27| She/Her | This blog may contain romantic, angst, violent & mature themes. Read responsibly
š¤ AU & canon-divergent fanfiction
š Mainly possessed by Sons of Anarchy, The Walking Dead & Vikings
š¤ Occasionally haunted by The Vampire Diaries/The Originals & Harry Potter
š¤ One shots, imagines, series & original works
š Angst, romance, tension, comfort & morally grey men
š¤ Requests are always welcome, some obsessions just take longer to possess me.
...Trust me, thereās more haunting this blog soon.
Hey, itās me. I am romantically hauntedā¦ literally. š¤
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Welcome to this little dungeon of fanfiction, original stories & imagines.
At the moment I mainly write for Sons of Anarchy, Vikings & The Walking Dead, though characters from The Vampire Diaries/The Originals & Harry Potter occasionally crawl into my head too.
Expect AUās, canon divergence, dark romance, tension, comfort, angst, chaos, tenderness and characters that will probably ruin your life a little.
Requests are open, but remember: some obsessions just take longer to possess me.
Come haunt this place with me.š
This blog may contain mature themes & occasional explicit content. Read responsibly. š¤
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Imagine having to share a bed with Daryl after arriving in Alexandriaā¦
āAināt takinā the bedā. Daryl muttered instantly the second Aaron left the room, already eyeing the couch across the living room like he planned on sleeping there for the next year. Your arms crossed over your chest. āDaryl, that couch is barely bigger than youā. And that is how you ended up in this dark room, beneath clean sheets backs barely touching. You were surrounded by walls that shouldāve felt safe, instead it felt too quiet. No walkers scraping against fences. No distant gunshots. No rain leaking through broken roofs. Just silence and Daryl his breathing next to you. It was too quiet to what has become your new normal and it made the both of you restless. Minutes would pass in silence before you could feel the mattress shift softly behind you. Daryl let out a quiet breath, rough fingers dragging over his face in frustration. Sleep clearly wasnāt finding him either.
You rolled onto your back, your eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. āFeels weird, don't it?ā You whispered eventually. A low grunt that was supposed to be an agreement, sounded behind you. āToo clean.ā Daryl muttered after another moment. āToo damn quiet.ā A faint smile pulled at your lips at his words. Because somehow hearing him say it made the place feel a little less unfamiliar. Somehow you both ended up rather close to each other, as both your restless bodies had shifted against each other. Darylās breathing slowed slightly, his arm carefully resting against the mattress near your waist, hesitant like he wasnāt sure if he was allowed to be this close to you when the world wasnāt actively ending around you. His close presence made you feel enough at ease to finally allow your body to fall asleep. And when sleep finally pulled you under, you couldāve sworn Daryl shifted just a little closer. His rough fingers slightly brushed the fabric hugging your waist. It was ever so lightly, careful and hesitant. Like this kind of closeness was unfamiliar to him, though he never pulled away.
You hadn't meant to fall asleep. Honestly, you hadn't even meant to end up in Damonās room. Another supernatural crisis had kept everyone stuck at the Salvatore Boarding House for most of the evening. This time it had something to do with a mysterious stone. Very original. While everyone else argued downstairs, you wandered into Damonās room and found one of his older books. It looked ancient, the pages yellowed with age and the leather cover worn from decades of use. You had only intended to read a few pages while waiting for the chaos downstairs to die down. Several chapters later, you were fast asleep.
Damon walked into his room sometime after midnight, shirt unbuttoned carelessly and a bottle of Scotch hanging loosely from his hand. His gaze immediately landed on your sleeping form. One arm was hooked beneath your head while the book rested open against your chest, rising and falling with every peaceful breath. "Aww..." Damon paused, looking completely unimpressed. "The audacity." Yet instead of waking you, he quietly took the book from your hands and placed it on the nightstand. Because despite all his complaints, Damon couldn't remember the last time someone had looked that comfortable around him.
The guy in front of you had been touching your arm, your shoulder, even your waist, and it was starting to become a problem. Not only because he wasn't Chibs, but because he hadn't listened to a single no you'd given him all evening. Every time you slipped away, he somehow found his way back to your side again. By now it felt like he'd been following you around the clubhouse for hours. You could also feel Chibsās burning glare while yet his demeanor was calm. Dangerously calm actually. You stumbled backwards as the guy moved in closer, clearly drunk as the look in his fuzzy eyes started to scare you while you tried to convince yourself he was probably just some annoying drunk who couldnāt even walk a straight line anymore. You swiftly placed a barstool between the both of you, hoping he would trip a little and that you could create more distance this way. Feeling Chibs his deathglare in your back though that glare wasnāt meant for you.
Chibs walked over to the both of you, still dangerously calm yet you noticed even his scars had tensed up a little. "Lass, is he botherin' ye?ā The Scot asked, his gaze meeting yours for a second as you couldāve sworn you saw something that showed care behind them. āNo, the guy is just annoyingly drā¦ā Before you could even finish the word drunk, Chibs stepped forward. The sickening crack of forehead meeting nose echoed through the clubhouse. The man stumbled backward, clutching his face while blood spilled between his fingers. You couldn't help the relieved smile that tugged at your lips. Chibs simply draped an arm around your shoulders before guiding you away from the chaos behind him. Chibs looked down at you for a moment before jerking his head toward the bar. "Come on, lass". "Where?" You would ask him as you enjoyed how his arm felt around your shoulders. "I'm buyin' ye a drink before I decide to make that idiot's evenin' worseā.
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Imagine Titus being mesmerised by your blood soaked handsā¦ (Read Responsibly!)
A/N Girl you are crazyā¦ wait i wrote you so I might be the one whoās crazyš¤
The room is lit by candlelight. Cult members surrounded you, chanting softly beneath their robes. Hoods up, their faces barely visible, hands hidden in wide sleeves. A goat chained to the floor, wide eyed and bleating in distress. Slowly and confidently, you stepped forward. Neither scared nor hesitant. With a swift movement, you slid the ceremonial blade across its throat. As the bleating suddenly fell silent. Blood gushed over your hands and a small smirk tugged at your lips at the familiar warmth coating your skin. Crimson droplets splattered across your face as the carcass dropped into the pit. The ritual should have held Titus's attention. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on you. On the blood dripping from your hands onto the stone floor. On the crimson streaks slowly tracing down your face. He had witnessed countless offerings throughout his life. None of them had ever held his attention quite like this.
His eyes were dark. Dangerous. Unable to look away from you. The candlelight danced across the blood staining your hands, but Titus barely noticed the flames anymore. His attention had narrowed to a single point. You. Nobody else seemed to notice the way Titusās expression had changed, it was almost like it was a moment made for just the two of you. Though the offering was meant for the cult, somehow it felt as though the entire ceremony had become personal. The room felt silent despite the chanting. Because the moment your eyes found his across the ritual circle, everything else ceased to matter. Everybody else saw devotion. Titus saw courage, your composure, your fearlessness, your willingness to stand in the center of something dark and not look away. The sight planted dangerous thoughts in his mind. Thoughts he was smart enough not to voice and disciplined enough not to act upon. For now.
Imagine Ivar losing his mind while you ride himā¦ (NSFW!)
Candlelight danced against the wooden walls while thick furs meant to keep the cold away lay scattered across the floor beneath you, as your moans filled the room. Ivar his masculine hands, the same hand that had led battles and spilled blood, locked around your hips possessively. His jaw tightened, fingertips digging into your skin while his gaze gave away exactly how dangerous he thought you were. The worst part? He looked like he loved it. Every roll of your hips dragged another strained breath from him while you met him with soft moans grazing over your lips. His blue eyes locked onto you like he couldnāt decide whether to worship or ruin you for making him feel this weak.
The usual control in his expression was cracking apart piece by piece beneath you. You could see it in the way his chest rose heavier now, in the frustration flickering behind his stare every time your hips rolled slowly against him instead of giving him what he wanted. āYou enjoy this way too much, donāt youā the sound of his voice made you realise how much power you had over him, while he was completely losing his mind with his cock buried inside of you. Half a smirk jerking on the corner of your lips, you loved the effect you had on him. You could feel the battle inside him with every uneven breath that left his lips. Ivar was a man built from control, from strategy, from never letting anyone see weakness. Yet here you were above him, slowly pulling him apart with every movement of your hips.
The clubhouse had already gone quiet by the time the both of you sneaked into one of the private rooms. You sat on the edge of the bed while his tattooed arms hooked beneath your thighs, rough hands pushing your hips deeper into the mattress. Your elbows pressed into the sheets to steady yourself while your gaze stayed locked onto his dark stare. His movements between your thighs dragged soft moans from your lips, your breathing growing more uneven each time he felt you tremble beneath him. Happy barely made a sound aside from a few low groans rumbling in his chest, but the look in his eyes every time another shaky breath escaped you said enough already.
Your calves rested on his shoulders, heels pressing against his back while your legs tensed around him from the pleasure building low in your stomach. The way his tongue worked against your slickness felt almost desperate, like he had been craving you for decades. Your fingers tightened into the sheets as if they were the only thing keeping you grounded while your hips instinctively chased the rough drag of his lips. Your back arched softly, another shaky breath escaping you while Happy kept you exactly where he wanted you. A quiet groan rumbled in his chest until his dark gaze found yours again. āCould stay between these thighs all damn night.ā A soft moan slipped from your lips at his words, your fingers tightening deeper into the sheets. āBetter keep that promise then.ā Your thighs instinctively tightened around his shoulders, heels pressing firmer against his back as if pulling him impossibly closer.
Imagine Titus realising he could never kill youā¦
A/N Found a way to watch Ready or Not 2: Here I Comeā¦ and unfortunately I have now fallen in love with Titus Danforth š¤
Yes, I am completely unhinged. No, I will not be seeking help anytime soon.
Also decided to write this short imagine because I desperately needed to know what it would feel like writing him... and honestly? I fear this may become a problem.
You sat on his lap while his fingers lazily played with the rings decorating your hand, his arm brushing against the black velvet fabric of your dress. Titus wore that same sly and satisfied smirk everyone feared except you. You had grown to love that look on him. Power looked dangerous in the hands of most people. You thought it didn't on Titus. No, on him it looked intoxicating. After taking a slow sip of the dark Whiskey from the crystal glass resting between your fingers, you traced the dried blood splattered across his hand. Your gaze lifted back toward him, meeting his gaze as you return that same satisfied smirk, though yours carried something softer beneath it. Something only meant for him to see, proud but at the same time seductive. āIf I ever pull that hide and seek cardā¦ā You paused your voice carrying a dangerous kind of precision, but also something soft āWould you be the one to kill me?ā. You knew Titus wouldnāt hesitate to kill for power if he had to. You have seen it yourself. Blood on marble floors as bodies would get dragged out of the council rooms. Even his own family fell beneath his hands without mercy when betrayal demanded it.
Though you saw something else beneath that dark flicker in his eyes, it was hesitation. his fingers stopped moving against your hand entirely while his stare fixed on you for a little too long. Like he was trying to imagine it, trying to picture his hands around your throat while air disappears from your lungs slowly while his hands would be stained with your blood instead. Though he felt something primal and possessive instead. It even pained him and was that guilt fluttering his stomach? It was safe to say he failed miserably while trying to imagine killing you. Then a bitter laugh escaped softly beneath his breath, as if he had been holding it, before he leaned back slightly against the chair. āSee that is the problem with youā Titus muttered, voice quiet though all amusement behind it was gone and made place for slight frustration. āProblemā You chuckled the right corner of your lip moving upward as you on the other hand actually were amused by his reaction. āI think iād burn this entire council to the ground before I ever let them touch youā. His hand suddenly tightened around yours, possessively, gaze darkening as the realization settled heavily between the both of you. He could kill anybody else, but never you..
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A Forgotten Memory | Damon Salvatore x reader | one shot |Songfic. (angst)
A/N: I got inspired by the song Waterworks (Ivory Black remix) and decided to weave its lyrics into this angsty piece. The songlyrics I used are in purple.
Warnings: Angst. No happy endingā¦ well, depending on how you look at it. Enjoy š¤
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I had spent over a century pretending I understood control. Not even understood itā¦ no, I had convinced myself I mastered it. That was until you showed up in my life. It was raining, wet clothes sticking to our skin. Soaked hair clinging to your face when you had kissed me like you had planned to ruin every little bit of control I had built upon over the years. My lips were chasing yours desperately as your breathing slipped between every kiss I pressed onto your lips once I took over dominance. My fingertips dug into your hips claimingly as I long for your taste. While it all felt like we got no time to waste. That kiss shouldāve been the warning. Instead, it became the beginning of everything. Because after that you consume what's left of my soul.
Every time I had an excuse to be around you, I started using it to where it became obsessive. Of course I would use this excuse out loud making it sound like I needed to convince you while in reality I was convincing myself I deserved to be around you. You became a dream that I chase, in my sleep and awake. Our desperate kisses would become my fuel. Your attention would become my fixation. Somehow your presence started feeling necessary. I kept searching for you in crowded rooms before I even realized I was doing it. Every touch left me wanting another one like a man starved. You became the first thing on my mind every evening and the last thing haunting me before sunrise. I started memorizing the sound of your laughter like it was something Iād die without. Now I fear that I've lost all control. I stopped wondering if this would destroy me and started wondering how Iād survive if you ever left.
I called it Waterworks. When your tears were running down your skin so pale. To no avail. The first time I saw those tears, something snapped inside of me. The hurt and betrayal in your eyes after I snapped your best friendās neck. I didnāt know. All I saw was a jerk hurting your feelings and I just got emotional. It is how I work, how I always had been and the devastating look into your gaze, tears rolling down your cheek, realizing the love you still held underneathā¦ I am the monster and love didnāt save it, it made me terrify the monster I could become. Your tears shouldāve made you hate me. Instead they only made me realize how badly I wanted forgiveness I didnāt deserve.
After that night, every rational thought I had told me to leave you alone after that night. To compel you to forget about me and the monster lurking beneath my skin. To disappear into the night, before I would ruin you completely. Though, loving you became another selfish trait of mine and the love you returned for me became an anchor. I clung to you like I was expecting you to lift this curse and put me under your spell, it binds. What made it worse is that you would always look at me like there was still something human buried beneath the blood staining my hands. And how I wanted to believe youā¦ Maybe that was the cruellest part about loving you, the way you would see the good in me everytime i proved you wrong.
I wanted to break the cycle where I kept failing you and hurting you. It was about the fifth time I had snapped in front of you again when I left Mystic Falls for a while. Three days later I was standing outside your bedroom window again like some pathetic ghost unable to move on. Every time I tried to say goodbye after the first, I failed miserably the second you looked at me. So we're entwined. I kept pretending distance would save you from me while secretly counting the hours until I saw you again. And as I feel you inside my bones. I felt you everywhere after that. In every room and every sleepless night. Every violent impulse I tried to bury. In the glass of whiskey I used to numb my emotions. I can never let you go.
It happened repeatedly, me being away and watching those Waterworks, tears running down your skin so pale. To no avail. When I would watch you from the shadows I lurked in to watch over you from a distance. It hurts to see you like that. Hating myself for doing this to you each time before running back to you. Each time I would run back into your arms to get a taste of your love it felt like you would lift this curse and put me under your spell, it binds. Every time you forgave me, it became harder to remember why I ever tried leaving in the first place. Maybe that was the cruelest part of us. I knew loving me was destroying you and still I kept crawling back for more. So we're entwined. But you became my weakness in the most selfish way possible and I kept breaking your heart just to hear you say you love me afterward.
It all led to this moment, I couldn't let it go on any longer and sometimes loving someone means letting them go. Your tearfilled eyes held my stare while your fingers wrapped desperately around my wrist. If I was still human, your grip probably wouldāve bruised me. āPlease.. Damonā your Whispers in the water, your voice is sirens' call āPlease donāt, i donāt want to do this without youā I'm drowning in your shadow, lost within it all your broken pleas echoed inside my head like punishment. It wasnāt that I wanted to do this. God, if anything, every selfish part of me wanted to keep you exactly where you were. Loving me. Choosing me. Forgiving me. But you deserved more than a man who kept feeding the monster inside himself with your love.
My irises locked onto yours instantly. Piercing. Unmoving. The world around us slowly faded into nothing until all I could see was you. Your trembling lips. The tears caught on your lashes. The fear slowly settled into your expression once you realized what I was about to do. āDamonā¦ pleaseā¦ā Your voice cracked my chest open. Waterworks, tears running down your skin so pale. To no avail. I swallowed hard before my hands slowly cupped your face, forcing myself to stay steady while your breathing shook against my skin. āLook at me.ā My voice came out softer than I intended. More broken. Your watery eyes stayed trapped on mine while compulsion slowly slipped between us like poison disguised as comfort. I could already see the haze forming in your stare. Your body is relaxing despite the tears still running down your cheeks.
āYouāll forget me,ā I whispered carefully, even while every part of me begged to take the words back. āYouāll forget everything weāve been through. Every kiss. Every touch. Every moment you ever loved me.ā My voice remained certain. Calm. But my heart was tearing itself apart inside my chest. āAnd youāll move on,ā I forced out painfully. āYouāll live the life I could never give you.ā For a second your expression flickered, almost like some part of you was still fighting me. Still holding onto us. Then your gaze slowly emptied. And just like thatā¦ I lost you before you had even walked away. As I would wish for you to lift this curse and put me under your spell, it binds. So we're entwined.
Imagine sitting in Happy's lap while he cleans his gunā¦
The heat still lingered long after noon, warming the wooden porch beneath your bare legs. Two half filled glasses of Jack Daniels rested on the weathered patio table beside an overflowing ashtray. Happy sat back in the old outdoor chair with you comfortably settled in his lap, one tattooed arm lazily wrapped around your waist while both his hands worked on unloading his gun and removing the magazine right after. A black cloth resting over your knee ready to be used and the oil already waiting to be used on the table. Your gaze follows his every movement as if he was doing something fairly interesting. Your fingertips traced the back of his rough hand mindlessly before you would slightly turn your head to face him. āTeach me?ā Your voice was soft, but the excitement was unmistakable. Just like the corner of his lips creeping upwards at your question. He gave a nod, just oneā¦ but it was enough for you to return your gaze to his hands.
A small smile tugged at your lips while you shifted slightly against his lap, your attention following every movement of his tattooed hands. The smell of gun oil slowly mixed with whiskey and cigarette smoke. āFirst, clean the barrelā His voice stayed low and calm while he grabbed the black cloth resting across your knee. You just nodded his fingers brushing yours as he placed the black cloth into your hands. āHereā Happy suddenly grabbed your hand, placing the cloth between your fingers before guiding your hand toward the barrel. āSlowā His chest pressed warmly against your back while he guided your movements carefully. Patiently and focused. Your hand moved slowly beneath his guidance, carefully cleaning the inside of the barrel while Happy watched every movement closely. āNever thought this would become one of my hobbiesā you muttered quietly underneath your breath. Happy gave a low hum, finally reaching for his whiskey glass with his free hand. āSittinā on my lap while cleaninā guns?ā A soft laugh escaped your lips. āExactly thatā
Imagine Jax realizing youāre the only peaceful thing left in his lifeā¦
The clubhouse had finally gone quiet hours ago. Bottles left scattered across the tables, cigarette smoke still lingering in the air and old rock music humming softly through the speakers. The tension from earlier still clung to Jax like gasoline soaked into leather. Another argument. Another problem. Another night where his head felt too loud to exist in silence. The front door creaked softly when Jax stepped into the house, tired blue eyes instantly finding you curled up on the couch beneath one of his flannels. Half asleep. The television still flickering quietly across your face. He stood there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at you as if his body finally remembered how to breathe properly.
The whiskey glass in his hand remained untouched as he slowly sat down beside you, rough fingers brushing carefully through your messy hair. He sat there, enjoying your warmth as you crawled into him. Too sleepy to say anything. A yawn escaping your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, knowing he at least got home safe. Jax just sat there, fingers tangled through your hair. He watched your chest rise and fall in that peaceful and dreamy rhythm. Just watching you being this peaceful actually grounded him and it made him realize somethingā¦ āChristā¦ā He muttered underneath his breath, exhaustion heavy in his voice. āYou make all this shit quiet for a minute.ā
Where He Softens | Chibs Telford x reader | one shot
A/N
I felt like writing something domestic and romantic today, maybe even fluffy and comforting. Just dancing around the kitchen with one of your favorite bikersš¤
It was late at night. Everything had already gone silent, a streetlight flickered through a small gap in the curtains. The entire neighborhood was probably asleep by now, peaceful in a way Charming itself never truly was. Somewhere out there engines still roared and deals were still being made, but inside the house there was only the low hum of old rock music drifting through the living room. You lay curled up on the couch beneath a soft blanket. The fabric brushed against your bare legs while the faint scent of cigarette smoke and old whiskey still lingered in the room from earlier that evening. You werenāt asleep. Just waiting for your old man to come home.
The front door finally opened with a quiet creak. You didnāt move immediately, though the corner of your mouth twitched softly the moment you heard heavy boots crossing the wooden floor. Chibs always tried to be quieter when he thought you were sleeping, despite the fact a man built like him could never truly move silently. You cracked an eye open just enough to see him. Leather kutte. Exhaustion weighing down his broad shoulders. There was dried blood across one of his knuckles and the familiar scent of cigarettes, cold night air and gunpowder followed him inside the house. His tired eyes landed on you almost instantly. āThereās my girlā¦ā His Scottish accent came out rougher than usual, exhaustion dragging through every word. His gaze was tired, though beneath that tiredness there was still adrenaline lingering in his stare. The kind that told you his mind was still stuck somewhere back at the clubhouse.
A soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you slowly sat up at the sight of your old man wandering into the living room. āLong night, dear?ā Your voice soft, your tiredness of the long wait lingered in your voice like a whisper. āAye.ā He exhaled quietly, rubbing a hand over his beard. āClub shit.ā the way he exhaled, even the way his fingers traced the outlines of his facial hair told you exactly what kind of night it had been. You could almost guess how much he had been smoking this evening when the stench of cigarettes and iron filled your nostrils even though he wasnāt even close yet. As you quietly waited for your old man to finally fill up that empty spot on the couch with you.
Your eyes followed him toward the kitchen while he grabbed the whiskey bottle from the cabinet, though halfway through pouring himself a glass he stopped. His gaze shifted toward the radio instead. Toward the old rock song humming softly through the house. Then back toward you. A slow grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. āCāmere.ā You laughed quietly underneath your breath. āChibs, I'm comfortableā. āWoman,ā he pointed toward you with the whiskey glass. āGet yer ass over hereā. You didnāt have to think twice, you were touch starved for him all day anyway. You got up, the blanket hitting the ground beneath you as you made your way to your old man.
His arms sneaked around your waist, as his rough hands found your lower back. Caressing hands sliding up your back, the fabric of your shirt almost non-existent beneath his touch. The old rock music softly humming around the both of you. Your hands deliberately found his chest, the leather of his Kutte brushed your fingertips, a soft smile appearing on your lips at the familiar feeling. His body finally seemed to loosen bit by bit beneath your touch, the tension slowly draining from his broad shoulders. They clearly had been carrying too much today, you could feel it in the way he exhaled against the top of your head. It was heavy, tired. Almost like he had been holding his breath for hours.
The kitchen light cast golden shadows across the room while the music continued softly around you both. Chibs pulled you closer without hesitation, slowly swaying with you in the middle of the kitchen as if the outside world suddenly didnāt exist anymore. Your cheek rested against his chest while his rough fingertips traced lazy circles against your lower back. āYou smell like cigarettes,ā you mumbled. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest above your head. āAnd bad decisions,ā you added softly as the faint scent of iron reached your nose. āAye,ā he muttered slowly. āThat too.ā You could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek. It was slow and steady, just like the rhythm of both your feet shuffling beneath you. The kind of rhythm that made your entire body slowly melt into him without even realizing it.
Your fingertips slowly slipped from his chest toward his hand, carefully intertwining your fingers with his much larger ones. The dried blood across his knuckles already darkened, cracked between his rough skin. Your feet follow into his as he slowly leads you through the kitchen. Moments like this, definitely were your favorite ones. The love for him crawling beneath your skin, goosebumps giving away exactly what you were feeling for him. Your thumb brushed over the bruising gently, almost absentmindedly. Chibs noticed instantly. Of course he did. His gaze dropped toward your hands before a quiet breath escaped him. āSweetheartā¦ā He muttered slowly. āMāfineā. āI knowā You spoke softly, though your fingertips still traced over his knuckles anyway. āDoesnāt mean I canāt careā. For a moment he just looked at you, the look in his eyes was enough of an answer.
The song on the radio crackled softly through old speakers while your bodies kept swaying together across the kitchen floor. The whiskey glass still rested forgotten on the counter behind him, abandoned the second he had pulled you into his arms instead. Outside, somewhere far down the street, a motorcycle roared briefly before silence swallowed the sound again. You rolled your eyes softly underneath your breath while his hand slowly traveled higher along your spine, fingertips disappearing into your hair for a moment. The touch made your eyes close briefly. Comforting. Familiar. Home.
Chibs lowered his head slightly, lips brushing against your hairline while he kept swaying with you to the music. No tension. No chaos. No SAMCRO bullshit. Just him. Just this. His grip tightened slightly against your waist before he spoke again, voice quieter now. Softer. āBest part oā my day is cominā home tae ye, lass.ā Your eyes closed completely at those words, arms slipping further around him underneath the leather of his kutte. Outside, Charming was still turning beneath violence, engines and bloodshed. But here in the kitchen, wrapped up in Chibs Telfordās arms while old rock music hummed softly through the house, the world finally felt still for once.
After a while of heavenly slow dancing and just enjoying his warmth and touch, one of his masculine hands found your cheek, cupping your jaw. His lips found yours slowly, almost like he needed to savor the moment. The familiar taste of whiskey and cigarettes lingered on your lips as you caught on with his slow and yearning rhythm. The sound Chibs made against your lips while his thumb caressed your jaw, made your knees weak. The kiss wasnāt hungry, it was something more than that. Something you canāt simply put into words. It was a kiss that would carry an entire day of missing each other. A kiss that made him forget everything he had to do on behalf of the club. The slow sway between your bodies never fully stopped, feet still catching on to the rhythm of the music. Neither of you rushed to let the other go, simply swaying together beneath the dim kitchen light.
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Imagine Elijah loses control because someone hurt you...
You would be lying if you said it wasnāt terrifying. Elijah Mikaelson was always composed. Always calm. Yet now he stood there almost breathless, blood dripping from his knuckles onto the wooden floor beneath him. Crimson splattered across the white blouse underneath his dark suit jacket, staining the fabric like spilled wine. The room had gone silent. Even his siblings looked at him carefully when Elijah lost control. But the moment his dark eyes landed on the bruises around your wrist, something dangerous flickered behind them. You stood there, eyes wide. Too baffled to give any real reaction, no crying or trying to stop him.
You would also be lying if the entire rampage wasnāt somehow hot and flattering. Your gaze finally met his, noticing how he softened for you almost instantly. The tension flowing out of his body the moment he looked at you, as if your presence alone grounded him again. You couldnāt help but give him that soft and thankful smile you always reserved just for him. āAre you alright, Love?ā Elijah asked softly, his polite and perfectly controlled voice making your stomach flutter even though it definitely shouldnāt. Especially not after witnessing something like this. Yet somehow that contrast only made it worse. The blood on his hands, the violence still lingering in the room, paired with the gentle way he was looking at you now. As if hurting you had been the only truly unforgivable thing in that entire situation.
