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Death and the Lady: Chibs Telford X Reader. Chapter Ten

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NSFW WARNING 18+ Only. Smut as well as Descriptions of past SA.

Chapter Ten: Reverence

Y/N would be lying if she tried to claim that she didn’t find herself clinging to Chibs a little tighter than usual as she rode on the back of his bike, which was saying something considering she’d found that she usually held on to him quite tightly.

As much as she’d found that she still very much enjoyed being on the back of a bike; the act still filled the lowest point of her belly with a sense of dread, her mind unable to shake the knowledge that a love of Harleys had forever ruined her elder brother’s life.

As much as she might enjoy being on the back of a bike; there was still that reminder lingering in the back of her mind that bikes and recklessness had taken the brother she knew and loved away forever. Although he was still here physically, he would never be the same man ever again. 

It seemed that Chibs did not mind her tight grip onto his body as he occasionally reached down to gently caress her hand each time they had to stop at a stop light. It felt as though he was making an attempt to give her some small sign of silent reassurance though she was unsure if he was reassuring her about being on his bike or all that had happened tonight. Perhaps it was a bit of both. 

This night had gone far from how she’d hoped. She had been expecting a night where she might be more than a little bored watching a bare-knuckle boxing match and at least attempting to feign the appearance of having a good time in an effort to please Chibs. She’d been determined to be a good sport and attempt to get along with Chibs’ brothers, support the Prospect, and show Chibs that she was willing to attempt to be a part of his world. 

She’d not been anticipating a flash from her past; not the one she’d gotten at least.

Sure, being in an environment where several Sons might be present had given her some expectation that she might find herself being silently reminded of a few more shameful behaviors from her past.

She’d not anticipated that her past would slap her in the face like this though.

Coming face to face with Gunner had been the last thing she’d ever wanted to experience. 

She was horrified to realize that the outlaw biker still had a way of making her feel all too small. 

She didn’t understand how he could still make her feel so worthless and so frightened even after almost a decade apart. 

Before she’d fallen into Gunner’s bed and been fed whatever substances he’d been willing to provide her; she’d had a willful spirit. The Sons clubhouse had provided an outlet for that headstrong spirit. She’d felt embraced for all her foolhardiness, for a short while at least, thanks to Jax’s insistence that she be allowed there. 

She’d been so determined to chase even bigger highs and even more dangerous situations though. Jax had been unable to keep her from falling further and further into chaos. She had pushed back against his attempts to coax her from Gunner. She’d been so determined to dive face first into everything Gunner offered without even looking. 

 Gunner had been so willing to provide those highs and show her that danger despite Jax’s disapproval. She’d lost her ability to be so headstrong under Gunner’s gaze. Sure, she’d had her moments of working up her nerve to mouth off to him. He had not been the type to tolerate her smart mouth though. He always had a way of making it clear to her that he was stronger and larger than her. 

As awful as it made her feel; she almost regretted not allowing Chibs to continue on with the fight Gunner was trying to goad him into. She could admit that it would have felt nice to see someone knock Gunner down a peg after all the times he’d tried to knock her down.

The realization that Chibs would risk getting quite beaten up himself had pushed her to stop the impending fist fight though. She adored the Scot too much to let him earn any black eyes or split lips over her.

She was hit with an almost amusing realization. Though she’d expressed to Old Charlie that she was certain her father would disapprove of Chibs as a romantic partner for her…a small part of her was sure her father might have approved just the slightest over Chibs’ quick act of wanting to fight to defend her honor. He’d tried to protect her; a small part of her had to wonder if her father might have approved of the act of trying to protect her though her father had never been big on physical altercations. 

Facing Gunner tonight had unnerved her. 

Facing her former bed partner and drug buddy had made her feel far too much like that scared, burnt out, and damaged twenty year old girl calling her father from a phone booth almost a decade before.

As hard as she tried she couldn’t shake the conversation she’d had with Old Charlie a few days before; the talk about how she was so certain her father must have felt ashamed of her at some point during those wild years of her youth spent with SAMCRO.

She didn’t see how he couldn’t possibly have felt at least some minimal amount of embarrassment when he thought of who she’d been back then. She thought back to all those times he’d bailed her out of the local jail for some stupid incident she’d pulled. She remembered all the community service, the alcohol education programs, and the fines she’d endured for her misbehavior.

She remembered all those worried glances he’d sent her way when she’d come home far too late the next day after a night out sunglasses on her eyes and rough love bites obvious along her neck. She remembered how everyone around town had seen the sight of her riding around Charming on different Son’s bikes. 

She knew her father had been aware of the obvious signs she’d been engaging in far more illicit substances than underage drinking and a few joints.

She was well aware of all the whispers around town about the funeral director’s poor wayward daughter who’d fallen into a wild crowd with the local biker gang. She was certain her father must have caught some looks of pity over his poor troublesome daughter. 

She imagined she’d been far from the daughter her father had hoped for. They’d always been so close after all. After all that had happened with her brother though, she’d made an attempt to yank from the bond she’d shared with her father. 

She’d resented her father. A cruel voice in the back of her mind had been convinced that maybe if her father had not pushed her brother over mortuary school then Daniel never would have gotten in that wreck that night. She resented her brother for being so reckless that he’d gotten into motorcycles to begin with. She resented the funeral business and how it had made her such an outcast among her peers. She resented the pride her father held over their stupid family legacy and the wretched responsibility he claimed the Y/L/N family had over being keepers of Charming’s dead. She had wanted to scream that it was not a legacy she wanted. 

In her resentment and her rebellion she’d shamed her father. She had shamed their legacy. 

Y/N found herself thinking back to Old Charlie’s words; his insistence that her father had only been worried but never ashamed.

Even if that was true she could not shake the overwhelming guilt of what she must have put Lloyd Y/L/N through. Her father had already essentially lost the son he’d loved and then his only remaining child had seemed so determined to throw her life away. She had been chasing one high after another never satisfied. It was as though she’d continuously touched the flame and acted shocked as it burned her over and over and over again. She never learned her lesson. 

She had been self destructive in the truest extent of the word. 

She knew that people often romanticized self destruction and chaos. They saw the high of the parties and the drugs and even the sex. They ignored the misery and the pain or at the very least they tried to make it somehow seem like some noble way to give a middle finger to polite society. In her opinion though, self destruction was not poetic. For her the act of self destruction had been a selfish act. She’d been so caught up in her own misery that she’d been unable to see that she was making everyone around her just as miserable.

She found that her mind was a jumbled mess of fear over coming face to face with Gunner and a sense of shame over her past misdeeds. She was not looking forward to making Chibs aware of any of those misdeeds.

Chibs found that his own mind was a mess. He found himself once again reaching down to caress Y/N’s hand as they came to another stop light. 

He ran his thumb along her soft skin attempting to soothe both her anxieties over all that had happened tonight as well as the sense of rage he still felt rolling through his veins.

If Y/N had not coaxed him away from Gunner, Chibs was certain he’d have beaten the man’s face into the dirt below them. He was surprised that she had managed to push through that rage within him. She’d been able to push past his anger and soothe him just enough to make him back down. 

He was certain if she’d not pleaded with him to let it go though, he would have let loose all of his anger on Gunner. He hadn’t been lying to the man. Chibs cared more about what Y/N wanted than what he wanted. He was putting her needs above his desires. If she had needed to get far from the fairgrounds and Gunner then Chibs was going to make it happen even if he’d much rather have knocked Gunner out.  

He felt sick to his stomach thinking of all that Gunner had to say about Y/N. The crude comments about her body and her promiscuity as a former Friday Night Girl made him feel nothing but blind red rage. He felt even more ill and enraged when he stopped to consider that Gunner had obviously harmed Y/N judging by the sight of her wrist. That sick feeling had only grown when he stopped to consider that this wasn’t the first time the Son had harmed her judging by Gunner’s comment about knowing how Y/N needed plenty of reminders of her place. 

Chibs was well aware of Gunner’s reputation among the Sons. The recently patched in Tacoma Son had a nasty reputation. Gunner had originally prospected and been patched into the Colorado branch of the Sons over a decade before. The Denver, Colorado Sons had not seemed keen to keep Gunner around though. Gunner had gone nomad for a long while, though Gunner claimed it was his own choice, Chibs had suspected that SAMDEN had not wanted to put up with the troublesome man any longer. The patch over into Tacoma was a recent development. Chibs was surprised that the Tacoma charter had taken on the burden that was Gunner. 

To put it frankly, Gunner was an asshole. 

Chibs of course knew that this statement wasn’t saying much. He was certain that quite a few of the men he shared a patch with, himself included, could be described as assholes and much worse, more slanderous terms.

Gunner had earned a notoriety of being a real piece of work though. He had a big mouth and was happy to pick fights with anyone. It didn’t seem to matter much if he shared a patch with his sparring partners. He seemed to enjoy pressing people’s buttons. He took some sick enjoyment in upsetting people. The Son seemed to take pride in fighting with just about anyone from those he shared a patch with to those outside of the club. He seemed particularly proud of his propensity for beating croweaters, strippers, and sex workers. He bragged about knocking sense into sweetbutts who got a little too mouthy or just doing it because he found it amusing. 

Gunner made it no secret that for him, there was a paper-thin fine blurred line between violence and sex. He was vocal about how he enjoyed causing pain for his bed partners. From the few things Chibs had been unfortunate enough to overhear, it seemed that Gunner enjoyed being as sadistic as possible to the women he charmed into his bed. Chibs had always gotten the sense that there was a possibility Gunner’s sexual partners weren’t always prepared for the violence. It was a realization that disturbed him. 

Chibs had always felt as though Gunner was absolute pond scum. Chibs knew he’d done a lot of crooked things in his own life. He was aware that he was not on any moral high ground. Chibs had killed and caused his own share of pain in the name of both the cause in Belfast and his devotion to the Sons. 

Chibs knew he might be called a bastard by many, but he was nowhere near the same level of evil as Gunner.

The idea of Gunner having shared a bed with the woman he adored, made Chibs feel a sense of unease he couldn’t shake.

He kept thinking back to the look in Y/N’s eyes at the fairground as she stared up at Gunner. Chibs remembered the way she’d gravitated towards himself the second she’d spotted him make his way through the fairgrounds as though she’d subconsciously sought out his protection. Chibs thought back to how she’d seemed so relieved as he had stepped in front of her blocking Gunner’s view of her.

Everything within Chibs was screaming out to protect Y/N. He’d wanted so badly to beat Gunner to a bloody pulp in order to protect or at the very least defend the honor of Y/N. 

If it wasn’t for her insistence that he let it go and take her home he was certain he would have beat the man until his knuckles were split and bloodied. He was sure he would have gotten just as bruised and beaten in the process but it would have been well worth it.

He knew of course that beating Gunner would have done him no favors in the long run.

There was a certain protocol to follow when it came to disagreements between brothers. Fist fighting was allowed; but it was usually frowned upon. When two brothers had a disagreement in the Sons it was expected that they might meet in the ring if the clubhouse in question had a designated ring that was. Either way the fight should be agreed upon and planned. It was expected that the brothers would sort out the disagreement with a physical altercation essentially punching the aggression out. It was expected that once that aggression was fought out then the brothers would make up and all would be forgiven.

Chibs was certain that if he exchanged blows with Gunner, that there would be no forgiveness in the end. This was not a forgive and forget situation.

Chibs had the realization that Y/N had done him a favor in dragging him away from the fight. A fight between charters was not ideal; especially with SAMCRO’s current shaky financial situation dealing with the gun supply to the Irish. 

Fighting between two members of SAMCRO and SAMTAC would not be favorable. 

Chibs knew Clay would have his head if he lost his cool and beat the shit out of SAMTAC’s newest patched over member.

Still though, Chibs couldn’t help but to feel a slight sense of disappointment that he’d not been able to beat Gunner within an inch of his life.

He pushed back this desire, putting a lid on his anger, as Y/N and he finally arrived at her home, the long walk up to Y/L/N and Sons Funeral Home seeming all the more daunting.

Y/N stared up at the home finding the large Victorian home an equal mix of comforting and intimidating. She knew it sounded so strange but she often felt as though the house did not actually belong to her. It felt more as though she belonged to the house.

So many generations of her family had lived and died in the home. It felt more like a breathing living entity than a structure. If houses had souls she had to wonder and fear what her house’s soul would look like. 

It felt as though she was destined to always be a part of the house. Even when she was away in New York, deep down inside she knew that she would always belong to this house. She was born here and she would die here.

She often found herself going back and forth between finding the concept soothing to finding it overwhelming and frightening.

She kept these thoughts to herself, sure it would make her seem unbalanced if she were to ever voice them outloud.

She fished her keys from her purse Chibs and she wordlessly making their way upstairs after locking the front entrance behind them.

Chibs frowned astonished to be met with a sliding wooden door not long after they made the long trek up the L-shaped stairs that took them from the funeral home portion of the home to Y/N’s living quarters.

She spoke her voice softly, explaining the large sliding door. “An addition from my grandmother sometime in the 1960s. I think she got sick of curious mourners being able to wander upstairs. Pretty sure her last straw was an Irish Wake my grandfather put together…she found some drunk mourner puking in her kitchen sink and she demanded my grandfather build some sort of physical separation from business to home.”

“Aye, sounds bout righ’ fer an Irish wake.” Chibs remarked knowing he’d attended quite a few during his days in Belfast and had probably puked in a few less polite places than a sink.

She slid the door open allowing Chibs to follow along behind her before she shut it behind them.

Chibs studied his surroundings as she flipped on a light switch. He was not surprised to find that upstairs was just as filled with as many pieces of old looking furniture as downstairs.

However the upstairs quarters seemed far more…cluttered…to put it politely. The walls felt busy with oil paintings and framed photographs. He remembered her commenting on how her ancestors had been obsessed with having portraits done. The floors were not without fine looking persian rugs. Knick knacks lined a wall of bookshelves along with more than enough books.

Chibs eyed some of the book titles knowing he shouldn’t be shocked by the content: Death in Medieval Europe, The Art and Science of Embalming, American Afterlife, The Art of Funeral Directing, Traditions of Death and Burial, Death and Burial in Ancient Egypt, Funeral Customs Around the World, Death and Dying in Ancient Times, Funerals of the Famous, and several other titles all dedicated to the business Y/N’s family had long been in. 

He eyed a few other books mixed among all the death and funeral content: The Art of Vegetable Gardening, FolkTales and Fables From Around the World, the Guide to Successful Homemaking, Seventeenth Century Prose and Poetry, The Book of Home Taxidermy, among a few others. 

He was also surprised by the sheer amount of cookbooks. It felt that there was a cookbook for every cuisine imaginable; French, Greek, Italian, and so on. 

He followed her as she dropped her purse on a nearby end table beside an old looking rotary phone, a large chunk of amethyst, and what looked like a taxidermy squirrel under a glass dome that may have seen better days at one point.

He spotted a few more taxidermy pieces on the walls making the space seem all the more crowded; deer antlers, a ram of some sort, and a wild boar head.

She spoke over her shoulder clearly spotting the visual overload he was enduring as he tried to take in all the parts of her home. “I know it's a lot to take in…my father could never stand to part with anything. I think he could place sentimental value to just about anything in this place…especially after my mom died. I keep meaning to put some of this in storage, so it’ll feel more like my home than the family museum. I keep looking at paying to have a shed built out back to store this stuff in at least…I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

She paused speaking more to herself than to him. “I have a love-hate relationship with all the clutter. Most of it is family heirlooms but it made growing up here feel overwhelming. Pretty sure the bedroom is the only place that felt like my own as a kid. The house was built onto over the years and my ancestors collected things to fill it with. This house sometimes feels like a mouth with too many teeth.”

Chibs nodded his head wordlessly not helping but to agree with the final part of her statement. While the downstairs portion of the home felt spacious, even with the nice furniture, the upstairs section felt busy and like sensory overload.

She spoke as they reached the living room he eyeing the sofa, the burnt orange mid century design clearly from the 1960s. He spotted a nearby recliner that looked a little newer; a nice leather. He had to wonder if the recliner had belonged to her late father.  

The Television sitting across from the sofa felt just as old; an old boxset with a dial to change the channel and bunny eared antenna. He had to wonder if the picture was black and white. He guessed she didn’t watch much TV. 

She spoke nodding to him to take a seat. “Do you want a drink? I would offer a soda…but I feel like we need something stronger.”

“I’ll take whatever ya got.” He reassured her as he took a seat on the sofa relieved that it felt far cushier than it looked.

She made her way to the kitchen he sinking down into the sofa, his eyes studying his surroundings all the more.

He could understand what she meant by a mouth with too many teeth. The space felt overcrowded.

He swallowed the lump developing in the back of his throat spotting a framed photo on the wall, it hitting him that he was gazing upon a family portrait. The young woman standing in the photo holding the infant who had to be Y/N looked quite a bit like an adult version of Y/N though her hair color differed. 

Y/N spoke as she returned to the room holding a bottle of Bourbon and two heavy looking glasses. She nodded to the photo on the wall. “The first official family photo featuring me. It was taken after my parents brought me home from the hospital…though the hospital visit was just to get me checked out…I was actually born in this house.”

She paused, shaking her head as she sat down beside him depositing the booze and glasses on a coffee table in front of them. “The doctor my mother was seeing at the time told my parents I was going to be late, so there was no worry over me hitting the first due date they set. Pretty sure the guy was hitting the sauce more often than not and wasn’t the most attentive to his patients. There were plans to just take my mother to the hospital and induce labor. I had other plans though. I was born in the kitchen. My poor mother had to birth me on the kitchen tile by the coffee pot, because I was coming too quickly to make it to the hospital. My father had to practically deliver me because the doctor they called up was taking his sweet time. My birth story was my father’s favorite story to tell…When I was a kid I would try to stand in the same spot my mom allegedly gave birth in, and see if I felt any different than I felt in any other area of the house.”

“Did ya?” Chibs dared to ask it taking him a moment to absorb the odd tale. He quickly realized the woman he adored did in fact hail from an eccentric family and it wasn’t just because of the family business.

“No, I never felt any different…much to my disappointment. I won’t lie though, it’s pretty freaking weird eating oatmeal in the same room you know you were born in.” She commented, shaking her head as she opened the bottle of bourbon pouring what was probably considered two too far full glasses.

She let out a soft sigh they sitting in silence for a moment both well aware they needed to broach the subject of what had happened at the fairgrounds but both uncertain of how to even start the conversation.

Chibs cringed as he watched her pick up her glass taking a slow sip from it he was able to spot that her wrist was beginning to bruise.

He reached out his touch feather light to the light reddish tint to her skin knowing that the blood was beginning to pool to that surface, as she placed her glass on the table in front of her. “Shite, Hen. I shoulda been there to protect ya..Fuckin’ prospect had me distracted. Half-nutted muppet was supposed to throw the last damn figh’. He owes us $35,000. I was caugh’ up scoldin him fer his fuck up”.

She spoke the sound of guilt in his voice making a sense of shame of her own wash over her. She wouldn’t have been in danger if she hadn’t had a history with Gunner. Her history with the Son had caught his attention and had resulted in his assault. “You can’t protect me from everything, Filip.”

“Aye, I can fuckin’ try though.” He remarked proving that he had a stubborn streak about as wide as hers.

The comment may have put an affectionate smile on her lips if she wasn’t so emotionally drained from the night. “I don’t think either of us anticipated my past would show up, at least not like this.”

She paused knowing that there was no way of avoiding this conversation. She just had to pray that he’d meant what he said back at the fairgrounds; that this talk would not change how he felt about her.

She let out a soft sigh watching him take a slow sip of his own drink. “I have a lot to tell you about me.”

He sighed, reaching out his hand clasping over hers as he spoke reassuring her of the words he’d said to her back at the fairgrounds. “Aye ya do, I promise ya I ain’ goin’ anywhere no matter what it is.”

She managed to give him a weak smile, not sure if she believed him though the statement was kind.

She gave his hand a light squeeze hoping he would not release her hand as he heard the entire story. She spoke knowing that this was the best place to start. “After my brother…got injured…You remember me mentioning I tried to kick Jax in the balls?”

Chibs smirked, nodding his head remembering that he was amused by the imagery. “Aye I recall that story.”

She sighed nodding her head. “I was angry and I blamed Jackson. He encouraged my brother to get into Harleys…Opie and Jax both did…Jax was the one who helped my brother find the damn bike. It was a piece of shit honestly, but they fixed it up a little…as much as my brother could afford. I loved my brother, he was my only friend growing up…My childhood was…lonely at best. I chose the isolation, or at least that’s what I claimed. The truth is, none of the other kids seemed too interested in befriending the kid who lived in the house their grandparents had their funerals in.”

She shook her head picking up her glass taking another drink with the hand that wasn’t locked in Chibs’ grasp. She spoke as she swallowed her drink cringing at the burn regretting not getting a chaser. “That night that I showed up at the clubhouse, the night after my brother tried to kill me…I wanted to kill Jax. Of course, I was barely 18 and probably barely 110 pounds soaking wet back then. I wasn’t going to do much damage to him. By some miracle he didn’t kick me out of the clubhouse…I think he felt sorry for me. He knew why I was there. News about my brother spread fast. I guess Jackson felt guilty in a way…remembered he’d talked my brother into the bike. He felt responsible for what happened to my brother…that sense of responsibility just shifted to watching over the drunk 18 year old girl trying to hit him outside a biker clubhouse.”

She paused, taking another sip as she continued. “He smoked a joint with me that night…after he let me scream at him about how much I hated him and wanted him dead. I got so high that I think I fell asleep on his shoulder…I didn’t smoke pot much back then. Despite my big mouth I was shockingly quite the good girl growing up. The only trouble I got in during high school was running my mouth…I mean I was a pest to Skeeter when he was living here in this house apprenticing under my father…and I tended to be willful even back then…impulsive, but I kept clean.”

Chibs smirked somewhat at the comment about her being a good girl. In any other situation he may have joked that teenage him would have enjoyed corrupting teenage her. 

He kept his lips sealed though knowing now wasn’t the time for that joke.

She spoke, shaking her head ever so slightly. “After that night Jax kept inviting me back to the clubhouse…I think he could sense I was struggling…needed someone to talk to, even if I was still pissed off at him. We’d usually share a joint and he’d let me vent. I think I reminded him of himself in some ways, especially when I vented about the legacy I was expected to follow in my family…I think he felt the same about his own legacy. I think he was going through other shit too…Tara, his first love…she ditched Charming less than five years before and he was trying to distract himself. Taking care of me was a distraction…We were just friends at first…but booze and pot kind of aided into it becoming more of a friends with benefits situation.”

She paused, spotting the tension in Chibs’ jaw at the information. She swallowed the lump in her throat before speaking again trying to at least provide a hint of reassurance that this was not a love scenario. “Neither of us had any delusions about what we were doing. We weren’t interested in dating. The sex was never really an act of love. We didn’t see it as anything serious. We cared for one another just not in a romantic sense. We fought plenty enough for any romantic relationship to have been ruinous. I thought he was arrogant and bossy and he thought I was impulsive and irresponsible…both were true. Sex was a distraction.”

She paused again, a soft sigh leaving her spilling more of the truth. “Jackson wasn’t even my first. I’d already lost the big V card a few years prior to some guy who was visiting his family over the Summer…He snuck over to my place at like two am one night and I let him take my V card out near the old pet cemetery…Pretty sure he freaked out and disappeared once he spotted a tombstone…that experience was more of me wanting to get rid of the whole virgin status. Kid was a year older than me and the experience was full of disappointment. I think I remember thinking that if this was sex then I didn’t get the appeal because the guy came in ten seconds flat. I won’t lie and pretend that Jax didn’t at least show me the appeal of sex…Jax was just a means of distraction for me though. I didn’t have any delusions about his feelings towards me. Usually we’d just drink, smoke, and fuck. There was no sense that it was anything more than a distraction for us both. It went on for about a year where I showed up and we proceeded to take part in this weird ritual we’d built. He was definitely fucking other women and I was so interested in other guys.”

She spoke not daring to gaze in Chibs’ direction again. How did you explain to the guy who you were falling for that you’d fucked someone he was so close to in the past?

“The more time I spent at the club the more I fell into the chaos. It was like that thing we talked about on our second date…that world, SAMCRO, it lets you escape misery if you let yourself sink into chaos. I started to pull from Jax and spent more time indulging in what the clubhouse had to offer. Jax allowed it, he kept a close eye on me of course…Like I said, I think he felt responsible for me. I proved to be stubborn about his watchful eyes. I figured out that I was capable of charming other guys into bed…mostly nomads and maybe a few visiting non patched in guys who hit up the parties. Jax didn’t really approve, but like I said, we weren’t a couple and had zero interest in being one. I built an odd reputation around the clubhouse. I was young and willing to try just about anything…on my own terms at least. I wasn’t a croweater…Jax shut down any talk from anyone that I was just another croweater. I turned down more than a few guys and if they had shit to say about it they had to answer to Jax. Like I said, that weird screwed up sense of responsibility he felt for me. Most of the local patched in Sons knew just who my dad was and they were a little freaked out by the idea that my father had access to a cremator. So, between that and Jax, most of the local patched Sons didn’t try it with me…Tig tried once or twice, but I heard enough about some of his strange interests in the bedroom that I wasn’t interested. Even drunk, I wasn’t into it. I got into a lot of trouble due to my association with Jax and the club. I have a record that I’m not entirely proud of. It’s all light stuff; drunk and disorderly, disorderly conduct, reckless driving, a couple of DUIs. I paid plenty of fines and had to do some community service…pretty sure I attended a couple of alcohol awareness courses.”

She felt her throat grow tight staring down at the drink in her hand as she explained further. “The summer between my nineteenth and twentieth birthday Gunner showed up at the clubhouse for the first time. He was a nomad and I was indulging pretty hard still. I drank more than I ever did and I was getting bored with the pot. I was looking for a bigger high. I was getting weary of the usual Friday night party and Gunner offered me something more interesting. He always had plenty of narcotics and usually some acid…Usually he’d share whatever he had in whatever dorm he was crashing in. I know it was super frowned upon…the harder stuff. I always tried to reason with myself that at least it wasn’t heroin or meth or anything like that.  He was happy to give me the Valium and the occasional codeine. It was a bigger high than the pot and the booze and I felt like my brain shut up for once. The shared pills came with expectations though. He was pretty damn rough the first time I let him fuck me. I thought I could take it though. I was high enough that I managed to shake off the roughness. He spent a few weeks staying in the Sons clubhouse that first month we met…and the routine continued with pills and sex that got increasingly rough. When he went back on the road I managed to talk myself into thinking it wasn’t as bad as I perceived it.”

She sighed her stomach knotting up as she willed herself to continue. “I almost forgot about him until he came back through for a longer stay. Jax didn’t approve of all the time Gunner and I were spending together. Didn’t help that Gunner and I proved to be pretty toxic when we both had too much to drink. I had a big mouth and he was more of an asshole than usual when we drank. Pretty sure I got arrested for getting into a physical altercation with him at a gas station during his second visit to Charming. Even with the arrest we got more attached to each other. The pills helped form that attachment. I was so determined to self-destruct and he…I don’t know what he was looking for with me. The sex got more…intense. He stopped caring about consent when it came to certain acts…Pretty sure to his ears no meant more. He didn’t seem to care if he hurt me. He pushed me into a few things I wasn’t comfortable with…anal that he didn’t prep me for properly…hitting and biting…the threesome with a croweater that felt so uncomfortable and not at all something I wanted to repeat…when I expressed my discomfort it was ignored. My comfort level was never something he paid much mind to. He was nice enough between the bedroom activities. I let myself believe that I was overreacting.”

She noticed Chibs’ grip on her hand grew tighter but she still refused to look into his eyes; she was terrified of what she would see in those eyes she’d found so lovely. She feared she’d see disgust. 

She sighed knowing she had to get into the last event, the one that had pushed her off the path she’d been determined to go down. “The last straw happened a few months before my twenty-first birthday…Gunner was in town again. I tried Oxy that he gave me…I didn’t like it. It felt too strong…pretty sure he let me take too much. Things proceeded per usual. I think he was in a bad mood that night though…He was rougher than usual. I felt out of it for a while. As it proceeded, the high started to lift and I was filled with this sense of dread…it was a panic attack, I think. I realized I didn’t want to be there underneath him and I didn’t want him inside of me. I was still hazy but I was aware enough to try to tell him to stop. I don’t know if he just didn’t hear me or didn’t care…I think it was the latter. He choked me…he wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed down. I started to feel my vision tunnel and I remember thinking I was going to die. I almost blacked out before he let go…and finished. I laid there afterwards while he fell asleep and I remember I was so afraid that I couldn’t move…I was petrified, just locked in this overwhelming sense of dread. The choking…it brought up traumas I hadn’t dealt with.”

Chibs felt bile rise in the back of his throat at the description, his mind flashing to exactly why the choking had been traumatic; her brother trying to choke her in anger just years prior to this incident she was describing.  

He was disturbed by her comments about Gunner not caring about consent. He wanted to point out to her what that meant…what his ignoring consent had meant about anything he’d done to her. 

He parted his lips to speak but she didn’t give him a chance speaking again continuing the story. “I woke up before him the next morning…barely made it to the bathroom before I puked…My entire body and my throat hurt so much and the vomit just made it all the worse. Prick didn’t even notice I got out of bed or didn’t care…I remember looking into the bathroom mirror and it was like I really saw myself for the first time in years. I realized I didn’t want to die anymore. I somehow managed to get dressed and literally walked for I don’t even know how long…I found a phone booth and called my dad…Told him I was tired and I wanted help.”

She paused her eyes watering somewhat as she continued though she made an attempt to wipe them placing her glass down on the coffee table. “It was the most humiliating moment of my life…my father pulling up in the hearse and finding me sitting on the sidewalk bruised, looking like hell, a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. I looked like I’d seen death. I’m amazed he didn’t walk down to the clubhouse and put a bullet in between Gunner’s eyes…and probably Jax’s too while he was at it. My father loved me deeply and I practically worshiped him, even with all the shit I put him through. He was a gentle soul even with as large of a man as he was. Seeing that someone had hurt me in that way…I’m shocked he didn’t put aside his gentle heart and get one of the hunting rifles he had out. I think Old Charlie talked him out of it. Made him realize the focus needed to be on taking care of me and then on me getting the hell out of Charming…giving me a chance to start over. My dad dipped into savings we didn’t have and sent me out east at my request. We didn’t talk about that day again…not until a few months before he died. He told me it was one of the worst days of his life because he had to see just what pain I’d gone through…but it was also the moment he knew he could breathe again…I was at my rock bottom and I was going to get better. I spent so long scaring him to death, and me admitting I was just as scared meant that I was going to be okay.”

She was stunned as Chibs finally spoke his hand squeezing hers so tight it was almost painful. She could pick up on a weepy tone to his voice much like the tone he’d picked up when he described his past in Belfast to her. “Oh, Hen…Christ, Love.”

She dared to turn to face him both relieved and surprised she saw no disgust nor any pity. He stared at her his eyes misty but filled with reverence for her. He spoke a storm beginning to brew behind those eyes she’d found such a pleasant shade of brown. She’d realized his eyes made her think of the rich soil in her greenhouse. It was a shade she associated with warmth and life. "If I'd known ya back then...oh, Hen."

He spoke his words anything but warm. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill the prick.”

She shook her head a heavy sigh leaving her knowing that although she wouldn’t mind Gunner meeting karma she didn’t want that karma to come from Chibs. “No, I don’t want that.”

He furrowed his brow fast to speak again. “He practically fuckin’ raped ya, Lass, more than once from what it sounds like…that’s what it was ain’ it? Ya tol’ him to stop and he ignored ya. What do ya call it? How am I suppose’ to not kill him knownin’ all the times he hurt ya.”

She sighed knowing she’d already talked through the question about what her experiences with Gunner meant. 

She took a deep breath, her voice soft. “I know what him not caring about my consent in most of our interactions together means. I’m well aware of it. I’ve had the therapy…and while I would love nothing more than to know that someone put a bullet through his skull…I would rather not have you go on trial for murder over a piece of garbage like him.”

Chibs sighed, tempted to tell her he’d gotten away with murder before…more than once with the cause and in service of SAMCRO. He held in the comment his voice tense. “I could do it. We could both do it, Hen…You got the means to get rid of his body.”

She shook her head giving his hand a soft squeeze as she spoke. “And say you do kill him…then all sorts of shit lands on SAMCRO’s lap. Pretty sure even your brothers talk…they will know all about the altercation at the fairgrounds. They’ve probably already heard about it. Let’s say you go off and kill the bastard and you’re even super subtle about it. SAMCRO and SAMTAC will still put a missing Son together with the last interaction he’d had with another Son over me. Pretty sure those guys you share a patch with are smart enough to connect the dots and realize that the member of one charter killed a member of another charter. I don’t know much about how SAMCRO operates, but I have a feeling that loyalty and falling in line with the good of the club is pretty smiled upon. I don’t think you going off and killing someone from the Tacoma charter over something that happened almost a decade ago is going to be swept under the rug. I have a feeling you going off and making that choice all by yourself is going to be seen as you being reckless in your brothers eyes…pretty sure reckless shit like that is seen as a threat to the club. Something like the Sons of Anarchy can’t survive when threats are allowed to exist.”

He glared down at his barely touched glass of bourbon not helping but to equally hate and adore how smart she was. She was once again proving she could work her way through any rage he felt. She was once again proving to be a voice of reason.

He knew she had a point and a surprising amount of insight as to just how his world within the club operated. The act he wanted to carry out on Gunner was the reason a sign hung in the Chapel at the clubhouse brains before bullets. He hated that she had a point. 

He let out a shaky breath, his voice tight. “I want him dead. I don’ care how long ago this shite happened.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, the action soothing him just the slightest. “I’ve wanted him dead for a while, Baby. Like I said though, it’s a risk I refuse to let you take. You mean way too much to me for me to let you take that risk.”

He let out a shaky sigh, his determination to go out and kill Gunner in cold blood slipping by the second.

He spoke mentally coming to compromise. “If he ever even thinks bout approachin’ you ever again…I’ll fuckin break his hands and his legs…make it so he can’t ride.”

She sighed knowing that this threat of violence wasn’t entirely welcome as far her fears of him placing himself as being seen as a threat to SAMCRO went. She held back the desire to point this out though knowing she had to compromise as well. “Okay, that’s fair.”

She reached out stroking his ever messy hair, his hand remaining locked in hers, his breathing uneven as he tried to calm himself.

She continued to press soft kisses to his cheek, her voice reassuring. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yer fuckin’ wrist tells a different story.” He responded, his stomach turning realizing that the hurt wrist was far from the worst injury she’d endured.

“I’ll heal. I’m pretty resilient. It’s a talent of mine.” She reassured him, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

He sighed closing his eyes, letting her press soft kisses against his cheek, her fingers trailing through his hair, as he continued to will himself to let go of the rage he felt.

She spoke after a long moment of silence daring to bring up the reassurance he’d given her before they’d gone down this road. “Have you changed how you feel about me? Knowing what you know?”

“Never gonna change how I feel bout ya.” He stated zero hesitation on his lips the comment soothing her fears so easily.

She dared to press the issue needing to know. “Even with the information about Jax?”

He sighed, rolling the question around in his brain. To be honest, he’d anticipated this information being a possibility. He had noticed enough through their interactions with one another to guess that there was a history there. 

He wasn’t exactly thrilled by the history, but a voice in the back of his brain was quick to point out that it was exactly that history.

He spoke a small sigh escaping his lips. “Pretty sure ya ain’ interested in gettin back together with him.”

“I was never together with him, Filip. We had a very dysfunctional bond and we were both distracting each other from our own shit. Trust me though, it’s not a bond I’m looking to rekindle. We were never a couple. He may have looked out for me while I was going through my self-destructive phase at the clubhouse. He was far from being in a romantic relationship with me though. He never took me on an actual date. He didn’t hold my hand. He didn’t take me to get snow cones. We had zero interest in becoming anything more than a convenient fuck and a way to cope with our own issues. Christ, if we’d ever become an item we would have been disastrous…like the Titanic sinking level disaster.”

He nodded his head, giving her hand a squeeze he quick to reassure her. “I know. I’m the only one takin’ ya to get snow cones and holdin’ yer hand.”

She gave him a tight half smile shaking her head as she spoke. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you any of this. What do you tell the guy you’re super into that you’ve fucked a few of the guys he shares a brotherhood with?”

He gave her hand another squeeze, the words coming to him so easily. “Aye, pretty sure the lad yer into is into ya ‘nough that he doesn’t see much of a poin’ in gettin’ jealous over shite that happened almos’ a decade ago when he didn’t even know ya. We all got our indiscretions, Lass.”

He paused a small playful smirk crossing his features. “I’m also pretty sure the lad knows yer not interested in any of his brothers. Think he’s realized yer only interested in gettin’ a good thorough Glaswegian humpin’”

She scrunched her nose up at the comment though it didn’t fail to pull a giggle out of her, the sound beautiful to his ears after how dreadful the night had gone. “A thorough one huh?”

“Aye, I’m no’ one to disappoint, Hen.” He reassured her his lips pressing to hers the kiss soft.

She returned the kiss not shocked as it grew impassioned with little time. It was a trend she’d noticed with their latest kisses. It was far too easy to get lost in the feel of his lips against hers.

They closed their eyes, easily getting lost in one another the roller coaster of emotions of the night spilling out through their lips. They both found themselves chasing a feeling of security and adoration after the events of tonight. 

She pressed a hand to his cheek, his hands sliding placing at her sides pulling her closer to him.

She couldn’t help but to get the sense that he was pouring all of his reassurances about what he’d heard tonight and his promises to continue to adore her and protect her in the kisses.

His mouth coaxed hers open with no effort, his tongue sliding across hers; she was always happy to allow him to dominate the kisses. He was far too great of a kisser to not fully allow him to take the reins. She had found that even with as headstrong as she was, she was perfectly happy to let him take control. 

His hands roamed her body, apparently unsatisfied with staying stationary at her waist. She placed a hand on the back of his head, messing his short hair, her other hand stroking his jawline. 

She let out a soft moan as he took a chance turning them just enough to rest against the sofa he found a place hovering over her.

She parted her thighs, an approving groan leaving his lips against the kisses as he found his place between her parted thighs.

She moaned a hot wash of lust sliding over her like a caress as he began to rock against her clearly intentending on giving her a preview of that Glaswegian humping he was teasing her about.

The fabric of the denim of their jeans felt far too thick at the moment and she was overwhelmed with the desire to rid them both of the offending fabric. It was a sin to have such a thick fabric between the perfect friction she knew they were capable of building. 

She gasped her hands sliding underneath his kutte caressing his back through his shirt. She couldn’t help but to feel frustrated by how many layers he seemed to wear. He could do with far less of them in her opinion, especially at this moment.

She was surprised as he moved his lips from hers pressing them down her jawline down to her neck. He nipped at the delicate skin quick to follow the love bites with soft kisses and gentle swipes of his tongue. 

She whimpered disappointed as he pulled back from her, his eyes no longer dark with anger but a distinct hint of lust and longing. He spoke an idea entering his mind. “Do you trust me, Hen?”

The words came to her so suddenly she was surprised that she didn't have to take a moment to consider what he was asking her. It seemed that none of the voices in the back of her head that usually taunted her about what she was falling into with SAMCRO were present at the moment. “Yes.”

He moved from her, she frowning a little confused as he stood up, his hand reaching out to hers.

She expected him to pull her up from the sofa to join him but instead pulled her only into a sitting position. 

He got her to turn in her seat before he stepped between her legs. She frowned even more confused as he got down on his knees in front of her. He pressed his lips to hers not giving her long to contemplate what his plan was.

She returned the kiss with enthusiasm, a low disappointed whine leaving her as his lips parted from hers. He spoke a low chuckle leaving him the comment more to himself than to her. “Greedy, Love.”

He pressed his lips down her neck not giving her long to focus on the comment, his lips pressing soft sucking kisses into her skin. She had a feeling if he hadn’t already given her a successful hickey then he was going to do it quite soon. 

He placed his hands on her sides, slowly sliding them under her top. His hands caressing her warm skin making her shiver ever so slightly at the contrast of his warm hands and the cold of his biker rings. His hands were rough from working in the garage at TM Auto, and his other activities with the Sons most likely, but his touch remained soft and full of reverence. 

She gasped as he began to pull the top up, his lips parting from her neck, his voice gentle waiting for her response to proceed with pulling her top up too high. “This okay, Hen?”

She nodded her head he fast to speak again. “I need words, Love.”

She felt her heart flutter with adoration when she realized what he was doing; waiting for her to give him the go ahead. 

He recalled her previous comment about Gunner not exactly respecting consent. It was so obvious that he was making it clear that nothing he planned on doing with her tonight was going to be done without enthusiastic consent from her.

She found the words it hitting her she was right to tell him she trusted him. “Yes, please.”

He pulled the shirt up and over her head a low appreciative groan leaving his lips as the sight of her lace covered breasts. The bra was soft pink and sweet looking just like the pink of the converse he’d spotted on her feet more than once and the soft pink of her nails he’d noticed that first day the Sons had visited her downstairs at the Funeral Home.

He was tempted to unfasten the bra and reveal what lay under the delicate looking lace, but held back quickly deciding he wanted to take his time with her and what he had planned for them both.

He spoke the words soft. “Fuckin perfect breasts, Hen.”

She felt a soft gasp leave her knowing it was not the first time a man had made an attempt to comment on her assets, but she was quite certain no man had ever sounded so certain of his praise.

She had a distinct feeling that Chibs Telford wasn’t just feeding her empty bedroom talk.

He pressed his lips to hers moving them eagerly down her chin and down the expanse of her throat. He pressed soft adoring kisses to her skin, she closing her eyes sinking back into the sensation.

The rough scratch of his facial hair tickled against her skin. His lips were slightly chapped. But the kisses were so gentle. It felt as though he was certain if he kissed her too hard she might shatter underneath him.

He pressed his lips down to the cleavage he’d so shamelessly admired more times than he could count. His kisses remained adoring and sweet working more soft noises from her.

He groaned against the plush feel of her cleavage and the scratch of the lace covering the breasts he’d been so fast to compliment. 

The more base part of his brain wanted to rip the bra right off her. He wanted to bury his face between her breasts. He wanted to suckle her nipples, making the little buds harden to a point. He wanted to suck love bites into the delicate skin of her breasts. He wanted to unfasten his belt and yank his jeans and boxers down. He wanted to slide his quickly waking cock between the valley of her breasts before cumming down into her open mouth or better yet along her skin marking her with his seed.

He shoved the thought from his mind though it did not fail to work a moan from him. He silently shoved back his hormones telling himself that tonight would not be about his pleasure.

There would be plenty of time for him to reach his own gratification with her body. Tonight was going to be about her. He was determined to worship her the way she deserved.

She giggled as he buried his head against her breasts, rubbing his face against them, a low hum leaving him. The action of motorboating her was unexpected but did make the act of what he seemed to be leading up to feel playful and light.

She wasn’t sure if she’d ever felt something this light and adoring with any other man.

He pulled his head reluctantly from her breasts pressing his lips down further sliding them along her torso. 

She sighed, sinking further into the touch still unable to get over how gentle the kisses to her skin remained. She giggled as his body moved at a somewhat awkward angle, bumping into the coffee table behind him, the glasses of bourbon sloshing a little. He spoke a low noise of frustration leaving him. “Bleedin’ table.”

His frustration with the odd angle didn’t last long before he spoke, his hands sliding along the button of her jeans. His voice remained soft, his breath warm against her skin, he toying with the button to her jeans. “We okay to lose these, Hen? Talk to me, Love.”

She found her voice nodding her head frantically. “Yes, we’re okay.”

He moved slowly unbuttoning the jeans and lowering the zipper. She lifted her hips up obediently as he placed his hands at the hem of her jeans pulling the dark denim down her body.

The jeans slid down her legs, he tossing them aside. She felt all too exposed in front of him and suddenly wished she’d chosen a more flattering pair of panties than the simple lilac cotton panties she’d worn. 

She didn’t have too long to worry that the choice wasn’t the most seductive as Chibs spoke his voice once again so full of awe. “Gorgeous, Hen. Mos’ perfect sigh’ I’ve ever seen, Mo ghràidh.” 

She didn’t have long to question the unfamiliar words he’d ended the comment with his lips pressing to her thighs, his facial hair tickling her skin enough to work a giggle from her lips, the action putting a smile on his lips.

He worked slowly pressing his lips to the soft skin of her thighs, not minding the awkward angle he had to bend his body in to perform this action with her sitting on the sofa.

He had a feeling any odd cricks he might develop in his neck would be well worth it.

He pressed his lips to both thighs before delicately pressing them along her hips. She gasped as he pressed his lips against her center. He pressed soft kisses through the cotton fabric, a moan leaving him as he realized just how damp the panties had grown.

He spoke his voice an appreciative growl. “I barely even touched ya an’ yer already so wet fer me, Hen.”

She moaned the comment making her cheeks flush from more than arousal. She couldn't find it in her to be too embarrassed at her body’s reaction to him. She spoke making her wants clear. “Take my panties off, Filip.”

He moaned his cock throbbing against the confines of his jeans at the demand. It was beyond a clear enthusiastic consent he’d been requesting from her from the moment they’d started this.

He obeyed his fingers sliding under the fabric she lifted her hips once again helping him slide the fabric from her body.

He moaned, tossing the fabric aside he focused less on them and more focused on what lay below them.

He groaned at the sight of her his cock throbbing all the more persistently. He spoke his voice a low moan. “Fuckin’ beautiful sigh’. Never seen somethin’ so perfect.”

She felt her cheeks flush all the darker knowing in the past when a guy she particularly liked had her this exposed she would be tempted to press her legs together and hide herself from his gaze.

Chibs hands on her thighs showed her though that he had little intention of even allowing her to think of hiding her center from him.

She was relieved that she’d recently thought to take care of her bikini line though she did it at home. She might occasionally get her legs waxed professionally, but the idea of allowing anyone to professionally wax such a sensitive area of her body made her feel beyond awkward.

So, she groomed herself using a razor made for the process to shave her bikini line and the occasional wax strip. She took care of everything in a warm bath carefully taking care of the act of grooming. She kept things neat and trimmed, not ever having been one to want to wax off everything completely.

She’d had a few boyfriends in the past comment on any sign of pubic hair with disgust as though somehow hair on her body was any more disgusting than hair on their body. 

She was relieved that Chibs did not seem to mind the fact that she didn’t care to go for a brazilian wax. The look of lust in his eyes told her that he was not one to turn his nose up at the slightest hint of pubic hair. 

He moved at the best angle for this, encouraging her to slide her body down the sofa and place her legs over his shoulders putting him at a closer angle to her soaked center. 

He spoke his voice low and need filled. “Let me eat this pussy, Hen. Wanna make ya feel so good.”

She nodded her head the words that left her a soft gasp. “Please, Filip.”

The permission was all the inspiration he needed for him to bury his face against her center. He ran his tongue slowly through her wet folds, running them from her perineum up to her clit. 

He gently lapped at her, taking his time clearly enjoying himself. He was overtaken about how absolutely soaked she felt. 

It was a massive ego boost to realize that he was drawing this reaction from her. He’d dreamed about how wet she could get for him from the moment he’d first realized he wanted her. He was quite certain if he didn’t have his mouth currently occupied he’d exclaim how lucky he felt in this moment to have her and how badly he’d been dreaming of it. 

He’d never imagined that day he’d first met her at the crematorium that he’d have the privilege of eating her pussy. He’d hoped he would have the opportunity to romance her and had dreamed of what that might entail. Reality made his dreams pale in comparison though. 

He could admit that he was currently overtaken with the thought that this was as close to heaven as he ever might get. He was certain he could die happy here with his face buried against her wet center knowing he was the one pleasing her.

He was also capable of admitting that he had always loved giving oral though it was not a privilege he had with many of his bedroom partners.

He’d never been fond of going down on the croweaters without some form or protection. He was less than inclined to do anything sexual with them without protection. Dental dams could often be frustrating to deal with though so he rarely went down on the women who were all too happy to bed any member of SAMCRO. It was because they were so willing to bed any member of SAMCRO, that Chibs found himself unwilling to engage with anything sexual with them without a condom or dental dam. He was not about to risk getting an STD in exchange for some quick pleasure.

Given his lack of opportunity to eat pussy, he was almost worried he’d lost his touch. Judging by Y/N’s reaction though, he felt confident in saying he still had it.

She placed a hand over one of the hands he had pressed to her thigh gently caressing it.

He moved his hand placing it over hers linking their fingers together as continued to lap at her with enthusiasm. 

She pressed a hand to the back of his head, her fingers digging into his scalp, the action working a low growl from him, the noise vibrating against her center. 

She whined as he used his free hand to gently press between his mouth and her center. He found the hood over her clit pushing it back gently, his tongue sliding over the sensitive bud the action causing a high pitched whine to leave her, her thighs shaking at the action.

He alternated between lapping at her center flattening his tongue , suckling the lips of her labia and gently suckling at her clit. He found a rhythm that made her gasp and tremble against him. He spent a good long while repeating the routine more soft moans and whines of his name leaving her the sound spurring him on. 

She felt his name slide from her lips, the noise feeling more like a prayer as she soaked up his ministrations. 

She was quite sure that no one had ever eaten her out with this much skill nor this much enthusiasm. She was almost certain that even if he lacked the skill that the enthusiasm would make up for it all on its own. She was pleased to find that ability and eagerness seemed to be hand in hand when it came to his talents in this act. 

Being in this moment with him easily made how horrible tonight had been easily started to fade so far from her mind. The only thing she could focus on was the man pleasing her and how she was sure she could never be without him.

When he’d first shown her a hint of interest she’d been so certain she wanted him to get lost. Now, she was sure she never wanted to lose him. She was sure she would do whatever it took to keep him by her side. The realization that she’d do anything for him did not frighten her. It seemed so obvious that she’d do anything for him. It felt like a simple fact. It was as though she was explaining that the sky was up and she needed oxygen to survive. 

He kept his gaze locked on her as he pleased her, staring up at her body taking in how stunning she was; her skin flushed, her lips parted, her head fallen back. She was by far the most stunning woman he’d ever laid eyes on and somehow she was here with him of all people. He was determined to keep her here by his side. He’d do anything for her. He knew he’d proven that by his declaration that he’d kill for her tonight. 

She gasped as he began to focus all the more on her clit, the bud growing more swollen the more her arousal spiked. The words slid from her she unable to stop herself. “Feels too fucking good, Baby, please. Please, Baby.”

Chibs groaned against her, the praise making his cock throb so violently it was almost painful. He was tempted to reach down and at least unfasten his belt and jeans to give him some relief. He reminded himself that tonight was for her though. He would ignore his aching erection if it meant focusing on pleasing her. 

He kept up his attention on her clit realizing that if he kept it up she would reach her end sooner than later.

She gasped her back arching as her end became closer and closer within grasp. His name worked from her lips, the praise leaving her. “So fucking good Filip. Too good to me, Baby.” 

He moaned against her wanting to exclaim that it was her who was too good to him. He wanted to exclaim that she was probably too good for a man like him and he was thankful and in awe she wanted him. His desire to push her over the edge kept him from voicing this though his attention remained on her clit.

He gently suckled at the bundle of nerves, the action making a low curse leave her, her back arching all the more.

She spoke her voice a soft gasp voicing her impending fall. “So close, Please, Filip.”

Her hand grasped on to his all the tighter her nails digging into his skin, her thighs beginning to quiver the end so close now.

A low tingle of pleasure began to develop in her rising and building within her, her body growing tense. Her fingers grasped onto the back of his head tugging at his short hair, the action working a hiss from him though he didn’t allow it to distract him.

Her body twitched her thighs locking around his head as she felt herself slide over the edge, the orgasm hitting her hard. Cries of his name left her lips along with the pet name she’d given him tonight Baby.

He groaned, working her through her orgasm eagerly lapping at her wet center a pleased noise leaving him at the knowledge that he’d pleased her this much. A smug voice in the back of his head exclaimed that this was all for him.

He kept his tongue flattened gently running it through her center as her body grew slack as she came down from her fall.

She whined her body jerking against the action. It was clear she had become oversensitive and the act was going from being pleasurable to feeling overwhelming.

He reluctantly parted from her center gazing up at her as he wiped the dampness of her arousal from his lips and facial hair.

He pressed his lips to her stomach moving them up her body not minding how clammy her skin had grown under his treatment.

She seemed to be pulled from her post-orgasmic haze as his lips pressed to hers, she finding the taste of herself on his lips strange but not entirely unappealing. 

She moved her hand down his chest sliding it down his torso slowly as they continued to kiss.

He groaned as she slid her hand over the obvious bulge in his jeans giving his erection a light squeeze.

He was tempted to allow her to proceed. He was tempted to let her please him the way he’d pleased her just moments ago.

He resisted though reluctantly pulling from her grasp. He spoke his voice reassuring as he noticed her frown, she fearing she’d made some misstep. “I wan’ tha’ more than ya know Mo ghràidh. Tonigh’ ain’ bout me though, Hen. What I jus’ did was all fer ya, Hen. Tonigh’ is jus’ fer ya, Lass. It’s bout me showin’ ya jus’ how ya deserve to be treated.”

She was certain her heart might overflow with adoration at the words. She was tempted to insist that she wanted to give him pleasure. Tonight was about her but she wanted to make him feel good too.

She kept the words within though certain he meant business. It seemed he had no intention of worrying about getting himself off tonight. She felt her heart swell at the last part of his statement. He wanted to show her how she deserved to be treated.

She pressed her lips to his the kiss chaste considering what they’d just done. She spoke her voice soft. “My sweet man.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, unable to stop herself from saying it. “You have given me more than I deserve.”

“Nah, no’ enough.” He insisted making her heart swell for him all the more.

She pressed another kiss to his cheek, the words that left her pleading. “Stay with me tonight. Sleep here with me.”

He pressed his lips to hers as he spoke knowing she didn’t need to plead with him for him to give in to the offer. “Aye, Hen. Don’ wanna rest my head anywhere else.”

He wrapped his arms around her holding her against him feeling the rage he’d felt tonight fade too far for him to grasp.

He closed his eyes holding her tight promising himself he’d find more ways to show her what she deserved. He wanted to do what it took to be worthy of her trust and her desire to have him sleep by her side.

He let his mind marinate over the details she’d given him about her past, a promise crossing his mind. No one would ever mistreat her again. He made a silent promise to himself that she would never know that pain again. She would never have a reason to fall into chaos to escape pain. No one would ever harm her as long as he was around.

He would do whatever it took to keep her safe by his side. He would do what it took to make sure that he deserved to be by her side.

[atopvisenyashill]

every time i see someone say the blacks are less interesting just bc their story is more straightforward i put another dime in my sword jar omgggg i’m sorry u have no taste and don’t think the gender fuckery and politics of rhaenyra and jacaerys navigating a dynamic that a mother and son would never navigate because her body will NEVER be his property and he BELONGS to her in a way no other first born son has to deal with, and also apparently don’t like the MAGIC PLOT in the FANTASY SHOW

[besthimbomachine]

I'm doing taxes so to help me survive the ultimate adulthood nightmare send me asks about my planned fics!! I'm gonna list them below and you can just ask me anything!

my love when it counted (ch 3 is done and I got like 3 more already well planned)

take me to the edge and back (hangman request after revolution, smut)

a long, lonely time (hangman request, friends to lovers, fluff)

some you do for love (hangman/bcc feu request, friends to lovers, fluff with some violence)

title shot (kenny smut where reader is a wrestler who just won the women's title)

leave it to the land (kenny werewolf! AU, probably multichapter, certainly smut)

[reyadawn]

My Protector

*image not mine, credit goes to owner*

Summary: Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson. VP of Bad Omens notorious MC in Los Angeles, California. Loyal to a "T" and tough as nails...until she started working as one of the new bartenders and completely broke through his walls.

Pairings: Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x Reader

Warnings: 🔞+, language, kissing, hair pulling, fingering, breeding!kink, praise!kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), creampie

Word Count: 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Dedicated to @philomenie 🤭🤭 Hope you're thoroughly fed after this!

Enjoy ✌️❤️

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Bad Omens. Known to L.A as one of the most notorious and reputable motorcycle chapters. However, they weren't your typical sterotype. They helped out in the community, always donating or helping to set up fundraisers for kids and other various events around the city. Funnily enough, it also happens to be the name of the heavy metal rock band they perform as.

I had just moved to California, having needed a fresh start from a nasty divorce. I probably could have stayed back east but the painful memories that were left had me shutting the door on that part of my life. I found a job as a bartender at a quaint hole-in-the-wall establishment called Third Base. Upon first seeing the signage I had burst into hysterics. It was definitely a man who came up with the name and I wanted nothing more than to clap the guy on his back and give him a medal for creativity.

BBZZZZ! BBZZZZ!

I groaned, rolling over in bed, sheets half tangled around my legs to turn off the alarm blaring annoyingly at me from my phone. I sighed, flopping back against the pillows and glancing out my window between sheer purple curtains. It was semi-light outside but it wouldn't be that way for long. The bar opened at 6:00pm and Misty, the manager, needed me there at 5:30pm to start training. Not that I needed any, I had quite a bit of experience.

I untangled myself from the sheets and meandered into the bathroom for a shower. My clothes were already laid out on the bathroom counter from earlier in the day. I hosed off and stepped out, wrapping the towel around my breasts and I cringed momentarily at the body staring back at me before towel drying my hair. I normally threw it up but descided to leave it down, letting it cascade down between my shoulder blades. I hurridly got dressed, donning a purple Bad Omens tank top, black yoga pants and biker boots. I quickly threw on lipgloss and body spray, grabbing my phone and heading down the hall to grab my purse and keys.

Reaching down, I gave my forrest cat Orion a good scratch behind his ears and I was out the door. Luckily, my apartment was on the ground floor and my silver Malibu was parked right out front. The bar was just a couple of blocks over so it wouldn't take long to get there.

L.A. definitely looked different at night. Lights from businesses and restaurants lit the sky like diamonds and more people seemed to come out of the woodwork. The bar's parking lot was already full as I approached, driving around back to where the staff parked. The side of the building had quite a few motorcycles parked side by side and one in particular caught my eye.

The bike, which happened to be a Harley-Davidson Dyna-Glide Super Glide Sport, was a sleek and glossy black without so much as a scratch on it. I smirked. How very Sons of Anarchy this entire lineup was as I turned the corner and went inside.

The bar was filled to capacity as waitresses walked the floor with trays to serve drinks, appetizers and dinner. Most of the patrons were bikers, some from the Bad Omens chapter, others from Dayseeker mixed with a few regular civilians.

I barely got behind the bar, wrapping an apron around my waist when Misty came barreling out of the side door with two trays, one in each hand, grey hair wild about her face and shoulders.

"Follow me, baby girl. Let's go! Table six, grab a tray", she said as I all but ran to catch up. By the time she and I reached the table, I had earned so many ass slaps that I regretted wearing yoga pants.

"Evenin', boys. How'd the show go last night?", Misty asked, setting bottles of beer down in front of a group of bikers. Glancing at each man in turn, I knew what the names meant on thier cuts: Folio and Ruffilo were Prospects, Sebastian was President but my gaze lingered on the VP whose name was Jolly.

Long dark hair pulled half up, sunglasses resting on the top of his head, clean shaven, white t-shirt under his cut showcasing his left arm completely covered in tattoos. All of them sported tattoos although I think the President housed more.

"It was a great turn out. Tons of energy like always", Folio said, taking a healthy drink from the bottle.

"Good to hear. Sorry I missed you boys. Got a bar to run and a newbie to train", Misty replied, elbowing my ribs to break the stare I had on Jolly. She rolled her hazel eyes and I could feel my face grow hot as she and I turned and headed back to the bar, weaving through tables and getting round two of ass slaps. Goddamn bikers.

"In Noah and Jolly's office is an inventory list on a clipboard. Need you to grab it. We need more Vodka, Gin and Amaretto. Shoo, now", Misty said, pushing me down a hallway on the other side of the bar.

"Are you sure I'm even allowed in there?", I asked nervously, turning back to her. Over her shoulder, I could see Jolly getting up from the table, his dark eyes staring right at me as he made his way over. Misty shot me a scowl and I turned again down the hallway past the restrooms, supply closet, kitchen doors and to the last door on the left right by the 'EXIT'.

I cautiously opened the door marked 'OFFICE' and poked my head inside. A large oak desk, framed vinyls on the walls, a brown leather futon and a few filing cabinets were all that decorated the room. Before I could do much more, the door suddenly flew open the rest of the way as a hand wrapped around my upper arm and all but shoved me inside. I whirled around in anger but stopped short when I saw it was Jolly.

"Jolly, what the fuck?", I spat. Jolly's gaze darkened and I took a step back.

"Watch who you speak to, karaste ...remember, you're in my territory", Jolly replied softly. His accent wasn't American, despite the fact he spoke English well. I swallowed thickly, pressing my thighs together. Jolly's gaze dropped to catch the movement and he smirked, approaching me. I suddenly backed up all the way to the desk before the edge had me forcibly sitting on the top.

Jolly stood directly in front of me, forcing my thighs apart to slot his narrow hips between them. I leaned back, palms flat on the desk but Jolly growled, actually fucking growled, and wrapped his hand around my neck to haul me closer to him. Liquid heat pooled in the thin cotton panties I wore, my clit throbbing to life and my walls clenching around nothing.

"What are we going to do about this little attitude of yours, karaste? Hm?", he taunted, fingers squeezing ever so slightly as his other hand grabbed a fistful of my hair to tilt my head back. I blinked and then his lips were on mine. The kiss was slow, deliberate, like he was savouring everything, putting it all to memory. My thighs involuntarily squeezed around his hips as he suddenly broke the kiss, my lips tingling. I whimpered at the loss and Jolly smirked evily before grabbing my yoga pants and hauling them down my legs. My boots stopped them from going further but Jolly simply stepped over them, hardened cock hidden behind denim now pressed firmly against my soaked cunt, the material rubbing against my clit and causing my eyes to roll back.

"Jolly...", I moaned, my own voice sounding wanton. Jesus Christ, I was a mess, practically falling apart for a man I just met. Jolly reached between us to swipe his fingers through the slick that coated my cunt, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean. Dear God, this man was on the verge of making me entirely unhinged.

He then unbuttoned and unzipped the front of his jeans, pulling a cock into view that was more than impressive.

"Come on, karaste, and open up for me", Jolly said, pushing the head of his cock into my dripping cunt. I tipped my head back, mouth open on a silent moan, as his cock slowly, agonizingly stretched and filled me inch by inch...and there were quite a few inches to be had. Jolly's hands tightened on my hips as he momentarily held himself inside me. It was all I could do not to thrash beneath him, my arms reaching up to wrap around his shoulders.

"J-Jolly...p-please move...please", I whispered, begging him to give me the friction I needed. Jolly brought his lips to mine in response as he slowly pulled his cock out, almost to the head, before slamming it back inside me, nerve endings coming alight. He repeated the act, this time his thumb pressing to my swollen clit and I saw stars, coating his cock and no doubt the front of his jeans.

"Oh, poor baby, you come already? This cock make you feel that good? What a good fucking girl you are", Jolly replied, pulling his lips from mine, his thrusts becoming faster, hips slapping against my dripping cunt. Each drag and pull of his cock had my brain melting until my whole body was buzzing. "Give me more...come on, sweet girl...one more".

Jolly rubbed furious circles over my already overly stimulated clit, his cock now pistoning even faster and harder inside me. My arms gripped his shoulders tighter, my thighs squeezing him harder as my body spiraled into an orgasm so powerful I threw my head back and screamed, my voice echoing around the small office.

"Good girl...oh, such a good girl you are, coming all over my cock...gonna' fill you up, sweet girl...tell me you want me to...tell me to fill this tight cunt of mine...mine...mine", Jolly demanded, hips snapping harshly against me.

"Fill me up...p-please....p-please...I can't", I said, clawing at his cut, nails creating half moons in the leather. Jolly gave one final deep thrust and his cock pulsed as thick ropes of come splashed against my cervix, painting my walls. I tried to scream again as my orgasm hit, but he slapped a hand over my mouth. Jolly kept shuttling his cock inside me, the audible squelching sound of our mixed releases resounding in the room.

"Your cries of pleasure are mine and mine alone", Jolly said, chest heaving as he sucked in gulps of air, mimicking my own ragged breathing. "You're mine. No else gets to see you fall apart like this. No one. Understand? You're mine to protect". I stared at him in shock, only nodding.

Jolly finally stilled and slowly drew his cock free of the tight confines of my still dripping cunt, wincing at the loss of fullness. He carefully stepped over my boots to readjust himself before giving me a lingering kiss, turning and walking out of the office. The quiet click of the door was deafening.

My brain struggled to process the quickie I just had in the office of a bar as I tried to get my breathing under control.

What just happened?

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@concreteemo @concreteangel92 @burgandeerose @philomenie @artificialstardust @amourtoken @bloodylullaby @bluestdai @collidewiththesavannah @dsireland86 @english-fucker @exitwoundsx @flowery-mess @fadingintothegrey @iamamatus @iluvmewwwww75 @kaliforniahigh @lilhobgobbler @lovexsleepyhead @livingdeceasedgirl @sacredthefran @somewhere-diamond @somebodyllelse @yarasdead @lolitasangel

[lemon-russ]

I lived, bitch. jk I am back and feeling much better after being run over by the metaphorical train of my failing body lol.

The poll has time but Wolf Mother is winning, it was good I asked because I thought it was one that people weren't super into, but I'm glad for it! It was a nice change of pace writing Leman again ❤️

Thanks @squishyowl for dividers! Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @scriberye @undeaddream

Wolf Mother (Ch. 3)

<Prev. | Next>

Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Leman Russ x Fem OC

CW: Trauma/ PTSD, Talk of missing limbs/ prosthetics/ bionics, General WH40k violence (playful fighting here), If I miss any let me know!!

Summary: Wren gets a tour of The Fang.

Word count: 2,932

Small note: previously I wrote Wren was in the Astra Millitarium. Obviously she can't be, we are in 30k. I corrected it in the first chapter to the Auxilia, which was my original intent, I just mixed up Imperial Guard and Imperial Army. Fixed now :)

Wren scrambles behind Leman as he makes his way through the tunnels of The Fang. ”So, Paper-thrall, what use will you be exactly?” Leman asks, inquisitive Space Wolves eyeing her as they pass.

Wren frowns a bit as she is leered at like a new chew toy, but the wolves seem to be curious and nothing more. “Well, for Lord Guilliman, I’ve been handling things like logistics paperwork, transfers, budget approval forms…” she says, trying to keep pace with his long strides.

Russ scoffs. “Busywork. Leave it to Roboute to have a form for every bolt round that changes hands.” He chuckles, leading her to a rickety lift. The platform never stops its slow movement, just suspended standing decks going up on one side and down on the other perpetually down a rock hewn shaft. She nervously hops on behind him and they are lowered down the dark hole down a few floors.

Russ disembarks the lift at one of the openings, and when he sees Wren not keeping up, he reaches back and picks her up by the scruff of her coat and plops her next to him. She blinks, a little confused, but just blushes as she returns to chasing after him.

“Having clear and concise forms and regulations keeps things moving,” she stammers as she catches up to him again. “Without it, how would we know when to order more supplies? Or who is where and who is available-”

“You just tell someone.” Russ chuckles. “My sons tell me we are almost out of rounds when they see we are low, and they tell me where they are going. All the paperwork causes is headaches for little thralls.” He says, smiling down at her in amusement.

Wren’s mouth twists down. “That sounds like anarchy.” She replies flatly.

“Hah!” The primarch barks a laugh, “Anarchy, or freedom from your tedium? We get things done just the same.” He gestures through an archway. “Come, I will show you around the main areas of the Aett. It is vast and complex for little baselines, so try not to get lost.”

Leman leads her through what feels like miles of caverns. Wren’s legs and lungs ache from having to jog after him. While she was a little out of shape since she’s been on desk duties, she still kept up on her fitness as any good ultramarine employee would. But Russ was tall, taller than Guilliman, his brisk walk and long legs outruns her jogging. He doesn’t slow for her, just expecting her to keep pace.

As he shows her various store rooms and barrack areas, she pulls out a notebook and starts noting things that she’ll need to start organizing. No inventory sign-outs in the storerooms, no regular counts on supplies, things tossed into mixed crates and shoved on shelves. She was going to need to commandeer a small army of serfs to get this place in working order. She stops and grimaces when they pass the bathing and laundry areas. Piles of dirty clothes lay haphazardly around washing pools where tired serfs scrub them by hand over stone with lye soaps. She notes to ask to import at least some rudimentary cleaning machines like wringers and wash tubs.

Everywhere they go she sees the same things, unorganized supplies with serfs working with incredibly low tech tools that make things take ages to finish. Which makes them not have time to organize and clean as much, so the mess piles and piles. Wren starts laying out the overhauls she would need to make to get things moving efficiently.

Leman peeks over her shoulder at her notes, making her jump with a start.

“Inventory lists? Washing Barrels? Rotating thrall schedules? Skíthof little paper-thrall, you worry about such minor things.” He chuckles, ruffling her hair.

She frowns and lets out a huff from her nose, pushing her hair back in place. “Minor things build up, My Lord. All the time wasted with having to search for supplies and wash clothes by hand make up hours and hours of wasted time, and more wasted time means more Serfs needed to run the place, which means more food and housing for them.” She says tiredly, closing her notebook with a snap.

He tilts his head, standing upright again. “So? We have plenty of food for the thralls, we are good hunters, and we have many miles of caves for them to live.” He shrugs. “Why not have many of them live here and not bother with the teeny details?”

Wren scrunched her brow and sighed. “Because it’s, well, inefficient. And messy…” But Russ was already walking ahead, ignoring her again.

He stops at a large archway, and she smells bread and meat wafting invitingly through the halls. Her stomach grumbles, she hasn’t eaten since getting on the thunderhawk this morning. Leman smirks at her, then nods at the archway. “Come, little paper-thrall. We don’t let let our pack go hungry.”

They head into the warm, bright hall, full of space wolves talking and laughing and eating. The sweet, acrid smell of Mjød mixes with the warm bread aroma, and a large crackling hearth serves as backdrop to an Astartes telling an animated story to a group of space wolves and baselines alike, who enthusiastically cheer and laugh at his tale.

Wren sighs and happily takes the seat next to Leman at a long table, her hand going to knead at her thigh above her bionic leg. Though her bionic moves it’s own weight, she still needed to use her real muscle to lift it. She hasn’t had to push it so much yet, and her quad thrums sorely.

Russ watches her hand massaging her leg thoughtfully, but is interrupted from whatever he was about to say when a couple of Space wolves sit across from them, grinning and giddily staring down Wren.

“See-” The blond one says and elbows his brother, “I told you, The Wolf King has a new pet.”

His redheaded brother tilts his head curiously at her, then leans over the table and sniffs at her, making her shrink back with a frown.

“She smells odd.” He huffs.

Wren furrowed her brow at that, sniffing her own shirt. Leman laughs though, “She is not my pet, she is my paper-thrall.” He proclaims. ”Assistant.” She adds with a sigh. “I’m his assistant.”

The wolves tilt their head at her again, then smile wide. They are young enough to not have fangs yet, and playfully move to sit next to her, making her pull back into herself as she’s suddenly dwarfed by the massive marines.

“You smell odd.” The blond one says happily. The red haired one who sniffed her first does so again.

“Yes, you smell like Ultramarines.” He adds. He gently tugs on the sleeve of her poofy coat. “And you wear their inferior clothes. Do you not have furs?”

“My coat is fine-” she starts, but the red haired blood claw interrupts.

“Ah, has no one killed for you yet? Is that why you have to wear silly clothes?” ”My clothes are not si-” she squeaks out, trying to crowbar her words between them uselessly.

“She must not!” The blond replies, “Would you like me to kill a Great Bear for you?” He asks excitedly. Wren could almost see his metaphorical tail wagging.

“No no- I will get you a much nicer pelt than Thorarr would, let me.” The Redhead interjects, grinning ear to ear.

The blond, Thorarr, scowls at his brother. “Myrnir, I would slay a far greater bear than you. You only attack small, weak bears that are easy kills.” He gruffs as he crosses his arms.

Myrnir scowls back. “How would you know! You have not seen me hunt-” his brother rebuked.

“I have see the sad pelt you presented that thrall girl who polishes your armor, it is no wonder she rejected you.” He retorted.

Suddenly they are on their feet, growling and snapping words at each other, Wren forgotten. She blinks a few times, disoriented for a moment at the sudden shift. The blood claws argue and shove at each other, Russ, however just chuckles. “The youngest of my sons have less restraint.” He tells her as he reaches across the table to a wooden tray of breads, handing her a large roll. “Their attention is fleet and their tempers hot. They will outgrow it after a few decades of battle.”

The blood claws start grappling at each other, and an older wolf throws a large mug at them, conking the redhead in the back of the head. “Take it to the fight grounds before you break another table!” He scolds the pair. Myrnir grumbles, rubbing his skull where the tankard hit him, and they both stalk out of the hall.

Wren chuckles to herself, “They are certainly spirited.” She says, taking a bite of the roll. It’s grainy and hearty, and she wonders when the last time she had anything that tasted so much like real food was. It feels like it’d been a decade at least since her meals didn’t come from a package.

Leman rumbles a low chuckle in his chest. “That’s why they go first in battle. To get them trained, to let out their energy, and so they don’t clip anyone else on the way in.” He says with a smile. He glances back at her hand, still kneading her thigh. “I’m sure you were similar in your new years as a soldier?” He asks a bit softer.

She smiles and chuckles softly. “I suppose I was. I had a bad habit of going after much bigger opponents.” She says nostalgically. Her early days in the Auxilia were full of feats of glory and adrenaline. She sometimes thinks back and wonders how she managed to make it so long without ending up paste under an Orks boot, but her ferocity was what helped her climb the ranks so fast.

Russ grins and nods to her leg. “That how you lost it? Bit off more than you could chew?” He asks curiously.

Her smile falters a bit. “No.” She says quickly, turning back to the table and picking at her roll. The primarch deflates a little, huffing softly. He watches her nibble at her bread, then smiles again, perking up. “I have somewhere good to show you next.” He says happily.

He leads her up a few more terrifying lifts and through more dank tunnels before they get to a large complex of wide rooms. She could hear growling and barking and big padded feet stomping before they got there, and the distinct but not entirely unpleasant smell of wolves gave her an idea where they were before they actually entered the kennels.

Massive Fenrisian wolves play, sleep in piles, and gnaw on bones the size of Wren, spread out across what was mostly left as natural cave formation rooms. One was coming in from a large tunnel that seemed to climb upwards outside, shaking off snow from its stark black coat. Another two roll in a play fight together, their white fur making them look like an avalanche. Dozens of them lounge and play, drinking water from a small natural stream through the rocks and napping on beds of dirt.

As they get closer, Wren’s steps start to falter. These weren’t just wolves. The smallest was, as she could begin to see, the size of two men. The larger black ones, some were the size of artillery vehicles.

“By the throne…” She mumbles in awe, feet refusing to bring her closer to the massive predators. Leman looks over his shoulder at her standing, jaw agape, and laughs. “Come, little paper-thrall, they will not harm you. Not these ones at least. These are our pack members, they fight beside us and lend us their speed and strength.”

As he speaks, the two largest wolves, one black and one white, perk up and thunder over to them, paws thudding against stone enough to feel the vibrations through the ground where she stood. Wren recoils back a few steps, but the wolves stop at Leman, licking his face and pawing at him as he laughs cheerfully.

He turns back to her and motions her forward. “Come! These are my kin, my brothers, I was raised with them by the same wolf mother. This is Freki, and this Geri. They my companions.” He introduces, rubbing their ears as they wag their tails and lick at him.

The two beasts are massive, taller than any space marine, coming up to Leman’s chest at their head. Wren swallows hard. “Uhm- h-hello, Lord Russ’s… brothers…” she says warily.

The black wolf, Freki, radars his ears toward her voice, staring her down with eyes that almost glow with reflection from the dim torch lights of the halls. He pads over to her, and she cringes down a little as his massive nose sniffs at her face.

He tilts his head and pads around her in a circle as Geri comes over and gives her a snuffles at her too. She grimaces at their warm breath assaulting her face, before Freki licks the side of her head in a long motion, making her squeak in surprise. Geri wags his tail and licks her too, making giggle as shes suddenly attacked by their affections, tails wagging happily as she devolved into breathless laughing.

“O-okay-! please-!” She gasps through her giggles, and Leman, grinning and laughing softly calls them off of her.

“Enough of that, give her a second to breathe.” He tells the wolves as they happily trot to him and nuzzle him with their snouts. He grins at the disheveled, slobbered Wren as she tries to still her laughter. “See? My wolf-kin are friends.”

She tried to wipe her face with her hands, making a soft blehch at the slobber. “They certainly are personable, sir.” She chuckles. She uses the clean stream water to rinse her face off and returns to Leman’s side when he motions for her to.

“I want you to see some of our pack.” He says, softer now. She follows his gaze to two playing wolves. They growl and play bite at each other's legs, tumbling and snarfing and wagging their tails. But one of the wolves has the advantage- a shiny, metallic limb replaces his back leg.

Wren raises her brow, looking up at Russ. “You… You give the wolves Bionics?” She asks quietly, looking around and spotting a bionic eye, a front leg, a missing ear….

“Of course.” He says, smiling down at her with a gentler expression. “They are our pack, and we care for them the same we would any who suffer an injury.”

Her gaze falls back to the playing canines. The wolf without bionics is playing just as roughly with its kin as the others are playing, snapping teeth and body checks and leg bites. The bionic using wolf returns it in full, even using the leg to it’s advantage - its friend doesn’t like to bite the metal, so it uses that one to kick at the other wolf.

Across the cavern, she sees another wolf with a bionic front leg. This one limps slightly, and still has stitches and shaved areas from whatever injury it had. It flops down, licking and chewing at the place where the metal limb meets flesh.

Habitually, Wren’s hand went to that spot where her own leg met her thigh, massaging the muscles there.

She has to swallow back some emotion, watching the juxtaposition of the hobbling, recovering animal licking its sore phantom limb, and the lively, playing wolf who is well accustomed to his own.

Leman glances down at her, seeing her a little misty eyed, and frowns. Following her gaze, then watching her knead at her leg, he smiles understandingly.

“They bounce back.” He says as he kneels on one knee to be more level with her. She glances to him at her side before returning to watching the canines.

“They have a period of readjustment.” He continues, nodding to the limping wolf. “They need time to heal, and relearn their senses. And I think also, to grieve.” He says in a low, careful voice, watching her face as she bit her lip. “It is not an easy thing, losing something so life altering.”

He points at the happy, playing wolf. “But they do come back, with encouragement. That one has had about a year with his new body, and now you could hardly tell. Sometimes he itches at it, or favors the leg a tad. But he is him again.” Leman says softly. “And the survivors, they come back even more driven. I think getting that second chance pushes them.”

It takes a lot of effort to swallow down her emotions this time, eyes wetting threateningly. She grips the knee of her pants on her bionic side. The primarch gives a small smile down at her. “How long have you had yours, little paper-thrall?”

She takes a steadying breath. “About… About a year. Year and a half.” She rasps quietly.

Leman gives her a firm pat on her back, making her have to stumble and balance herself. She looks up at him in surprised, brow knit in confusion.

“About time you get back to it then, right, little paper-thrall?” He says with a warm, fanged smile.

[enretrogue]

𝗝𝗔𝗡𝗨𝗔𝗥𝗬 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 𝗙𝗜𝗖 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗦 (𝟮)

༝༚༝༚ = Black/POC Works ⎢ 24’ Fic Rec M.List

ONE CHICAGO:

Connor Rhodes

Mine — @halsteadlover

Dream Partners — @sjhhemmings

Comfortable — @kiddbegins

Babysitting 101 — @iamwhoami

Emergency Love — @callsign-dexter

Plan — @lcvesjj

Jay Halstead

Kiss It, Kiss It Better Baby — @halsteadlover

Haunted — ^

Night Struggles — ^

Our Little Family — ^

A New Milestone — ^

Under Fire — ^

Shadows From the Past — ^

“Ladies love a guys who’s good with kids” ⎢ Part 2  — @poppadom0912

Uncle and Niece (Platonic) — ^

Love on Ice — ^

30 Hours — @dandelionfairyyy

Halstead’s Favorite Duo — @ballarkeselection

Exciting — @fangirlfrom-hell

CPD Gala — @hereforhalstead

Home — @deanstead

The Way You Are — @loislane41319

PEAKY BLINDERS:

Alfie Solomons

Interviews for New Beginnings: Part 7 — @muneca-lemon-steppa

Request 24 — @fandom-puff

Living with Alfie Solomons — @heavencanbeaprisontoo

The Silent Treatment — @warnersister

Luca Changretta

Living with Luca HCs — @heavencanbeaprisontoo

Thomas Shelby

Me Time — @garrison-girl-08

Daddy’s Princess — ^

Tommy Convincing His Wife to Stop Being Angry — @wutheringcaterpillar

Of Bending and Breaking — @call-sign-shark

Mr. Forgettable — @mrkdvidal1989

Time After Time Chapter 14 — @all-mirth-no-matter

Wedding Day — @cillianthinker

When She Laughs, The Heavens Hum a Stun Gun Lullaby — @saintmuses

SONS OF ANARCHY:

Filip “Chibs” Telford

The Last to Know — @kdogreads

Imagine Being Chibs’ Old Lady ⎢ Part 2 — ^

Imagine Taking In the Teller Boys With Chibs — ^

Very Soon — ^

My Dove — ^

Ruin — @bullet-prooflove

No Words — ^

Teach Me How to Ride — @violentdelightsandviolentends

Pussyfooting — @indifferent-depravity

Happy Lowman

Violent Little Thing — @fanficimagery

Your Family Disapproving of Happy — @imagineredwood

Angst to Fluff Prompts — @ravennaortiz

Flash Fic Request — @withmyteeth

Cocoa Wars — @darqchilddaydreamz

Miss Me — @marvelous-slut

Just for Today — @obsessedasusual

Jackson “Jax” Teller

Relentless — @violentdelightsandviolentends

Heatwave — ^

Insomnia — @spaghettificationandpretzels

You Aren’t Meant to Be Back Until Christmas Eve — @rebelwrites

Only Mine — @thisreadswhatever

Fluff Prompt — @youvebeenlivingfictional

I’m Sorry — @pumpkin-writes

Rescued — @garbinge

Harry “Opie” Winston

Nowhere to Be — @drabbles-mc

Stolen Sweater — @i'm-just-a-mississippi-girl

Good Honest Work — @spaghettificationandpretzels

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (6) - the trouble was always here - part two

pairing: biker!roman reigns , biker!cody rhodes (mentioned) warning: mentions of violence and explicit descriptions of blood. dialogue and descriptions pertaining to guns. roman talk to someone without being a jerk challenge. slight non-con moment but turns consensual quickly (its a kiss)! authors note: if ya'll ever watch sons of anarchy... you’ll know, im stealing little pieces of plot lmaooooooooo. imma give yall a spicy little flashback after this, i promise. will also attempt to not make the following chapters as long. just so that they remain relatively digestible. i'm working on being more precise with words. all the medical stuff in this chapter is half done research and my own brain. this chapter picks up where i left off in chapter 5. ALSO… if you want or dont want tags on this fic let me know! word count: 3k tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

-wednesday night. the first week in june-

that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. having to suffer as a lone soldier amidst silent dinner table battles. displeasured dispositions and their eyes performing like the greatly sharpened edge of well smithed daggers. and then came compromise, toiling through the thick of it to wave it's white flag. a surrender of a promise. your mother and fathers union holding as much sanctity as a soon to die vehicle's tank, holding its last dregs of oil but whose fuel gauge reads empty. running still, a quick speed into the darkness, wheels tired and the road too coarse to bare. an abrupt end of the engine as it slips against the asphalt at full speed. a collision terribly par for the course. their rings fettered to their fingers, pretty diamond but a prison, making forever impressions upon the skin. that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. dying with the useless wear of wedding rings, and redeclaring itself with the overwear of leather kuttes. 

because there was more to the life than just that simple enthusiasm for motorcycles. your father transforming before the eyes. leather slipping over his shoulders, not so dissimilar to the tough metal, shrilly chime of chainmail. custom rings taking their homes over the marred skin of his knuckles. fingers worn and always just barely healed. scarred from one brutal splitting open after another. his eyes working to harden. the keys to his bike clutched in hand. 

"should i be worried?", your mother asking right on time. examining his pace. the work in and change over of his demeanor. 

and he never answered. never dignifying her question enough to speak to it. because then the trouble would be true, so much so that it would live, breathing well to make room in their home. no. KG, your father, only ever lingered by the door, a slip in of hesitation before he turned to kiss your mother gracefully. the small appearance of a forever ago passion. an i love you without the weight of words. and then he went, heavy steps leading out the door. 

so its almost second nature. those faithful coming together of words. cody slipping on his leather near the door. shoulders squaring as the material adjusts to his body. demeanor unsoftened. the ease of the words as they leave you filling your stomach with a burdening weight. memory working tedious and so terribly true. 

"cody, should i be worried?" 

he sighs. cold blue eyes hesitating enough to take the time to commit your face to memory. his palm warm as it cradles your cheek. kissing you firmly before he leaves. 

-early friday morning. first week in june-

there was, is, and will never be a time too early or too late for violence. for blood and that faithful nerve warp of adrenaline. and maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. old, early moments in your youth, piercing your fathers skin with a needle, sewing together split skin as he washed his tongue with the burn of his favorite liquor. a warmth in his belly till the pain from the prick of your fixing turned numb. a simple pressure in the skin there at his arm, turning inevitably, to pressure in his leg, a slit at his thigh from a brawl with which he gave no further information. bruises and gashes and deep cuts to him, more by the day, by the year. near quiet grunts and the emptiness of the house loud enough to swallow you both whole. cleaning his marred skin and bandaging the area's as best you could. the slow to ease push and pull of his breaths. his hands smelling like iron as he cradled your face, mouth kissing your forehead. "thank you", but a whisper, before falling into sleep. 

maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. the color of blood and caked earth, the silver of knuckle rings and the black of over worn leather more familiar than summer green trees. 

text message | cody r: in an emergency. need your help. 

it shouldn't come as a surprise, but the sudden rush takes you all the same. a deep plunge of the heart in your chest, something odd creeping beneath the skin and fevered steps. making to call cody quickly. a ring, and then a second, before he's answering. breaths labored some as he goes. "can't say much about it but it's medical. how soon can you get to the clubhouse?" 

you assess the long hallway. the trauma unit, quiet. a squeak in your sneakers that makes you cringe as you move to collect things. only minutes from the end of your shift. "uhm, in like twenty minutes". a series of grunts and yells that indicate the messiness of a situation he's all to willing to abruptly rope you into. "cody what's going on?"

he sighs. his patience a thinning thread. "what did i say before about becoming an accessory?" 

"you gotta give me something", you stress. continuing an awfully secretive journey to where you could gather some other helpful supplies. "i can't just show up not knowing what for". 

"think the worst". 

"that doesn't help-"

the call dropping on his end. the angst sticking to your skin making room for an easy to settle in frustration. like you were an early twenty something again. attempting too diligently to remedy that divorce of ignorance and bliss. a tedious washing away and stitching together, performing so well now that the pungent smell of iron threatens to stain your skin again. and here does the soldier pay the price for wielding a double edged sword. for pensacola was home, is home, and forever will be home, the desire to return running too wild beneath the skin not to act on it. but there are things here. vicious rumblings above sunburned asphalt and the bitter steeping of blood between the cracks. the dross and the dregs that stick so loyally to the air and the skin just after a brutish performance of chaos too commonplace to live without it.

trouble taking up permanent residence, riding in over the clouds and rolling in with the heat. 

and the clubhouse looks haunted amidst the beginnings of the friday summer sunrise. the dark colored build of it dreary against the beauty of the sky. the heat yet to reach its full potential but your scrubs and the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift do all too well of making you live with that thin sheen of sweat breaking over your cheeks. your car parked not too far from the clubs neat line of stationed bikes. true in how they've always done well to remind you of the clubs presence. after so long, living here and far away, that grimy power behind the roar of an engine, ever inescapable. 

the clubhouse doors swing open as you make to leave your car. a small bag of supplies in hand as you rush up. cody's hand slipping at the low end of your back to guide you in. a small "thank you", leaving him breathy as you make way to pass through the double doors of the "church". a room that never seems to lose its luster from the looks of it. the sanctity of their meetings as important as the shine of a new chrome fender finish. men and their worried eyes flitting over your entrance as you approach the church table. seth laid out face down, with his pants at his ankles. his skin wet with sweat and an awful paleness. bloody cloths surrounding him and randy's finger lodged in where all the blood could possibly be spewing from. a small metal tin cup resting in the corner, holding the whole of a bullet. 

dean taps seth's cheek. waking him up a little less than tenderly. "look alive sweetheart, the doctor is here to see you". 

"nurse", you correct, to which dean just winks. 

cody and a host of club members file out through the double doors much to your pleasure. 

initial shock of your current state of affairs rolling off your shoulders as you settle into the routine of caring for the wound. gloves slipping on before you're tossing the box to dean. his take up of them swift and unquestioning. because it was never unusual to spend a night—especially in their youth—caring for cuts and bruises and wounds, before turning to do the same for another. a task as regular as breathing air. 

seth groans. the drawl of it stressing the pain in his leg. "i don't know if you've noticed but i went to some extreme lengths to see you", he jokes. his little laugh coarse and overworked by the weariness of getting shot. 

you laugh. an attempt to break the over work of tension in the air. "what an interesting way of saying you love me seth". sliding up to stand next to randy. his demeanor as quiet now as it was during richie's funeral. 

you look to dean. "once randy removes his finger, you're gonna help me pack the wound, and then i want you to keep pressure on it till i'm ready to wrap it". 

"you know what you're doing?", randy asks. the dark color of his eyes disrupted with little slivers of worry. 

"no randy, i just wear the scrubs for fun". peering up at the hard set of his face. older now but his visage still holding that silent menace to it.  

"can we banter when seth isn't bleeding out by the pint?", dean asks. so obviously done with the whole situation. 

"on my three", you start. the both of them coming to a shared focus. "one...two...three". 

thick blood springs upward, randy's finger dislodging quick. dean rushes in with your guidance, packing the wound as instructed. your hand taking the reins of the procedure as you allow dean a moment of reprieve. the little levee of seth's composure rupturing as his body goes taut, his mouth loose and lax as he curses his fill into the shined up wood of the church table. groaning wearily as dean holds the pressure against his legs, randy lifting it casually, allowing you to wrap the middle of his leg with a fresh dressing. a dead silent relief settling the room then after, before you're moving again. running on the extra dose of adrenaline. 

you discard your gloves, peeling them off your fingers. picking through your bag to give dean a bottle of pills. "vancomycin, it's an antibiotic", you start. "give him two now and another two later tonight. keep going with that dosage for no less than a week". 

"our lovely little savior". dean's boots heavy as he closes the distance to kiss your forehead. "thank you. go get cleaned up". 

randy gives a quieter acknowledgement. a simple nod of appreciation that does you just fine. the double doors of the church room creaky as they swing with your exit. all the worried faces you'd met upon your arrival, taking up every inch of the clubhouse. their bodies drowsy and torn through by the chaos of an oh so terrible possibility.

your feet mindless as they walk down the infamous hallway gallery of framed photos. your last walk through of the area filled with a particularly horrible play of strife. twisting the knob of one of many of the little dormitory rooms to access it's bathroom. a deep breath releasing as you make to wash your hands, a slow thorough trail up over your arms to rid your skin of seth's soon to dry blood. your scrubs somewhat ruined and your shoes showcasing nasty little streaks of red. 

but it is only exhaustion that takes you so brazenly. a sleepy sinking feeling in the body and nothing else. hands used to providing all the remedy's it can. 

well maybe not nothing else. a fast to slip in weariness amidst the quiet. because he couldn't be too far away, lurking to siphon what he could again of the air about you in a means of suffocation. that faithful ability once upon a time, a favorite of yours for how sweetly it sought to consume you, now possessing a quality that unfurls something disdainful in your belly. a prick of a man seemingly beyond reproach, what with his positioning among all the others. surely it was never your simple exit making him this mountain of hubris, that streak of his character impossible to climb and overcome for the sake of reasoning with him. or even for the lesser sake of some cordiality. it was so obviously everything else—the grime and the chaos—giving the once duller edge of his pride a sharper corner. enough to will him into an endless keep of a grudge. 

heavy thudding steps strip you clean of wandering anymore into thought. it seems even thinking of the devil causes him to appear. his disposition reminiscent of some weeks ago. shoulders squared and seeming too tall for you now to bare without feeling small. and he says nothing, attempting to take his kutte off without the inconvenience of pain but he grunts regardless. grimacing as he rids himself of his shirt as well. 

a gash running against his naked arm, almost like it's purposefully found a heap of muscle to tear into. wanting to humble the strength of him. blood caked and running down tawny skin. 

"i got grazed". 

voice tired but oddly delicate. like the weariness of it is making him just that more fragile. 

you point to the bathroom, eyes never really having the courage to part from him. "sit over there". 

and your feet rush. tunnel visioned as they make to gather whats left of your little collection of supplies. fingers feeling less sure, and your body teeming with something akin to an unworkable angst. a realization long ago understood, and buried for the sake of a then wanted peace, unearthing itself to bring about a renewed sense of understanding. for he has always been the manifestation of this double edged sword. of home and of violence. wielding itself always but never one without the other. the slip of his skin over familiar in its warmth. doing your resolve the greatest amounts of violence as you clean his wound tenderly. the double edge of him piercing so well that you feel the damning effects. his eyes sharp, cutting over your face in a silent means to examine. like the appraisal of a curious stranger attempting to settle within themselves the validity of your existence. 

the soft tender pads of your fingers remember him well. gloves and all. slight throbs that liven the nerves. 

"you came straight from work", more like a statement than a question. 

"i did". 

he flinches. his arm flexing as he bares the pain. "thank you for being here", he gives. “for seth", like a thankfulness that includes him would hurt his pride too much to be made known. 

"i'm sure that took a lot to say", you joke. feeling light in your head. drained of the will to keep up a proper guard. "you’re welcome though". 

a hum of an acknowledgment is the only thing he gives you. and in an effort to savor the easy going nature of the moment you keep yourself occupied with dressing the wound splitting his skin open. your work of caring for it doing well enough that the bleeding has stopped. memory faithful as it nags, the wound of a forever ago accident pulsing to life about your hand. the scars there still, though faded, serving as a reminder of the former things. the heat of him, then, different as it sought to consume. brazen in how it dared to bring about affection. not like now, this flame threatening to flare, to show the lengths and widths of its destruction. 

you finish. gloves in the waste basket. making tedious work of washing your hands. to rid the skin of such an indicative sensation. 

his body does well in blocking the bathroom door. the whole of him bigger than the last time you saw him. scrutiny set some in his gaze. trailing over the ink that lays permanent at your neck. 

"you still have it"

"it's a tattoo". feigning nonchalance as you dry your hands. "you never really plan to get rid of them". 

he smiles mirthless. "well y'know, i figured a cover up, for you, would be worth the pain". 

as in, forgetting him would be worth the pain. which couldn't be more further from the truth. 

"and here i am doing a nice thing", laughing tired. "still gettin hit with the bitterness", a slow easy step that leads you closer to him. the own brazen make of your actions suffering you to fall into the scent of him. the note of it strong even as it lives amidst the pungency of blood. "you got some audacity too though, considering i could've half assed that clean up enough for a little infection to settle in". 

"but you didn't".

"and why do you think so?" 

creaks against the floor. the weird pitch of it roughing up against your bones. his body closer, forcing your back against the wall. his thumb reaching to graze against the ink tattoo at your neck. pulse thrumming harshly at the play of his touch. 

body outdone by history. 

and the way he holds you here, cradling your neck just at your nape. keeping you where he wants you to be. his eyes falling over slowly—at your nose and your cheeks and your lips—lingering as if he's gone down the path of a deep remembering. 

"for the same reason you still got the ink". 

unable to ever let yourself part with it, with the history staining your skin. the prick of a needle and the pain of it made simple for a full and the most earnest performance of devotion. your breaths shallow, overwhelmed by the thought and the domineer of him. 

his thumb running to sweep at your skin. hot with an intention you can't place. 

you make to warn him. “roman-”

but his tongue is quick, works with a faraway familiar passion as it curls between the soft seam of your lips. exhaustion and adrenaline, an effortful pair as they go about the task of stripping away your resolve. a return of this sudden fever of a feeling as your tongue makes to snake against his. lapping lazily, a mindless seduction as you fall into old ways. his throat groaning, surely taken by his own bout of reminiscence. nails racking dull over his naked skin, over the taut muscle at his belly. his palms cradling your face to deepen his kiss in spite of the pain. leaving you little room to breathe, his body fastening you harshly to the bathroom wall. making to suffocate you with the flick of his tongue and the fire of his touch. 

his teeth prick you mean, biting into the supple flesh of your lip. suckling the pain with the tender pull of his mouth. 

the harshness of it causing a whimper to break. instinct taking hold. subdued in an instant. 

and it is only when he breaks for breath that you remember where you are. pushing at his tired body enough for a full separation. 

you leave saying nothing. out of the bedroom, down the hallway and through the clubhouse doors. letting the silence of it speak for you. 

lol we might need a roman pov after this huh… smh

[natalie668]

Master List

Lost Boys

lost girl is an Alternative Universe, so please don’t come at me and say “no that’s not what happened in the film.” Etc as I know :-) but considering I always hated the fact the boys died I’ve decided to rewrite it how I want it to be. So read and follow how much it’s changed compared to the Original!

Lost Girl - Poly! Lost Boys & Michael x Reader Chapter 2

chapter 3

Sons of Anarchy

Jax x Reader

Vampire Diaries Klaus Untitled (Triggers mentions ex cheating) Pure Smut soulmate

Kol Kiss it Better Tyler Lockwood GN/Tyler - Pregnancy

Avengers

Thor Untitled (Background mention PolyAvengers)

Lucifer (Tv Show)

Filler to their Sandwich - Lucifer x Reader x Mazikeen

[somethinginthewayiam]

Masterlist

last updated on 09/21/2024

Bold stories or chapters are SMUT/NSFW

Jake Hangman Seresin (Top Gun Maverick)

The girl behind the bar (Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4.1

Part 4.2

Part 5.1

Part 5.2

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Chibs Telford (Sons of Anarchy)

Chibs x plus-size reader (18+ throught, minors DNI!!)

A new job

Boys will be boys

Party at the clubhouse

Late night

Aftermath

Dress-up

Dress down

Car troubles

Part of the business

Better offer

Lockdown

A New Home

Maybe baby

Oh so horrible

Redwoody Productions

Wrong number

Henry Cavill Masterlist

Sebastian Stan

Sebastian x Anna (OFC) Series

Nightcap

The universe can be a bitch  Part 1  Part 2

What happens in New York…  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 Part 6  Part 7

Requests

Morning kisses (Ben Hardy fluff)

Imagines

You win an Oscar (Ben Hardy fluff)

Joe’s daughter (Joe Mazzello fluff)

BoRap Cast

Unexpectedly expecting (Ben Hardy x reader)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10  Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14 (unfinished)

Prove it to me (Ben Hardy x plus-size reader)

My new favorite t-shirt (Ben Hardy x plus-size reader)

PRESSing matters (Ben Hardy x reader)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10  Part 11

At the BAFTAs after party (main story)

- Gwil Part

- Joe Part

- Ben Part

Alex Hogh Andersen

Temporary Roommate (Alex x Reader)

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13

Hvitserk

The gift (Hvitserk x OC x Magrethe)

My AO3 account

[tumbleweed-writes]

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

PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE

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

========

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.

[redgoldsparks]

July reading and reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

Practical Anarchism: A Guide For Daily Life by Shuli Branson 

I picked this up after listening to the author's excellent interview on Gender Reveal. I'd never read an explanation of anarchy before and found this one accessible, intersectional, and rich with references to follow up on. Branson's basic argument is for recognizing that the state exists only to perpetuate its own power, and aids citizens only incidentally and when doing so doesn't conflict with maintaining control. In light of this, citizens should seek to gain as much freedom in daily life as they can by supporting community and mutual aid, by refusing hustle culture and separating self-worth from productivity, by spending as much time as they can on things that bring pleasure, joy, peace, and stealing from corporate workplaces among other things. Many sections of this book I found myself simply agreeing with, while other chapters (especially the sections on Work and Art) really challenged a lot of my internalized beliefs. I'm very glad I read this and imagine I will return to it in the future, especially when I'm able to read more on this topic.

How I Attended An All-Guy’s Mixer vols 1-6 by Nana Aokawa (fan translated) 

College students Tokiwa, Asagi, and Hagi are invited to a mixer with some college girls, but when they arrive they are greeted by three handsome boys at their reserved table. It turns out the girls they planned to meet at all work at a cross-dressing bar! Suo is a devastatingly charming and confident prince; Kohaku has a prickly exterior but a soft, shy interior; and Fuji draws smutty fan comics in her free time and is constantly on the lookout for new models. This goofy premise turns into a very sweet and funny slice of life comic as three couples with very different dynamics begin to develop. Sadly, I cannot find these books available in English so I am reading them at a sketchy online site, lol. I hope they get translated at some point because I've been completely sucked in and read four volumes in like 24 hours :3

Barda by Ngozi Ukazu

Barda is the captain of a soldier unit from a torture/hell world called Apokolips. Her backstory includes being kidnapped as a child and tortured into serving as the perfect weapon in a very black and white interplanetary war. Her torturer is an old woman named Granny Goodness. They work for a classic evil emperor named Darkseid, who has the son of his major enemy locked in his dungeons. At the beginning of the book, Barda is told to investigate how this guy, named Scott Free, keeps managing to almost escape. This is challenging material to make something out of. It feels so ridiculous, so campy, so over the top, I had a hard time taking the premise seriously- especially as this torture world has to obey PG-13 movie rules about not showing any blood or actual human mutilation. All that being said, I think Ukazu wrote about the best modern take as you possible could with these characters. The writing is quippy, smart, empathetic; I enjoyed the page layouts, color palette choices, and the emotional arc she takes Big Barda on through the book, even though I wanted it to go a little farther at the end.

We Deserve Monuments by Jas Hammonds

Avery is a queer biracial teen, uprooted from her DC home just before senior year of high school by a family emergency which relocates her and her parents to Bardell, Georgia. Avery's grandmother, Mama Letty, has cancer and the prognosis isn't good. Avery is also fresh from a breakup with her first ever girlfriend. Her early years of high school were ruined by Covid, and she doesn't want to waste her last year as well in a back-woods town. But despite herself, Avery is drawn towards the people of Bardell and the ways she learns their histories tangle with her own. There's Carol, the woman next door, who was Avery's mom's best friend in high school but who know barely speaks to her. There's Carol's daughter, Simone, whose colorful locs catch Avery's eyes immediately. There's Jade, Simone's best friend at school whose family is linked to more than one tragedy in the town's history. And there's Mama Letty herself, who Avery wants to get to know, but time is running out. I read this book in just under a week while on vacation and really enjoyed it! It felt refreshingly grounded and real after some of the YA I've tried and DNFed recently.

Yotsuba vol 10 by Kiyohiko Azuma

Utterly charmed by the entire chapter that's just Yotsuba learning how to cook pancakes. What a good reminder that fine motor control is a learned skill! I also liked how Yotsuba's dad handled a lie about some broken dishes. This is such a great series.

Sunhead by Alex Assan 

In Tel Aviv, teenage Rotem spends her free time hanging out with friends and obsessively re-reading her favorite book, Sunrise, a vampire romance. She doesn't know anyone else into the series and has to wait for the next book to come out in Hebrew. But she does meet another reader, Ayala, who sits out of gym class every single week, sometimes with a Jane Austin novel. Rotem lends Ayala the vampire book and suddenly she has a fandom friend. This book very delicately, and at times wordlessly, explores the way a fictional story can act as a lens for teen questioning of gender and sexuality. The book feels almost memoir like with its groundedness in very real teen emotions and relative lack of external conflict. It's a simple story but beautifully illustrated and relatable.

Witch Hat Atelier vol 12 by Kamome Shirahama

This is an action packed volume that sticks more closely to Coco, which is what I want out of the series. I'm still frustrated by the overload of new characters who I'm struggling to keep tract of. But the art is so stunning I'll probably keep reading.

Otonari Complex vol 1 by Saku Nonomura (fan translated)

Akira is a tall tomboy who befriended a shorter, prettier boy named Makoto in elementary school. In college, they are still inseparable, and many people mistake them for a straight couple- though usually they think Akira is the boy and Makoto the girl. Makoto only adds to this confusion by frequently cross-dressing. I enjoyed the friendship and gender mix-ups, but I don't love how every single secondary character either wants to date one of the two leads, or whats to separate the two leads because their close friendship might prevent them from dating in the future. Get out of their business, randos! They are clearly on a very slow friends to lovers arc, leave them alone to figure out their shit.

Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen read by Vikras Adam 

At the start of this book, in 1959, Andy Mills is at rock bottom. The former San Francisco cop was fired after being discovered in flagrante with another man at a gay bar. He is seriously considering suicide because he can't see any other options. Then a well dressed older woman, Pearl, sweeps into his life and asks him to solve a weeks old murder that occurred on her private Marin estate. Pearl is a lesbian and widow; her wife was the owner of a well known floral soap company and she died under mysterious circumstances. Pearl was unable to call in the police at the time because nearly everyone who lives on the soap flower farm estate is queer. A small group of biological and found family has made a safe, gated community for themselves- safe, that is, until one woman fell to her death from a second floor balcony. Andy isn't too hopeful about solving a case with little to no evidence, but he gives it a try, and he is blown away by seeing multiple queer couples living opening together in the same household. This was a solid story, though it didn't have that magic spark that sometimes captures me in murder mysteries. I was all ready to say I probably wouldn't continue the series, and then a 15 minute sample of the second book played after the end of the first in the audiobook. The second one already sounds MUCH more fascinating than the first, in part because Andy starts the sequel in touch with an intriguing queer community and setting up a new PI business. So I might try the next book after all!

Mabel McKay: Weaving the Dream by Greg Sarris 

A wonderful, lively memoir of Pomo basket weaver and medicine woman Mabel McKay, as written by Greg Sarris, who knew her for most of his life until she passed in the early 1990s. Sarris is currently the chairman of the Federated Indians of Graton Rancheria based in Sonoma County which serves the local Pomo and Miwok populations. Sarris is very much also a character in this story, which lays out many conversations had on long car rides up and down the California coast, while Sarris drove McKay to give talks at universities and museums or to visit her relatives. The story is non chronological but still immersive, telling of McKay's childhood, her early years doctoring and making baskets, and her life-changing friendship with Essie Parrish, another basket weaver and important figure in Sonoma county. I'd highly recommend this book, especially to anyone interested in West Coast history, and very especially if you grew up in California.

[punkeropercyjackson]

Book!Percy Jackson is SO audhd and such strong afrosolarpunk vibes,idk what y'all are talking about with that thinking he's not autistic or 'gr*nge sk*ter boi' shit-I mean i do,y'all aren't smart at all and just loud and rude so you can't connect the basic dots that the abused neurodivergent kids who got to grow up to live happy adult lives afterall book series protagonist is autistic and limit your punk knowledge to white ass ship aus.Percy's the best accidental autistic rep ever because he can't mask and is framed as the coolest ever in-universe and we've had this discussion for a decade now,he's afrolatino-coded and it's black Pjo fans' word only but also as the son of Poseidon aka the god of the sea he's naturally deeply caring about enviormentalism and drawn to nature based aesthetics and lifestyles and Sally nurtured him to love the sea out of her own lifelong love for it,not for Poseidon's sake so afrosolarpunk is a x2 combo fitting for Percy.Also Dark Percy hoes dni,Percy being a huge asshole who's super cocky yet equally self-loathing isn't sellout potential or him secretly being a poser,black dudes are just like That.Also also his full name is Perseo Isadore Jackson and his special interests are blue,video games,cats,kidcore,anarchy,the sea,energy drinks,child care and the Superfam and he killed Luke in Tlo which led to a greco-roman mythos world revolution kickstarted by him killing Zeus in a 4 book Hoo 1 year later sequel that happened in 4 in-universe years for the Pjo comeback including the chapter titles and is platonic soulmates by choice in every universe with Nico and Hazel who're both afrogoths and audhd too,he harrasses Poseidon for money for Nico's chronic pain meds and mobility aids,he treats Hazel like the black princess she is and they're called The Dead Sea Siblings and he's the Team Dad in gen and has transfem gender fuckery.Write this down,it's important and essential knowledge(and check notes for solarpunk knowledge if ya interested)

[etirabys]

It's very sweet about CS Lewis to idiotproof Paradise Lost against atheists. He didn't have to do that. He was a Christian writer in a Christian society and I assume he could have gotten away with just talking to other Christians about it and ignoring annoying people who wrongly read subversion into Milton. Instead he gives us a Christianity 101 chapter in A Preface to Paradise Lost and says, "this is the theological canon of the church, and here is how Milton hews to it again and again".

So now I think I understand Christianity. Maybe?

CS Lewis, explaining the canonical beliefs: Everything in nature is intrinsically good. Bad things happen when conscious creatures become "more interested in itself than in God", or assumes it can exist independently of God, as when Milton's Satan says that he is "self-begot".

me: Just for fun, let me enumerate the possible answers to 'who begot us?' – (1) conscious supreme being – e.g. Christian God, (2) our parents – e.g. Confucianism, (3) the self, (4) the weight of human history – humanity co-creating itself by maintaining a matrix of culture, (5) Nature – non-conscious but still revered, e.g. planet worship / I hecking love science, (6) null answer – non-conscious material processes.

Lewis: God knows in advance that some conscious entities will voluntarily make themselves bad and also knows what good use He will make of their badness. As [Milton's] angels point out, whoever tries to rebel against God produces the result opposite to his intention. At the end of the poem Adam is astonished at the power 'that all this good of evil shall produce'. This is the exact reverse of the programme Satan had envisaged in Book I, when he hoped, if God attempted any good through him, to 'pervert that end'; instead he is allowed to do all the evil he wants and finds that he has produced good. Those who will not be God's sons become His tools.

me: That's such beautiful cope! I've heard the badly-articulated versions of that Christian belief but it turns out I'm unprincipled and like it when you, Charisma Stat Lewis, say it.

me: It's also hard not to speculate that this belief is more adaptive in a world with e.g. a 50% child mortality rate.

Lewis: Also, The apple wasn't magic. THE APPLE WASN'T MAGIC. The only point of forbidding it was to instill obedience. The disobedience was so heinous precisely because obedience was so easy.

me: it was a shit test

Lewis: The Fall consisted of man's disobedience to his superior and was punished by man's loss of authority over his inferiors – chiefly over his passions and his physical organism. "Man has called for anarchy: God lets him have it." After the Fall, understanding ceased to rule and the will did not listen to understanding.

me: okay so what about the physical organism

Lewis: Man used to control his erections before the Fall

me: what

Lewis: That's right. No accidental boners. No morning wood. No dead bedroom subreddits. You can clench your fist without being angry and you can be angry without clench your fist. The will controls the fist. The sexual organs used to be like that.

me: That follows splendidly from "man was punished by the passions overruling the will" and yet I wasn't expecting that at all. Probably because I'm female? I annotated your "the will did not listen to understanding" with "we didn't have akrasia before the fall", because akrasia is a big problem for me. But being horny isn't.

me: I mean, obviously some women are really horny and causes them to act in unwise ways, and some men aren't horny. But "single men under age 25 are the most societal-problem-causing demographic" is well known, and even outside that age range, men seem to be, like, "cursed with horny" in a way that requires managing & makes them miserable on a day to day basis... so it makes sense that male interpreters would identify that with the Fall. It's conceptually congruent in a way "the Fall caused childbirth to be painful" isn't.

Lewis: Anyway, the Fall – people overcomplicated it. The apple is just an apple. It's not an allegory. The Fall consisted of Disobedience – doing what your superiors told you not to do – and resulted from Pride, which is forgetting your place. This is what the Church has always taught. Milton states it in the very first line of his poem and all his characters reiterate it from every possible point of view. Don't read false emphases into Milton! This is what he is saying: obedience to the will of God will make you happy and disobedience will make you miserable.

me: Well, obviously you know that your modern reader doesn't like this. You're pleasantly cognizant of atheist readers who are into self-governance and equality.

Lewis: The modern idea that we can choose between hierarchy and equality is not quite right. The real alternative to hierarchy is tyranny. If you will not have authority you will find yourself obeying brute force.

me: I simultaneously have a suspicious-resistant feeling and the perception that, when people in my milieu disagree with this, your view is the baseline from which we deviate minorly. Any form of functional social arrangement is going to have something that looks like authority and obedience.

Lewis: Understand this: Milton's poem belongs to a hierarchical conception of the universe where everything except God has some natural superior and everything except dead matter has some natural inferior. Superiors should rule over inferiors. When Milton protests an instance of rule (he was against the monarchy of the Stuarts) he is disagreeing that the Stuarts are superior while still thinking that hierarchy is cosmically good. The justice or injustice of any given instance of rule depends wholly on the nature of the parties, not on any social contract.

me: I have little respect for Confucianism because it strikes me as so overtly a system of thought with no internal merit or wisdom on the micro, whose only function is to make society run on the macro. (I'm sorry to say "only" there, because that's a big function.) What you describe has the same feel. This isn't a great label for it, but I'd call both Confucianism and Christian hierarchy 'biological philosophies', in that of course this is the philosophy that materially deprived apes who want both power and stability would equilibriate on: a system of subjugation and cope. The hierarchical conception itself is "understanding ceasing to rule".

Lewis: [Lewis would doubtless totally own me. But he doesn't directly address this in anything I've read by him, and I can't simulate him in enough detail to generate his response.]

[untilmynextstory]

The House We Never Built - Ongoing

Sons of Anarchy Fanfiction | Jax Teller x OC

Summary: Friends or lovers, which will it be?

Chapter List:

Keep You Right Here - Wattpad | Ao3 | FF.Net

Sudden Desire - ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

Why We Ever - ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

How You Doing? - ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

Trigger - ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

Pool - ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

Good Grief - ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

Asystole - ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

Dead Horse - ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

Hate to See Your Heartbreak -ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

No Use I Just Do - ao3 | wattpad | ff.net

Crystal Clear - 9/28

Wattpad | Ao3 | FF.Net | SOUNDTRACK

[minnophee-writes]

Safe and Sound - Part 1

Fandom: The Purge: Anarchy

Pairing: Leo Barnes x Fem! Reader

Series Warnings: Violence, gun violence, assault, non-consensual touching, death, character death, murder, breaking and entering, knives, blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of past abusive relationship, single mother trope, slight smut, dry humping / grinding, strangers to lovers, attempted kidnapping, smut, oral sex, p in v, size difference, taller man / smaller woman, attempted sexual assault, attempted assault, attempted murder, sharing a bed trope, strangers to lovers, kissing, Leo being a good father figure, Leo is sexually pent up, rough kissing & gentle kissing

Chapter Warnings: Violence, gun violence, assault, non-consensual touching, death, character death, murder, breaking and entering, knives, blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of past abusive relationship, single mother trope, slight smut, dry humping / grinding, attempted sexual assault, attempted assault, attempted murder, sharing a bed trope, Leo is sexually pent up

Summary: When you're trying to bunker down in your poorly barricaded house with your young 8-year-old son it doesn't go to plan. A gang of unruly criminals come breaking into your home and you're forced to take your son and flee down the street toward your brother's apartment. On your journey there you're corralled into an alleyway, certain of death, but then a lone saviour comes to your aid.

Word Count: 4,413 words (damn, one hell of a part 1 o-o)

A/N: I love the purge series so much and when I first saw Leo Barnes I knew my horny ass was doomed. I haven't seen many new fics of this man and I'd like to fix that. Street names and apartment / house addresses mentioned in this story are made up and fictional but I did mention 2 well known places in America due to where the Purge: Anarchy takes place in (roughly).

You huddled with your young son Justin in your bedroom when the siren blared on the TV and speakers outside. The annual Purge had begun and you were terrified. You had been struggling to juggle being a newly single mother and working 2 jobs to provide for your child. Your salary at both jobs weren't the best and so with the money you did save up you could only afford a cheap, scrap metal barricade security system for your house. You highly doubted it'll completely keep out the looters that come out during the purge but you hoped you'll be able to keep Justin safe.

With Justin cuddled into your left side, on the right side laid a large axe, a hand gun, and a hunting knife. You wanted to be prepared in protecting your son so you weren't going to shy away from using force if necessary. The Purge was a brutal bloodbath, every year seemed to get worse and worse with disgruntled employees seeking revenge on their employers, old exes murdering in a sick act of "love", and twisted people who just like to watch others suffer for entertainment. It scares you, scares Justin, and this year would be his 8th year experiencing the Purge.

Distant gun shots were fired and you felt Justin flinch, his head burrowing into your chest for comfort as your body tensed around him. You wished he never had to experience this. If you had stayed with your ex you would be protected, fortified by the highest security technology only the rich could buy - the only downside is that you'd be going back to the abuse. The name calling, the subtle insults, quick taps to the face that escalate to forceful slaps, and hiding bruises that would slowly litter your body.

You left when you finally had enough. The last straw for you was when Kyle dared to stump out a cigarette on Justin's arm when he was only 2 years old. That night you waited until Kyle fell into a drunken slumber before you packed your bags, strapped Justin to your chest, and snuck out the laundry door then out the side gate. You fled down the road to the gas station where a nice elderly couple gave you a ride from Beverly Hills to down town Los Angeles. You had secretly been stashing some of your ex's cash so that you could afford a roof over your head but you knew that the money wouldn't last long which is why you work 2 jobs just to have enough for rent, food and any other basic needs. It didn't help that you lived in down town L.A but your brother lived in the area and you wanted to be close to family since Kyle made sure that you had cut ties with your family before moving to Beverly Hills.

Your brother Daniel was the only one who knew what Kyle had done and did everything he could to help you get on your feet. Daniel helped you raise and look after Justin, babysitting when you had a late shift at the diner, and sparing money for you when you needed it. He lived about a block from you, giving you the invitation to crash at his place whenever you and Justin wanted. Daniel opened the offer earlier that day, before the Purge commenced, but you declined. You lied about having a good quality security system but you didn't want to worry him, you knew you could get through this and protect Justin but as the night dragged on you started to doubt yourself.

"Mommy, I'm scared." Justin murmured as he clung to your shirt.

"Shh - its okay, sweetie. Mama's here."

You stroked his hair to calm him a bit, humming the tune of 'Bleed to Love Her' by Fleetwood Mac to coax your son to sleep. You hoped most of the night might be slightly peaceful so Justin could rest, you were tired yourself but made the effort to stay awake and alert for anything.

As Justin slept beside you your eyelids grew heavy after hours of nothing. The occasional gun shots and screaming could be heard from afar but nothing to be worried about. With nothing to stimulate your brain it was hard to stay awake and the echoing lullaby of slumber was calling to you. Your head dipped forward only to jerk up again as you fought it but soon your mind finally succumbed to sleep.

~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~

A sudden crash woke you, you were a bit hazy from sleep but you were brought into the presence by the sound of glass crunching from within the house. Your pulse was racing as was your mind over what to do. You heard Justin's breath hitch and so you huddled him into your walk-in wardrobe before grasping your collection of weapons and hiding in the wardrobe. You hoped that it would possibly be one person deciding to rob your home, only one person to worry about - you could handle that.

A male voice rang out down the hallway and a second male voice responding, color drained from your face at the realization that there was more than one person - probably many more as more glass being smashed could be heard in the guest bathroom down the hall. Your mind raced with conjuring up a plan of escape, if you were lucky you could get Justin to crawl under your bed before quietly vaulting out the window into the front side garden while you kept watch.

"Okay sweetie, we're going to play a little game called 'Statues'." you grasped Justin's shoulders gently to grab his attention as you explained the plan. "We're gonna crawl to my bed and hide under it, once we get there we freeze like statues. When I say so we'll crawl toward the window and Mama will help you get out into the side yard, okay?"

"Yes, mommy." Justin nodded cautiously before laying on his belly.

At your signal you both inched to the bed while you glanced out your bedroom doorway to make sure none of the men had seen you or Justin. When you were under the safety of your bed you surveyed the hallway again, freezing and listening for movement from within the house. Rattling noises came from in the guest bedroom, porcelain shattering and rustling of cabinet drawers being opened aggressively. You nodded to Justin again to move toward the window while you trailed behind him with your stare aimed at the doorway.

Justin reached the windowsill and slowly tried to pry open the window. You assisted him once you crawled up behind him and prayed that it wouldn't creak as it widened but it seemed that whatever God was above wanted to spite you. The wooden frame stuttered loudly in the room, echoing down the hallway and all movement down there stopped abruptly. Your breath picked up as you shoved the window open and lifted Justin out and into the side garden in a panic, footsteps were approaching fast and so you tossed yourself out the window next to your son.

"We need to go - now!"

You grasped Justin's hand as you ran for the gate to get out to the road, the voices from in your home shouting at each other while a few stray bullets whizzed passed you. You picked up Justin and held him in your arms for protection, your legs carrying you as fast as possible - heading in the direction of your brother's apartment. Justin started hyperventilating in your ear from the shock of the sudden violence and narrow escape, his little mind racing to understand what was happening and where they were heading while your brain was rattling with the different thoughts of the fastest and safest way to reach Daniel's place.

You had passed a few other houses on the block when a loud explosion erupted from a couple of parked cars that sat down another street across the road, an armoured vehicle charged toward the T intersection before breaking hard in the middle of the road. You ran behind a tree on the block as a group of people hopped out of the small truck, large assault rifles at the ready and masks covered their faces. Some were cheering while others searched the area, you guessed for prey, to feed their sick idea of entertainment. You weren't sure if they'd kill on sight or capture you both to be tortured for pleasure and you didn't want to stick around to find out, you just wanted to take Justin to Daniel's and know he'll be safe when the sun rises in the morning.

Your body shook slightly from fear of being caught, you couldn't risk Justin being hurt - he was your little bundle of joy, your baby boy, and you weren't going to let anyone take him away from you.

Justin's sniffling and whines were getting loud and you tried to shush him, some of the masked men turned in your direction and alerted the others.

"Shh, baby, shh... we need to be quiet..." you whispered in desperation but a harsh yank of your hair shot to your scalp.

Rough hands grabbed you while ripping your son from your arms causing you to scream in distress. You thrashed in the men's arms to get closer to Justin when a blow to the left side of your face disorientated you enough for them to drag you to the middle of the street, more masked men surrounding you as another man held Justin in a tight grip. The stranger aimed a knife next to Justin's neck and your heart rate spiked in fear.

"No, please!" You begged, "I-I'll doing anything, please - just don't hurt my son!"

A man walked toward you and chuckled at you, finding your pleading to be amusing. He got down on one knee and leaned over you in a menacing manner which made you slightly shrink into yourself.

"'Anything', you say? Well I can think of a few things you could do to save your son." The man then suggestively groped his own crotch to imply his meaning.

A shiver shook through your body at the thought of doing anything sexual for these men and hoped you could convince them otherwise.

"My boss is the owner of the Drunken Duck bar, he has a safe in his office-"

"I don't care about his shit. I've got plans for you."

You were then shoved onto the asphalt, your back and side of your face pressed to the ground as you struggled to get the man off of you. Justin cried at the scene and your heart clenched at the thought of him witnessing something so horrific so you put more effort into fighting your attacker. The man had managed to jerk your pants and unzip his but you twisted your legs so that he couldn't remove your underwear which frustrated the masked man. He began to squeeze your legs to get you to release your hold but you screamed in defiance, swinging your small fists toward his face with all your might.

"Get off of me!"

"Shut up, slut."

The man gripped your throat harshly, choking you and making you lose focus. Your body flailed as you fought to get more air into your lungs, your legs kicking to get leverage, and your arms clung to his in an attempt to remove his hand from around your neck. Your vision was starting to fade but a distant roar of a car engine ricocheted through the streets, the man above you pausing his actions while his head swivelled to the right.

A black, armoured car darted from around the corner and swerved toward the group of men.

"Shit - open fire!" He boomed as the car rammed into a few of his men and into their own vehicles.

It was all a blur for you as oxygen entered your body, you rolled onto your stomach and surveyed where Justin was. He was laying on the ground a distance away from you and crying out for you.

"Justin! Mommy's coming, baby." You shouted.

You made your way over to him as bullets flew in all directions, your swollen eye made it hard to navigate but you pushed on as you got closer and closer to Justin. You got within a few inches from him when a swift kick to your stomach winded you and you were then shoved to the side, a heavy weight laid on top of you in the process.

"Mommy!"

The terror in your son's voice had your mind in a frenzy, you fought back against whoever was above you but you couldn't fight back against his hard-hitting blows to your face. Your consciousness was fading in and out, the bad seeming to spread across your body, and your strength dwindled with each punch. When the surrounding light growing faint the sudden pressure on top of you vanished - you could breath but you just laid there unable to move from exhaustion. Small arms wrapped around you and cold, wet droplets began to fall onto your exposed skin as Justin attempted to cuddle you but the shock coursing through his body was making it hard.

You cracked open your left eye, barely in better shape than your right, and gazed up at Justin, wheezes rattled your throat while you made an effort to move your arms to reassure your 8-year-old. You struggled to lift your upper body to sit up and fell back, Justin sobbing then exerted himself to lift you with his tiny strength.

"Hey, hey - stay awake, little momma." A calm male voice instructed, "I'm going to get you and your son out of here but I need you to trust me..."

Larger hands then touched your arms, your eyes shooting toward the culprit and seeing a slightly older man with messy dark hair, a sharp jawline covered in rough facial hair, as well as piercing brown eyes. Your mind went blank and you were suddenly aware of your dry mouth when no answer came out so you resorted to nodding your head cautiously. If you wanted your son to be safe and protected then you'll have to give some trust to this new stranger who seemed to have saved you from death.

"Good." he nodded then offered his hand." Leo Barnes at your service."

"Y-Y/N..." your voice croaked out painfully.

"Alright, Y/N just stay calm. I'm going to pick you up and carry you to my car - okay?"

You nodded again to save your voice and felt your body heating up at the strong, muscular arms that wrapped around you and lifted you with one arm tucked under your legs and the other supporting your back. You leaned your head against his upper chest hearing his heartbeat which started to lull you to sleep. Leo shook you slightly to keep you awake in case you have a concussion, Justin trailing behind the both of you to the car. Leo gently set you down on the passenger seat before helping Justin into the back seat and buckling you both in. The seatbelt pressed against a wound that you hadn't noticed before - guessing you must have been grazed by a bullet during the shoot-out, you fidgeted from the small, stinging pain as Leo got into the driver's seat and starting up the vehicle.

"M-my brother... lives on the corner... of Mcroyle street..."

"Just down here, yeah?" Leo pointed further down the street where a large apartment complex stood and you nodded.

Leo drove the few feet to your brother's place and helped you and Justin up the stairs to Daniel's apartment. As the three of you reached Daniel's floor Leo noticed that your brother's door was slightly ajar and he knew something was up.

"Wait..."

"What? Daniel's apartment is right there-"

"The lock is broken and the door is open." Leo stared at you for a moment before continuing, "Stay out here - I'll check it out and make sure it's clear."

You agreed and watched Leo creep into Daniel's apartment, the eerie silence made you anxious as no voices could be heard - not even from the other apartments which put you on edge further. Oncoming footsteps caught your attention and you saw Leo emerge from the apartment with a sorrowful expression. His face told you what you needed to know and the tears blurred your vision while they streamed heavily down your face, your hands covering your mouth to muffle the pitiful sobs from echoing the hallway you stood in. Justin watched on in confusion and distress - he was smart enough to understand something was wrong because of your visual state but wasn't aware of 'what'.

You hugged Justin for comfort as Leo strutted toward you both, giving you a few seconds to grieve before gently placing a hand on your shoulder. You looked up into his dark eyes with your teary ones.

"C'mon, it's not safe here. I have a secure place that you two can hide in until it's over." Offered Leo.

You swallowed while debating the option in your head but you knew it was your only option for Justin's sake.

"Okay..."

~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆~~~

The car ride to Leo's secure hideout was quiet. Justin fell asleep in the backseat a few minutes ago, you were leaning against the passenger door looking at the passing scenery as Leo focused on the road. The humming from the car engine was the only sound even if it was muffled, the air around you and Leo was gloomy from the previous events.

Before leaving Daniel's apartment Leo had searched for some pants for you since your encounter with the masked man had ruined them, your jeans had been ripped and torn in many places so Leo had found you a pair of your brother's gym shorts. The car's air-conditioning was starting to freeze your exposed skin on your legs and arms, the cool air causing you to feel the slight throbbing pain of your many bruises and wounds but you tried to focus on anything else but the discomfort. Without warning a warm, large hand rested on your bare thigh which caused you to jump in your seat - Leo apologized swiftly removing his hand trying to explain himself.

"Sorry, you looked cold so I wanted to offer some heat..." Leo's voice trailed off, probably thinking about how idiotic his reasoning sounded but you just shook your head with a small smile.

"Thank you." you caressed the spot where his hand once was, "I'm a bit cold, now that you mention it."

He gradually placed his hand back on your thigh and rubbed it to warm it up occasionally switching legs after a few minutes one each one. His body heat helped a lot with keeping your legs warm, the touching and caressing was shooting to your crotch making it pulse with want. Your face slowly started to blush at the thought of a rough looking man like Leo would be petting you and making you feel certain emotions that you haven't in quite some time.

Your logical brain was turning into mush has your horny thoughts flashed through your mind with multiple different scenarios which had your pussy throbbing and dribbling in your underwear - a little thought mortified if Leo were to feel the wet spot if he moved his hand more to the inside of your thigh but that didn't stop your body from relaxing and slightly adjust your legs to spread a little wider. An unexpected squeeze to your thigh jerked you back to rational thinking and you clenched your things abruptly.

"Woah, didn't mean to startle you." Leo glanced over at you with slight concern.

"I-I'm okay... Just a little jumpy I guess."

Leo quickly glanced down for a brief moment before staring back at the road ahead of him, you looked down to see his hand trapped between your thighs near your drooling pussy which made your eyes widen in embarrassment. You were too scared to move your legs because your anxiety would then reason that it would bring attention to the touch and you'd lose the warm press of his hand close to where you needed it.

Before you could continue your internal struggle the car slowed to a stop outside of what looked like an abandoned house in an old part of the city where not many people lived and the house was concealed by foliage and a long gravel driveway. Leo got out of the car to then unbuckle Justin from his seat and carried him inside while you gradually made your way inside after them. You saw that Justin was sleeping in the only bedroom you could see - that Leo had placed him in, while you crept over to the old, beat-up couch to sit on, finally giving your sore body a rest. Leo sat beside you with a relieved expression as he groaned, his legs spread wide and slightly nudged into yours causing your heart to shutter and your body to heat up again.

"Sorry if the place is a bit small. The house only has one bedroom but you and...?" Leo trailed off in an implied question.

"Justin."

"You and Justin can share that room - I can take the couch."

"Oh no, no, no! You've saved my son and I, and brought us to a safe place. You deserve the bed after all you've done for us." You pleaded, feeling guilty.

Leo shook his head with a chuckle, he admired your caring nature but could visually see that you needed the rest. Dark, heavy bruising littered your face and exposed skin, blood dried on your skin and a few cuts looked irritated from being dirty so his first priority was to clean you up and care for your injuries.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

During the whole process you couldn't keep your thoughts innocent when it came to Leo. From his rippling muscles, his messy hair, the way he would touch you, praise you when you winced at the sting of the disinfectant; and even the way he would stand close so you could smell his scent of gun smoke, leather and an earthy, cedar aroma. It made you light-headed, you subconsciously leaned into Leo's touches and embrace - every so often you would drift off to sleep in his arms only to wake up when Leo would wipe an antibacterial wipe on one of your wounds.

You were so drained that you barely had any energy to exert to move out of the small bathroom which lead Leo to picking you up again and carrying you to the bedroom Justin was resting in. When Leo settled you on the bed he went to move out of the room when you tiredly grasped his wrist and wined.

"Please don't go, you're warm..." You slurred, your tired state making you a little delirious.

Leo glanced at the bed, sizing it up and mentally calculating if there'll be enough room for all three of them. He looked down at your hazy eyes, you looked adorable when you begged and he just couldn't resist disappointing you. He moved toward the bed so you shuffled over to the middle of the bed as Leo climbed in, his body heat already warming you up better than the blanket that you were tucked under. When you both settled again you were facing each other, your breaths fanning over your faces, and your eyes were locked in an intense stare.

"Comfortable?" Leo asked.

"Yes, just a bit chilly but better than before..."

"Okay, good."

Your body gave a short shiver from the cold air that caressed your shoulder that wasn't under the blanket, you moved to remedy the issue when a heavy object wrapped around your waist before you were tugged into a toasty body. You hummed in approval, snuggling into the warm surface when a chuckle vibrated through your body causing your eyes to shoot open and look up at Leo, his eyes were closed as if to mimic sleeping but his deep laughter told you he was still awake.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Leo..." You mumbled until sleep finally sunk it's claws in, dragging you into its embrace.

Leo could hear faint snores coming from you as he made sure to keep you warm and to make sure you and your son were protected. Your soft skin and smooth legs pressed into him causing him to exhale in distress when he could feel a certain body part getting a little too excited about the physical contact. Leo's arms strained from pulling you closer into him but his cock began to throb in need in his pants. He tried to resist but you fidgeted in your sleep, rubbing your lower stomach and crotch against him and his body would respond the same - his hips would angle forward to press against you while you slept.

You gasped in your sleep except you didn't wake up, your breathing began to be somewhat laboured and your hips thrusted toward Leo's to chase the subconscious sensation of his rough jeans against your stimulated clit that was puffy and sensitive. Both hips worked in tandem with each other, your breathing getting louder and Leo's body tensing from the rising orgasm but suddenly his rational mind screamed at him.

'What are you doing, you bloody idiot!?' After what she's just been through and you do that? He stopped immediately but the sound of your unconscious whine at the loss of stimulation had Leo shushing you and cuddling you further to make up for teasing you. Movement behind you also reminded him of your son sleeping at the other side of the bed, a fair distance from you both but guilt and irritation wracked his mind at his thoughtless decision yet he just couldn't let you go.

His eyelids finally grew heavy, a yawn made its way out of his mouth before he rested his head on top of your head, his face burrowed into your hair because the flowery scent of your hair products lulled him into sleep. The three of you sharing a bed, Leo's shotgun propped against his side of the bed next to his pillow, and you and Leo wrapped into each other's arms.

Unbeknown to you or Leo, your three man group would be rudely awoken by a malice gang looking to cause more chaos before the night is over...