I finally figured out how to make a masterlist guys!! So here’s all my fics so far, in no particular order. Some link back from my old acc (@tpwkindness94) hope you find something you like :)
The one where your mafia boss boyfriend, Harry, has finally gotten you back.
But everything is about to change.
Word Count: 3.3k
*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*
“Mama…you have to let go now.”
Your shaky hands tighten around Asher’s arm, fingers curling into his skin in a blatant act of defiance.
You hear Harry sigh from behind you before he steps closer to take hold of your shoulders gently. “Sugar, it’s time to go. You need rest.”
“I can’t,” you exhale, glancing back through tear-stained lashes. “We can’t leave him like this, Har. We can’t, it’s…he’s alone.”
“He’s not alone. And even if he were…it’s not like he knows.”
You feel a soft sob travel up the expanse of your chest, lodging in your throat almost painfully as you glare at him.
He sighs again. “We can come back tomorrow and see him. But I need to take you home now, sweet girl.”
He’s tugging on you, attempting to guide you away from where Asher lays, but you plant your feet into the ground and argue, “Harry, we can’t.”
“Mama—”
“No, he’s…what if he wakes up and he doesn’t see us? What if he thinks we left him?”
“Sugar—"
“And what if he thinks we’re angry at him? Or what if he gets worse—”
“Baby—”
“What if he doesn’t make it? And we never get to tell him—"
“Please,” he suddenly exhales, in a voice so strained and riddled with exhaustion, it takes your breath away. Drops a pit deep in the bottom of your stomach that blooms into fully formed guilt as you slow to a stop. “Please let me take you home. I have to take you home, I have…please. Just let me do this. Please let me do this.”
You think this is the first time you’ve really looked at him in hours. The first time you’ve actually noticed the dark bags and red rings around his eyes. The physical proof of the torment he’s been through painted so perfectly on his perfect face.
He’s been so patient, so gentle. Despite everything else, he’s stayed by your side as Asher was brought into his warehouse to be taken care of privately. Without involving the authorities, Harry found medical personnel he could pay off without jeopardizing his work or his men’s safety to get Asher the help he needed.
He’s taken care of everything. Every little detail and instruction without so much as flinching. He’s held it all together.
For you.
You study him with a sink in your stomach, palm pressing to his cheek as you nod once. “Okay. Okay, take me home.”
He releases his relief, nearly sinking into your touch as he nods as well and takes you by the hand to lead you out of the warehouse.
And you go home. Maybe not to the same place you used to call home, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
Wherever he is…is your home.
The rest of your night is quiet. You’re both exhausted, bodies riddled with fatigue, stress, and lingering trauma. Harry’s bruises are beginning to darken in color, and before you go to bed, you work on cleaning them up and bandaging them properly.
Then, he takes you into his arms, and brings you to bed.
He doesn’t let go all night.
Not when you turn, or shift, or cough. His arms remain snaked around your torso like a vice while his face nuzzles into your neck as though he can’t breathe any other way.
And you don’t mind.
In fact, you become quite used to the heat that radiates from his strong frame and the sound of his soft exhales in your ear.
So, when you wake to find both missing…you realize something has gone wrong.
You sit up in the large, empty bed and glance around the large, empty room for any sign of the man you love.
When you don’t find him, your mind is tempted to jump to the worst possible outcome. He’s been taken, or he’s left, or Asher took a turn for the worst and Harry went to say goodbye.
And then…you hear it. The sound of knuckles hitting the shredded foam of the punching bag. Over and over and over, followed by soft, strained grunts after each hit.
Your stomach wrenches, and with great trepidation, you slip from between the covers, and begin to pad your way through the halls.
The house is quiet and cold. Eerie, in a sense, with only the light of the moon to guide you down the stairs.
Your arms curl around your shivering frame, a fruitless attempt at finding warmth. You wonder how long he’s been gone. How angry he must have been to leave you so willingly in the middle of the night after everything else.
You find him in the basement, his back to the door as he lays hit after hit to the black bag hanging from the ceiling. You can see the muscles ripple beneath his shirt with each blow, can see the veins in his arms cord and push against his sweaty skin.
And you can see the blood. The dark droplets that trickle down his hands from the torn skin of his knuckles. He wears no gloves or wrapping to protect him from the harsh strikes. Almost as if welcoming the pain.
Encouraging it.
You step closer, finding his face in the mirror across the room. His expression is anguished and outraged. He glares at his hands like they’re the reason for his resentment, and it breaks your heart to see him so tormented.
“Har?” you call the moment he’s taken a quick pause, moving a bit closer.
You notice him hesitate, but his back remains to you. Perhaps afraid of your reaction.
Or maybe he’s afraid of his.
You frown. “Harry? What’s wrong?”
A rather silly question, you realize. Because everything is wrong. A shorter list would be things that aren’t.
But there’s something he’s holding onto, something he hasn’t shared that keeps him up. The reason for his bruised fingers and punishing strikes.
“Baby?” you murmur, hoping a softer tone will encourage a response.
Instead, all he does is shake his head.
You feel pulled to him, your feet moving across the cold, cement floor until you can wrap him in your arms and press your cheek to his spine.
“Harry,” you exhale while he braces himself against the punching bag and succumbs to your comfort. “Please…”
He sucks in a sharp breath, yet still, he remains silent. As though the words on the tip of his tongue have been swallowed by the grief.
You clutch his shirt in your hands and tug. “Talk to me. I can’t…I want to help. Please let me help. Let me make it better—”
Another breath, but this one is strangled and wounded. Breaking free of his lungs while his head drops. “Don’t,” he whispers, and you feel your pulse stagger. “Don’t, not after I…not after…”
Your brows furrow, and you grip the material on his chest a bit tighter. “After you what?”
He sighs. It’s so very heavy.
Even still, you hold on with everything you have left. “Har?”
A beat. Then—
“I let them take you.”
The admission is ushered with quiet shame, and you can hear the remorse bleed through each syllable, can feel the way his body recoils from truth.
Your lips press together as you keep your fingers tangled against his heart. “You had to.”
He scoffs to himself, palms pressing harder into the bag. “Doesn’t matter, I fucking…I let them take you. I sat there, and I listened to you cry, and I fucking…I…”
You turn him around; despite the way he attempts to remain planted to his spot. You force him to look at you, and it nearly guts you to see the way he glowers like he’s furious with himself. Like he’ll never accept the choice he made.
“You had to,” you repeat, as firmly as you can. “Harry, there was no other way. And I know that. Just like I know you didn’t want to. But this was the only option we had left.”
His teeth scrape together like the idea irks him yet there’s a sadness behind his eyes that says more than his response ever could.
And then…he lowers.
He drops to his knees, settling himself at your feet as he looks up at you with penitence.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you suck in a sharp inhale. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for everything I’ll have to put you through again. I’m so fucking sorry for ever making you feel scared. Or alone. And I’m sorry that loving me comes at such a high cost.”
You can feel a rush of tears swimming their way up the back of your throat but before you can speak, he drops his head, looks down at the floor, and rests his hands on his thighs.
He submits to you.
“Please,” he says softly. “Please forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it. And I know that there’s nothing I can ever do that’ll make it up to you, but please…please forgive me.”
You reach down and slip your fingers under his chin, forcing his attention back. He seems to find comfort in your touch and yet at the same time, he wilts. Like he doesn’t feel worthy of your affection.
“Please,” he says again, and it creates a hole in your stomach a mile deep. “I’ll do anything.”
You take both his cheeks against your palms, thumbs gingerly dancing across the heavy bags beneath his eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive, Har. There never was.”
He nuzzles his face against your hand and takes in a shaky breath. “You deserve better than this. You deserve better than me, and I’m too selfish to let you go. But maybe I need to. Maybe I need to get out of your way so you can find somebody that isn’t going to hurt you—”
“No,” you interject, dipping down with a pointed squeeze to his jaw. “Don’t. Don’t do that—”
“I want to protect you. I want to keep you, but what if I can’t—”
“You can,” you murmur, and your voice cracks as the first tear falls down your cheek. “You can and you have. I’m with you for a reason, Harry. I love you. I love you, and I can’t be without you, so stop saying it—”
“If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do—”
“But you didn’t,” you argue, attempting to sound more confident than you feel. “You didn’t. You never will. Just…please. Please come to bed.”
His lashes flutter, but those pretty eyes you find so much serenity in never leave you. “I’m so sorry,” he says again. “I’m so fucking sorry for not being the man you deserve.”
And it hurts you more than anything else ever has. Because you can see that he actually believes that. But even worse, you can see that you’ll never be able to change his mind.
So, you kiss him. You kiss him hard and with more love than you know what to do with. You offer it all to him, your time, your devotion, your affection. Everything you have, you give to the man on his knees.
You’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to convince him that you’re safest with him. That nobody else could ever do for you what he does. That you’re meant to be with him…even if it’s on the run.
But you suppose you’ll just have to spend the rest of your life showing him.
You whimper against his lips, hands moving for the hair on his neck as you tug. Desperate for more, for all of it. Anything he’ll give you. Needing to prove to him and to yourself that things are okay again.
In turn, he reaches out for your hips, the tips of his fingers slipping beneath your shirt as he attempts to pull you down with him.
But just before you can revel in the idea…the phone rings.
You both turn, glancing toward the wall where the landline resides, and Harry sighs as he stands back up.
“One minute, okay?” he promises, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before slipping past you to answer.
You watch closely as he brings the headset to his ear, his expression filling with something you aren’t sure you recognize.
Your stomach drops before he nods, mumbles a quick response, and hangs up.
He turns to you. “It’s Asher.”
You step closer, the tears already flooding back to your waterline, desperate to fall.
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip…and smiles.
“He’s awake.”
“You’re a bloody fucking idiot is what you are.”
Asher laughs and nods his chin toward his boss. “You didn’t think so when I suggested it.”
“I didn’t suggest you get shot,” Harry corrects, arms crossing over his chest almost defiantly. But he’s smiling, and it makes your heart warm. “You were supposed to take her and wait outside. I would have handled it.”
“If I hadn’t stayed, they would have killed you,” Asher argues, and Harry’s expression falls. “And nobody can protect her better than you.”
Harry’s eyes drift to yours.
“Besides,” Asher adds, “it’s kind of my job to take the bullets meant for you.”
And just the thought makes your breath hitch, your throat contracting almost painfully as you glance between them.
Harry nods once. An acknowledgement of understanding. And gratefulness.
Now, Asher turns to you, frowning some as he straightens up. You rush to help, making sure his pillow is fluffed just right, and that he isn’t putting any strain or pressure on his wound.
But as you flutter about, he begins to chuckle, hand reaching out to gently ease you to a halt.
Yet you feel helpless simply sitting by his side, unable to offer much more than an encouraging smile and a few words of comfort. You want to do something. Make it up to him in some way. Repay your debt.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, calling your attention to him. He frowns when you look over. “I need to apologize to you.”
Instantly, you shake your head as you step back, almost as though trying to avoid his attempt. “No. You don’t. It was part of the ruse, I know. Harry told me.”
“Doesn’t matter. Speaking to you that way crosses a line, and I’d like to apologize for the harsh things I said—”
“Asher,” you exhale, glancing down toward the bandage on his chest to avoid his gaze. “You’re alive, and that’s all I care about. You had to sell it, you had to make him believe you were on his side.”
He sighs, but you can tell he’s not exactly convinced. “Even still, I promised to protect you. And I’m so sorry if I ever made you believe anything else.”
“Ash,” you say again, but there’s a long pause as you swallow a rather large lump. Desperately working to find the right words. “You did protect me. You protected both of us. And even if I didn’t know why at the time, deep down, I always trusted you. I know you. You’d never do anything to hurt me.”
He seems slightly relieved by your reassurance, but you can tell the regret goes deeper than a few apologies can reach. This isn’t your wound to tend to. It’s his.
You know both boys will wrestle with the choices they made for years to come. And despite how frustrated that makes you, it simply proves how much they care.
And you imagine, if the roles were reversed, you’d react about the same.
So, with great care, you surge forward and wrap your arms around Asher’s neck. Making sure to mind his injury as he laughs and allows you to bury him in your embrace.
“Don’t ever do that again,” you whisper, eyes falling shut as he slips his hand around the back of your neck. Keeping you close. “Seriously. I’ll kill you myself.”
He smiles. “It would be an honor to die by your hand.”
It’s a touching remark, yet even the thought makes your stomach wrench, and you nuzzle your face into his shoulder. “Ash?”
“Yeah?”
“…I love you.”
You feel him let out a deep breath before he holds you a bit tighter. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”
“But I mean it. Don’t ever do that again. Just…duck and run.”
He chuckles again as he releases you, forcing you to regretfully step back. “I’ll remember that.”
“You better,” Harry calls, pushing off the wall to come up behind you, hands finding your shoulders. “Especially now.”
Asher’s eyebrow raises.
You feel your pulse spike, hands gathering in front of your stomach while Harry squeezes your arms reassuringly.
“I’m taking her away,” Harry tells him, and there’s a heaviness to the way he speaks. “Somewhere outside of the states, somewhere they can’t find her. Where I can keep her safe. At least for a little while.”
Asher leans back, eyes flicking between you both as you look toward the floor.
You and Harry had discussed it at length before coming to see him. It wasn’t your first choice, and you knew it wasn’t a suggestion Harry made lightly.
But after a bit of back and forth, you realized it was the only way. He would do anything to keep you safe and he’d never know peace again until he could make that a reality for you.
And now after everything…he can. He can start over somewhere new. He can bring you the serenity he so desperately wants you to have.
And the serenity he so desperately deserves.
“You’re leaving,” Asher repeats slowly.
You press yourself back into Harry’s chest, wanting to disappear from the conversation, and the look of surprise on his face.
And the subtle trace of disappointment.
“Just for now,” Harry answers, and you glance over your shoulder to catch his solemn expression. “Maybe a year or two. Until there’s not such a large target on my back.”
Asher nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs before straightening up. “Good, yeah. I’ll clean things up here, and make sure the shipments are still on track.”
“Good,” Harry echoes before smiling down at you. “But I’m gonna need you to do a bit more than that.”
With a curious head tilt, Asher waits.
“I need you to take over until I get back,” Harry tells him, and you feel your breath catch. “Manage the imports and exports. Make sure the suppliers don’t fuck us over, and that everyone is doing their job. Handle the shit I can’t.”
You watch the realization settle, his eyes growing wide with intrigue and slight confusion. “Are you serious?”
Harry nods his chin at him. “Deadly,” he says with a wicked smirk. “Look, you know I don’t trust anybody else not to fuck this up while I’m gone. You’re the only one who can manage it and still keep me in the loop. You’re the only one who would do it the way I would.”
Asher smiles, and you can see years’ worth of memories and admiration pass between them.
So, you step aside, and allow Harry to move closer.
“You’re still a fucking idiot for pulling a gun on him like that,” he murmurs, making you both smile. “But I trust you, Ash. And I need you to do this for me. For both of us.”
Asher studies him for a moment, but you know he’s already decided. Know that they’d both do anything for each other.
“Of course,” he finally says, looking from Harry to you. “As long as you are coming back.”
Harry glances over to you as well. And he smiles. “Yeah. We’re coming back.”
You reach out to weave your fingers with his before looking to the man in the bed. “Promise you’ll be here when we do?”
Asher laughs again, and it’s a sound you’ve never been more grateful for.
“Fuck yeah,” he agrees, making the three of you smile. “Come on. Where else am I gonna go?”
And you grin wider than you have in weeks.
No matter where you move or where you stay, as long as you have them…
You’re finally home.
OKAY I KNOW THE ENDING WAS SAPPY, BUT I SWEAR THIS ISN'T THE END OF ASHER!!! JUST A CHANCE TO EXPLORE SOME OTHER THINGS!!! 😭💞💞💞
Credit for the amazing divider to @firefly-graphics 💞
Happy 4 years to this account!! Thankyou all soo much for joining me on this journey, it’s been amazing honestly. All the love, creativity and community on here is soo incredible, and obviously exists because of one man! Harry means soo much to me and this blog and getting to write and share my writing
I can’t deal with this today- 🥹 wrote the tiniest drabble for you, I couldn’t help myself!
Like you’d accidentally walk on the outside and he’d be like ‘erm excuse me!’
And you’d be like ‘what? What did I do?’
And then he’d literally grab you by the shoulders to stop you and then rotate the two of you so that he is on the outside, meanwhile a couple of bystanders are now watching the two of you.
‘That’s better’ he says continuing to walk, satisfied that he was now on the outside.
‘Why does it matter who’s walking on which side?’ You chuckle.
He turns around flabbergasted that you were even questioning his motives ‘it is literally the number 1 rule as a boyfriend’
‘What protect me at all costs?’
‘Yes of course, what if a car came hurtling towards us?
‘Then we’d both probably get horrific injuries or get squashed’
‘No wrong! I would protect you with my body so you wouldn’t get hurt’ he throws his hands as if he wasn’t the one thinking illogically.
‘Baby you’re soo fucking cute’ you pout.
‘And guess what so are you, too cute to get squished’ he reaches his hand to clasp with yours to carry on your venture into London, on the correct sides of the path.
So I just finished watching my policeman and let me just say, what a film! Currently SOBBING and definitely have emotional damage but overall the film is incredible, like INCREDIBLE! Harry, Emma and David and all the other actors working on the film literally need an Oscar like PLEASE!
