the bag and froze. you narrowed your eyes, studying the caller id in absolute astonishment.

dean winchester.

you scoffed in disbelief, settling on the first emotion that bumbled up your throat, anger. you quickly hit the answer button.

“listen, i don’t know who the fuck this is. but lose this fucking number, i don’t have time for prank-“ you started spitting vigorously into the phone, being cut off at the gruff laugh that echoed through the speaker.

“…dean?” you whispered. it couldn’t be. how was he calling you?

“yeah, y/n. it’s me” he said softly, this time the tears came pouring out without warning, you let out a sad sob mixed with some kind of laugh.

“where are you? please tell me where you are.” you begged, he quickly gave you his address and within second you were tumbling into your car and speeding to him.

-

once arriving you let out a sigh, mentally preparing yourself for something you had been longing for for the last year. after 2-3 seconds of this you decided you couldn’t wait a second longer. you barreled out of the car and began your search for their motel room, suddenly turning into an olympic runner as you looked at each room number. you breath hitched in your chest as you finally arrived in front of the door. you knocked briefly before swiftly barreling into the room. nothing could’ve stopped you from getting inside that room, and there was no time for pleasantries and manners.

“dean!?” you screeched, scanning the room. your eyes landed on him as he stood from the motel bed to greet you, a sense of overwhelming relief washed over you as you ran to him.

within second you were in his arm, tears flooding your eyes as you buried your head into his chest. you felt an arm tighten around you waist, as he cradled the back of your head with his free hand.

“shh, it’s okay y/n. i’m here. i’ve got you.” he whispered, trying to calm you from the heartbreaking sobs escaping your chest. you gripped the back of his shirt, pulling him as close as you could, fearing that if you let go he may disappear once again. after what felt like hours and finally realizing that this was real, you slowly pulled for him allowing him a minute to truly study your appearance.

you looked exhausted. your hair that had been previously above your shoulders now hanging loosely below your shoulder blades, tangled and messy. the bags under your eyes had grown, and you looked like you hadn’t eaten a proper meal in ages.

“y/n…what happened? are you okay?” he asked, concern flooding into his pretty green eyes. you let out a laugh and wiped your nose. you moved from him slightly, opting to grip one of his hands to keep yourself grounded.

“uh..you happened. i’ve been looking in every nook and cranny in this god forsaken country trying to find you.” you explained, sending him a melancholy smile. he studied you, pulling you to him and setting a soft kiss to your forehead.

“thank you. i’m sorry. i wish i could’ve been here.” he whispered, setting his forehead to yours. you closed your eyes, smiling softly.

“you’re here now.” you realized, letting out a breath that it felt like you had been holding for the past year. it felt like you had been suffocating all this time, and seeing him finally allowed you to breath properly again. you were basking in this feeling, inhaling the fresh oxygen that would only be provided by the presence of dean winchester.

you were trapped in your thoughts, that was until you heard a slight cough from behind dean, interrupting your moment.

“if you’re going to say something. don’t.” you demanded moving from dean, and seeing his younger brother sitting awkwardly on the bed behind him.

“listen-“ sam began, but you quickly cut him on, shaking your head as you moved further into his view.

“no sam. i don’t have to listen. you left. crowley told you that you were on your own and you just took his fucking word and ran with it. i was here. i was here the entire time and you just left ! so you don’t get to tell me to “listen.” not when i spent the last year destroying myself to find your brother, while you went off and got a fucking dog.” you spat, sam straightened up slightly, fidgeting with his hands. you were shaking uncontrollably, the prior moment of bliss was being overpowered by the rage and loneliness you had kept locked up throughout the last year.

“how do you…?” he asked, trailing off as he tried to gain the courage to meet your eyes again. you let out a cynical laugh, balling your hands into a tight fist.

“yeah. i looked for you. i was concerned. i needed to make sure you were okay. but you’ll never guess what i found. to my pleasant surprise i saw you playing house with a pretty brunette and friendly little dog. so you’ll have to give me a lot more than a sob story about how you couldn’t handle dean being gone for me to ever forgive you.” you said, moving closer to sam. he hadn’t ever seen you this way, so angry. he had to admit he was slightly unnerved and almost scared.

“because you know who else couldn’t handle it ? me. but i didn’t just lose dean, i lost you too. i called you daily for weeks, desperate for some kind of explanation. i was going out of my mind, alone in dingy motel rooms without the two people i needed most. and then, after a few months, i couldn’t even get your voicemail, just an automated voice telling me i was desperately trying to reach a disconnected number.” you were seething. you felt like every vessel pumping your blood was boiling, your raging heartbeat pounding in your ears, you thought you might pass out.

“so i don’t want to hear about how there was “a girl.” because there was a girl here the whole goddamn time. a girl who had been by your side for years. and you. still. left.” you continued, sam found himself staring at the floor, studying its pattern, because he couldn’t take the look of absolute betrayal that consumed your eyes.

“and guess what ? i didn’t get the fairytale year you had. because my person, the one i wanted to be with. the one i wanted to settle down and get a fucking dog with, was gone!” sam flinched at your tone. by the end of it, you found yourself screaming, throat feeling hoarse as you finally took a breath.

you calmed instantly as you felt deans hand reach for yours. you inhaled a deep breath and turned to him. not even realizing you had practically confessed to the years of pent of feelings you had for the man.

“y/n. i understand. really, i’m upset too. angry even. but let’s take a breather, yeah? you need a good meal, and an even better nap. why don’t we get out of here, give each other some space, regroup later?” dean suggested. you hadn’t noticed his watery eyes and unsteady voice. he was brought almost to tears at the state you were in, at what his absence had caused. you nodded slowly moving closer to him. sam slowly stood up.

“just call me when you guys are ready. y/n…i’m sorry. i really am.” he whispered, you didn’t turn around to look at him. you knew yourself well enough to know that those puppy dog eyes would make you feel insurmountable guilt, they always had. but you didn’t regret what you had said, it was the truth. and right now, you weren’t sure what could help you forgive your former best friend.

dean gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. he looked back to sam and sent him a sad smile as he led you out of the motel room.

he stopped and turned to you once the door clicked shut. he studied you, narrowing his eyes as you suddenly became incredibly fascinated with the small rock next to your left foot. you forgot what it felt like to have him watching you so intensely.

“where were you?” you whispered, finally meeting his gaze, relief washing over you instantly, he was here. he was real.

“uh…purgatory. guess standing to close to dick when he died gave me a one way ticket to his afterlife.” dean explained, you scoffed slightly, mentally punching yourself at the realization.

“fucking purgatory. of course. i should’ve figured that out. god.” you cursed yourself, how could you have been so stupid ? of course he was in fucking purgatory. dean picked up on the fact that you were internally blaming yourself for his disappearance and immediately took action.

“hey. hey.” he whispered, settings his hands on either side of your face, forcing you to look at him. he bent down to your level, a stern look on his face.

“do not, for one second, blame yourself. none of this was your fault, and you’ve done more than i could’ve ever anticipated. i know it was a hard, even excruciating year, but i’m here now. and i’m not going anywhere.” dean insisted, you studied the look in his eyes. it was one you hadn’t seen from him before, or maybe it had been so long that you just needed to re-educate yourself on his mannerisms.

“okay. thank you.” you whispered, setting one of your hands atop his. he scoffed slightly at you thanking him, when they should’ve all been thanking you.

“cmon, let’s get you something to eat sweetheart.” dean smiled, moving to your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and walking you towards the car. you nuzzled into his side, wrapping your arms instinctively around his waist.

“think i made sam cry.” you scoffed slightly, replaying the intense speech you shoved down sam’s throat.

“yeah well i’m thinking maybe he needed to hear it.” dean stated, you let out a sigh and nodded.

“and for the record, i would’ve really liked it. settling down and getting a dog with you. i wouldn’t have wanted to do it with anyone else.” dean declared, setting his lips to the top of your head, feeling him slightly smile into your hair. you’re smile grew, it felt like your heart was finally beating normally again. you dug your head further into his side in embarrassment.

“well i guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time.” you whispered, giving deans waist a reassuring squeeze.

“great plan, so we thinking doberman? golden retriever? maybe something small like a chihuahua or something?” dean joked, pulled you tighter into his chest with a laugh.

“shut up” you giggled, punching his chest playfully, sending him a big grin as he continued to chuckle. and since being back, dean felt okay again, at least for that moment. cause the two of you were together once again, and he had the ability to make you smile like that. he wanted to do it for the rest of his life.

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #pov #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #friends to lovers #supernatural fic #fanfic

[pretty--in--purple]

Rating the mommy issues of TLT characters in alphabetical order

contains spoilers technically

Abigail: can't have kids but clearly maternal as fuck. call her mother. 2/10

Aiglamene: she has inverse mommy issues - daughter issues. -10/10

Augustine: full offense but he has freudian vibes. fuck-hate relationship w mercymorn who is has the energy of a neglectful mother. 7/10

Camilla: clearly raised by incredibly competent parents - unclear if she had a mother. Even if she did her real issues are codependency with Palamedes. 0/10

Corona: unconfirmed but a girl like that did NOT experience maternal affection growing up. 5/10

Crux: yknow what. nobody whose mother held them enough is Like That. 10/10

Dulcinea: idk if she had a mother, but i get 'raised by gay dad(s)' vibes from her. possibly the best adjusted character of all 0/10

G1deon: man is obsessed with doing what God wants EXCEPT when it's not to fuck a terrorist. four parts people pleaser one part horny 5/10

Gideon: mum only birthed her to blow her up, died, then used her afterlife to terrorise Gideon’s not-quite-girlfriend; gave her a desperate desire for external validation and attention, especially from evil cougars. 11/10

Harrow: mum committed genocide to conceive her, never smiled at her, attempted to murder-suicide her. 12/10

Ianthe: unclear. daddy issues but no mention of mother afaik - might not even have one. no indication of mommy issues in her romantic life bc she didn’t attempt to fuck mercymorn. HOWEVER she’s such a freak she can’t possibly have had a positive female role model. 3/10

Isaac: born in a vat but had abigail as a maternal figure so 5/10

Jeannemary: same as isaac but she's definitely sapphic so bump that to 6/10

John: literally reformed the Earth in the image of his mum’s old Hollywood hair Barbie. Also, look at him. 100/10

Judith: 9/10 no questions

Magnus: so chill but also he has the vibes of someone into mommydom shit. he's sucked abigail's tits for SURE 3/10

Marta: idk i think she has 'estranged from family' vibes. 4/10

Mercymorn: her mother might have been good but she can't remember her, so 5/10

Naberius: he kissed his mother on the mouth DAILY and you know it. 10/10

Ortus: mostly daddy issues but you saw his mother. 8/10

Palamedes: I haven’t read Doctor Sex but I have his mommy issues on good authority. I hate to say it but camilla is his mommy. 6/10

Pyrrha: unknown. Loves a milf but then who doesn’t. 1/10

Wake: giver of mommy issues. she's the mommy that's the issue. unrateable

[ETA: @everyone making fun of me for saying he sucks tits like it's something special im SORRY i didn't say magnus sits on abigails lap and pretends to breastfeed but i thought it would be GROSS i guess i forgot what this fandom is. ily all be home for dinner]

#tlt #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #sky (the blogger) originals #gideon the ninth #alecto the ninth #harrow the ninth #gtn #atn #ntn #htn #augustine the first #pyrrha dve #palamedes sextus #awake remembrance of these valiant dead #ortus nigenad #harrowhark nonagesimus #gideon nav #aiglamene #camilla hect #jeannemary chatur #isaac tettares #magnus quinn #ianthe naberius #ianthe tridentarius #coronabeth tridentarius #naberius tern #abigail pent #mercymorn the first #gideon the first

[aemondsladywife]

His Lady Wife : Alternative Ending I

aemond x reader

an alternative ending to 'His Lady Wife' where y/n survives and aemond suffers the consequences of his actions.

a/n: its 3am in the uk rn and i've made you guys wait too long! i am extremely sorry this took so long to write!! i won't even lie, its not the best, i really struggled w these alternative endings, feedback and comments are appreciated as always, my inboxes are always open for requests!! also if you want to be on my permanent aemond taglist, please comment! btw there are more alt endings on its way!

genre: angst

after hours and hours of intense labour, you finally gave birth to a premature baby girl. you were exhausted, but seeing your precious baby girl gave you all the strength you needed in the world. as you cradled your tiny, precious baby girl, your 'husband' came in, with guilt etched all over his face.

"my wife I-"

his eyes fell to his tiny baby girl. his eyes began to water as he spoke,

"is that my daughter?"

you looked at him with cold eyes, your blood was boiling as you placed a protective arm around the daughter you had just birthed.

"no she is no mans daughter. she is mine. only mine. no fucking guards and definetely not yours. she has your white hair and violet eyes but it was not you who carried her 8 months in a chamber fit for a criminal. it wasn't you who had to endure severe pains for the past 8 moons. it wasn't you who pushed and pushed for 9 hours straight. that was all me. you left her mother to die and now you expect to be her father? if you want a baby so bad carry on fucking that whore of yours, you're nearly there!"

aemond looked at his wife with wide eyes. he didn't know what to say or where to begin. her anger was justified. he was about to step closer and speak to his wife when he was interrupted by a maester.

"my prince, may I speak to you in private."

aemond nodded to the maester, with tears of guilt and pain in his eyes as he walked out of the room with him.

"my prince. the princesses labours were... horrific, to put it mildly. as she was not given any support during her tulmtuous pregnancy, her labors were worse than we had ever seen, it is a miracle that she and the babe are alive. it was a whole moon early, she lost litres of blood, the baby was upside down and had to be physically twisted and even now, both mother and wife are severly unwell. please do not take offence my prince... but it is best you give the princess and the babe their space. any further stress could even cause a heart attack."

aemond felt sick to his stomach as he realised what he had put his wife and daughter through, all because he let his self doubt and insecurities get the better of him.

he nods and complies to the maesters words. what else could he do other than wait? he caused enough damage as it is.

weeks go by and aemond can't even catch a glimpse of either his wife or daughter. his heart is overtaken by remorse and longing. he knew this was all his fault, but he desperately wanted to see his baby and his wife who he treated so terribly.

aemond took a deep breath before knocking on the door of his estranged wife's chambers, he has flowers and a dragon plushie in his hands.

you open the door, with your daughter in your arms, not expecting to see aemond at the door.

"husband."

aemond has a sorrowful, sad smile on his face.

"my wife, i know my actions are much beyond forgiveness, i will live the rest of my life in regret for my disgusting actions... but please, give me a chance to redeem myself. i will do anything and everything my love. i have not even held my own daughter. please. i beg you, my lady. let me hold my little girl."

aemond begged you with tears in his eyes. he was desperate. he looked at his tiny daughter in your arms and yearned to hold her. all he wanted was to be a good father and husband.

"i remember feeling this desperate too..."

your words give him a slight bit of hope. he hopes that you pity him enough to give him a chance.

"i felt this desperate when i begged of you to let me go to my fathers and recieve treatment for my pregnancy complications. and what did you do. refuse. and what did i have to do? suffer in silence. now you will do the same."

aemond's entire being became filled with guilt and resentment towards himself, he would do anything for a moment with his wife and daughter.

"please my wife. please. i have not been able to eat or sleep knowing the pain i caused you and our daughter."

you looked back at him with no sympathy and chuckled when you spoke.

"i remember that feeling all too well. i felt the same when you restricted me to a chamber with mouldy walls and food that wouldn't feed a child let alone a woman carrying a child herself"

you were shutting the door on him when he stopped it. he was so desperate, he was begging you with tears in his eyes.

"please. my lady. my lady wife i know my apologies are worthless but at least give this to my sweet girl."

he holds out the little stuffed dragon toy, praying to the gods you would accept it.

"we do not accept gifts from strangers. especially ones who once had ill intentions for us."

with that, you shut the door and left aemond in a state of great despair. in one swoop, he lost his wife and only child. his dreams of being a father had been crushed by his own hand.

taglist: @fultimefangirl @hc-geralt-23 @whatsonthemirror @69cocktimusprime @immyowndefender @burntoutpetals @uselessbutinteresting @bibli0thecary @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bellameshipper @graykageyama @krispold @malfoytargaryen @imnotyourbcbe @poisonedsultana @caramelcandescence @azaleapotterblack @oh-thats-cute

*tags w a line through didn't work!

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd #hotd season 1 #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond stannies #aemond fic #aemond oneshot #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond angst #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fic #hotd aemond #aemond imagine

[manicpixiefelix]

and other things that happened by the red staircase

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: Like with all events at Saltburn, you take great care to learn all you can about the guests for the upcoming Catton Family Reunion, to make sure you can make a good impression. You and Venetia, however, discover that Felix may be making too good of an impression on his recently un-estranged cousin.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: felix fingering(/possibly going down on) his cousin but its not super explicit, reader having a social anxiety regarding the social event, venetia being kind of a nasty little perv i love her

A/N: 3841 words. this was meant to just be a little something about venetia and reader teasing felix after finding out he accidentally fingered his cousin, something i could write on my phone before bed. which i did but i didn't stop writing for 4 hours and it became too long for just an answer. also because there's a bunch of catton family lore ive invented and put it all in here.

also before any discourse arises, there's a character briefly mentioned here, Marv, who is an old butch lesbian who uses he/him pronouns. he is not trans, but chooses to use he/him, look into queer history if this bugs you, or go outside and off of my blog. you're reading the writing of an agender it/its lesbian, my blog is not a place for queer discourse, it's a place for being freaks about Jacob Elordi and Barry Keoghan.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

It's been a particularly stressful event for you; so much of Felix's family is in attendance and you're desperate to impress them. It had been called a reunion, but nothing at Saltburn was ever so simple, nor so informal. As always you've prepared ahead of time; Duncan and Elspeth, as they always did, walked you briefly through the guest list, however unlike usual, instead of leaving you alone with the detailed dossier of guests, Elspeth herself had sat with you in one of the numerous studies - the lilac one - and gone through in meticulous detail. The family friends they refer to as cousins, the family they refuse to acknowledge beyond a handshake - and why. All the Catton branches and the gossip that haunts each. Things like how it's the first event in ten years that Sir James' estranged, illegitimate half-sister and her family were invited to. She's laughing, and you act like your nerves aren't on fire, like there isn't bile rising in your throat out of fear of the faux pars you could see on the horizon.

"Oh they're going to love you, darling," she assures. The minute she leaves you start nervous crying over the dossier, which quickly becomes an anxiety attack. It's been a very long time, especially since they'd kindly set up this system to alleviate your known anxieties, that you'd been this afraid of a dinner.

None of them can know.

You're almost eighteen, you're meant to be well past this, meant to have learned to cope with it by now.

On the night of the event, Farleigh's the only one looking as queasy as you feel - the family's pitying looks and grating questions have him going for a smoke break almost every five minutes. Still, Venetia's never without a drink in hand despite her mother's disapproving looks, and Felix is nowhere to be seen. At least at this family affair there's a number of people your own age. Many related, but many not - more friends of the family, or illegitimate offspring. Still, you don't want to put your preparations to waste, want to make a good impression.

There's mean laughter from by the fireplace as you find yourself in conversation with Sir James and his second cousin Barty, praising the man for his recent and lucrative foray into financially supporting broadcast television. James gives you and incredibly surprised and approving look, while Barty lights up with delight, claiming that there was hope for the young after all it seemed. Casting a glance to the fireplace, you see a few mean looking teens all watching you with sneers.

Barty asks how you found yourself here, and James pats you on the back before you can answer, claiming you as one of the wards of Saltburn; a good influence on his dear son, Felix. Pride flares in your chest. But you can still hear the teens call you a freak.

Its taking everything in you to not try and find sanctuary in the company of Felix, Venetia, or Farleigh. Its incredibly tempting, considering the abundance of desperate eye contact you and Farleigh especially are sharing, but you worry that if you don't keep face, don't put your information to use, don't remain visible to everyone in the room who you've convinced yourself are even tangibly related to Felix and his immediate family, every single one of them will hate you.

One day you will reckon with how profoundly your upbringing effected the expectations you place on yourself. Today is not that day. So you smile at Mildred Catton - by marriage, second cousin, young widow and now spinster. Well, she has a girlfriend, judging by the way Elspeth had spoken about her roommate of twenty-five years, and she has a kind and knowing smile as she compliments you - so beautiful, what a handsome young thing you are, oh you do remind me of Marv like this, back when we first met, of that's cute, you'd love him. Marv is short for Marvel Elizabeth, the butch woman who lives with Mildred and runs a bike shop and who you'd spent probably too much time looking at in the dossier, his arm around Mildred in her photo, both of them smiling so wide.

You kind of wish he was here. When you share the sentiment, Mildred looks a little crestfallen; you get the impression that not a lot of the Cattons share your feeling.

Still, talking to Mildred helps ease your nerves considerably. At least until you realise that it's been quite some time since you'd seen Felix.

You don't need him at all times... Don't need to know his whereabouts at every second of every day... But you've found yourself trapped in a conversation with a gaggle of the newer, younger, shinier wives of Felix's various uncles-something-times-removed, and one hadn't been updated in the dossier and you greeted her as the wife she'd replaced. So now you're mortified, like a deer in the headlights as they're all judging you, and you know you're on the verge of panicking or throwing up -

"Need to steal our lovely Y/N for a moment," Venetia, your saviour. She slips an arm in yours and doesn't wait for an answer.

"Venetia, dear -" Christie, owner of a failing fragrance business that she desperately doesn't want people to know is failing, but that her husband had drunkenly, forlornly confessed about to Sir James, barely get two truly disdainful words in before Venetia brightly throws over her shoulder -

"Love your dress, matches your roots, talk later Auntie Chris," and you can only imagine the flustered fury on Christie's face as the other women try not to compare the dark dress to the woman's dark roots peeking through her blonde hair. You, however, are gone speechless in your nauseous panic, and press yourself to Venetia's side as she pulls you through the crowd, "you looked about ready to kill yourself like one of those dishonoured samurai," she says quietly but casually.

"Yeah, that was the rough plan," you managed to joke weakly. Your heart was racing; you hated being like this. It takes you a moment to properly focus back in on the moment, and realise Venetia was dragging you along with considerable purpose, "are you okay?"

"I need your robot brain to help me decide if something's funny or just gross."

"My robot brain?"

"You know everyone here because - and I say this with love - you're a freak about these things-"

"Didn't know Iona," you muttered, once again horrified, gaze going glassy as all you can think about is how you called her Misha. Her husband had a type; models from northern countries and very little sense of humour, it seemed. Venetia snapped her fingers in your face, frowning, keeping your mind from wandering too far.

"They got married a month ago, you probably won't even see her again," she rolled her eyes, taking you by the shoulders, leading you from the main entertaining area towards the main parlous, "but the point is, I know we refer to everyone as Aunt or Uncle or Cousin or whatever, but I'm not even actually at all related to like half of them," Venetia pauses, looking at you very seriously, "but you know the difference, right? Like if I pointed to someone, you'd know how exactly they're here?"

"Uh, yeah, of course," it's who you were, it's what you did, "don't you?"

"Not," she visibly hesitates, gaze shifting to look around the room, "not really," she admits, they're all just, you know, family. There's always been too many to bother with the how or why of any of them, unless mum or dad felt it was important for me and Felix to keep in mind specifically," but after a beat she met your gaze with a wolfish grin, "or if it was particularly scandalous." Okay, you think you're starting to get her intentions.

"So who are you wondering about and why?"

The way Venetia was smiling could not possibly mean anything good.

"So," Venetia took you by the shoulders and steered you through the grand foyer towards the stairs, as if on her way to yours or Felix's room. Her voice had gotten quieter, conspiratorial, "I've been watching this unfold all night," she explains gleefully, "and I did think it was rather bold to be looking to get someone in bed at a family reunion, though I supposed that there is a good chance that they're not even related; as we've discussed, family is a rather loose, fond title for many of them here tonight," she's choosing her words incredibly carefully, skirting around her point for dramatic effect, "and," she stops in the doorway by the red staircase; you think you can hear faint moaning not too far away. Venetia's voice is a whisper, "I wanted to give the benefit of the doubt, considering I'm pretty sure I've actually never seen this girl in my life, so I can't say who she belongs to here."

Around the corner there's an attempt at a shushing that sounds more masculine, judging by the whisper of laughter that accompanies it, and a young woman's giggled apology, followed by a breathy gasp, and the faint sound of wood scraping against the marble floor. You and Venetia peer around the corner like the Hardy boys, you ducking down and her leaning over you.

The girl in question is leaning back against the antique, wooden end table at the end of the short hall, head throw back, chest heaving with wanton breathes. Wearing a flowing, green dress that looked almost like silk, but was clearly rayon when you had seen her up close earlier, you knew immediately who she was. More importantly, you were surprised to see someone in a suit on their knees in front of her, beneath her dress.

Alyssa Morelli has seemed absolutely out of her mind with boredom and disdain for this entire affair in the brief few moments you'd spent with her. Like you she was seventeen, and was the eldest daughter of Sir James' estranged half sister. Having barely any information about her, and also trying to focus on not losing your cool regarding that fact, it had made conversation, at least for you, incredibly difficult.

She hated the wine, hated her mother for dragging her along, hated the way rich people talked about nothing, and thought everything about Saltburn, the Cattons, and the entire night was a frivolous display of meaningless excess and wealth. Rich people are such freaks, she'd told you, with a look that clearly said that includes you, and she's finished another glass of champagne with one large gulp and a shudder. For a long moment you'd looked at her - perhaps you could have been a little less unnerving about it, but she'd caught you off guard - as you tried to think of something to say.

"I think you'd thrive at university," you blurt out. She gives you a look like you were some kind of unpleasant bug, having the audacity to continue speaking to her. One of the staff passes with a tray of more champagne, and you pluck two glasses off, handing one to her as you continued, "however I would be fascinated to hear your thoughts on the way our classicist society prioritises and celebrates formal tertiary education" you let your gaze roam, holding your glass in both hands with the tips of your fingers, a dead giveaway of your nerves without you even realising, but for some reason she's still letting you talk, "and the idea of the pursuit of knowledge without that being a financially sustainable life choice anymore if you do it the wrong way. Why celebrate scientists when we just disregard modern philosophers?" You take a sip of your champagne and try and tell yourself to shut up, "I know the answer's 'because you can't profit off of philosophers as easily as you can scientists', but it just kind of sucks, don't you think?"

A long, uncomfortable silence follows.

"I swear at least Felix, Farleigh, and Venetia aren't freaks," you blurted out. Alyssa's shoulders relaxed just a little. At least you were self aware.

"Who?" Its... less hostile. You point out Felix and Farleigh headed out for a cigarette with a few others around your age, and Alyssa sighs, rolling her eyes. She's still clearly got Catton blood in her, her eyes and nose even remind you of Venetia. Still, she headed towards the side door; even her walk seemed to ooze contempt for the night.

Now, watching her, moonlight peaking down the stairs to catch the way she's beginning to glow with sweat, white-knuckled grip on the dark wood and her once perfectly straight, dark hair turning curly with moisture around her face and by her shoulders, you're actually a little glad to see it. At least she seemed to have found one person not entirely unbearable.

You knew all too well how overwhelming and isolating these events could be. As much as you felt you could relate, you couldn't really understand what she'd be going through, her first time at an event like this, feeling that there's people in the room who truly think you and your family outright don't belong. She should take her fun where she can get it, you think.

Shoving Venetia back to give the couple their privacy, you push her back into the parlour.

"Who is that?" Venetia demanded in a whisper, eyes bright. You sigh, shaking your head.

"Alyssa, she hasn't been to something like this before, just let her have her fun," after a beat, you step in a little closer, hands finding Venetia's hips as you attempted to distract her, "you know we could -"

"Alyssa who?" It hasn't worked. Venetia takes your hands, "this is important." There's something that goes beyond mischief in her eyes.

"Morelli," but she makes a face like that's not enough, "Aunt June's daughter." Venetia frowned.

"Aunt June's daughter married one of those Dubai millionaires five years ago and hasn't sent her a single pound or even a message since."

"That's your Great Aunt June- Juniper," you clarified without missing a beat, "she's not even related to any of you; your mum doesn't know who she was initially tied to in the family." Venetia takes a few moments to give you a look of faint, disbelieving awe. Clearing your throat, you looked back over your shoulder as the suggestive noises around the corner were growing louder, "Estranged Aunt June."

Venetia's eyes lit up with what could only be described as malevolent glee.

"So she's my cousin."

"Yes."

"Actually? Blood and all? Not just one of my uncles' weird friends who's been hanging around for decades so now we have to call them family?"

"I'm beginning to get afraid of your intentions, Ven," despite your wary smile, you weren't really joking. Venetia completely disregards this, however, holding your shoulders so tightly it begins to hurt.

"That girl," she points sharply, the kind of intensity in her eyes that absolutely means trouble, "just around the corner, moaning like a whore, getting fingered, tongued, whatever -" she wets her lips in some kind of anticipation, "is my actual, blood related cousin? And you're entirely sure of that?"

Taking a deep breath, unsure of what the repercussions of this all will be, you slowly nod.

"Yes..."

Venetia steps back, has to clap her hands over her mouth to muffle her positively gleeful laughter. For some unexpected reason, this piece of information seems to be some of the best news she's ever received in her life. It almost brings her to tears. After she calms down, you think you hear her mutter something along the lines of I'm never letting him live this down as she fans herself, attempting to calm herself.

"Ven, are you okay?" Still utterly confused about what any of this means, you can't help the concern you feel. Venetia's nodding, fighting back aftershocks of giggles, gazing often at the doorway.

"Yes, I- you're wonderful, thank you for helping me with that-" overcome by another, brief fit of giggles, it takes her a moment to compose herself, "I love you and your robot brain so very dearly -"

"Oh my god~" from around the corner, and another, louder shush. Venetia buries her face in her hands, echoing oh my god as she chokes on laughter once more. When she resurfaces, face bright red with amusement, you take her hand and try to insist that you should give them privacy.

"Yes, of course," Venetia agrees, suddenly trying to appear as serious as she's able, "I just have one other favour to ask you."

"What?" You ask flatly, unsurprisingly wary, watching her struggle not to grin.

"Could you tell my brother?"

The question hangs in the air for a long, confusing moment.

"Tell him what?"

"That Alyssa's our cousin."

"Sure...?" you frowned a little, peering over her shoulders, "I don't know where he is though, I haven't seen him in a while." Venetia smiles like the Cheshire Cat.

Oh... no... she isn't implying -? But Alyssa's timing is unfortunately perfect.

"Oh my god, Felix~"

Your mouth drops open in shock upon hearing that.

"Oh my God," you groaned, pained by the realisation as your face scrunched up with sudden understanding and disappointment, "Felix."

Venetia is absolutely right, he's never living this down.

"You had me prattling on for fucking ages about nothing, just letting them go at it all the while? You could have just asked!" You hissed, already mortified on his behalf.

"You're letting them go at it now!" She crowed quietly, and ah, fuck. Yeah, she had a point there.

Rounding the corner briskly, you cross your arms but at the very least keep your gaze to the floor.

"Felix -" you clear your throat.

"Oh, fuck off," Alyssa, seeing it's you, groans with frustration. There's movement beneath her dress when you glance up; there's something almost comical about knowing what you're seeing is Felix sitting up straighter under there.

"I know that's you, Y/N," Felix had enough dignity to not sound ashamed or caught out. But he should, "just, yeah mate, could you fuck off a bit?" Its not a particularly sharp request, and if this were any other situation, of course you'd obligingly fuck off. However...

"Well don't fucking stop," Alyssa hisses to him, sounding almost embarrassed by the fact that he was giving you the time of day right now, "seriously, fuck off!" She tries to whisper-shout, but halfway through her voice turns to an unsteady moan and her head falls back against the wall again, "OhmygodFelix~" she whines, bringing one of her legs up over his shoulder.

"So should I wait until after you get her off to tell you?"

"Tell him what you little pervert?" Alyssa, furious at your refusal to leave, demands.

"Hey, be nice to them," you hear, vaguely muffled from under her skirt. You have to snort a laugh.

"Thanks Fi, I'll just tell you now, uh," you can't look at them in this moment, fighting off your embarrassed smile at you look to the ceiling, "I don't think this is what your dad meant when he suggested you get to know Aunt June's kids; this might be too welcoming for your recently un-estranged cousin."

Around the corner you hear Venetia cackling like a banshee, clearly having been eavesdropping.

Felix scrambles back from under Alyssa's dress, looking an absolute mess.

"You what?"

"Oh my god." There's nothing lewd about it this time, Alyssa herself sounds absolutely fucking mortified.

----

The next morning, over breakfast, the mood is... strained. Its Sir James who breaks the ice, brightly - though it's clearly forced - commenting on how the night took such an unexpected and unfortunate turn. Felix, who likely doesn't even remember the end of the night considering how thoroughly plastered he got after his unfortunate affair with his cousin, looks to his father very suddenly, the sudden fear in his eyes about what his parents may know hidden by his large, dark glasses. He'd threatened to drown himself in the lake if you or Venetia told anyone, but his memory got fuzzy from there. The hangover that he's half worried might actually kill him doesn't help.

"Such a shame," Elspeth sighed, "I would have thought June would raise them better than that."

"Estranged Aunt June's daughter, Alyssa," you leaned over to Felix to stage whisper the context to him, half worried the paranoia might kill him there at the table. Venetia does however feel the need to smugly butt in and remind him -

"Our biological cousin."

"Apparently convinced her younger brothers to riot and start breaking all the crockery," you finished. Felix frowned in vague confusion, a feeling which Farleigh seemed to share.

"And it was so unnecessary, like she knew it was the first family thing her mom had been invited to in a decade -"

"She hates rich people and thinks we're freaks," you sat back, shrugging, "she told me so herself."

"Who, June?" Sir James sounded downright heartbroken at the idea, so you quickly shook your head.

"Alyssa." It seems to alleviate some of his concerns, but not a lot, and Sir James goes back to his breakfast still looking rather put out.

"Well maybe," Venetia leans her elbows on the table, bread knife in hand that she was using to flippantly gesture with, "there's some rich people that she should hate," her gaze and smug smile lands on you, as does the nonchalant way she's pointing with her knife, right before she flicks her wrist as if pointing at her brother by pure chance, "and some of us who are freaks."

Felix glared down at his breakfast.

"I don't know why we un-estranged Aunt June in the first place," he grumbled mostly to himself, though not quiet enough that the rest of the table didn't hear. Sir James sighed with disappointment.

"I think in future we may have to limit June's invitations to only her and her husband," he says, shaking his head. Elspeth kindly tells him that it's probably for the best.

Venetia, still apparently feeling petty, threw a bread roll at her brother, who hadn't looked up from where he seemed to be trying to divine life's secrets from his plate of sausages. It glances off his forehead, but knocks his glasses loose and into his breakfast. A second later Felix officially gives up and follows suit, faceplanting into his food.

"Oh my god, Felix!" His mother gasps with concern.

Despite Elspeth sounding nothing like Alyssa had the night before, the familiar phrase sets Venetia off, cackling with laughter at the top of her lungs. While the rest of the table is utterly confused by the series of events that have just occurred, you scoot your chair over close to Felix, patting him sympathetically on the back. Beneath the table, he rests his hand on your knee to give a grateful squeeze. When he talks, only you can hear it, resigned and half muffled by scrambled eggs.

"Hate this family."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

masterlist

'cause when emma falls in love, she's in it for keeps she won't walk away unless she knows she absolutely has to leave

Y/N knew she shouldn’t care if Bucky wanted to introduce Sadie to her mother or not - after all, she had better and more important things to do such as trying to fix her apparently “unfixable” thesis. Nevertheless, she was worried. Sadie wasn’t her daughter but she cared for her and she couldn’t imagine how confusing things may be in her head, how she could cope with the question of why her mother was only appearing now. Yet again, as Bucky had made it abundantly clear, it wasn’t her place to give an opinion. So, she put it in the back of her head and focused on fixing the unfixable. 

Maybe she hadn’t been clear enough. After all, she tended to go round and round to try to make a point and was know to get lost in narration. Or maybe she hadn’t used enough thousand dollar words, after all, she was at Columbia, a prestigious university, they required those thousand dollar words. Maybe she hadn’t put in the best references or ... or maybe her whole theory was just bullshit and she was about to become a street psychologist. So long dreams of being part of the academic board of a good university. 

She sighed, burying her hands in her hair as she continued to re-read her thesis from the fake brightness of her laptop which was close to dying from the amount of times she had destroyed the battery with the continuous plugging and unplugging. Just as she was about to start crying due to pure desperation - not a first as a PhD student - her phone started buzzing against her pocket. Everyone in the library turned to stare at her, giving her gazes and side eyes which she couldn’t stand and followed by a string of mumbled apologies and hitting her hip against the table on the way out, she found herself a secluded place in the garden outside the library to pick up the phone.

      - Stan? - she thought to herself as she answered the phone, holding her laptop and things on the other hand. - Hello? 

      - Miss? - his voice came from the other end of the call. - I am so sorry to be bothering you. 

      - That’s alright. Is everything ok? Is James okay?

      - I think so, I’m not sure. Sadie is asking for you and I know it’s your day off but she’s insistent. 

      - Okay. - she sighed. There was no point putting another hour towards the 5 she’d already spent. Actually, if she spent another hour trying to decipher what was wrong with it, she may actually go insane. - Send me an address and I’ll be there. 

Had Sadie gotten into trouble at school? Had Bucky gotten into trouble himself? She tended to lean towards the latter as Stan sent him an address to a law firm. Maybe they were meeting Anna there and Sadie was making a fit. She didn’t seem too keen on meeting her mother this morning and while Y/N believed she shouldn’t be forced to do so, if Sadie needed her then she was gonna be there. She got a taxi to the address, making a mental memo to charge Bucky for it as there was no way in hell she was going to pay for a taxi at midday in New York. She soon was dropped in front of a law firm, staring at the big glass doors for a while before Stan called for her attention from the car. 

     - What happened? - she asked as she got inside the car, Sadie immediately making a grabbing motion towards her. 

     - Daddy is sad. - she said as Y/N undid her seat belt to put her on her lap.

     - She didn’t show. - Stan mumbled from the driver’s seat and Y/N didn’t know what to feel.

Part of her had to admit she thought it may happen, after all no one makes a complicated decision that fast and actually sticks with it. Not one as hard as meeting one’s estranged daughter at least. She had told Bucky just that and he chose not to listen and while her ego would like to say she’d told him so, truth was her heart was clenching at the mere idea of it. Sure she knew she was probably in the right but she wished she wasn’t. She wished Sadie’s mum had come despite Sadie’s objections. She couldn’t even fantom what Sadie was thinking or feeling at the moment. She didn’t think she would tell her either. She was too young to be able to articulate what it felt like and, maybe, too young the understand the situation in its entirety. She hoped the latter was true but she knew how observant children were. 

    - You’re okay, baby? - she caressed her face, moving her ginger hair away from her face. She didn’t looked to bothered, holding her Bingo toy against her chest. - Hm? Just squeeze my hand if you’re ok, yeah?

Sadie looked at her for a few seconds before squeezing her hand and leaning her head against her chest. She sighed, relief slightly taking over her worry which was quickly replaced by anger as she watched Bucky make his way to the door. She got out of the car angrily, holding Sadie against her chest like a wounded mother bear ready to claw anyone. How dare he? How dare he screw up like this and then just leave Sadie in the car with the driver? Was he insane?

Her blood boiled and she was ready to shout something that was sure to get her fired, but something stopped her. His eyes were rimmed red and he looked on the verge of crying, strongly holding it to continue showing his unbothered nature. The clothes which were always perfectly ironed and tucked were untucked and the tie which always sat well against his neck, tied to perfection, was loose and hanging from the side. For a split second, she wanted to comfort him, she wanted to cup his face, dry his tears and hold him as close as she was holding his daughter. For a split second, she wanted to tell him she understood where he was coming from, that the pain he was feeling wasn’t a punishment for his actions. But that was only a split second, he’d made it perfectly clear where they stood - she was his employee and he was the boss. 

    - You’re here.

    - She needed me.

She needed her and Bucky needed her, he needed her badly. However, she merely got back into the car, buckling Sadie’s seat belt and turning her face away from his. Silence filled the car and Bucky swore that in all his years of running a company, of his years in the army, he’d never heard a silence quite this loud.

(...)

It was clear she wasn’t speaking to him. The drive back home was unbearable and even as they got back home, she continued as if he wasn’t there, instead devoting all her time to looking after Sadie from bathing her and feeding her. Bucky merely stood back, an observer in his own house. He wanted to be angry, he so much wanted to go and tell her he didn’t deserve this treatment, that she no place being angry. Except she did, and Bucky knew this. He knew she was perhaps waiting an apology but he’d been in his right as well. Sadie was his daughter, decisions regarding her first came to him. She didn’t make those for him. He made them and he didn’t care if she liked it or not.

At least he thought so. Truth was, he found himself outside his daughter’s bedroom, waiting for Y/N to be finished reading all her stories. She would have to eventually talk to him but if she wanted to be a brat, he could deal with it. At least he had ideas of how to deal with it, ideas which he probably couldn’t put to fruition - unprofessional ideas. 

     - Is she down yet? - he asked as she stepped out of the bedroom. 

Y/N looked at him up and down as if he were nothing but a maggot, before shrugging and walking off to her bedroom. It made both his heart break and his blood boil. What did she even have to be mad about? She should be happy about being right. Yet, right now he had to look after Sadie. Opening her bedroom door, he found his two year old tucked into her sheets, Bluey playing lowly from the TV in her bedroom which was often turned off. He took a seat on the side of the mattress, leaning his arm over the bed rest. 

    - Are you okay, Sadie? - the two year old didn’t reply, too invested on the hijinks of Bluey. - I’m so sorry that you had to go through that, Sisi. I didn’t want it to go like that. 

How does someone even explain to a two year old what had just happened? He could barely explain it to himself more less to Sadie who only saw things still in black and white. Y/N had said so herself, she understands who shows up and who doesn’t, not the nuances behind it. His lips pursed in a tense line as he moved a bit closer to his daughter.

    - I love you, Sadie. - he kissed the top of her head. - So so much. 

She cuddled next to her dad, her shining eyes which mirrored his, a permanent reminder she was part of him, looking at the low almost soothing sound coming from the TV. Bucky was sure he couldn’t do anything purer than her, anything better than her. She was his little miracle. 

(...)

Y/N was still angry at him. She acted as if he didn’t exist, continuing on with her life as if he was merely a spectre she didn’t care much for. He had tried to make things better, sending her flowers and chocolates only to find them all delivered right back to him. She didn’t even complain when he purposely only sent her pay check a day late, instead finding an angry e-mail from her written in the most professional writing he’d ever witnessed. She wasn’t budging, stubborn as ever. 

     - Good evening, Y/N. - he said as he saw her the first time today, busy cleaning up the dishes from her and Sadie’s dinner. - Your hair looks different, you did something to it?

She rolled her eyes, turning the tap and putting on the bright pink gloves he always poked fun of. He had to give it to her, she would’ve been great in the army with that poker face. 

     - I have a charity dinner tomorrow and my mum’s watching over Sadie. I was thinking maybe you’d like to go as my plus one. A lot of Columbia alumni and staff tend to go, it’d be a great opportunity for you. 

     - No, thank you. 

     - You’d be doing me a favour if you went. 

     - Then definitely no. Thank you, Sergeant Barnes. 

     - What if I pay you?

     - I am your daughter’s au pair, not your escort neither do I wish to become one. So once again, no thank you. 

     - Just let me do this for you. - he sighed, going after her as she continued with her nightly tasks.  - Please. You were really great with Sadie when Anna didn’t show up and those people at that charity dinner can get you a job or something published in a good journal. I’m trying to repay you. 

     - I don’t need charity to know my value, Sergeant Barnes, neither do I need you to pay me back for doing a good job with your daughter as that is part of my job description. 

     - Just how many jobs do you think are in academia? In New York or a good college that can actually pay you a liveable wage? Or enough of a wage to even rent here?

     - I’ll figure out a way. 

     - I’m trying to offer you a way to prove your value to someone face to face and not by a CV which will lay dormant on someone’s desk. You don’t even have to speak to me the whole night.

     - Yes because what picture perfect that would be. Your plus one not talking to you, then they’d definitely think you picked the lowest price escort. 

     - I don’t need escorts. I can ask anyone in my office and they’d say yes. Being in my favour pays off either you like it or not and I know people at Columbia, Harvard, Yale and all those Ivys because I donate there. 

     - So does every rich person to get their kid in there someday.

     - Point is, everyone will listen to you, to your opinions, if you go. It’s not an even playing field and you, cynical as you are, should know. 

     - I am not cynical, I am a realist. I’m sorry if I don’t believe that great things happen to good people. 

     - And what are you gonna do tonight, then? You gonna re-read your thesis for the 500th time? You don’t particularly have an active social life.

She crossed her arms, glaring at him. She really didn’t want to be next to Bucky, neither did she want to forgive him. She needed time to work through her anger and come face to face with the fact that someone who she thought was her friend threatened her job so easily. She knew Bucky was a hard pill to swallow, but she’d never had it directly thrown at her. Yet again, he did present a good bargain and she needed to figure out something if she failed her viva. 

     - What time is it?

     - Starts at 9 but we leave at 8. 

     - Dress code?

     - Black tie. 

     - What colour bow tie are you wearing?

     - Why does it matter?

     - It’s customary for someone’s plus one outfit to match but you’d know that if you actually took someone to these things.

     - It’s black. Do you need to buy a dress?

     - I have a dress. 

     - It was great negotiating with you, Y/N. - he winked, leaving victorious.

     - Fucker. - she mumbled to herself and returned to doing the dishes.  

(...)

Y/N knew this wasn’t Bucky being charitable. Not that he wasn’t charitable, he was, but he was also a master manipulator and usually did things with a purpose. He’d been educated in that manner, he knew how to behave and how to get people to like him, even though he didn’t particularly care if they did or not. For Bucky, it was all about the ability to do so. She knew this whole dinner invite was a ploy to try and soften her up but if he thought he would slip by without even a sorry, he was dead wrong. 

Yet again, Y/N knew when to grab an opportunity so she did was she did best, look her best with the little she had. She had a black dress she’d worn for her graduation and with a bit of help from youtube she’d managed to slick her hair back in a bun, gold hoop earrings being the only thing that adorned her jewellery wise and Bucky swore he’d never seen such display of elegance as he saw her for the first time. Her dress cut was low, displaying the top of her cleavage and her collarbones which were sure to have been dusted with some sort of illuminating powder. She looked exactly like the type of person who’d sit next to a powerful one, equally magnetic and miles away from the cardigans she usually wore, sometimes stained with pen and markers due to Sadie getting to them. He almost forgot she was mad at him, gawking at her like a teenage boy. 

     - It’s 8. - she reminded him, effectively bursting him out of his bubble. - Are we leaving or not? 

     - Don’t be icy. - he offered her his arm but she refused, instead holding onto her heart shaped white clutch. - Car’s downstairs, you sure you don’t need help wearing those heels?

     - I can walk in heels perfectly fine, Sergeant Barnes. Do you need help?

     - I feel there’s an old man joke in there somewhere. - he helped her put on her coat, a tiny white chiffon bolero. - Shall we?

He wasn’t getting any close to her being any less detached from him, but he couldn’t help but admire her. She was a beautiful woman, that he knew, and she was definitely magnetic although she’d prefer to hide it. Yet, there was something about the way she looked tonight, so confident. 

     - You do look beautiful, Y/N. - he broke the silence that had been filling the car for the past ten minutes and for the first time in weeks, she finally looked him in the eye, a light dusting of heat covering her cheeks. - You do. 

     - You don’t look bad yourself. Except for the crooked tie. 

     - My tie is not crooked. - he fought back. 

     - Yes it is. - she turned her body to face him, her hands moving to undo his tie before she started to re-do it again. It was such a small action, such a simple and almost worthless action yet it reminded Bucky of some hopeless romantic notions he used to have. It was so simple, such a soft touch. - You can’t tie a tie to save your life. You never did. 

     - You’d been letting me walk around with crooked ties and you didn’t say anything? That’s cold, Y/N. 

     - That’s why you can’t braid Sadie’s hair to save your life.

     - What are you talking about? She loves it when I braid her hair. 

     - If that’s what helps you sleep at night. - she smirked. - Do they have good food?

     - Pardon?

     - Do they have good food at the charity ball or is this an entree and champagne sort of event?

     - Why? Are you hungry? Want us to drive by Five Guys and get you a burger or something?

     - I know you’re joking but I actually would like that very much. 

     - They will be serving dinner at the charity dinner, Y/N. 

     - Won’t be as good as a Five Guys burger. 

     - Wouldn’t know. 

     - What do you mean you wouldn’t know?

     - I’ve never had one. Not a fast food kinda guy.

     - Urgh, you’re such a man. - she rolled her eyes in a playful manner. - Tell you what, after this is done I’ll buy you a Five Guys burger. 

Bucky left the conversation there, happy to have gotten some smiles and smirks from her. At least he knew there was a chance for reconciliation whenever the time came for him to massively screw up in a way which made her forget the events which had made her mad currently.

He liked her company, she was never trying to suck up to him or sweet talk him into bed. She just talked to him as if he were anybody else on the street, as if he were someone she’d known forever, not caring for formalities or conduct. However, she knew how to be the right one for this kind of event. Bucky found that immediately as they walked in and he introduced her. Everyone was enchanted by her, complimenting her and questioning more and more about what she did. She hid from most of it, replying politely yet refusing to share more than surface level information but even so, Bucky had to admit she even managed to steal the spotlight for a bit, while she had to admit she wasn’t hating this as much as she expected to hate it. At least as long as he stuck by her side. His touch on her naked shoulder as he helped her take off her jacket, his hand resting against her hip as he introduced her to CEOs and CFOs as if she were more than just the nanny. It lulled her almost in a fantasy like state. 

     - Y/N, this is Delia. She works at marketing down at Saks. 

     - You didn’t tell me you were bringing a date, Barnes. - she smiled. - I wouldn’t have bothered coming if you were bringing a date.

     - Y/N’s my plus one. - Bucky said. He wasn’t wrong, she said she’d be his plus one, but did he have to say it so fast. 

      - You’re still trying to impress her then. - she playfully put her hand on his arm making Y/N uncomfortable. She clearly wasn’t meant to be in the middle of whatever this is. She didn’t want to be in the middle of whatever this is. - You know, he can be very ... persuasive. 

      - Will you excuse me?

She made her way away from the two who were more interested in each other, at least as she saw it. She knew Bucky was a bit of a ladies’ man but it didn’t mean she wanted to experience it, or see it for any matter. It always made her somewhat uncomfortable, like her heart stopped for a second. Instead she just leaned against a wall, watching as the people walked by and stopped to chat to each other. When she was little, this was exactly what she expected these sort of events to be like - beautiful women and handsome men just walking hand in hand in expensive clothing, talking of the world and its affairs. She just never expected to be looking at it, instead of being part of it. Not that she wanted it, at least that’s what she told herself as she nursed a glass of expensive champagne. It was as if a dark cloud descended upon her as she watched from the outside, doing the best of her ability not to look at Bucky still in high talks with Delia. Why he bothered with Anna when he could easily find anyone else was beyond her. 

    - I thought it was you, Miss Y/N. 

    - Professor Anderson. - she straightened her back as if her mother had scolded her. - How was your holiday? 

    - It was great yet here I am back to work with a load of work on my desk. Yours being one of them. I have to say, I am very excited to see what you came up with. 

    - I wouldn’t be too keen. My other supervisor doesn’t seem to have taken a big interest but I’m working on another version. Making it a bit more succinct, easier to digest. 

   - But that has never been your forte, has it Miss Y/N? - she wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult, either way it was a correct observation, so she merely smiled nervously. Supervisors didn’t tend to disagree to a degree where she could just relax and not consider another year of expenses. 

    - Well, thank you for taking the time in advance. 

    - It’s what I work for. Bright people, new ideas. - she slightly raised her glass in a cheering manner. - Actually, I must introduce you to someone. 

     - It’s really not necessary. - last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself in front of someone important or see Bucky yet in another flirtatious conversation. His sex habits didn’t really interest her ... not right now, at least. 

     - Mr. Davis. - she approached a man who had equally found solace in the quietness of a corner. - May I introduce you to my PhD student, Miss Y/N?

     - It’s nice to put a name to a face. - he extended his hand towards hers, smiling with an ease that made him look as if he had come straight of a fairytale book. 

      - Mr. Davis graduated top of his masters’ class in Psychology just a few years before you started at Columbia. It is a shame he didn’t stick with us for graduate school. 

      - Alas, I wanted to experience the real world. 

      - I should leave you two to discuss things. I’m sure you’ll find you have much in common. 

She felt nervous around this man. He was attractive, attractive in a way which usually made her believe he’d want nothing with her. Attractive men usually didn’t yet he was eyeing her as if he’d never seen nothing like her. Perhaps he’d discovered that her dress was bought at a TJ Maxx for 70% the original asking price or maybe he’d noticed a scuff on her shoes. 

     - I saw you come in with Sergeant Barnes, I was hoping he’d introduce you.

     - You know Sergeant Barnes?

     - I work for him. - the poor thing. - Marketing division.

     - What is a psychology graduate doing working in the marketing division?

     - I believe you should understand your customer before you try to sell them anything. 

     - What? Like the colour pink makes people believe things are sweeter?

     - You can’t sell someone something by portraying it as a fantasy. People turn against it eventually. - he quipped. - But you’d know that, considering you’re every males’ fantasy right now and every woman has made you the enemy. 

     - I hardly believe that’s true. 

     - You walked in by the side of New York’s most eligible bachelor, I’d say that’s true. Yet again, who can blame him? Smart and beautiful? I too would be parading you by my side. 

     - Would you?

     - Actually, if you were my date I would’ve kept you home. God knows the things these men would actually do to get your attention. 

     - Like being a psychology graduate? - she smirked. - Sergeant Barnes is my boss. I look after his daughter Sadie. Helps pay for graduate school and it’s a rent free place to live. Besides, Sadie is just the most adorable girl I’ve ever seen. 

     - You mean to tell me I’m the first one to know that you are available?

     - I wouldn’t say I’m available. Maybe just browsing. 

     - I do work in marketing, beautiful. I can sell myself pretty well, if you’d ask me. 

     - Huh, and how would you do that?

     - You’re a Columbia student. I could maybe take you to the riverside park, we’d go on a walk, I’d woe you with my distaste of Freud’s theories and methods, and then we’d finish with a picnic.

    - Maybe I like Freud’s theories, have you considered that?

    - Nonsense, no smart woman would. 

    - I’m free Sunday night. 

    - So am I.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky/reader #bucky x y/n #bucky/y/n #bucky x you #bucky/you #bucky imagine #aud pair

[gay4abby]

Scents Shared !!

or in which you and jordan walk around the candle store smelling candles.

warnings, nooone, just holiday fluff. pairings, jordan li x reader. something very short n sweet while i try to finish my other requests lol i hope u like it :)

The holiday season was something every obtuse bastard was anticipating as soon as a new year starts. Decorations littered from doorstep to doorstep, street after street (causing even more pollution than it already fucking is, like am I right?) that would have undoubtedly fed an entire town. However, the holidays aren’t the same for Supes. Many of them are either estranged from their families, killed them, or are in constant arguments so celebrating it wouldn’t even make sense. There’s many more things at play, but you get the gist.

Regardless of how it goes for other Supes, Jordan’s family never fails to make it a big ass deal. You have already met Jordan’s parents and although you were very skeptical, they warmed up to you rather quickly. Jordan themself was even surprised at how much they liked, no loved you. Always asking about your wellbeing whenever they call Jordan. “You might as well replace me for their eldest child, honestly.” They once told you when you both were visiting their parents for spring break. You told them to shut up.

With Christmas being around the corner, you both found yourselves roped into a family holiday. You didn’t mind tagging along as you didn’t really celebrate Christmas with your own folks and Jordan’s family always made it feel like a fucking Hallmark movie. I mean, come on who wouldn’t want to experience a Christmas like that? What made spending Christmas with their family better than their siblings. You knew Jordan was the oldest and you always watched him interact with his siblings in the most loving way. It always made your heart warm.

You both were walking around aimlessly hand in hand and in one of the shops at the resort Jordan’s family and you are staying at. After being with them for a total of 48 hours, you both needed some reprieve and alone time. As nice as it was a break was desperately needed. “Look at this. Snow scented candle?” You reached your hand out to waft the smell up Jordan’s nose, expression neutral. “It actually smells like snow, holy shit. How the fuck?”

“I know!” You were in disbelief at the way they managed to capture the smell into a candle. A fucking candle. You shook your head setting it down with a wide grin. It was exciting for the both of you to have this time together, it was so simple yet the intensity of the intimacy was incredible. You felt them swing your intertwined hands as they stood off to the other side picking up another candle for you to smell. “This is snickerdoodle scented,” they raised the candle to your nose after smelling it. Your eyes grew wide as you looked at them, biting your bottom lip to contain your excitement. “We have to get that. Do you know how good it’ll smell in your dorm? Jordy, I’d never leave. Do you understand me?”

Jordan looked at you with love filling their eyes, their free hand reaching out to pinch your cheek. They chuckled slightly placing the candle in the basket that was settled on the ground between the two of you. “Like I’d ever want you to leave. Is it okay if I keep you hostage when we get back to campus?”

“Oh, absolutely. I am as willing as Homelander was when he dated that nazi,” you paused looking at Jordan for a second before you both busted out laughing. “Was he willing, though?” They asked you as they pulled your arm through theirs to continue walking after picking up the basket. “I mean, they kinda had the same idealism? Right?”

“He’s a prick, I wouldn’t be surprised.” You laughed, shaking your head slightly. “Prick is nicely putting it for him.”

“Why are we talking about Homeasshole, we have to focus on the candles!”

“You’re the one that fucking brought him up!”

“As a simile! Granted a terrible one, but similar.” Jordan, completely disregarding what you say, pulls you over to the fruity scented candles, “You know how much I love mango.”

“I don’t think that’s a very Christmas-y scent,” you were sent a deadly glare, “but what do I know, right?” You said with a nervous laughter as you grabbed it from their hand to smell it. It was pleasant on your nose, rendering you to take another sniff. Without saying anything, you take the candle and place it into the basket. Jordan only eyed you with those big brown chocolate drops before pulling you along again. “What about plug ins? We can get the same scents and it’ll be like an inception.”

“I like the way you think. We’ll get those after the candles.”

“Can we get peppermint? I think I’d really like some peppermint candles.” You inquired as Jordan pulled three candles from the shelf, one being peppermint, another being sandalwood and the last being nutmeg with apple. “Hm, this one smells good.” They hold out for you to smell the nutmeg with apple, you immediately nodding. “We should get all of those and let’s add vanilla for the cliché.”

Jordan picked up a vanilla scented candle quickly depositing it into the basket before linking arms with you again. They felt their pocket vibrate, a loud groan emitting from their mouth. Pulling it out, they checked to see who it was that was cutting into their alone time, annoying them even more when they saw it was their mom. “My mom’s calling.”

“Tell her I said hello!”

“Babe, you saw her not five fucking hours ago?”

“So what! Just tell her I said fucking hi, jeez!” You both huffed, you immediately walking away to find other candles while Jordan spoke with their mom. Your heart filled with such joy at the moment. It was like having an out of body experience where you’re watching a very nostalgic moment happen before you, it feels right to be there and there’s been a longing for it to happen. You didn’t know what to name it, but you don’t think you have to.

The moment continued even when Jordan came up to you and said you guys have to hurry up since the annual hockey game was beginning and even if you’re sitting out, Jordan wanted you to be there to be their little cheerleader. “What other scents did you get?”

“Oh! This one’s called moonstruck, which is like a combo of like burning wood and cranberry. Then I found coconut and orange. I’m pretty excited about this one. Next is sugar cookies! I know you’ll love this one.”

“Oh my fucking god, give me!”

“It’s yours, baby. Don’t worry I picked up two for you.”

“Did I ever mention how much I love you today?”

“No, but make it more poetic.”

“You are the blood that runs through my veins, the compound v that keeps me going and my safe haven when all is lost in the world.”

“I love you.”

You both giggled like school girls before walking off to the plug in’s section to get matching scents for your candles before paying then heading on home.

#jordan li #jordan li x you #jordan li x reader #jordan li x gn!reader #gen v x reader #gen v

[youthoughtiwasfeelinyou]

Redacted Headcannons Shaw pack & Solaire Clan (again)

William’s maker forced him to turn the exact same way Alexis forced Sam, except William and his maker were in bed together when that happened

Angel works as a manager of some sorts to a modeling agency

Babe inherited their biological mother’s company after her death, so babe became the CEO of the company, but they eventually stepped down to be one of the executives/managers (idk) in the company instead

Alexis’s current favorite song is “vampire empire” by Big Thief

Lovely has 6 sisters

When Marie first was befriending William, she wanted him, he was just too perfect of a man, and super kind, I like to imagine she was in the first weeks of pregnancy and William was so kind to her and such a gentleman

Alexis did everything she could to get Marie to back off of William cause she knew Marie wanted him, and Marie eventually backed off after realizing that William will only see her as a friend and he will never love her or care for her the way he does for Alexis since she is his progeny and she’s more important

Amanda was in love with David, but extremely insecure at that time, so when David first brought Angel to a pack meeting to meet the fam, Amanda got extremely jealous to the point where she judged Angel really bad

Christian was in love with Darlin. He was always trying to reach out to them but Darlin was so estranged with the pack that they didn’t bother letting him close or even having a deep conversation with him at all. He never told them he loved them though and because of the way they were so guarded, he assumed it was rejection.

Amanda knew about Christian loving Darlin and always teased him about the rejections. Christian knew about Amanda loving David and when Angel came in the picture, he teased her back about how David loves someone else. Amanda would complain about Angel to Christian like this “what do they even look like” “I bet they must be beautiful” “ but they can’t be Mr/miss universe or something” and when she meets Angel : “ omg of course they’re blonde and pretty, ughhh what do I do now? How do I compete?” “I have to find something lacking in them so I can go warn David” “Christian, come, let’s stalk them for a bit to see what shady lies they might be making” and then Christian is like “wtf? How desperate are you? Like damn.” And that’s how they got closer and started fucking and started falling for each other while simultaneously healing each other, and the great results are that Amanda is no longer insecure.

Treasure is the eldest child

Lovely has never had a job, they always either lived under the care of their parents, ex-husband, and now Vincent

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted lovely #redacted vincent #redacted angel #redacted babe #redacted david #redacted william #redacted alexis #redacted headcanons #redacted darlin #redacted marie

[doevademe]

What do you think of Annabeth as a character ? Letting aside the fact that she's the protagonist's love interest I mean. And what would have been more interesting to do with her?

Oof, this is a hard question because... I love Annabeth, but not in the way the PJO fandom loves her. Most people think she's a great female character, strong and brave and even a feminist icon (which, lol). Me? I just want to study her under a microscope.

I think she's plenty interesting as she is, but the narrative just needs to lean in on her flaws that are already on the text and really explore them, even if that makes her not suitable as Percy's love interest anymore.

Because Annabeth is so messed up, and it's all so consistent with who she is as a character, but I don't believe that was the intention when writing her.

Like, looking at her backstory and how she acts (like she knows everyone and everything best, like she can't do no wrong, how she treats people as being beneath her, even when she loves them) paints a very consistent picture of a damaged young woman with very bad coping mechanisms.

Annabeth has abandonment issues, and that's why she's a strategist. She needs to plan ahead of everything, control every variable, keep tabs on every minutiae, and that checks with her backstory of feeling left out by her father's new family, of losing Thalia, of losing Luke to Kronos, of her estrangement to Athena. She believes that if she's in control, people won't leave her.

This need for control extends to her relationships. We see how she strong-arms Percy into being what she wants. She punches him for not getting that she wants to dance with him, she insults his intelligence so she can be "the smart one", she judo flips him when he leaves, even if it's not by his own choice, because him leaving is her worst nightmare thanks to her trauma. She becomes codependent once they start dating.

We see how every girl who could take away Percy is a potential enemy for that reason. This tracks with how she might blame her step-mother from taking her father away. She hates on Rachel, she thinks Reyna and Hazel may be after Percy. She's a bit of a misogynist because she's that afraid another girl will come and take her relationships away from her.

She also idolizes Chiron and Athena. Chiron was a parental figure to her, one that never left, but Athena... she wasn't present, and Annabeth desperately copes by thinking she must have had a reason, that in her perfection (a perfection reflected in her) she knew she could be great, she just needs to prove herself.

Her fatal flaw is hubris, but that hubris presents itself as a deep insecurity over not being the best, and a fear of being left alone, and that's very interesting. Honestly, if she was real, I would stay miles away from her, because on top of all that, she doesn't want to be fixed, she doesn't think she needs fixing. But in the realm of fiction that makes for a fascinating, layered character. I wish her flaws were actually explored, acknowledged, and eventually overcome rather than just swept under the rug so she could be the Smart Love Interest to Percy, because honestly? Both of them deserve better.

#ask #anonymous #long post #like really long #character analysis #unpopular opinion #rick riordan critical #kind of #pjo critical #annabeth chase

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Sweet Aemond gives me the heebyjeebies. Like no thank you sir, what are you PLOTTING. I am so glad you all loved the Aemond POV and I have absolutely adored seeing all of your theories and messages! <3

Chapter 59: An understanding

When you woke the next morning, Aemond was nowhere to be found. You had twisted slowly amongst the sheets turning your head to see if the man still lay in bed beside you, but his side of the bed was empty. 

When you had sat up, there was a small ache in your core, but nothing like the first time. Your thighs were still sticky with his spend and your release, having slowly leaked from you during the night. As you sat and looked about the chambers in search of him, you found that his familiar head of hair and two simple braids were absent. You let out a sigh of relief as you moved to crawl out of bed. 

Intrusive memories of the night before sprung into your mind as you sat on the edge of the mattress. His touch between your thighs, the pleasure it brought, how gentle he was to begin. How he brought you to your peak before he reached his. 

Twice. 

How he had whispered in your ear, causing your body to react to his deep voice. To his praise. 

You blinked, shaking your head, desperate to forget. 

It was wrong. 

He was disgusting.

A kinslayer.

When the maids came to the chambers to help dress you, you had quickly turned your back and used the chemise from the day before to gently wipe between your legs. To rid yourself of his sticky seed that continued to seep from within you. 

They dressed you in another black gown, a gown which you now knew Aemond had Marba in Dorne make for you. A man he had sought out himself because he knew that was where you got your dresses from. You wondered if Aemond personally went to meet the tailor, or if he had ordered a messenger to do it for him. 

It confused you all the same.

It was odd that he did not have the dresses made more conservatively like his mother or sister would have worn. The style was the same as you would usually wear, not modest at all under the eyes of the Seven or his mother the Dowager Queen, and they extravagantly decorated with dragons or memories of your past and present, like the Godswood. 

The colours of the gowns was what confused you the most. 

Why did he still want you wearing black and red?

Maybe it was to serve as a reminder to both you and him of what this was. Of who you were.

You broke your fast with some bread and fruit, and moved to leave the chambers to sit as you usually did beneath the Godswood. But as you walked towards the courtyard where the tree sat, you questioned yourself. 

You did not have to sit there every day.

Though you were restricted from the Dragon Pit, you were not restricted from the other endless rooms the Keep held. And so you found your way to another quiet, familiar spot to spend your day. 

The walk to the Library was a short while from the courtyard. And so you had to turn down different corridors and hallways to get there, walking up a large staircase, to walk back down another, passing Lords and Ladies until finally you arrived to the the large room filled with books. 

Two guards opened the doors for you, softly and let you inside.

The ceilings were tall, with tomes piled high from floor to ceiling in large wooden shelves. The room was silent except for the soft steps of your feet, and the distant crackling of the Libraries fireplace. 

You let yourself walk behind a towering shelf, your hand coming to brush against the old leather spines of the large tomes that lay nestled beside each other. The room smelt as a Library should, of old parchment and aged books, hints of worn leather and glue. The subtle tinge of dust as all things old had, and the enticing pull of the combined familiarity of it all. 

You kept walking languidly, coming up around the other side to walk towards the crackling fireplace, where you longed to curl up in front of, on one of the chairs to read. The fireplace came into view, and its large stone work containing a sizeable fire within stared back at you. Above it a large green tapestry with one of the Seven. 

Two large chairs sat in front of the fire with a chaise to its side. The closer you got to the high backed chairs, the more it revealed to you, until you saw a head of familiar silver hair, with one singular braid crossed over the top of it. 

You paused in your step.

Helaena?

You inched closer towards her with unsteady feet, looking at the hair you were certain belonged to your aunt. She did not move until finally you were beside her, looking down at a person you so dearly missed. Her bright eyes were on the fire as you looked at her.

It had been so long since you had seen her. So long since she had been a mere short lived presence. So long since you had held or spoken to her, down in the dungeons.

You looked at the gentle slope of her nose and cheeks, the way her lips were relaxed and posture loose. Her eyes were always a lighter shade of violet in comparison to the rest of your family. So bright, like fresh lavender that had bloomed after rain. 

Helaena noticed your presence and slowly turned her head to look at you. You met her eyes and she smiled at you softly. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t bring air into your lungs no matter how hard you tried. Instead you stood staring at your aunt who smiled up at you, her lips parting before she spoke. 

“Kasta naejot Zōbrie.” Green to Black, She spoke with a happy lilt to her voice.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. 

Helaena’s head tilted as she looked at you, smile falling from her lips. 

“Where is Jaehaerys?”

Your heart broke all over again.

“Gone.” You replied shakily.

You watched as her hand came out to touch you, small fingers wrapping themselves around your wrist. 

She felt so real. Her hand was even warm.

Why could you feel her?

Was this real?

Your heart raced in your chest as you felt her grip tighten on your wrist as she looked at you, head tilted and leaning forward.

Why could you feel her?

“Y/n.” She whispered, her grip tightening almost painfully as she grabbed you. 

You blinked.

The sharp face of Aemond looked up at you, his hand gripping your wrist as he uttered your name again. His violet eye looked at you in concern, whilst the familiar glowing orb stared back from the other side of his face. He was not wearing his patch. You turned your head in search of your aunt.

Helaena was gone.

She was never there. 

Aemond whispered your nickname softly, hand tightening again with a bruising grip on your arm as he attempted to ground you, to bring you back to the present. He looked so concerned as he gazed up at you. It was uncomfortable.

You blinked again looking down at him. A book lay open in his lap, having been placed down when he grabbed you. 

“What's gone?” He asked, voice soft and low.

It took you a moment to steady yourself, to prepare yourself for your answer, to tell him that they were all gone. That Viserys, Lucerys, Daeron, Helaena and Jaehaerys were gone, and were never coming back. That everything was gone. That soon, you felt you would be gone too. But as you looked at him with his brows drawn down, you pulled your arm from his grip, rethinking your answer, wrapping your hands around your middle to comfort yourself. 

“Nothing.” You looked away, moving to leave the library all together. 

It felt so real. She felt so real. She had touched you.��

It had all felt so real, and it terrified you.

You were losing yourself in this godforsaken Keep.

As you turned to leave the library, to go anywhere but be there, Aemond reached out to grab you again, his fingers wrapping around your arm as he stood, placing the book on the seat below him. 

“Y/n.” He towered over you, holding onto you.

And you let him. 

A small comfort in this Hell you were living. 

Comfort from a man you should not seek comfort from. 

Comfort from a man who had caused so much grief.

But in that moment, you needed grounding as the Library around you shrank, and the air began to enter your lungs with more and more difficulty.

It was him. 

Not Helaena.

See? Helaena is not here. 

It was always Aemond. 

She was never here.

His eye searched your face as he looked at you, and you fought the urge to burst into tears. 

“Sit with me.” His voice was so quiet, and slow, as if approaching a terrified animal.

It was an offer, not a command this time.

Your heart rattled in your chest, and you thought about leaving, but the idea of being alone after having such a real interaction with your deceased aunt frightened you more than you cared to admit. 

You were slipping away. 

He waited patiently for your response, and so you gave him a small nod, and moved to sit in the chair beside him, back stiff with your hands folded in your lap. You looked into the fireplace and tried to breathe in for three counts, holding it, then exhaling shakily. 

Aemond did not sit, instead he moved to the side wall, where large books were neatly placed in the bookcase. You could hear him moving about behind you as you sat in the horrifying reality of your situation.

You were going mad.

Oh Gods… Please don’t let me slip away like Helaena. Please spare me this cruelty. Please Gods, please hear me… 

Aemond’s soft steps walked back to you, a small, black, leather bound book in hand. 

He stood in front of you, holding out the book, until you finally looked at his hand instead of the fireplace. The books cover was worn and black with brown binding around its spine. The covers edges were faded and worn, but the rest of the book was in good condition. You reached a hand to shakily pluck the book from his, pulling it to your lap to look down at it.

Aemond resumed sitting back in his chair beside you, pulling the large tome back into his lap to resume his reading, but his eye stayed on you for a moment, watching you as you stared at the book in your lap.

You let your gaze flit to your husband, who’s eye was still on you, watching for your reaction.

'The Fourteen Flames.'

A book you had read together under the Godswood. In your chambers. In the gardens. Anywhere you could have escaped together to read. A book of the Gods of Old Valyria. A book of their tales and triumphs, their lore and desires. 

A book which had captured the both of your attention at such a young age.

Aemond had always been fond of the tales of Arrax; Ruler of Gods, Law, Order, Governance, Justice and Strength. A God in which he found comfort in. A God in which he would pray to for justice and strength. 

You had given him the book once, in the garden to read to you, opened on a page with your favourite stories. The tales of Meleys; Goddess of Love and Fertility. He had blushed so often reading the passages of her many lovers, and you had delighted in knowing when you had handed it to him, that the young boy would turn a bright shade of pink as he read to you. Your own soft teasing of him which he did not mind at all.

He had handed you a book which held so much between the both of you.

Not just for you.

But for him too. 

He had remembered.

“Is Meleys still your favoured God?” He asked, head tilted. 

You looked at him in surprise. 

Don’t be fooled by him. He is a viper waiting to strike you again. Waiting to hurt you and bring you pain.

You looked back down at the book in your lap, opening its cover to look down at the pages, the words blurring as tears rose to your eyes. 

How much more heartbreak could one person take?

How much more until you were truly broken?

“Is Arrax still yours?” You did not take your eyes from the page.

Arrax. 

Luc.

You could not look at him. 

“No.” He paused in thought, “Arrax never truly answered my prayers.”

It was almost poetic that he tore Arrax from the sky with Vhagar.

You flicked to another page, smelling the old parchment beneath your fingers as you felt the page bend. Syrax; God of wine, fruitfulness, parties, madness, chaos, drunkenness, and ecstasy. 

“I suppose you pray to Vhagar now.”

Goddess of War.

“I have no need to pray to her when I ride my own.”

Silence filled the library as you continued to flick through the pages, eyes moving across the words as you felt your heart slowly calm in your chest and your breathing slowly even. The fireplace crackled loudly and you could hear Aemond beside you, opening his own tome to resume reading. 

But no matter how hard you tried to concentrate on the words on the page, you found yourself too on edge to actually take in the words. So instead your eyes fruitlessly skimmed the pages, frustration building inside. 

All you can think about is how much you have lost, and how much he has hurt you.

It consumed you.

Aemond broke the silence. 

“I had prayed to Balerion,” God of Death and the Underworld, “He listened.”

Lucerys.

Your eyes left the page you were not reading to look at your uncle beside you, his eye still on his page, skimming as he read the text. Aemond did not take his gaze from the page as you abruptly stood, slamming the book in your hands shut as you moved.

You tossed it onto the chair you had been sitting on. 

Why did he keep doing this? 

Why did he give you an inch of kindness, then a mile of cruelty?

It made your head spin. 

It made you feel even more confused and alone than ever. 

Aemond still did not look up as you glared down at him, feeling a wave of rage build inside you, slowly rising up your neck as you felt the heat of it burn through you. You began to storm away, your feet loudly beating against the stone floors, echoing in the space, a tear falling down your cheek. 

Aemond’s voice called out to you in the library.

“Balerion spared you,” He paused, and you spun on your heel to look at him, his eye still on his page, long finger following his line of sight, “Just as I asked.”

You swallowed thickly as you stared at him.

He had prayed to Balerion?

For you?

To spare you?

To spare you from his own doing?

You opened your mouth again, to snip back at your husband, to tell him he wouldn’t have had to pray if he had not attacked you. That he would not have had to pray if he had not killed Luc. That there would be no reason to pray if he had been a better man. 

You spun on your heel, mouth opening and closing in confusion. 

In shock. 

You left the Library, opening and closing the doors with little to no force and made your way back to your chambers. 

Why?

Why did you feel this way?

Why did it hurt you so much?

It felt like you were constantly losing him. The memories that you had together. The loss of the potential of the man he could have been. The man he should have been. He could have grown to be kind and good as he had been.

The tears fell as you walked swiftly, keeping your head down as you passed guards and Lords, as you move faster, and faster to your chambers. Your legs and lungs burnt with the speed you went, almost running to get back to the room. 

You stumbled on a step as you raced back to solitude, your body jerking to right itself as you made your way down the long corridor to the chambers. The knight stationed outside of the doors opened it for you upon seeing your speedy arrival, to which you all but threw yourself into the room, huffing out a rough sob as it finally escaped your lips. 

Your hand flew to your mouth as you tried to keep the swell from overflowing, the emotions that rose like a tide up your throat, forcing a broken gasp out of your lips as you stared into the empty space of the room. 

Someone clicked their tongue in the chambers.

You were not alone. 

You spun around to find Aegon standing beside your bed, hand on the sheets as he looked at you, frown moving on his face in mock pity. You stiffened and took a step back, dropping your hands to your sides as you watched Aegon look back down at the made bed. 

"Poor thing.” He cooed at you cruelly, rubbing the sheets between his fingers as he watched you, dropping them from his hand as he came to walk towards you. 

“Get out.” You blurted, watching as a smile spread across his face as he got closer. 

The nearer he got, the more angry you became. Your fight or flight instincts kicked in, except for you, it was purely fight and no flight. There was nowhere you could go anyway.

Where would you run to?

Into the waiting arms of Aemond?

“Get out.” You growled.

Aegon stood in front of you as he smirked down at you. You could smell the wine on his breath as he continued to grin, before he let himself look back at the bed, dragging his eyes over the sheets as you took the opportunity to step back away from him. 

He sensed your movement and looked back at you. 

"Has he fucked you yet?”

You bristled in your spot, fists clenching. 

Aegon’s head tilted lazily as he looked at you, smile widening, teeth and gums showing.

“He has.” He noted, “Has he brought you pleasure? Made you scream for him?”

“Get the fuck out.” You sneered.

Aegon laughed, “Ooh, it seems like he hasn’t.” He paused, waiting to see your response, "Or maybe… he has. And you hate yourself for it.”

Tears began to well in your eyes again as shame curled in your gut.

“There it is. Theres no shame in the pleasures of flesh, niece.” He grinned down at you, hair messed upon his head, “Your mother would know all about that.”

Your teeth ground together in your mouth as you bit down hard. Anything to control yourself from lashing out at him. 

“I would be happy to show you how many ways you can find pleasure. You'd be surprised at what I can do.” His tongue came to wet his lips as he looked you dead in the eyes, holding your gaze. 

“I would rather die than have your cock anywhere near me.”

“Are you sure? I know Aemond couldn’t make you feel the way I can.” He took another step forward towards you, but you held your ground. 

“The only thing you make me feel, is sick. Now, get out.”

Aegon smirked down at you, a hand coming to touch a curl of hair that lay of your shoulder, but as soon as his hand came up, you slapped it away from you. It only made the King smirk wider, his eyes flitting to your lips then back to your eyes. 

Wordlessly, your eldest uncle left your chambers, the knight opening the door for him and closing it shut behind him. And you were left to stand in the chambers that grew smaller and smaller around you until you stumbled to sit at the table, hand covering your mouth as you leant forward. 

A tear fell from your eye and onto the dark wood of the table, as you were forced to sit with the reality of your agreement.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #dark!aemond #dark!fic #fic #series #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #smoke fire and ash

[burntblueberrywaffles]

the desperate anidala bitches shall rejoice, because i come offering a second rec list 😌 /lh

My Anidala/Vaderdala rec list! (part 2)

You can find the first rec list here!

sorry I took so long this got buried way down in my drafts but it's finally out 🫡

some of these are not complete so do check chapter count and pls dont yell at me asdfhgkjfh

Modern AUs

The Bet

Anakin's had a crush on Padmé since fourth grade, and after putting up with his pining for seven years, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are finally stepping in and making a bet that he can't ask her to junior prom in the spring. Meanwhile, Padmé is realizing that Anakin isn't as annoying as she'd always thought. In fact, her feelings towards him are starting to go in quite the opposite direction...

Snow Place Like Home

For genre-typical convoluted reasons involving ill-timed blizzards, Padmé is forced to spend the holidays at Anakin's house. Anakin isn't as upset about his boss staying with him for Christmas as he probably should be.

Second Chances

When Luke Amidala and Leia Skywalker meet at summer camp, they're shocked to discover that they're long-lost twins. The logical next step? Getting their estranged parents back together.

I usually avoid Parent traps AU just because I dislike it as a setup, but when it comes to Anidala a bitch is desperate, and this was a cute and fun one, I really enjoyed it!

Lemon

“What other secret fantasies do I have that are glaring neon signs for you?” Anakin asks. “You’re conflicted,” Padmé says, “because on one hand you want to be a very good boy for me, but on the other you want to misbehave so I have a reason to punish you.” He blows out a plume of smoke and taps the ash off his cigarette. “You know, I really thought you were a nerd. I thought I'd have to be like, ‘Hey, how about you tie me up sometime.' Get you into this stuff little by little. But no, you’re diving right in like we met on a BDSM subreddit or something.” Or: Padmé has car problems. Thankfully she knows a good mechanic.

normally, I probably never would have checked out this fic, (mommy kink is just not my thing) but as previously stated, A BITCH WAS DESPERATE and you know what it actually slapped 😌

Rebound

Padmé Naberrie has just been broken up with. She wasn't prepared for a night out with her girls to find her a rebound. She certainly wasn't prepared for Anakin Skywalker.

Sith-Raised Anakin

the inevitable end of dancing with the devil

"Maybe it was too crass to compare the devil to such a creature—Lord Vader wasn’t the devil, he was worse." Senator Amidala was undoubtedly one of the most respected and adored public servants to walk the galaxy. Lord Vader was not. Vaderdala AU. Arranged Marriage AU

A Worthy Sacrifice

Chancellor Palpatine has dropped the act and decided to rule the galaxy openly as Darth Sidious. His reign wouldn’t be half as successful without his unhinged attack dog Darth Vader, a much rumoured warbringer who appears in black robes with a saber red as blood and brings even the strongest revolutionaries to their knees. Padmé is not only fighting for her home country but the freedom of the known regions and she is desperate to turn the tides of this war which is why she agrees to the deal Sidious offers her: A child with this favourite Sith Lord in exchange for her home: Naboo.

This is one of my favourite fics with this trope!

Pearl in My Head

Padmé's just starting her career as a Senator when she attracts some unwanted attention from the Emperor, who has decided on a very different role for her in the Empire. [empire already exists, arranged marriage/forced proximity au! loosely follows some aotc/rots events]

What Was I Made For?

Darth Vader was not a man made for love, but this was not love. Or, Basically, Padme and Vader are friends with benefits, but she's so nice to him that it makes him question his entire existence.

FOR YOUR LOVE (i’ll do whatever you want)

𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 He gave her that devilish smirk of his. The one that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. “I’ll give you what you want.” OR, A rare moment of intimacy happens for Padmé and Anakin – whose relationship is strictly carnal.

I have yet to read the second chapter (will get on that when I get out of the snowbaird hole lol) but I really enjoyed the first one!

Vaderdala

love me, love me (like you used to do) 

In which Vader fails to capture his son, but gains a daughter, his wife, another pair of twins... and the past.

this fic was SO GOOD holy shit literally made me feral when i fiorst read it

Love Like Ghosts

There are very few people who know the location of the Rebel Alliance’s base on Naboo. Even fewer who know the names of any of the people who work there. So when Padmé gets up on a cold morning, the windows frosted and harsh wind rattling the doors of the large house that’s been the headquarters of the Alliance for nearly two decades, to see a package with her name on it sitting on the doorstep, her heart stops in her chest.

loved this fic but as a heads up it doesn't provide "they get back together" closure so be ready for that

news of old by @ineedausernamel829

Padme is a member of the rebel alliance. During a mission, her past relationships with darth Vader comes to light

No vaderdala interactions, but exploration of the relationship through Padme talking about it - It’s so so good

Sad Vaderdala hours

Imperial Socialite

In a timeline where Darth Vader doesn't face immolation and Padmé Amidala lives, their marriage continues in a form that is at once far more honest and deeply dysfunctional. Though Padmé tries to remain within the Imperial Senate, the trauma of her husband's betrayal--and the apparent deaths of her children--force her into early retirement. Too much of a liability to aid the emerging Rebel cause directly, Padmé seeks out new avenues of defying the Empire: by leveraging her connection to Vader to mess with the Imperial Elites of Coruscant.

it could be sweet

an interconnected collection of stories based on the idea of what would have happened if Padmé had lived. (aka me finally writing down my self-indulgent vaderdala daydreams aka me living my best life)

This series is so good in a "rip my heart out of my chest and steps on it" way

all joy sucked dry

Her husband had fallen, her life’s work had crumbled, and her own babies were strangers to her. But she didn’t even care, and that was the worst part. Or: Padme deals with postpartum depression, and Vader is ill-equipped to help her

Others

Across the Seas

Padmé Amidala - the daughter of the royal governor of Jamaica - never expected her life to be much more than it already was. Her routine is to dress in her finest clothes, put on a pretty face, and ensure she is presentable to not only the people but to the many men attempting to court her. However, Padmé's world is flipped around when pirates attack, and the young woman finds herself in the company of their fearsome, brash, (dashing) Captain. Initially sickened by the roughish man, Padmé will quickly learn there is so much more to the mysterious Captain Skywalker. A pirate's life for me

The pirate AU I didn’t know I needed. So good

Right & Wrong

After they watch a holoshow that portrays reprehensible content, Anakin unwittingly reveals the concerning way Chancellor Palpatine acts towards him. Padmé will not let anyone harm her husband — and she’ll make this Obi-Wan, the Jedi Council, and even the whole galaxy’s problem if she needs to.

when the grooming is actually adressed >>

cestrum nocturnum

Summer on Naboo, the Clone Wars have yet to begin, and Anakin is tasked with protecting Senator Amidala after an attempt is made on her life. It's too bad that every moment with her has him in agony, and every moment apart is even worse—especially after that night in the courtyard ... Or: Anakin spends a torturous time on Naboo in the company of the person he loves because he doesn't know how to tell her his true feelings.

Naboo smut 🤭

And that's it! if anyone has recommendations for a fic that isn't in either of my rec lists, please let me know! I am so so desperate I need my anidala fix

Since I was deep into the Star Wars hole and desperate, I’ve also been reading non-Anidala/non-Anidala centric fics about Darth Vader/Anakin/the Skywalker family, so I will be posting a rec list for that soon! (When i say soon it can mean anything from a day to months, my brain is not always great at tasks, if anyone wants to be notified when I do post it lmk and I’ll tag you ❤️)

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