#even worse i know he would twist my words and put the blame on ME instead

[lyrenminth]

My best friend

n/a. I'm alive and well. I'm going to start publishing drafts, I hope you like it.

Bad days are for everyone. Having company was important. Since one of your best friends passed away, you had a hard time trying to move on. You cried everyday, thinking that you could have been a better friend and talk more with her. Spend more time, enjoy more. Life was a thin sheet of paper, it could end in many ways, you could draw so many dreams and yet tearing it apart.

Joe noticed your mood, and even though he tried to talk to you, you refused to speak with him because you felt awful. He respected your decision and gave you time. When it was obvious you weren't fine, he started getting nervous each day. He sent you more texts, and came home earlier than usual. The pre season was starting but you couldn't pay any attention to it. You were mourning.Until one day Joe took a seat to talk. You were in the living room, reading without comprehend so much about the meaning behind.

"Ok, that's enough. You need help" he stated, serious but caring "you haven't eat well, you lost weight, you don't talk, you don't go out anymore. I'm worried about you"

You shrugged, feeling anxious. "I don't know"

"I try to be patient, but this is worse of what I thought"

"What did you thought?" your voice lack emotion, like a machine.

"I know she was your friend" Tears started running down your face. You heart ached full of regrets. All the things you didn't do, all the words you didn't say. You were a shitty friend. He came closer to you, and you sat on across his legs and hugged you like a mother would hug her crying child. You buried your face on his chest, sobbing. "Baby, it's ok, it's ok" his hand ran through you back up and down, trying to comfort you. He gave you kisses on your forehead, whispering soft words.You knew Joe didn't feel comfortable with overly emotional people, but you couldn't stop. Besides, he was your partner.

"I feel terrible Joe"

"Tell me why"

"She called me one day before and I didn't answer. How many times I didn't answer?" you cried.

"You didn't know"

"Then her mother called me, I didn't picked up. I don't know..." you took a deep breath "I miss her"

"Baby, you didn't know what was going to happen. It's not your fault. Don't put the blame on you" his hands moved to your cheeks, his gentle touch calmed you down.

"What do I do now Joe?"Her mother told you everything was fine. No shade or prejudice against you. But the blame was eating you alive.

"Baby, you need help. Someone who is professional, not me or your mom or anyone else" he told you "You are my best friend too, I only want your happiness, and I bet she would like the same" his expression was serious, his worried eyes made your stomach twist in pain. You never thought about how important was your presence for him. But he showed you in his actions, the little details. He always remembered your allergies, your like and dislikes. He would listen to your rants when things didn't go well. And when he got injured, he rely on you a lot. With you he felt naked in mind and body, you knew his ups and downs and he trust you above every one else.Losing you was not in his plans. He grabbed you by your chin and made you look at him.

"Promise me you'll accept the help" You nodded because you didn't want to cause more harm. "I love you" he whispered so low you almost didn't hear him. You buried your face on his chest, feeling protected. Joe was your friend, your partner, your family. You must be strong for him.

#Joe Burrow #joe burrow x reader #Fanfiction #nfl

[incendio22]

FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL

Chapter 17: Midnight

Trigger warning: This chapter contains references to mental illness and suicidal thoughts. Stay safe, friends ♡

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It is almost midnight when Ominis and I return to the castle. In hopes of finding Sebastian we head straight to the Undercroft. As suspected he is sitting on the floor with a book in his lap. I have no idea how he manages to read in the awful light, but he seems to enjoy it. When he hears us he quickly stands up.

''How is she?'' He seems tense, but I cannot blame him. I would be too.

''She's doing alright, despite the circumstances.'' I tell him. ''She got a thestral.''

He lets out a sigh of relief.

''I always told her people consider them a bad omen, but she refused to believe it. She always loved them.'' He tells us. ''Did she ask anything about... Me?''

''A bit, of course.'' Ominis tells him. ''But she hasn't changed her mind, if that's what you're really asking.''

''Understood.'' He says and turns away, walking back towards the corner where he was sitting before. ''And the prophecy?''

''It's worse than we expected.'' I say seriously. ''It will come true, unless we stop it. Someone in Ominis' family will give birth to the darkest wizard yet to exist.''

''So it's all a bit... Problematic.'' Ominis says, it almost sounds as if he's holding a laugh back. ''The ironic part is that I'm not even surprised.''

''I'm sorry.'' Sebastian says seriously. ''Let me know if there's anything I can do.''

''Nothing, for now.'' Ominis walks out of the Undercroft.

''He probably needs some time alone.'' I say. ''This journey was exhausting for him. Especially after finding out about... Everything.''

''I bet.'' Sebastian says.

His mood is clearly off. Likely, mine would be too if he were to visit a sibling who didn't want to see me. He sits back down on the ground, pulling his knees to his face and puts his face in his palms.

''How could I be so dumb?!'' He cries out. ''I should have listened to you all. I went too far.''

His cries are echoing slightly in the room. I have never seen him cry before and it hurts me so much. All I want to do is make him feel better, but I don't know how. I sit down next to him, putting my arms around him in silence. I kiss the back of his head and use my robe to wipe the tears from his face.

''I messed up so bad. How can I ever forgive myself?'' His words are barely understandable now that he's crying even more intensely than before.

''You need to find the will to forgive yourself.'' I whisper into his soft hair. ''You have to accept the damage you did and find some peace with yourself, Sebastian.''

He turns around and hugs me. I hold him while he's crying so hard that he's gasping for air. I tell him to breathe deeply with me. Eventually he calms down and stops crying. His eyes are red and puffy and he looks concerned.

''Do you think she'll ever forgive me?'' He asks quietly. He looks ashamed.

''She wants to.'' I tell him. ''She told me she wants to.''

He looks up at me.

''Really?''

I nod and give him a slight smile. It seems to bring him some comfort, knowing that she at least wants to forgive him. I just hope that it will be enough for him to start his own journey on forgiveness.

''You know, this summer when I was all alone... The feelings were eating me up.'' He says quietly. ''It was so bad. I could barely look at myself in the mirror after what I did. I wanted to end it. All of it.''

His words make my stomach twist into a knot. It hurts to hear the words slip out of his mouth, but it hurts me even more knowing he had to deal with those emotions all by himself.

''Oh, Sebastian... I'm so sorry you had to go through that.'' I whisper. ''You're so brave for telling me. You don't have to go through this alone. You have me.''

He squeezes my hand and I squeeze his hand back. Squeezing and kissing his hand has become my way of telling him that I love him without actually using the words. They feel too big, too scary. So I keep them for myself.

I don't know how many hours we spend in the Undercroft. It could be an hour, it could be all night. But I hold him until we fall asleep on the floor. I want to kiss him until I can't breathe, I want to kiss him everywhere to take his pain away. But I know that tonight he needs me as a friend. Even if he doesn't use the word 'friend' to refer to me any longer, I know that it is in that way he needs me tonight. So I hold him in my arms, stroking his hair until he falls asleep, eventually falling asleep myself.

The next day I wake all tangled up in him. Our legs have intertwined and our fingers are twisted together. Even though it's cold in the Undercroft I'm warm due to his body temperature. I roll around, my back is aching from sleeping on the floor, and lie face to face with him. He's still asleep, slightly snoring. He looks so peaceful when he's sleeping and I wish I could make him have that look all the time. I kiss his nose, then his hand. His eyes open slowly, looking drowsy as he pulls me closer. He gives me a cheeky smile, despite just having woken up.

''So this is where I gotta spend the night for an awakening like this?'' His voice is hoarse from sleeping, causing it to sound deeper than usual.

''I suppose so.'' I say whilst moving even closer to him, allowing me to feel his body close.

''I could do this every day.'' He says as he presses his lips on my temple, causing me to feel a rush of heat running through my entire body.

We lie there even longer, backs hurting from the night on the floor, but not wanting to move away from the position we're in. His index finger is tracing my the lines on face, it's almost as if he's trying to fill in the lines. My upper lip tickles as he's tracing it, causing my face to light up in a smile. I kiss his index finger and he stops moving. Holding his finger completely still. He rolls over onto his back and puts his hands on his face.

''You're actually driving me crazy.'' He then says, almost looking embarrassed.

''Let me.'' I tell him daringly.

''You already have, love.'' That's the first time he ever called me a nickname that isn't 'new girl'. My heart starts fluttering.

Now it's my turn to roll over and cover my face with my hands. I feel my cheeks lighting on fire, most likely turning them into a bright red color. He sits up and looks over at me with a massive grin, then takes my hands into his and removes them from my face. I try to roll away, so he won't see my face but he shakes his head and gets on top of me.

''Oh, you're not going anywhere.'' He says, still grinning. ''Let me see that face of yours.''

For every second that passes, I'm blushing even more. He takes my wrists in to his hands, gently pushing them down on the floor. He's looking at me with fiery eyes, then eventually leans forward and kisses me all over my face except for the lips. Then, he sits back up and looks down on me.

''Oh, did I miss something?'' He asks firmly. I nod. ''You know what to do.''

''Kiss me.'' I beg him and he looks at me, as if he's deciding whether or not he should do it.

He leans back forward and kisses me, cupping my cheek with one hand and his other hand in my hair. I feel as if someone lit fireworks inside of me, hungry for more. When he's done with me, I feel like a blushy mess.

''Well, that's one way to start the day.'' He gets up and grins at me.

He offers me his hand to get up on my feet and we leave the Undercroft. In the crisp daylight I notice that his cheeks are also flushed. I smile for myself, thinking that I'm falling so hard for him.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy #slytherin #fanfiction #ominis gaunt #fanfic #for the hope of it all

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Erupt - a Malevolent fic

Sunny knew him. Knew him well. This was Parker working himself up to do something rash. Parker?

Very carefully, Parker said, “I’m not mad at you.” But just a little, he was.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

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Parker walked.

Walked? No, more like stalked, too quiet to be stomping, but far from his usual step. He marched past chattering and laughing deities, hunched past monsters in servant garb, stormed right the fuck out of the palace and through the front gates. He ignored anyone who said, Hey, is he allowed out, passed the road with fancy gilded wagons bringing special fuckwads in, and kept stalking until he was past the outer limit of Carcosa proper and almost into the Dreamlands themselves.

Wherever they were was desolate. Boulders jutted up from the earth, the landscape brown and craggy. They had no pack, no water or clothes. Who the hell cared? It’s not like Parker had a destination.

It’s not like Hastur would really let them go.

They’d gotten perhaps half a mile from the gates when Sunny spoke again. Parker, he said, voice hushed and wounded and scared. Say something. Please. I don’t… I heard everything you did, and I’m also… please, say anything.

Parker found it difficult to unlock his jaw from where it was set; too difficult with the rage that filled him to bursting, the wrath that put him firmly in the walk it off before you do something you regret camp.

He wasn’t sure there was a whole lot he’d regret right now.

But for Sunny, he would have to manage, because Sunny would blame himself, and Parker was getting desperate not to put any of this rage on him. “That motherfucker,” he said, shoulders shaking from the effort.

He could almost feel Sunny twist in his head, pained and incorporeal. I… said Sunny, as if he could find the words to make it better—but from the following uncomfortable silence, he could not. I didn’t know, he said at last, voice low and ragged. I didn’t… Parker, I’m sorry.

Parker grabbed a stone from the ground and hurled it into the distance, finding no relief in watching it clatter against the rocky ground. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. His breath came fast through his nose, shallow.

Sunny knew him. Knew him well. This was Parker working himself up to do something rash. Parker?

Very carefully, Parker said, “I’m not mad at you.” But just a little, he was.

He knew that wasn’t fair. He did. But this had put the big thing they didn’t talk about into such sharp relief that he could no more ignore it than he could a knife to his neck.

Sunny knew him. Knew him well. This was Parker not saying everything. We can’t… we can’t change what he did, Sunny said, the tremble in his voice betraying his fear, but we… You’re helping, Parker. You’re helping Arthur. That has to count for… something, right?

And Parker fucking roared.

He raised his fists in the air and brought them down with his whole body, slamming them into the boulder ahead of him, definitely hurting himself, a volcano of rage.

Sunny whimpered.

“I CAN’T LET YOU DO IT!” Parker howled, and then he did something even worse: he slid to the rocky soil on his knees, curled down, and so quietly, began to cry.

Wh-what?

“Fuck….” Parker whispered. “Fuck. You’re gonna hate me for it. I hate me for it. But I can’t… I can’t. I can’t.” He sobbed it.

I could never hate you, Sunny said, voice fearful for an entirely new reason. Never. I love you, Parker—talk to me, please. I don’t… I’ve told you, I don’t harbor any ill will towards Arthur anymore. I’ve been trying so hard, I…

“I can’t let you join the King,” said Parker, and his voice sounded like grinding metal.

Sunny sat in shocked silence for a moment, feeling Parker’s tears drip down their chin. It… he said, fumbling. It can’t be helped, Parker.

“Bullshit,” Parker snapped, squeezing his eyes shut. “It can. You’re not doing it.” He took a shuddering breath. “Hate me for it. I know I'm going back on my word. I fucking know it, Sunny. But I can’t. I can’t let you. I can’t let you be part of that. I wouldn’t let anybody I cared for join some fucking monster.”

Do you think I’m happy to have learned all of this? Sunny shuddered, Parker’s face contorting in a grimace. I’m… I’m not, Parker. I feel… I don’t even know what to feel. And maybe I would have felt differently a year ago, I don’t know, but—

“I don’t care,” Parker said thickly. “I told myself it was like some terminal illness, yeah? Some fatal disease that couldn’t be helped, and I’d love you to the end, and I still will… but it’s not like a disease at all, and it isn’t happening.”

Parker, Sunny said, his voice soft and full of grief. I am the King.

“No, you’re fucking not!” Parker punched the boulder this time, splitting the skin of his knuckles. “You’re not! I don’t care if you were! You’re not!”

I am, Sunny said, and Parker’s tears were no longer all his own. I’m no fucking better than he is, Parker! I schemed with Larson to try and make Arthur’s life a living hell. I manipulated and lied and everything else! He let out a soft sob.

“You are better. You’re better. You’re… you weren’t even part of him when he did that to Arthur.” And then Parker changed directions. “And maybe I don’t care. Huh? Maybe I don’t give a fuck if you’re cut from the same cloth. You’re not the same now, and I won’t let you do it.” He groaned, low. “I didn’t want to before, anyway, but it wasn’t about me. It still isn’t. You’d be ruined. You’d lose the good in you. I won’t fucking let you, and if you hate me… you hate me.”

What am I now, Parker? Sunny’s voice had a bit of bite to it. A pathetic little scrap, barely any power to speak of, that can only sit by and watch?

“No!” Parker sounded so raw. “You’re Sunny!”

I don’t fucking know who Sunny is, he snapped. All I am, all I will ever be is the King’s forgotten one, not even important enough for him to look for, and if I have convinced you otherwise—he choked. Maybe I’m… maybe I’m a better manipulator than I thought.

“I know who you are,” said Parker. “You’re the guy I fell for. All the way, hook-line-sinker, all-in, head-first, and I’m still in, and I wouldn’t fall for some piece of shit or some liar because I’m fucking good at seeing through those!” Parker, who could run for miles barely breaking a sweat, was breathing like he couldn’t get enough air.

Are you sure? There was a tremor in Sunny’s voice. Are you sure this is really about me, Parker? And not because otherwise, you’d be alone?

Parker went really still. He studied his hands, bloodied and bruised, and nodded. “Go on. You got better than that in you. Gonna hit me low, you better aim below the belt. And that was pretty pathetic.”

I… And just like that, the fire died. I… I didn’t… I didn’t mean that. I don’t know why I said it. Fuck.

“No, you been thinking it for a while,” Parker said evenly. “Probably. And I can take it. Sunny, get it out. This is your chance. Fucking take my head off. I’m breaking my word, so do it. I don’t care. Nobody can hear us out here, anyway.”

You deserve better than me. Sunny curled into himself, almost. You deserve better than all of this. I can’t do anything for you, Parker; I can’t hold you, I can’t give you the love you deserve. I can’t keep you safe, not from Larson, not from fucking anything.

“You think any of those things is why I love you?” Parker said, soft.

I don’t know why you love me. There’s nothing here to love—just a fucking voice that was thrust upon you, dragging you into this… into this fucking nightmare! His voice hitched, raised. It’s… it’s not fair! None of this is fair!

“Sure. Sure. Then why aren’t I ready to get rid of you, huh? Looking for it. Maybe telling Hastur to take you early. Instead of fucking fighing to keep you.” Parker took a slow breath. “I’m trying real hard to give you what you want. What maybe you need. But I can’t do this. It’s like tossing a baby into a lion’s den. And I love you. Whatever you are, scrap or Sunny or whatever the fuck. With me, is what you are. That’s what love is. That’s why I know it’s real. If...” He gripped his hair tightly, trying to calm down so he could speak clearly. “If it was based on some… some… you doing shit for me, instead of being with me, it would never last. Because people get old, and shit happens. You can’t always do. But if it’s just with me, then none of that matters. Because we can be together no matter what’s going on. Damn it, I’m fucking…” He had to use his cloak to blow his nose, and got blood from his hands on it. “Fucking hell.”

I don’t know what I want, Sunny said, his voice a low, agonized groan. I don’t want you to… to grow old, to die, but I can’t… I can’t stop it. I can’t. I can’t mark you, I’m not John, I can’t—

“Did I fucking ask you to be John? Did I ask you to mark me? What have I asked of you, Sunny?”

I WANT TO MARK YOU! Sunny bellowed, breaking down into a sob. All the things I want to do, I fucking can’t! I can’t even… I can’t even…“ He took their voice, words hitching and breaking. “I can’t even hold you. All I want to do is hold you, right now, and I can’t. I can’t do anything but watch.”

Parker wrapped his arms around himself. He was silent for a long time. “How long you wanted that?”

They both knew he didn’t mean being held.

Sunny’s throat was already exposed. He may as well. Since… since before we came to Carcosa, he said, voice shaking with the effort to be heard. But I knew for certain when we went on the roof the first time, and… and I told you I loved you. But— he let out a sob. J-John said… he said Hastur… John suggested he mark you, to keep you from… and I can’t. It hurts, and you hate him now on top of it, and—

“I don’t hate John.” That sounded like a carefully thought-through thing. “He’s a victim. Like you. Like Arthur. Like me.”

Not John. Hastur. And Sunny erupted into horrible, all-encompassing sobs.

Parker rocked. Maybe for Sunny, maybe for him. Then weakly, he laughed. “Never thought I’d hate my father-in-law.”

Somewhere in Sunny’s sobs, there was a sound that might have, instead, been a laugh.

Parker sighed and gripped his hair again. “I don’t get why Arthur forgave him. I can’t fucking figure it out. What in fuck happened on that road trip? How could he forgive that? But he did, Sunny. I know Arthur. He did. That’s got to mean something.”

It took a while for Sunny to respond, his hitching sobs quieting enough that he could form words. Both… both of them did. John… he wouldn’t have… he wouldn’t have let it go if he hadn’t. He took a moment, breath hitching again as a new tremor rocked his incorporeal body. I… I don’t know that I can… make promises.

“Promises for what, sunshine?” said Parker softly.

About… merging, he said, the word like a death sentence. I… I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I think I have to, Parker, it’s not about… I don’t know that I have a choice.

“All we talked about with that asshole, and I didn’t ask that,” Parker murmured. “Fuck. They’re gonna make me choose.” He dug his hands into his eyes. “Well. I’m gonna. And if he says he’s gonna take you, we’re gone. I’m sorry about Arthur, but I won’t stay.”

If I have to, Sunny said, his voice soft, I’ll use what’s left of me to… to make sure you can be free, Parker. I swear.

“I don’t wanna be free. I want you.”

We might not get that happy ending, Parker, Sunny said, voice soft. Resigned. You’re the only good thing that’s ever happened to me. I… I should have known better.

“Fuck that. We earned our happiness and I’m not letting go.” His voice cracked. “I could run. Right now. But I think… I think Arthur and Faroe might pay for it, and I don’t think we’d like that. Either of us. And he’d catch us, anyway.” He rubbed his eyes. “Gonna be a grownup and find out what the fucking King needs to leave you alone. He likes deals. He’ll take it, if the pot’s sweet enough.”

The Outer God would make all of them pay for it, Sunny said, weak. What if… what if there’s no other way, Parker?

Parker was quiet for a long moment. “I can’t accept that.”

We might not have a choice.

“Don’t know that yet.” Parker didn’t do denial often, but when he did, he planted a flag. “If there’s no way… I dunno. Maybe he can fucking eat me, too.”

Sunny growled.

And maybe it was Parker’s turn to push. “What do you care? You’ll be gone. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t wanna be without you.”

You… Sunny stopped. Thought. I don’t know that I would allow that.

Parker’s voice was warm, heated even, challenging. “And how are you gonna stop me?”

I don’t know, he said. I don’t… I don’t know, Parker. I don’t know anything anymore. Sunny let out a soft sniffle. The only thing I know for sure is that I love you.

“Yeah. Me, too.” Parker swallowed. “I used to laugh at guys who lost their shit and did stupid things when in love. Guess it’s real, after all.” He took a slow breath. “Are we going to war against a god?”

I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe there’s another way, Sunny said. We’ve got five years. That’s not nothing.

“Yeah. There are probably all kinds of things we could do. I just…” He looked at his hands. “I don’t like the thought of heading down Larson’s path. I like healing. I don’t want to lose what we’ve become by chasing weapons, or whatever. No, we gotta be clever. I’m fighting for you, Sunny. I won’t listen if you tell me not to. Not this time. Not in this. And if it means I get smashed in a duel or something because there’s no way to save you… I’d rather go out trying.”

You could never head down Larson’s path, Parker, Sunny said, voice a gentle whisper. I… I need to think. I need to think about everything. But… thank you.

“For breaking my promise?” His voice cracked. “I don’t… like doing it. And I’ll understand if you don’t fucking trust me again.”

Parker… I trust you. You got me to Carcosa. You brought me home. We didn’t… know, then, what lay ahead. I know you didn’t just… do this lightly. And because it bore saying again: I know you���re not Larson.

Finally, Parker touched his lips. They could both taste a little blood. “Still got no regrets.”

I’m sorry I snapped at you. I… I don’t know what came over me. I won’t do it again.

“I’m glad you did,” Parker said. “You know what I’m sorry for?”

You shouldn’t be sorry for anything, Sunny said quietly.

“I am, though. I should’ve told you this deal was upsetting me. Then maybe I wouldn’t have blown up on you. I’m sorry for that. I sat on it, and it went bad. I won’t do that again.”

Sunny was quiet for a moment. Thank you, he whispered, the sound full of tears. I understand why… why you didn’t. Thank you.

“Well. I never said I couldn’t be dumb.” He sighed, looking at his blood on the boulder. “Uh. Is it dangerous to leave part of myself on this thing?”

I don’t think it’d be wise. Can… can I heal your hands? Or do you need that, right now?

Parker swallowed. “Could you?”

Always. Always, Parker. Ph’lloig. Their breath ghosted over their knuckles, which itched as the wounds closed and the skin knit back together, leaving nothing but drying blood crusting the lines of his hands, and Sunny gently kissed them, as if apologizing.

“And you said you’re useless,” said Parker. “Dunno what I’d have done without you. You made me fight harder to stay alive. You matter. Your presence fucking matters.”

Sunny sucked in a shaky, incorporeal breath. I can’t… I can’t hold you. But I can heal you, and… Well, we can burn away the remnants of you here, so no one has a chance to gain power over you. The magic for that was easy, and the bright red blood vanished under scorch marks.

“But you do hold me. Maybe not with hands, but you do.” Parker stood.

Not the way I want to, Sunny said, soft and wounded and tired. We’re… okay? You and me?

“I dunno,” said Parker. “You mad at me?”

No.

Parker sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Broke my promise. Made you cry.”

And I was awful to you, for no reason except that I was… I don’t even know what I was feeling. Sunny sighed.

“You know I forgive you, right?” Parker said.

Sunny was quiet for a long moment. I think… I think I do, he said, soft. And I forgive you. Are you ready to go back?

“Yeah.” Parker paused. “I feel dumb. That was some rookie shit back there.”

Wh… with the King?

Parker sighed, heading slowly back toward the gleam and gold of Carcosa. “Arthur told us Hastur was fucked up after Gokar’luh.”

After having to kill our son. Yes.

“Humans and gods, they ain’t so different,” Parker said. “Think back. Aimes case, about three months after we got here.”

The widower? Sunny said, sounding dubious.

“Remember why he was picking all those fights?”

Sunny gasped. You said that was like Arthur when you found him.

“Both those guys wanted to be shanked and wanted to be left alone. Hastur can’t be shanked..,.”

But he…

“Can drive everyone away from him. And I fell for it. I let him get to me. Flip the script on me. Real newbie shit.”

Parker, he… he’s thousands of years old. He’s a god. He…

“Didn’t do nothing a genius perp wouldn’t do. I ain’t saying he’s not brilliant, because he is. But I went in unprepared.”

Sunny sighed. That’s… you never cease to amaze me. You got your heart cut out, and you’re unraveling him.

“It’s what I do. It’s how I get through shit. It’s my blueprint.”

I know, Sunny whispered. If it has to happen… if I have to join him… please… do that instead of being eaten.

Parker walked, hands in his pockets. “This is me trying real hard not to leverage my survival to keep you going. That ain’t healthy.”

I…

“I won’t, Sunny.”

I don’t… know what I can promise or not.

“Just stick with me.” He caressed his jaw. “Imperfect, fucking amateur, temperamental, full of shit, more stupid than brave.”

Only if you stick with me, Sunny almost whispered. Manipulative. Weak. Evil. Cowardly. Selfish.

Parker suddenly laughed. “Who in fuck are we even describing?”

M-maybe some perps we should take down, Sunny managed, and added a shaky laugh.

“I love you,” Parker said. “Whatever he wanted to do by fucking me up like that, he failed. We’re going after him again, and getting the rest of our answers.”

Parker’s tongue trembled. N-not yet? Please?

“Oh, fucking yeah not yet. We’re getting some chocolate, cheese and crackers and grapes, some damn good whiskey, and we’re calling off the rest of the day. I’ll put the damn bed in front of the door if I have to.”

That sounds… good.

“Yeah. It does.” They marched back inside, and didn’t speak again until they were safe and sound in their room.

#peter parker yang #parker yang #malevolent au #malevolent fic #malevolent #surrogate series #surrogate malevolent

[lovesosweeet]

better left unsaid // cth

chapter thirty

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.

calum hood x fem!oc

read other chapters

october 2, 2018 san diego, califonia orion

When I imagined waking up in my childhood bed with the person I consider my soulmate, I never thought my stomach would be full of dread. I never imagined that it wouldn’t be a happy feeling, but instead, my entire being feels the impending heartbreak. 

I have Cal’s arms wrapped around me, him snoring quietly into my hair, and I find myself trying not to cry. The rest of the band left late last night, and Emelia went with them, taking whatever random room on the floor they have for the band and crew instead of staying here, although I did offer it to her. I don’t blame her. I’m sure she felt the weight of whatever would happen between me and Calum today and she wanted to steer clear.

I’m sure she has no idea what I’m about to do.

I don’t wake him up and try to relish the feeling of waking up next to him, but when I hear him yawn and stretch behind me, I’m relieved that our fate is bubbling to the surface, about to release. He squeezes me tighter to him once he’s awake, and it makes me feel worse. I never thought that I would wake up in his arms and not be happy about it, and yet, here I am. 

“Morning,” he says quietly. I wonder how he’s already aware that I’m awake. 

“Morning.”

I wonder if he’s able to tell how defeated I already feel.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks, and I don’t know how he’s so able to act like everything between us is normal.

I want to cry, but I try to hold it together.

“I didn’t really sleep.”

I’m exhausted. I could easily fall asleep right now under normal circumstances, but this morning is already the worst day of my life and nothing has even happened yet. 

“Orion,” he starts, trailing off. There he is. Now he feels the weight in the room, the heaviness in my chest. He’s paying attention now, and I’m both relieved and disappointed. Maybe it would have been nice to live in blissful ignorance a few hours longer, but it’s nice that I can get everything off my chest now. 

“We have to talk about it. I know it’s gonna suck but I can’t… I can’t keep sitting on it.” My words are brash, fast, and I feel his arms tense around me as I say them. 

“I know,” he breathes. His muscles unclench some, but he’s still stiff. He still knows this is about to suck.

“Do you have questions? Or do you want me to just talk?”

Without hesitation, even in his sleepiest state, he’s quick. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to put your life on hold.” I’m quick, too.

He sighs, and I feel like he’s saying that my answer isn’t good enough. That’s how well I know him. I can decode what the different tones of his sighs mean, and I hate it. I hate myself.

I hear him heavy breathing beside me, and I try to give him time to say more, but as his breathing turns into quiet crying, it takes so much willpower not to say anything else. 

“That wasn’t your call to make,” Calum finally says. 

His words make me want to get mad, but I know I don't have a right to be mad right now, so I swallow it and feel the words dig into my esophagus as they creep into my stomach.

“I know,” I finally say in response. It wasn’t my call. He’s not wrong. 

“So you felt like telling me in the middle of tour? Thinking that was the better time?” His tone is clipped now, and I can tell he’s not happy, but I don’t blame him. How does any of this not make someone upset?

“I wanted to wait until November,” I tell him. It’s honest. I wanted to hold onto it until it was over. I didn’t want him to have to deal with me at all. I wanted him to go on tour and have fun and come home and be with me. 

“Why didn’t you?”

“Ashton made me.” I hope, in telling him that, he hates his best friend less. 

“So I didn’t deserve to know? You just told me because he made you?”

It partially feels like he’s twisting my words, but at the end of the day, he’s right. At least, about the second half. He deserved to know, and I know that, but I didn’t want to tell him now. Deep down, I think if I could, I wouldn’t tell Calum until the day before I die. I don’t want him to live a life knowing that mine is working out the way that it is. In an ideal world, he wouldn’t have to deal with the weight of this.

If he was the one sick, I know just how crippled I’d feel by the knowledge. It would destroy me. Honestly, I think dealing with Calum being sick would hurt far more than it does to know that I am. 

“Cal, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“No matter how you phrase it now, Orion — it fucking hurts.”

He’s right and I know he is, but I’d like to think that there’s some universe where I’m right, too.

I’m quiet then, and while I wish I could give words to what I’m thinking, I can’t. I’m just quiet, my mind racing, trying to craft exactly what I should say next.

“I can’t do this to you,” I finally say. I’m crying — sobbing — now, and I feel like I’m gasping for air. 

I feel Calum pull back with confusion, and it hurts to know what I mean. He would never predict what I’m going to say. I don’t think anyone could. Even yesterday, I don't think that even I could have predicted that my mind would be where it is right now. I would’ve never imagined feeling how I do, but now that I do, I don’t know how else to deal with everything.

“Calum, I don’t think we should be together.”

As soon as the words escape me, I shrink into myself. I cry. I cry a lot. The sobs shake through me and I can’t stand the way I feel. I can’t stand knowing what I’m doing to him. Calum’s silence isn’t unpredictable. He’s not a rash person. He’s thoughtful, and I imagine that he’s mulling everything I’ve said over and over in his head and trying to figure out how to answer.

“What… what do you mean?” He asks. He gives me a chance to correct, to fix it all, to act like I hadn’t just said what I did. But I did say it. I meant it. I meant it with everything in me, even if it hurts.

“I can’t do this to you.”

He’s silent then, and I guess I take it as a sign to continue, because I do. 

“I don’t want you to face the hospital every week and be reminded of how hard things are. I don’t want you to deal with this, with me. I can’t watch you fall apart like this. I just can’t. I can’t watch you watch me die. It’ll kill me faster than anything else ever could.”

“Oh, so you’re just shutting me out completely?” He asks it with a sarcastic flair to his tone, but it doesn’t need to be like that. He’s right. Even if he doesn’t think he is, he’s completely right.

“Yeah, if you want to say it like that, that’s what I’m doing.”

I don’t view it as shutting him out, really. The truth is, I’m sparing him. I’m helping him get through this life less scathed by unfortunate circumstances. 

“You can’t just break up with me because you don’t want me to quit the tour.”

I don’t know how we have made it this far into the conversation without so much as looking at each other, but his latest words force me to my feet. I kick off the blankets and hurl my body to my bedside, standing with my feet off the bed on the hardwood floor. I feel like now I have to look at him. He has to see my eyes and see how serious I am.

“I’m breaking up with you to protect you,” I whisper to him, angrily. Even though my tone is malicious, I have tears streaming down my face in thick ribbons, small rivers carving into my cheeks.

Calum sits up then. He’s not crying, but he’s on the verge of it. He looks more annoyed than anything. “What if I don’t let you?” His tone is somehow neutral. He’s calm about it and I hate it. It feels like what I’m saying just doesn’t matter to him.

“That’s not how breakups work!”

“Too bad, Orion. I’m not going to let you push me away when all I want is to spend as much time with you as I can. I’ve already missed my chance to be there for you these past two months and that’s on you. If I don’t get to be there for you now, that’s on me and I can’t do that to you.” 

“I don’t want you to be there for me.” I lie. It’s a boldfaced lie.

“You can’t just say that and make it true!” He yells it, undoubtedly waking up anyone who’s in my house if they weren’t already awake. He knows I’m lying and I hate it. 

“Calum, I’m sorry, but I can’t be with you anymore.” I have to look away from him, continuing to cry puddles and puddles of tears. “I can’t do this to you.”

Calum is standing now, next to me, his strong arms wrapping around me and pulling me into him. I feel swallowed by him. I want to fight my way out of the cocoon but I can’t. “Stop, okay? I want to be with you through this. I love you.”

His words cut like a knife into my chest and I start thrashing my limbs, trying to wrestle my way out of his grasp. “Calum, I can’t.” I keep wriggling, needing to get away from him. If I stay in his arms, I know I’ll break down. I won’t be able to break up with him. I won’t be able to save him if I stay in his arms. I have to save him from myself. I can’t let him have to go through with watching me die. I don’t want to break him.

All he does is hold me tighter.

I break down in his arms, sobbing and making horrible sounds of agony. I don’t want him to have to see this, either, but he’s here and he won’t let go. I don’t know what’s worse: knowing that I’ll die soon, or knowing how badly it would hurt Calum if he stayed with me. He can’t stay with me. I need him to leave me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give right now to have him leave. I need him to get out while he can.

I need him to cope with a breakup, not with my death.

“You have to leave,” I tell him with a shaky voice. The words are nearly unintelligible, but I know he hears me.

“I’m not leaving,” he says, voice firm.

“You have to.”

“I won’t. Not now, not ever.”

“I’m telling you. You have to leave, Cal.”

“O, I’m not—”

I don’t know where the strength comes from, but I finally manage to free myself from his hold and take five steps away from him. 

“I need you to leave.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s cold and harsh and sharp.

Calum stares at me blankly, and I think he finally realizes just how sure and serious I am. There’s no use in trying to change my mind. He has to go. This has to be the end for us. It has to be. I need to know that he can go back to his life without me, and the only way that will work is if we end things now. 

We stare at each other for a few minutes, salty tears pouring down both of our faces. I never thought there’d be a day that Calum and I broke up, but it’s here, and it hurts just as much as I could’ve expected. 

No — it hurts worse.

He searches my face for any signs of change of heart.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

I nod. “I’m sure.”

He shakily breathes in and out.

“I don’t want to go, but I will. I just need you to know, without a doubt, this is not what I want. I want you. I’ve always wanted you and I always will. I love you.”

His words hurt. They’re words anyone else in my shoes would want to hear, but nobody else, in my shoes, would be pushing him away. This conversation wouldn’t happen for anybody else. I’m an anomaly. I know it won’t make sense to anyone else. No one will agree with me. No one will think that I should’ve done what I’m doing right now. 

I want to tell him that I love him. I do. Of course I love him. That will never change and I know that. I’m sure he knows that deep down, too. When I don’t say anything in response to him, he takes a few more moments to stare at me and search my face for any other signs of things to say, and then he breaks our staring contest. He quickly walks across the room, grabbing the handful of items he had brought with him and shoving them in his pockets. He throws on a shirt and grabs his shoes from the floor. 

“I’ll call an Uber,” is the last thing he says before opening the door to my bedroom.

“Cal,” I find myself saying, and he stops in his tracks immediately. 

He stares back at me, pain written all over his face, eyes red and puffy, lips chapped, and wet cheeks. He has a glimmer of hope in his eyes at the thought of me stopping him, but I extinguish that just as quickly as it appeared.

“I’m sorry.”

And then he’s gone, ripping my heart from my chest as he leaves.

read next chapter

a/n: idk if y'all saw that one coming and I'm sorry :')

#apologies in advance lolz #5 seconds of summer #calum hood #ashton irwin #luke hemmings #michael clifford #fanfiction #5sosfam #fanfic #5sos #imagine #calum fic #calum 5sos #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum imagine #calum x fem!oc #calum x ofc

[lizardrosen]

To Be Contracted In One Brow of Woe

part one, part two, part three

@cleverclove @moonlarked @paysomeonetopaysomeone @gabriel-shutterson, come get your sad dads!

One Monday Polonius comes into work looking so hunched and pale that Claudius has to do a double take. “Man, you look awful. Still not over that cold that went around last week? Hamlet would have let you call in sick, you know that…”

“No.” His voice is hollow, like a stone dropped in a dark well. “No, I’m not the one who—” He can’t even finish whatever he was going to say.

“…Oh.” It takes him another second to grasp just what those words could mean. “Oh, god.” He’s on his feet before he knows it. “Let’s go to my office. There’s a lock on the door, for privacy, and a liquor cabinet if that’s something you need.”

“Yes to both,” says Polonius with visible relief. His face does something like a smile but far enough from the real thing to make Claudius’s heart twist.

He doesn’t even check if Claudius has fully locked the door before he drops into one of the armchairs and puts his head in his hands. His shoulders begin to shake but he makes so little sound it’s hard to believe he’s sobbing. It is unthinkable that someone as expansive as Polonius could look so small and helpless, and yet his grief is huge.

He reaches out to touch his friend’s back but curls his fingers back because that might be exactly the wrong thing. Instead he reaches for a tumbler and a bottle of the whiskey he knows Polonius favors. For a little bit the room contains only the sounds of glass and ice and another man’s tears. When he looks remotely in a state to answer questions, Claudius clears his throat to get his attention.

“First off, did anyone die? You would have called one of us, right?” He’s struck by a thought that chills his blood. “Polonius. Please tell me you’re not here trying to get work done right after losing someone.” Polonius looks up and it hurts to meet his eyes or his trembling lip, but Claudius doesn’t flinch. “Shit. Sorry. Letting my mouth run away with me.” Normally they take turns helping each other keep it together depending which of them is overreacting, and that’s what makes them such a good team. Right now, with Polonius crying almost too hard to speak, Claudius ought to be the calm force, but he just keeps talking nonsense because otherwise he will fall entirely apart. “Here.” He hands over the glass and Polonius swallows half of it in one go. “Now, what happened?”

“It looked like a cold, or the flu at worst, so everyone stayed home on Friday and got the sleep and fluids we needed… but Saturday night, Caroline just couldn’t stop coughing, couldn’t even catch her breath. It’s an awful reason to wake your children at almost midnight; to tell them you’re taking their mother to the hospital, but I couldn’t just leave them with a neighbor, not if that was the last time…”

Claudius finishes his drink and pours them both another before he finally sits down. “Is she — I mean, what happened?”

“Well, she’s stable for now. They think it’s pneumonia and want to keep her for observation. I’m… I’m scared, Claudius.”

“Who could blame you? I’d be scared too.”

“There’s fluid in my Carro’s lungs, and she was always the best of me.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short; I’ve seen you do incredible things.”

“Ah, but you’ve never known me without her. I used to be…” He shakes his head ruefully. “Well, a lot more closed minded than I am now, a lot more set in my ways.”

“Oh really?” he teases. “I can’t imagine you being stubborn and convinced you know the best approach to everything.” He doesn’t know if distraction is the best thing here, but it’s all he can think of right now.

It seems to work because Polonius gives half a chuckle. “No, that’s just about personal conduct and routine, but there were people I didn’t consider people until Caroline got me talking about why I thought that way and I realized I didn’t have a reason. I could have made the world a worse place if she didn’t catch me at just the right point in life. I have that power.”

“Then it’s incredible that you were able to listen and learn how you did. I mean it, don’t sell yourself short, because not everyone can do that.”

“Yes, and not everyone meets the love of their life, someone worth changing for. She… she’s got this lock of hair that always escapes and curves against her cheek, and the most beautiful laugh, and she knows how to follow my thought process — we both know how much skill that takes.” His face crumples again. “But god, oh god, what if I never hear that laugh again? It racks her whole body when she does, and all I want is to make her smile, but I can’t stand to hurt her.”

“Oh, Polonius, I’m so sorry.” He sets down his glass and spreads his arms. “Come here,” he says, and Polonius stumbles into his hug. With his friend’s face pressed into his chest, Claudius feels his own eyes well up, and it becomes hard to tell who’s holding whom.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says as he finally lets go, and he prays he’s telling the truth.

#not more native to the heart #my writing #claudius #polonius #hamlet #shakespeare #ship: thanks dear my lord

[memestockpile]

the night ship (2022) feel free to change as needed.

she's dead, unfortunately.

what are you? a rat? put your teeth away.

be brave.

don't move. danger everywhere.

i don't know about that.

you're a good boy.

i don't want to think about pirates.

you run, and i'll bring you back and tie you to your bed like a bad puppy.

you believe you could pass unnoticed?

i like misadventures.

there's grub in the kitchen.

it looks worse than it is.

never bleed on the ground here. not even a drop.

can you imagine being mother to someone older than you?

there's always something to see.

don't smile with your mouth. smile with your eyes.

you want to split hairs?

you throw everything in the pot and boil the shit out of it.

be ready early.

i can spit quite far. i would make a good sailor.

keep listening, child!

we'll shave your head and give you beer.

watch what i do, boy. you might learn something.

you fucker!

there's something inside wanting out.

i need an assistant.

do you know what hell smells like? dead souls and roasted devil shit.

sometimes i go out with a trowel. i've found things.

all the dead really want is to rest at peace.

there's no such thing as ghosts.

the dead don't bloody come back.

do you want ice cream, or what?

you should find a place, somewhere you can be truly alone.

you're easily frightened.

i feel watched.

that bitch thinks she owns the place.

it's a tragedy when someone so full of life does themselves in.

you'll come now. or i'll fucking drag you out.

what is it with you and old blokes? you should try a young one.

you are a horror. now, please, let me sleep.

i wouldn't poke around down there if you paid me.

it's not a story for children.

darling, we looked for you. of course we did.

have patience, will you?

i don't believe you. you made that story up.

i lost my nerve.

what would you say to a jigsaw?

we could dress up.

what's happened between the two of you?

get out from under my feet!

take this before bedtime.

i'd rather you didn't watch me nap.

will you give me your word that, once you are inside, you will refrain from stealing?

don't be too sure it's dead.

your death would be horrible. do you want to hear the various ways?

i'll think about it.

balls to that. you can go anywhere.

don't worry about him.

well, truth be told, we kicked the shit out of each other.

sometimes violence is a necessary evil, and it was a long time coming.

you've got a nerve, [name].

finish my crossword. make up the words if you want.

i'm tormented by it.

you look like you're a handful.

some of us are fucking sleeping here.

calm yourself, boy, you're shaking.

drink this slowly, you'll feel better.

now, tell me what happened.

dry your eyes and let's work it out.

see your way to make some better friends.

i never knew this was here.

and where the fuck do you think you're going?

your face. what happened?

who cares for you?

i would like the company.

want a coffee?

i can look after myself.

you keep an eye out for me and i'll keep an eye out for you.

sailors need to learn the language of the ship.

you're learning fast.

it's a witch stone. if you look through the hole, you can see what is yet to come, or what has been already.

your fortune finds you, not the other way around.

you spying on me, [name]?

friends take care of one another.

you like to roam.

now, shall we tidy you up?

i'm always in trouble.

it'll make no different.

if we get caught, i'll take the blame.

do something with your time here.

everyone's fear looks different.

they're just warnings for kids.

life is precarious.

the greatest disgrace of humankind is the failure of the strong to protect the weak.

we don't need monsters, we are the monsters.

it's back.

it's better if you tell the truth.

are you going to beat me?

what's wrong with him? other than he's a miserable old bastard.

you twisted little bastard.

one day it might be funny, but it will always hurt.

you'll come and cheer me on?

thought you might like some reading material.

he's an awful prick, isn't he?

it's the way of long journeys. they alter what people think and see.

why the worried face, [nickname]?

being rich doesn't make him fine.

shut up! fuck's sake.

hello, little fucker.

we need to prepare ourselves for the worst.

maybe come down to the party later?

so this is the way it will be.

take the food for yourself, else you'll disappear.

you're as slippery-looking as an eel.

they're making it sound worse.

i'll put you through the wall.

if you stop that, i'll tell you a plan.

you're every bit a sailor.

everyone thinks it, no one says it.

be careful what you say and who to. be only where you are allowed to be.

don't go off on your own.

i'm just trying to understand what's going on in that fucking head on yours.

that's it, son, slow breath, in, out. then i can understand what you're trying to say.

you've a sprain on that wrist, not a break, which is one good thing.

the dead can't hurt you. it's the living you need to watch out for.

come out on the veranda, for a bit of fresh air?

what sort of person would steal from the hungry?

you're all right, lad. you're all right.

who wants to be stabbed to death? i can do that very beautifully.

to catch a demon, you have to flush him out.

people aren't just their bloody deaths, you know.

you ready, son?

#ask meme #roleplay #inbox meme #inbox rp meme #askbox meme #meme #ask #roleplay meme #rp meme #askbox #tumblr roleplay #tumblr rp #rp #rp sentence meme #sentence starter meme #sentence starters #roleplay sentence meme #sentence meme #rp inbox meme #askbox rp

[i-didnt-do-1t]

For writing prompts could I humbly please request Davey teaching some of the newsies school stuff a la my recent ask?

I feel like Elmer just takes over any maths lessons and being a small child makes it ever more incomprehensible to the others skdsjkd

Thank you for the prompt! I hope this is okay :D

(I also find math incomprehensible so I am very much Elmer in this situation, like genuinely I would’ve loved to mention more complex math but I am an English lit student and just so terrible at mental math Albert in this is me fr)

David felt like he should be shorter than he was, given how much he hated being on the receiving end of other people’s attention. And yes he would still be stood at the top of the bunk house with eyes on him regardless of whatever height he was but being tall decidedly made it worse. (And no, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself when he mentioned this to Jack a few weeks previous.)

“I thought it was only gonna be a couple of the kids.” Davey said, and Race, a bunk over, was lazy as he removed the cigar from between his teeth, as if Dave wasn’t being stared down by at least eight of his friends.

“Yeah n’ a couple others wanted to come too when they heard you was offerin’ lessons. So take it away Teach.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Nah that’s Finch. An’ you like school n’ stuff right?” David shrugged a little uncomfortably, he was hardly going to say no, so he didn’t say anything and Race kept talking. “Just look at all those bright young faces whose futures you could be changin’”

David turned to face the small yet intimidating crowd.

Elmer, Romeo, Henry, JoJo and Splasher stared back blankly, unimpressed. As well as a few of the older ones in the back too now, Specs, and Albert and Tommy-Boy.

Blink from his place on his bunk on the other side of the room made his presence known by groaning, so Davey mentally added him to the tally aswell. “You gonna get on with it or what, I need you to bore me to sleep Dave.”

He thinks he would’ve been hurt by the comment had come from anyone aside from Blink, who had never exactly been subtle in his disdain of David’s schooling. He couldn’t blame him so he couldn’t be mad, because David got it, at least he thought he did. But trying to think round his words so he wouldn’t say anything he’d have to end up explaining was difficult sometimes, and Blink looking at him like he was a sentence away from being on the receiving end of his fist when it happened wasn’t comforting either.

“Okay. I’m better at literature but you wanted to do maths today right?”

He didn’t know who he was asking but Henry answered.

“Yeah. I mean, I can count n’ add up n’ all but it takes a while to do the multiplications. They don’t stick in my head.”

David frowned in thought. “Okay, so what goes on in your head if I asked 4 X 7.”

“I gotta count through em’ all. It doesn’t just come automatic.”

“It doesn’t have to be fast. I mean, you can make it two 14’s and then add those together.”

“So’s 28.”

“Exactly.”

Henry nodded slightly, eyes a little narrower. “Huh.”

“What I don’t get.” Elmer said, because of course he did. “Is how 7 by 0 is 0. Ain’t it meant to be 7?”

David blinked. “Oh well, it’s seven 0’s, so there’s nothing.”

“Yeah but there’s seven of em’”

“Okay. Yes. but say you even just added 2 zeros together, it would still be zero.”

Elmer stared at him blankly. “But there’s two of em.”

“Two of nothing, if you add nothing plus nothing you get nothing.”

“Two nothings.”

The groan and the sound of a head hitting against a bed frame came from Albert this time round.

“Jesus Elmer, stop tryna kill the man you know exactly what he’s saying, you’re better at math than half the bunk house put together.”

“You’re only saying that cuz you can’t add up.” Elmer shot back, and with that he twisted his neck to face him again so aggressively that Davey could probably be persuaded that he’d given himself whiplash. “Do it Davey, ask him what 37 plus 56 is.”

“I’m not putting anyone on the spot.”

“I’m telling Spot you said she can’t add.”

David blanched. “That is just not what I said at all.”

“Can’t wait to tell Spot you compared her to Oscar Delancey, you heard it here first folks.”

The fact that Blink decided to contribute to the lesson at all was more surprising than the fact that this was where he decided to contribute, but the likelihood he was actually serious was significantly higher than Elmer’s jokes.

“That is even further from what I said.”

And suddenly everyone was talking all at once and David wanted to throw up a little maybe. God he hated public speaking, even if this didn’t necessarily count as public, except maybe- no. He wasn’t about to get into the semantics of it. Right now he had to work out how to get eveyone to quiet down.

“Hey knuckleheads,” Race didn’t move from his spot leaned up against the bunk but all eyes drew to him anyway, and if David was a little in awe of how he held the room he wasn’t shocked by it, Race had always had that quality right after Jack. (Briefly Davey wondered if they could give him lessons in that) “If you want Dave to actually keep teaching youse you can’t drive him out the room or get ‘im shanked by Spot.”

Elmer was the first to shrug, and slump over again, leaning his elbows on his criss-crossed knees.

“I guess.”

David had opened his mouth to speak again, taking advantage of the second of silence to try and get this back on track but Elmer beat him to it one more time.

“Long as you don’t try and give us homework like last time.”

#the way I do badly wanna write davey reading Shakespeare with them #because king lear is a banger

[rewordthis]

If Love Unravels…

☔️

463 words SuguSato NSFW (and angst! Take it or leave it.)

Summary:

Geto Suguru never spiralled enough to turn himself into an outcast from the Jujutsu World.

What his internalised conflict brought about however, was a drastic change in his character…

The suppressed hate and desperation from feeling trapped made him volatile and often found release in covert yet vicious outbursts, most notably against the one person he trusted the most but also blamed the most.

The one that acted as a chain and a root to this twisted, cursed world—

Hello, sweeties~ I come bringing yet another 🔞 fic. I mean idk, I was minding my own business watching K-pop vids and then it hit me: “He pulls off his hat and runs a hand through luscious black hair.”

Like… that’s it. That’s what this whole fic is about! That one line. Go figure, ok? And no, I don’t feel one bit sorry for making Geto like *gestures vaguely* this... I’m not on that ship. lmao

They have just arrived home from their evening missions and all they both crave right now is a hot bath and a light dinner before going to sleep.

But he is irritated for some inexplicable reason. He just can’t relax. He pulls off his hat and runs a hand through luscious black hair.

It never registers with him how much overwhelming his aura has become, filling the room with anxious energy.

The other is just following his every move, engrossed in his very presence. Captive of the sensations these hands have left on his skin that suddenly feels too hot to bear and yet, frozen in his place with unreasonable fear.

Whatever has put him on the offensive, is going to be resolved one way…

And that is what terrifies him.

They have done this enough times until now for him to know that whenever the raven-head was in this state, it would become unbearable if he didn’t outer his anger. The fact that most of his piled up frustrations came from various times and incidents was making things worse, sending him over the edge with one wrong touch — one wrong word — like throwing a lit match in a tank full of gasoline.

And next thing he knows, is the cold of the surface he’s being pushed against or the hardness that grinds his bones when he’s finally snapped.

He knows the roughness that he is. The hard yanks and angry thrusts. The heat of his possessive marking.

The sickness of overstimulation…

He fucks him raw on the spot where he stands the minute he loses control of himself. And there is never — never — an apology that follows. A reason to justify his desecration. Just anything, to make him feel like this all is worthwhile.

There is… nothing—

That’s not to say he’s never been treated with delicacy and tenderness. He has. He’s found himself lost in his arms more times than he’d like to admit; warmth blooming under the chaste kisses and traces of his digits ghosting along the lines of his body. Their heated breaths mingled into whispered sweet words. Playful licks and soft bites. Long-lasting embraces and contented smiles.

He’s been a happy man.

Yes.

Yes. For a while now.

But every added time they do it like this, has him wondering whether he’s being used as a punch sack or if it’s just his imagination.

It hurts. And it’s not just his body or his pride. It hits someplace different. Deeper. Somewhere that would make him feel disgusted and sick in his stomach.

It’s not a feeling of being fed up with it, rather, it’s the sensation of emptiness that has his guts turn and makes him retch.

‘If love can unravel… it is while waiting for your return.’

———•———

a.n.:

Thanks for reading this far!!!

This is ridiculous, actually… had this siting in my notes since last year; probably from September or October — definitely before mid-November — inspired by this K-pop live short I saw on YouTube ‘cause welp… *bonks herself on head* started it with a specific pair in mind when suddenly halfway through I was writing for another!? lmao

So yeah… I liked how it turned out but I couldn’t really appoint it to any of my ships because the dynamics ended up a bit distorted…? Or more like all over the place! Yeah… ahahaha 😅😂

I mean it’s literally this one single line that sparked this short, that is also the only thing that kept my hands from tagging with any of the ships I drew inspiration from… 😗🤨 And oh, boy! After reading it it was screaming yet another one, too!? Gah!

Ngl, I short-circuited my brain many times thinking about a black haired seme and an uke that could fit the bill but nothing came to mind… 😮‍💨🙄 (ironically, also why this survived my writing app fiasco. Well, I don’t want to dwell on that anymore sooo, I just guess it sat in my notes long enough!)

But, hey! After a year — literally this week — Geto and Gojo popped up in my head and while I first went ‘Nooo!’, they did sound so good for this! I mean Gojo is so going to be this quietly suffering mess not because of character but because this is Suguru? Pff! I can see it so clearly, now! And Geto of course would exploit Satoru’s secrecy for his sake and neither would face the issue until they both become unable to face each other, like… Don’t you think so, too? I’d like to hear any thoughts on this, I’m very curious. hoho

Again, if you read through all this long-ass rambling, thank you so so much and I hope you had a nice time reading this story! 😊

#sugusato #getou suguru #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #my writing #oneshot #463 words #fic #fanfic #jjk fic

[honey-milk-depresso]

Of course ahem-

.

.

.

Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey the perfect malewife

Bingo sheet

**This is my personal opinion, please don't take them seriously.

@rizavi-m @cherryjkj @twisted-clovers I’m slandering-

T*ey is a lot of things for me, and totally not my OBVIOUS hate to him, y-yeah I totally don't like him- d-don't look at me like that...

T*ey is regarded as a "boring" character in the TWST fandom to say the least, and it isn't very hard to see why.

He's just that "malewife material" and he's a "normal man who does normal man things", which isn't wrong, but I just want to peel as many layers of him as possible (which I miraculously can and not because I'm all for him, like- what- ahahahha- t-that's weird-) and say that's he's very weird, in a good way (well, that's debatable-).

He's someone who's quite sketchy to be honest, especially how much he wants to prove to everyone that he is "normal". I mean, a lot of his lines in game shows that he would like to be seen as neutral from how he doesn't want you to get too carried away on his birthday, how he's average in all of his classes, and yet in his Uniform Card Personal Story, he's shown to be exceptionally good in his Flying Skills that even Vargas marked him with flying colors. I'm not sure about his other subjects as of now, but this definitely shows that he's NOT average in anything.

I think we never really ask why he wants to remain as such. Maybe it's similar to Kalim and Jamil's relationship, but with T*ey and Riddle as he doesn't want to be seen as "superior" to Riddle because he's just a Vice Dorm Leader, and much rather have Riddle have all the attention as Dorm Leader, or maybe it's because he knows that Riddle's ego might be crushed as we see when Riddle was shocked to find out that T*ey's Unique Magic had completely overwrites his, and ultimately questions his own powers compared to T*ey's, and he doesn't want his friend to feel that, I don't know.

T*ey is also, from what I see, to be someone who's a naturally good liar. I mean, literally everyone fell for his oyster sauce joke, including honor student Riddle himself, so maybe all his "I'm a normal man" is all a facade, and he hides something he doesn't want people to know for whatever reason. He's just, so enigmatic, so frustrating to think deeper about, which is something I like. (Yes, I like intellectual pain and headaches-)

I mean, I also think T*ey is someone who learns best through hands on experience, like how I explained here one time about how he loves Alchemy translate to it (the gist of it, more details in that post), and how he's failed multiple times in making Hamburg steak to become the professional, malewife chef and baker he is (from Birthday Suit interview), and that, don't flame me, I put VERY bluntly and simply:

Is why he's a coward, but you can't blame really him.

For someone who rather learn things through experience, it would probably mean he remembers things very well in order for him to understand, learn and use it for like, I don't know- tests- obviously-

but that same good memory of his is also why he probably didn't want to stop Riddle because from the Twisted Wonderland Comic, we see that T*ey was traumatised that of how broken and sad Riddle was because of his own "selfishness" (is that the right word?) in wanting to play with him. I guess in a way, they kinda insisted that Riddle plays with them, but the consequences of his own selfishness (which wasn't really selfish-) led to Riddle being more withdrawn and heartbroken, and recalling that same memory over and over and over again is what led T*ey to believe that he shouldn't do anything about it, or he'll make matters worse and cause his own friend to become more upset if he decides, by his own selfishness, to have Riddle stop his ridiculous strictness, of course, the irony being shit just got worse. Maybe that's why he does so much for others (sort of-), to avoid the messiness of crushing the other party's feelings if he were to be selfish.

He just doesn't know what to do in that situation because that's the only time he would experience it and nothing more, his maturity depth isn't so far into being "when is the right time to be assertive".

But... T*ey is someone I believe is someone who's caring, at least, to his family members, like the FCKING STARGAZER EVENT- I'M NEVER GONNA GET OVER THIS- LIKE HE FCKING GAVE ALL HIS HARD EARNED MONEY TO HIS YOUNGER BROTHER SO THAT HE COULD WATCH A MAGIFT GAME- IM FCKINDGDFDHFD

**Technical difficulties faced, we are trying to fix the dumbass**

Ahem, yes-

He's shrewd in literally Stargazer event, tricking Riddle to buy him that food processor he desired, FRICKIN' Lab Coat Personal Story like need I go on? He's a sneaky little gremlin which can further entail he's a good manipulator to get people to do or think as such if he so desired. He's THAT good which is kind of scary (why didn't I also circle if he existed I'd be a little scared of him?).

T*ey is so weird, on surface level he seems boring, but I like to think that he wants to for many reasons he won't say but we can all theorise, that's the beauty of T*ey, so much hidden, could-be-possible lore from him, a lot more deducing than obvious information of him thrown at us.

Also, now that I think about it, him not wanting to be the center of attention is also translated outside of the story as he has NO EVENT SSR- FCKING- T*EY- PLEASE- I KNOW IT’LL BE HARDER TO GET YOU BUT GIVE US ONE SSR EVENT CARD THAT’S NOT YOUR DAMN BIRTHDAY (which I didn’t simp scream over), OR FCKING SSR DORM UNIFORM DAMNIT HDGHDFGD- I HAD TOO HIGH HOPES FOR HALLOWEEN, DIDN’T I-

and also he's hot- I mean what-

Now... about the marrying part, I um... I-it's not that important... That... I don't know why I circled that but I'M TOO LAZY TO CHANGE NOW AHAHAHHA....

but GOSH, T*ey has always been radiating "big brother vibes" or "dad vibes" "my husband vibes" and just as someone as a friendly person, which is probably rare in NRC (I'm not saying definitely but at first eye would seem approachable and kinda is-), and I would throw my problems at him (which is me crying over Cookie Run Kingdom lore), but at the same time, I would like him to pour out his own problems, just a tad bit, or at least just let him know I am here for him. With whatever I said above, he might be exhausted, mentally and physically (from his own schoolwork and vice dorm duties), and I personally, no matter the person, just don't like to see them be all pent up and frustrated with themselves or with someone else because it's unhealthy (I won't force it, though).

Gosh... T*ey is just so weird and confusing that peeling his character layer by layer is actually a lot, but also very complicated, because the (direct) information given to us about him is quite little, and a lot the time is deducing from what he does, his character and behaviour in the series. BUT THAT'S SOMETHING I ROLE WITH- GOD I HATE HIM *kisses him*

but yeah, I'm gonna end it on this note because other things I want to say would just be time consuming and this post has been long enough- :")))))

#twisted wonderland #twst #trey clover #twst analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #honey.txt #honey.thoughts #honey.rambles #ask game.exe #honeymilkdepresso.exe

[guiltycorp]

@crimsongrimoire here: #okay honestly the last name part bugs me too#doesnt it STILL say on the wiki that a former alias was their last name#like what is your proof! cite your fucking sources!#literally somehow one of the worst wikis ive been interested in#so many sources of made up ass info are just like trust me bro#and the gross oversimplification of their dynakic#*dynamic jesus.#like idk you can prefer them platonically idgaf. just dont make shit up wholesale to sell a narrative that doesnt exist.#(...not to say klk enjoyers dont as well But. brother insisters are so much worse about it)#(so few genshin fans have reading comprehension at all fr)#its just such a mess. you can just Say you dont see them romantically. you wont die. i promise#no need to have 10 banners and 20 tags with posturing about how you want klk shippers to choke and die#when theres like Literally nothing Inherently Wrong with it#though people who say shit like 'yeah well it WOULD be hot if they WERE brothers so!'#you are not helping the cause#the 'making people mad on purpose for fun to make them look dumb' works so rarely and almost never over fandom nonsense#either way big agree op#fave#funnily this is the same kinda people who are all like AWWWW HIDDEN STRIFE WAS SWEET IT WASNT SAD AT ALL#and like completely misreading the tone of like All the letters esp those between kaeya and diluc#which is funny cause like Every post ive seen on the subject has been about Them and That part and how AWWW THEY KEPT I CONTACT?!?!#when.... the letters on both sides carry very palpable senses of tension from the wording and esp the brevity of dilucs#some very minor but painful details#and just in general all the letters in question like.. while it was nice diluc was getting support#it was in the WORST circumstance. its incredibly melancholy and bittersweet. like yes its nice to know everyone cares.#but also it was so avoidable. but also at the same time nobodys fault. even though both of them kick themselves for it#remembered my other point DILUC ONLY REPLIED TWICE. TO KAEYAS 9 LETTERS. THAT IS NOT KEEPING CONTACT!#there is no reason kaeya wouldnt have put any other letters from him with the others tbh unless theyre recent in which case#kinda irrelevant. thats not 'keeping contact' theyre in the same place now like Often.#ngl we have no indication if kaeya got those letters to him somehow or just left them for his return.

Literally like!! Genshin fandom has actually been one of the worse fandom experiences for me, and I think we can blame a lot of it on the game and its translation, but also it’s just so goddamn frustrating at times. That klc post was written before hidden strife but if anything the event further confirmed that their dynamic wasn’t ‘adopted siblings’ (despite eng translation as usual messing up everything including Kaeya’s opinion of their fight) and that Kaeya doesn’t view himself as a Ragnvindr. 

An AU where Kaeya would have been fully adopted could be potentially interesting, actually! Ragbros AU if you will. But for some reason people never really go for all the implications of that - how strongly it would influence Kaeya’s internal conflict and his abandonment issues, how Diluc would change his treatment of Kaeya, how differently another Ragnvindr progeny would be viewed in Mondstadt, would he succeed the Dawn Winery’s business, so many possibilities... But no, they simply take canon klc dynamic and twist it, ignoring all the discrepancies which point to a non-familial relationship. That tag is just one more annoying attempt at censure within fandom spaces, familiar to anyone who ever interpreted fictional relationships as homoerotic before (how dare you tarnish this beautiful brotherly or sisterly bond by your sinful delusions etc etc yawn). And big agree about Hidden Strife letters, they still represent the usual dynamic as is the norm for all those temporary events. But fandom sadly tends to go for extreme interpretations, either the characters totally hate each other or they are secretly totally fine and getting along splendidly... I guess maybe people are getting tired of this kind of one-sided relationship, so they want some kind of resolution one way or another, but I kind of like the place Kaeya and Diluc are in right now. It would be nice to get some more Diluc POV just to confirm whether he cares in a detached way or in a barely suppressed passionate & deep way, and/or if perhaps he does carry some hateful feelings towards Kaeya, but otherwise it’s just a really good starting off point for creating fan content.  Speaking only for myself, but it’s all the more bittersweet that there is a possibility that they won’t reconcile after all, that their paths might diverge, that their ideologies might already be irreconcilable without us knowing, that Diluc maybe doesn’t really care that much after all. With this in mind, positive outcomes such as reconciliation, a romantic relationship or a rekindling of friendship, are so much more impactful. 

#especially since i dont trust genshin with writing khaenriah vs celestia in a compelling way #when they finally get to it #kaeluc #kaeya #diluc #genshin #is it weird to answer tags in this way? #probably #but that was an already long post #@crimsongrimoire #text

[ozzyokala]

History - Julia Michaels “have you ever broken a bone? what was your teacher’s name in third grade? do you cry when movies hit home? do you hate your family on holidays? have you ever had an existential crisis? have you ever really had a lover like this? tell me everything, i want your history. ‘cause we could be history in the making. tell me everything, talk to me honestly.” 

Ah, the honeymoon phase. If I had one wish it would be to leave these two here forever. Ozzy is starting to realize he might have misjudged Parker at the beginning, and now he’s interested in knowing every little thing about him. The irony of it is that he’s telling little lies to Parker about his own history. For the most part it’s all true, but he’s not willing to own up to where he’s really from because he too scared to lose the person he’s felt the closest too since his ex. 

To Be So Lonely - Harry Styles “don’t blame me for falling, i was just a little boy. don’t blame the drunk calling, wasn’t ready for it all. you can’t blame me darling, not even a little bit. i was away and i’m just an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit when he’s sorry. don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons... i just hope you see me in a little better light.” 

When things eventually do explode, I expect Ozzy to take a very defensive route. The way he sees it, it’s not his fault he’s from the Southside and he shouldn’t have to feel sorry about it. If Parker wasn’t so caught up in his neighborhood watch bullshit they could have avoided the whole thing. And while he will feel sorry and will want to reach out to apologize, but his pride is definitely going to get the best of him there. Drunk calls, though? 100%. 

The Very First Night - Taylor Swift “we never saw it coming, not trying to fall in love but we did like children running. back then we didn’t know we were built to fall apart. we broke the status quo, then we broke each other’s hearts. but don’t forget about the night out in LA, dance in the kitchen chase me down through the hallway. no one knows about the words that we whispered, no one knows how much i miss you... i miss you like it was the very first night.”

I can already see Ozzy laying in his bed, replaying every moment him and Parker spent together. A part of him always knew they were doomed, but he wants nothing more than to rewind everything and go back to the beginning. He wants to live in the feeling of crushing on one another and exchanging little smiles and flirty banter forever. What hurts worse is that no one knows about them, and he’s going to feel like he’s going to have to grieve in secret. 

If I Could Turn Back Time - Cher “my world shattered, i was torn apart like someone took a knife and drove it deep in my heart. when you walked out that door i swore that i didn’t care, but i lost everything, darlin’, then and there. too strong to tell you i was sorry, too proud to tell you i was wrong. i know that i was blind and darlin’ if i could turn back time, if i could find a way, i’d take back those words that have hurt you and you’d stay.” 

Same vibes as the last two songs. When Parker leaves Ozzy is going to put on a brave face and pretend that it doesn’t matter to him, when really it’s going to tear his whole world apart. I don’t think he’s going to realize just how attached to Parker he is until he’s gone, and then he’ll want nothing more than to turn back time and fix everything before it can break. 

august - Taylor Swift “back when we were still changing for the better. wanting was enough, for me it was enough. to live for the hope of it all, cancel plans just incase you’d call and say ‘meet me behind the mall’. so much for summer love and saying ‘us’, ‘cause you weren’t mine to lose. but i can see us lost in the memory, august slipped away into a moment in time. ‘cause it was never mine. and i can see us twisted in bedsheets, august sipped away like a bottle of wine. ‘cause you were never mine.” 

I think for Ozzy, he never actually expected anything to happen between the two of them. I think “wanting was enough” is the perfect line to describe the way he’s feeling, because he was okay leaving things in a silly flirtationship and then they just took off. Looking back, he’s going to feel like Parker was never really his because he couldn’t commit to him publicly. The whole thing is going to feel like it fell right out of Ozzy’s hands, and he’s going to wish that they never started anything in the first place. 

Illicit Affairs - Taylor Swift “that’s the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and stolen stares. they show their truth one single time, but they lie and they lie and they lie. and you wanna scream don’t call me ‘kid’, don’t call me ‘baby’ look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. you showed me colors i can’t see with anyone else... you taught me a secret language i can’t speak with anyone else.” 

I was driving the other day and the “don’t call me kid” line punched me so hard in the gut I had to start the song over because it reminded me of them SO MUCH. Ozzy isn’t new to being someone’s secret, but it doesn’t make things any less frustrating for him. He’s in one world with Parker and another when they step outside of his apartment, but he wants nothing more than to combine them. 

@parkerpantone

#i PROMISE i don't only listen to tswift #i just got a lil carried away with this one #cusatask

[thefruitiestofbois]

The Worst of Us

Chapter 1

Link to wattpad^^^

My heart hammered in my ribcage as my shaky hands twisted the handle on the door leading to my dad’s office. The familiar feeling of dread consumed me with every step I took towards his desk. Rain pattered against the floor to ceiling windows as clouds coated the entirety of Seattle. The view from the 45th floor of Fourth and Madison was breathtaking, even on a gloomy day, but it’s a shame the prick occupying the office doesn’t appreciate it. He doesn’t even acknowledge me as I sit in one of the green cushioned seats across his mahogany desk. The article about Owen is the only thing racing through my head as I mindlessly pick and bite at my nails. After what felt like a decade, he clears his throat and addresses me with his grating voice, “Have you spoken to your husband?” I don’t miss the way the last word reluctantly leaves his lips. I shake my head, bringing my hands down just enough so he can’t see me picking at them behind his unnecessarily large desk. I hated his desk, we weren’t even that big of a company for him to be blowing all his money onto a fancy desk that, to this day, has never seated any important clients. The fancy furniture, like the desk along with the expensive paintings he slapped on the walls, did nothing to hide the inflated ego packaged into this small man. “Did he tell you I fired him?” Resting my hands on each armrest, I lean back, in an attempt to steady my thundering heart, and ask, 

“Did you fire him or was it actually Joel?” His eyes glared at me over the top of his monitor and paused before rolling his eyes. 

“M&W have no say in who I hire or fire and Joel certainly isn’t my fucking boss.” He spits through gritted teeth.

“What do you want me to do about it? Cause I clearly don’t control who my husband fucks and who he doesn’t.” 

“Abby, this isn’t about you.” He glances at me once more with the same look he gave me when he told me- no he ordered me to go off to boarding school, so I could learn “how the real world works” and outgrow my apparently ‘naive’ outlook on life. I was eleven. “If it was about you, I’d be firing you instead.” I know he wishes it were true. I almost let a laugh slip through as I imagined how my father would be if he had the means to fire me and rid me from his family. Funnily enough, I was the only real family he had but he still kept Yara, his step-daughter, and his current wife, Thea, closer to his stone cold heart than he ever kept me. In fact, I don’t even think he sees me as family, only an employee he was unfortunately obligated to keep around. The bastard was always looking for something to blame on me, so he could use it as an excuse for his lifelong disdain towards me. If it wasn’t for public opinion and the pressure of keeping up a pristine reputation within the media, I am certain my father would have had me killed. Or worse, he would kill me off, make it look like an accident and then play the role of grieving father so well it would put any Oscar winner to shame. No matter what, he always came out on top. The phone starts to ring and my dad gestures for me to leave while holding up three fingers to indicate how many hours he wants me back in. As I make my way out of his office, I offer a polite smile to Sarina, my dad’s assistant, but all she does is awkwardly avoid my eyes and shift her focus to her screen in return. Weird. Every little thing about today is driving me further into my anxiety-filled cave. Instead of heading to the elevator to go back to my office, I head right at the end of the hall into the toilets. The hinge of the door creaks shut behind me as I grab the sink with a shaky grip and try to control my breathing. In and out, it’s easy, in and out slowly. The very idea of dealing with Owen at home, especially after he had been fired so publicly, makes my insides twist into a steel knot. White noise echoes all around me as the floor beneath me starts swaying and I tighten my grip on the sink in an attempt to steady myself. In and out Abby, in and out. I can’t do it. Tears burn a trail down my cheeks as I let out short, irregular bursts of breath to try and relieve the crushing weight of my own heart in my chest.

A hand on the back of my shoulder snapped me back to reality and, as if on autopilot, I twisted my body and grabbed the stranger by their jacket and shoved them as hard as I could into the wall adjacent to the sink. 

“Woah easy, I’m just trying to help.” I use one hand to wipe my eyes and keep the jacket balled up into my fist in the other. My gaze wanders up and finds a wide eyed girl staring back with a panicked expression. Shit. Nobody was supposed to see me like this, especially not someone from my dad’s floor. “Do you wanna, you know?” She hesitantly lets out an awkward chuckle and looks down at my iron grip still on her jacket. I instantly step back and apologise but she waves me off and smoothens her jacket out. Giving a lookover in the mirror she continues, in a feeble attempt to break the awkward silence, “You didn’t do much damage, I think I still look presentable enough for a meeting with the big, bad CEO.” Without even thinking I blurt out,

“You have a meeting with my dad?” She stills and narrows her eyes, her demeanour shifting from playful to serious instantly. Almost the same expression Sarina had earlier.

“Are you Abby?” I nod and she mutters out a barely audible “Fuck” and she looks to the floor for a second then at me with an apologetic frown. “I’m here to see Jerry about Owen but I think I better tell you first seeing as you’re his wife.”

“I already know about the article.” I reply with a roll of my eyes. What is with everyone needing to avoid me or treat me like I’m made of glass because of something my husband did? Yes, I know he slept with practically every assistant from every department and now he had been fired because directors shouldn’t be doing fucked up shit like using their position to screw around at work. Honestly, Owen had it coming. Owen had a lot of things coming. I’m sick to death of pretending to be the happy wife so the rest of the world could relish in the happy family facade my father had so carefully crafted. A puzzled look flashes across the stranger’s face but disappears quickly as she takes a step towards me, “Abby this isn’t just about the article, the police found Owen’s body at his apartment a few hours ago. They think it was suicide, I’m sorry.” The rest of her words faded out and the white noise began echoing all around me but this time my heart was thundering in my chest, almost bursting out of my chest. My insides churn in anguish as I rip through the stalls and release bile, and the rest of my dread, into the toilet. Everything has gone numb. I can’t feel anything except pressure in my skull. My mind was somehow empty but ready to explode out of my skull. Her hand returns to my back, trying to be soothing but the touch burns into me and I jerk away and I hear her footsteps become fainter and fainter until she leaves me alone in the room. Thank God she knows how to take a hint. I need to be alone. I need to think. Actually, what I really need is my medication. Guilt encases me as I rip out a few pills from the emergency packet in my blazer pocket and swallow them dry. I can’t even calm myself down without the help of a chemical, it's pathetic. My therapist says I shouldn’t beat myself up over needing a little extra help. I, on the other hand, think my brain is an asshole for not being on my side, but I guess if my own brain doesn’t side with me then maybe it is actually my own doing? I don’t fucking know. I don’t know anything. As I steady back into some form of chemically induced normality, the realisation creeps through- Owen is dead. I begged myself to feel some form of grief but for some fucked up reason, relief flooded through me bringing me a level of serenity even my pills coudn’t give me.

“So where are we at for this charity gala?” Joel asks, fixing himself a drink from the cart in his office. We still have an hour before five o’clock but Joel looks like he needs it so I don’t question him. 

“We got catering and music sorted and I’m still working on the venue.” Stress lines form on his forehead and he stops pouring for a second before I reassure him we would get the venue. The gala was in two weeks time and would serve as a celebration of M&W’s newest acquisition: Anderson and Moore. Although in light of Owen’s misconduct, I wasn’t sure if a gala would be setting the right tone but Joel assured me that a gala would be a perfect spotlight instead of the article about Owen. I guess he was right. I know Joel was regretting the decision of buying Jerry’s firm but he was a man of his word and he saw the deal through even after the initial accusations against Owen. Grabbing my laptop so I could show Joel some potential venues, I moved to sit on the sofa next to him. Just as I place the laptop on the coffee table, Joel’s phone rings. I go to look at his desk but quickly realise it's his personal phone on the table in front of us. The caller ID reads ‘Tommy’. That’s weird. Tommy never calls Joel. Like ever and especially not during official working hours. Joel answers and immediately sets his drink down. His frown lines look more prominent than before and the look on his face stirs unease in my stomach. A minute or so passes by and Joel sets his phone down, takes a swig of his drink and says, “Police found Owen’s body this morning.” 

“Was it us?” he shakes his head, “Tommy said it wasn’t any of our guys but he’s not sure cause it looks like a suicide.” 

“Looks like it or is actually suicide?” I ask and he mumbles that he isn’t sure through gritted teeth. “Shall I call Dina or Jesse? I can ask them to-”

“No it’s okay kiddo,” he stands up and grabs his coat which was sprawled on one of the sofas, “you just focus on this gala. Choose whatever venue you want, I trust you as long it ain’t the space needle.” He smiles at me and I let out a small chuckle as I remember the conversation we had a few months ago about a venue for his birthday party, “Not everyone wants to be looking so far down after eating cake, Ellie.” He said trying to conceal the fact he was actually just scared of heights. Joel was one of those bulky looking guys, with salt and pepper hair, a scruffy beard, which definitely needed trimming at this point, but even though he had a rough exterior, he was a soothing anchor in my life. He’d never openly admit he cared but he didn’t ever need to, I always knew. All those times he would fool around with his gravelly Texan accent to impersonate the different characters from my story books to help me be less afraid of the dark. Joel Miller was the person I knew I could call in the middle of the night and he would drop everything to be there and he would do it countless times. In fact he had done so more times than I could count throughout college. He was my person and I’d be forever indebted to him but he was obviously the kind of man to never expect anything back except for respect and honesty. 

A few hours pass and I settle on the aquarium as the venue, emailing and making the necessary calls needed to finish booking. Finally, I fix myself a drink from the cart and wander past the sofas and up to the tall glass windows. When Joel wanted a headquarters in Seattle, I always knew he’d choose the Columbia Center. With 76 floors, it was the tallest building in the city and it was right in the centre so it was Joel’s way of saying “We’re the biggest corporate law firm here and don’t you fucking forget it”. Joel wasn’t flashy but he wanted the headquarters to not only serve as a working space, but also as a reminder to himself that he built this company and deserved all 76 floors of this giant building, as well as a way to make a statement to the rest of the corporate world here in Seattle. 

I sipped my drink slowly and glanced at the glimmering array of city lights underneath the full moon. The highways weren’t that busy seeing as rush hour was over but the city was still bustling. The people of Seattle weren’t finished for the day and neither was I, but I desperately needed a break. The acquisition as well as this new Owen mess had me on the verge of forming my own permanent frown lines. If I can sort out most of the gala stuff today it’ll be one less thing to stress about so I finish my drink and resume my hunt for the perfect fundraiser, this time heading to my own office to work.

Around 9pm I head to Joel’s office once more and drop off a few files but as I approach the door, I hear two voices, one is Joel’s, bickering. I only make out a few words to do with Owen and his suicide and then my name popped up but it wasn’t Joel talking about me, it was the other person. I knock and slowly creep through, nodding at Joel before looking just behind him to come face to face with the one person I vowed I’d kill if I ever saw them again. Rage flushed through my veins and I did nothing to hide the scowl and all she gave me in return was that stupid cocky smirk. That just about did it and I charged forward, ignoring Joel’s orders to stop and, with full force, connected my fist with her cheek.

#fanfic #ellie williams #ellie tlou #abby anderson #enemies to lovers #modern au #ellie x reader #wlw #mdni #eventual smut

[imprettybitchin]

I’ve been rewatching the series since Friday[?] and had SO MANY FEELS. Now that I have this account, I’ll be putting all of my liveblogging for tonight under the cut so there aren’t a million posts clogging your dash.

4x05

I can hardly stand this fucking asshole!!! I can’t get through three words of his stupid monologue without pausing because he’s the absolute WORST and Jane doesn’t deserve this!!!

When she wakes up with her hair shaved and the hospital gown on and she starts CRYING as the realization dawns on her that she’s back in that hellhole? I’m so EMOTIONAL OH MY GOD!!! If this girl does not get a happy ending, I will burn this whole thing down.

The __ stingers and emotional music/synth/etc. are helpful to have in the subtitles bc I can’t hear them 85% of the time, but also they’re so hilarious that they kinda take me out of the moment. They’re like a lens flare in a Kelvin Timeline Star Trek film.

Horrifying and disgusting the way that Dr B breaks Jane down SO MUCH that you see the moment she crumbles and gives up trying to run because it’s no use.

When Dr B calls Jane daughter??? I felt sick to my stomach

There is no way that man would survive if Jane’s friends/family knew what he was doing to her. Especially her dad.

4x06

I feel less anger towards the other kids in the lab than I do to Dr B because at least they didn’t know much better. I’m sure there’s some free choice in there, but this vile creature is so manipulative that I don’t entirely blame them for acting the way they do.

Feeling absolutely sick as I remember that El was so tiny when all this happened. Like no wonder her brain repressed these (and so many other) memories! Protected her the best that it could!!! I wish Jane was in the hands of someone who actually cared about and respected her, bc most likely it would be a lot less re-traumatization if an actual therapist walked it through with her. Especially a modern one who knows EMDR or child-centered therapy.

I wish Dr. Owens hadn’t been pulled into all of this shit because he seems like a well-meaning person. But Dr. B is a master manipulator, so I can see even adults falling prey to his scheming.

HOW DARE THEY LET JANE THINK SHE KILLED THEM ALL!!!! I HATE THIS!!!!

4x06

SEE! Dr. O is NOT ABOUT THIS SHIT!!!

Oh my god, even when he says something I agree with, I want to punch Dr. B in the face. Repeatedly. I know how all this ends but I want him to die NOW! But also later so other people can fuck him up.

4x07

Okay but 001 manipulating Jane just like she’s been her entire life- I hate this! I hate it I HATE IT!!!!

I know that “who knew something so small could cause so much trouble” is also talking about El but I’m still screaming about it

Not exactly sure what JCB was told/directed to do, but I’m realizing on my second watch how s1!El’s (later seasons, too, but especially THIS season) movements are SO much like 001′s. Obviously he’s not a great dude, but seeing how much he shaped El, it makes sense in a twisted way why he’d be so angry at her “betrayal.” In his mind, HE built her up, but she instead chooses to be her own person. Then the trauma locks El’s memories, and she’s trained as the sole test subject (the wiki says she’s 8 in the flashback and 12 in s1, but I’m not sure how accurate that is. Time seems a little fuzzy in this show, for better or for worse.

God, I WISH ‘papa’ were dead in that scene! It would be SO NICE if he frikkin died and El escaped and had a happy and healthy childhood. None of the show would have happened, but I don’t care because she deserves good things!!!!

When JCB is killing 2, he looks positively reptilian. I can’t find a better way to put it.

oh my god it’s the big reveal scene and he’s so fucking dramatic??? I was gonna say “no straight man is this dramatic but no, actually, many are. but Cre.el is something else

ajsdfkljadf HELP I’m remembering the meme where he’s going on his evil villain monologue and El’s sitting there like “wtf is he even saying???” And if the audio is synced up for these conversations, does he just- give his little spiel to whatever captive audience he has available??? If so that’s fucking hilarious, I’m sorry. IDK if I can take him seriously anymore ajsdlkfjasjf Like obviously he’s a murderer and horrible person, but like... does he stand in front of his evil little mirror practicing his evil little monologue for whatever victims he catches in his trap? Does the mindflayer know this speech? Do the demobats squeak to each other about how their master did his little speech for them today? It’s late and I’m heading to bed after this, but my tired self finds it way too funny. I mean in a different context, this would be a very metal socialist rally, and in the moment I was like “no way!!” but looking back on it after all the memes, he’s just- a pathetic wet dog with powers.

I’m sorry but El’s face at the one hour, 25 minute mark is so funny too. The way he says “As I practiced, I realized I could do more than I possibly imagined” and El’s over here like “shut up, bitch. You’re talking too long and I’m sick of your shit.” Me too, girl.

“Join me.” “No” *telekinetically slams him into a wall* YOU GO GIRL! You’re gonna piss him off but you tell that lowlife NO!

See what you did, 1? You fucked up the space-time continuum is what you did. Even if El’s the one who made it happen in the first place.

And that’s it for tonight! It’s 11:45pm and I need to sleep! I’ll do a separate post for the last two eps of s4 whenever I end up watching them. I might find some of my other liveblogging and put it in a post as well so I can make headcanons from them later :)

#OOC #Kame liveblogs

[vermillemonie]

idk what u expect me to do when i’ve had to listen to my very own brother YELL about how much he hates women on many different occasions for the past few years. i know it’s due to trauma. but how the hell do you expect me to act. am i too sensitive? am i taking his words too seriously? am i weak as shit for not being able to speak up and try to change his mind?

#.txt #every time i do anything around him or say anything around him i feel like i'm walking on eggshells #i hate arguing and i already have such low self esteem wtf #sometimes i wish i didn't care about his feelings so i could go off on him like a madman #the same way he does to us as a family #but i can't. i worry too much about people's feelings. #even worse i know he would twist my words and put the blame on ME instead

[duskholland]

Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

tom was having a really nice day until the metropolitan police decided to crash his date.            or, when the law finally catches up to london’s most notorious mobster, tom learns that nothing is fair in love and war.

word count ↠ 15k. warnings ↠ angst with a happy ending, alcohol, a car chase, extensive depictions of prison, violence (very minor injury detail), tattooing, pregnancy, bad language, smut! there are extended nsfw warnings below the cut but this is 18+ so minors please do not interact.  a/n ↠ this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be taken 100% seriously! similarly to every other fic I’ve written about mob!tom, I don’t condone any of the actions shown in this story and all depictions of the mob and prison are entirely fictional. please do not date members of the mafia even if they are tom holland !!!!! + this fic was conceptualised before the release of cherry, and there are no purposeful links to the content of that film! the image from esquire that I’ve used is what led me down this path lmfao...esquire I love/hate you. ++ the biggest thank you ever to the wonderful @uglypastels​ for helping me with the initial brainstorm on this one, and for just generally being so supportive as I’ve struggled with writers block :’) I wouldn’t have ever been able to think this up let alone have the motivation to write this without you, so thank you and ily z <3  +++ there is a pov change halfway through this fic! it is intentional and you should be able to see it pretty easily but I’m just flagging it so you don’t think I lost it halfway through ahahha. enjoy!

nsfw warnings ↠ car sex, soft!dom!tom ft minor sir kink, oral and fingering (fem-receiving), multiple orgasms with brief refs to overstimulation, minor pregnancy kink, unprotected sex ft cumshot. 

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

There’s something wrong with you, and Tom can’t quite put his finger on it.

He wonders if it’s the wine. He’d spent hours debating the type of grape and ideal bitterness, scouring his memory in search of the perfect blend to share with you on your date. Eventually, he’d settled on the same deep red that he’d shared with you the first time he’d visited your flat, back when your love was just a small spark. Three years have passed since then, the nerves of early romance melted away and replaced by knowing and love, but the wine has recurred each time one of you has decided to treat the other, so what better blend to bring along to the picnic that Tom had so meticulously planned?

You haven’t touched your glass, and Tom—for all his confidence and charm—is deeply unsettled by this.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for what feels like the tenth time, with brows furrowed so tightly his forehead aches. Tom reaches across the gingham blanket to join your fingers together, surprised to feel the clamminess of your skin as you gently squeeze his hand.

You hum. “I’m fine,” you say, voice devoid of any intense emotion. You sigh softly before bringing your eyes to meet Tom’s, and the man feels his heart constrict in his chest. You’re perfect, even with your hair messy from the light spring wind and the nerves that sit across your face. When you squeeze his hand again, and Tom glances down to see the engagement ring on your fourth finger, the ache in his heart sharpens.

He never knew love could be this fulfilling, nor so easy. Breathing is harder than it is to love you.

“Okay,” he replies. “Do you want to go home?”

You’ve been so quiet for the entire date, which is strange because usually, you match his energy effortlessly. Tom has been away for a few weeks doing business in Liverpool, and this date by the river is the first time you’ve been properly alone since he returned. He’d really expected you to enjoy the date—or, on a very basic level, at least look like you want to be here. With your quiet answers, avoidance, and nervous stares, he can’t confidently say that you do.

You shake your head. “No, no.” You fiddle with some of his rings before pulling your hand away from his. As you sit up a little straighter, you turn away from Tom to stare instead at the River Thames.

The river behind you is lit by the mid-afternoon sun and flooded with boats. It’s such a lovely day that Tom almost doesn’t notice the horrible brown tinge to the water. Lining the bank are small groups of people—families, friends, couples, tourists. They all stay clear of the two of you, undoubtedly wary of the security guards lingering near their boss. He rarely goes out so obviously like this, but you’ve always loved London, and he’d wanted to treat you. He’d wanted this to be a nice day.

“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?” he checks, voice catching slightly.

Your eyes snap up to his quickly. “Tom,” you say, voice wrapped endearingly around his name. Moving easily, you slip closer to him, carefully shifting around the food and the glasses until you’re close enough to reach out and touch his cheek. “I love you.”

Tom’s teeth graze his lower lip as he feels you pad your thumb across his jaw. “I know,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze. “I love you too.” He pauses for a few moments, savouring the closeness and the scent of your rosy spritz. He’d missed you so much that it almost hurts to have you so close again. “I know you have something on your mind, darling… Can you tell me what it is? I want to help you.”

“I…” A breathy exhalation follows. You bring your hand away from his cheek and rest it on the red silk material covering his shoulder. He’s in a loose designer shirt, the top two buttons unbuttoned and showing off the silver-linked chain he has hanging from his neck. “Tom, I just…”

“What?”

A small smile twitches at your lips. “Not here,” you seem to decide, voice a little stronger. “I have something I need to show you.”

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

Tom feels the weight rolls from his shoulders. It’s fine—everything is fine. You want to let him in, want to trust him with the cause of your anxieties. You still want him.

“Let’s go, then,” he decides, knowing he’s far too impatient to spend another hour laying by the river. Tom offers you a hand, and you take it. He tugs you away from the picnic setup with ease. He doesn’t need to bother with putting the things away—someone else will do it. Just one of the perks of his job.

“I missed you,” you say, smoothing your thumb over the back of his hand as you walk together towards the car. “It gets lonely without you in the house. Our bed is ridiculously huge without two people in it.”

Tom chuckles. “Good job I’m back now then, eh?”

The noise you release is stacked full of so much relief it makes Tom feel guilty for ever leaving to begin with. As he watches the bright, genuine smile flow across your face when you meet his eyes, he resolves to never leave for business again. Never. Not without you.

“A very good job,” you clarify. When you reach the car together, Tom holds the door open for you, ushering you in dramatically until you’re laughing and making fun of him for fussing. The only way he can stop you from your jovial whines is by leaning across the dashboard and pressing his lips to yours, so really he can’t complain. “This car is stupid, too,” you decide.

“Oh, that’s too fucking far,” Tom murmurs, glancing in the rear mirror as he peels away from the pavement. He’s glad the air between you has lightened. You seem happier now you’ve decided to spill your secrets. He rests his hand on the back of your headrest as he twists in his seat, eyes on the road as he reverses. “This car is a beauty.”

“This car is confusing,” you say, and Tom feels you staring at the flex of his bicep. “I tried driving it when you were gone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm. Couldn’t even get it up the drive.”

“Well, not to be rude, darling, but it’s hardly fair to blame my beautiful car for the fact that you’re an atrocious driver.”

If looks could kill, Tom knows he’d be six feet under.

“Fuck you, Tom,” you seethe, but your voice is charged with laughter. “I take it back. I didn’t miss you at all. Go back to Liverpool, see if I care.”

Tom cackles. “Maybe I will,” he teases, “just to see how long it takes you to start begging for me to come back again.”

You grumble something incoherent at that, then the words between you lull into a comfortable silence. After a few moments, you shift your palm to rest on his thigh, your hand gentle, warm. Your fingertips trace tiny love hearts over his slacks.

“Don’t,” you say eventually, voice quieter. “Stay this time.”

Tom risks a quick glance to you, growing breathless in the depths of your eyes. “Of course,” he says, voice thick. Tom returns his gaze to the road, his chest feeling tight. “I’m never leaving you again.”

“I mean, you can leave sometimes if you want—”

“No. Never.” Tom’s cheeks ache. “I’m never leaving your side.”

“Alright, Tom.” You sigh lightly, feigning exasperation. “I guess there are worse things than being stuck with you.”

“I’m charmed, darling. So relieved you like spending time with your fiancé.”

You shift in your seat at that, and Tom doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re flustered. You’re always shyer around him when he mentions the fact that your futures are intertwined, almost unbelieving that he’d slipped that ring onto your finger. It doesn’t matter how many times Tom tells you that he cherishes you—you never quite make peace with the fact that he wants to chase the moon with you. That doesn’t mean he’ll stop telling you, though. You hang the stars in his sky.

“I love spending time with you, Tom,” you mumble. “And I hope that what I’m about to tell you doesn’t change how you feel about me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Wait— what?” Tom scrunches the tip of his nose up as he squints in your direction. “Y/N, what—” He pauses, concentrating on keeping his voice level. “Angel, nothing you could ever do would change the way I feel about you. Nothing.”

You smile quietly. “It’s not a bad thing,” you add, almost sensing his unease. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Perfect.” Tom sits a little straighter in his seat. “Then there’s nothing to worry about—”

Sirens cut into his words. Tom startles, glancing in the mirror to see a police car with a whirring blue siren perched atop the grimy vehicle.

“Tom,” you say slowly, voice filling with dread. Your tone sends shivers down his spine. “Did you do something?”

Tom bites his lip.

He’s been trying his best to stay above the law recently, but… Liverpool had been messy. Very messy. He hadn’t intended on things going quite as terribly as they had, but one thing had led to another, and he’d had to fuck a few things up. The crime is nothing as intense as he’s been booked for in the past, but he’d had to write a few irregularities into his taxes and business agreements to smooth over the waters. It’s not as bad as murder, but it’s tax fraud nonetheless.

Tom had thought he’d been fine. Apparently not. He’s been a hot target for the Metropolitan Police for years, and they’ve consistently unearthed every tiny discrepancy he’s tried to get away with. He should’ve been more fucking careful.

“Shit,” Tom mutters. As he brings his eyes back to the road in front of him, he realises the police car behind you has been joined by another two, closing in from side streets and boxing him in amongst the traffic. He swallows thickly. “I messed up.”

You curse. “Idiot,” you mutter. You sit forwards in the seat and start to point to a gap in the traffic, right across the square. “Go there,” you say, voice pitching higher. “If you go fast, you’ll make it.”

He could book it. Tom’s run away before, in situations of peril where the alternative had been the law and escaping would give him the chance to alter some books and clear his name. It would be easy to slam his foot on the accelerator and dive down side streets, dodging the thick London traffic.

“Tom!” you say again, voice stressed with desperation. “Tom, go!”

The gap in the traffic is narrowly closing, the window of time Tom has to zoom through and get to safety shrinking before his very eyes. If he was alone, he’d do it without a second thought, but you’re here.

You’re here, and that means he can’t be selfish. Tom couldn’t ever risk you, not with such a treacherous manoeuvre like the one that you’re suggesting, nor with the repercussions you’d face if he books it. You’d either have to come on the run with him, or you’d end up captured and grilled by the Met, and neither of those options is the types of things he’d ever bring willingly upon you. You would never deserve that, and he refuses to make it a possibility.

Tom slows down the car.

“Tom,” you say, shock filling your voice. “What are you doing? They’ll get you.”

He nods. “I want you to listen to me, very carefully,” he says quickly.

“But—”

“—Darling, please. Please.” Tom stops the car abruptly. He calculates he has mere seconds before the officers ditch their vehicles and start storming across the traffic to haul him from his seat. “Don’t say anything to them. They want me, not you.” He turns off the engine and grabs your hands, holding them close as he stares into your eyes. “Call Harrison. Whatever shit they’re bringing me in for won’t hold up for long. They’ve— they’ve done this before. They never win. We have backup plans for this crap.”

“Tom,” you whisper, eyes welling with tears, “but they—”

“I know. I know, baby. I know.” He presses quick kisses to your knuckles, clinging so tightly to your fingers it’s like he’ll drift away without your touch. “I’m sorry. I am so bloody sorry. I love you so much.”

His throat hurts. The sight of the pain in your eyes makes him hate himself for ever bringing you into this faithless way of life. He doesn’t give a fuck that he’s destined for a cell—Tom cares that he’s hurt you.

“I love you too,” you say. You lean closer, undoing your seatbelt and popping his too as you reach up to cup Tom’s cheeks in your shaky hands. “It’ll be okay,” you stress. “I’ll get you out of there, baby.”

You lean in closer to kiss him, and Tom aches. The scent of your perfume is overwhelming, and he feels fragile beneath the hold you have on his face. The kindness in your eyes makes it hurt even more. It’d be easier if you’d let fury consume you and spend these last sacred moments denouncing him instead of loving him, but of course, you’re not like that.

The car door opens, and Tom is hauled from the car the moment his lips touch yours. Before he can process it, he’s being pushed up against his car, stiff arms keeping him pinned in place. He closes his eyes, firming up his face and shoving down his feelings as he forces himself to dry up, become stoic. He won’t show weakness now he’s outside.

Tom hears you exit the vehicle a few moments later, the crash of the door coupled with a few scuffles. He drowns out the words of the officers whilst they reel off a list of fabricated crimes, smugness evident in their voices. Good for fucking them.

When they eventually release him, he’s cuffed and weaponless, his spirit bent in two. The metal of his car had hurt his face, but nothing breaks Tom’s heart more than the sight of you being held back by two officers, tears streaming down your face. You bring your hands into the shaky outline of a heart, and it’s the last thing he sees before he’s pushed into the back of a van.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

It’s clear that everyone at the station has been waiting for him to fuck up. He’s met with sly smiles and teasing comments as he’s reacquainted with some of his most despised wardens and guards. He’s held in a temporary cell for almost a day and quizzed on the shreds of ‘evidence’ they’d procured from his house during a raid, and though Tom declines to answer every single question they throw at him, their smugness never fades.

He walks into the trial already knowing he’s going to be locked up, and not even the sight of you beside Harrison and Harry on the benches soothes him.

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

Now, Tom isn’t worried. He knows he won’t actually be held in a cell for that long. He’s already had correspondence with Harrison, who’s assured him that he’s working on it, and there’s really nothing much to worry about. Tom has been in this situation twice before, and on both occasions, he’d been released in less than a month. The connections he’s built from his years heading up the mob are reliant and unwavering, and he knows he won’t have to serve even a fifth of his sentence.

The only difference between the times before and now is you, and Tom can only fucking pray that you don’t despise him for dirtying your name with his crimes. You’d been normal before him—a waitress, aspiring painter, an innocent. Despite your insistence that you love him with all strings attached, his guilt weighs him down. He doesn’t give a fuck about the law and whatever twisted loopholes the jury had bought, but he does care about you and what you think of him. That’s the hardest part.

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

Prison isn’t that bad for Tom. He’s pretty fucking lucky, all things considered. He has friends here—blokes he’d met around town, most of whom are willing to welcome him in. A few of his old guys are locked behind bars with him, unwavering in their loyalty and more than happy to absorb him as members of their group. Those who don’t know Tom know of him. His reputation as a murderous, cold-hearted killer follows him inside, regardless of its falsity. Tom hasn’t taken a life in three years, but these men don’t need to know that.

“Holland! Get the fuck up. You’re in the gym.”

Tom glances up. He’s lying on top of his bed, one hand propped behind his head, the other holding open a book. He isn’t an avid reader like you, but you’d sent him a copy of your favourite book with scribbled annotations in the margins, and he’s been spending every hour since its arrival clinging to the pages.

He sighs as he puts the book down and stands from the lower bunk. He’s in with a young lad, Ollie, booked on a minor drugs charge. Why they’d paired someone on such a minimal sentence with a member of the mob, Tom will never understand, but the fear in the lad’s eyes every time he looks at him is enough to keep his wavering ego bobbing just above the waterline.

“Step away from the door.”

Tom does as instructed. A moment later, there’s a loud buzzer followed by the swinging of the heavy metal door.

In walks Luther, Tom’s archnemesis. If the inmates fear him, the guards despise him, and to be fair, Tom understands why. He’s a bit of a dick when he’s behind bars. Usually, when he’s free, he operates with a level of poise and charm that comes with his position as leader. He speaks to his men with a firm but kind hand, respects everyone he deems his equal and commands supreme authority without becoming a tyrant. However, when he has his freedom stripped away, and he has to bend to fit the system’s will, his attitude becomes… problematic.

“Holland,” Luther barks. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, coughing loudly, cheeks flushed a ruddy red. He snarls at Tom, his voice like jagged glass. “Come on.”

“You alright, mate?” Tom asks. “You sound fucking terrible.” He looks it, too, with a dripping nose and red-rimmed eyes. He looks ill.

Luther’s features sharpen. “Get over here now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom swaggers to the door and dodges a little as Luther cuffs him, the man digging the metal into his skin with extra ferocity. They start to march down the long, grey corridor towards the fitness suite, Luther prodding Tom forward with a hand digging into his back.

“How’s your wife?” Tom tries, tired of the echoing footsteps.

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

The guard tuts. “Does she like having a criminal for a husband?”

“Does yours like being married to such a wanker— hey!”

Luther pushes him down the corridor with haste. “Quiet, Holland,” he mutters. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, then it’s too bad you’re stuck with me,” Tom replies. “Did you know that if me being here annoys you so much, you could always let me go? That would sort out your problem.”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah? Let London’s most wanted convict escape?”

Tom raises a brow. “London’s most wanted?” he echoes. “Wow.” Pride seeps into his voice. “That’s an accomplishment.”

“Not a positive one. Self-absorbed bastard.”

It’s easy to laugh. Letting the comments bounce off his back is easier than admitting the jibe about you has irked him. Do you like having a criminal for a partner? Even Tom, for all the world has jaded him, knows no sane person would rest well with the knowledge that their significant other has lied, stolen, and killed. It doesn’t lie well with him, and he was born into this.

They reach the gym.

Tom sticks to the same workout regime he has at home. He does his cardio for twenty minutes on the wobbling treadmill, then sits around on the bench press and does curls with a few of the guys. He keeps quiet, his mind loud, only adding a few comments when necessary. His sullenness adds to his image, and he’s busy with thoughts of you. By the time he’s finished, he feels arguably worse than before. The endorphins from his workout are overshadowed by the guilt Tom feels, clawing at his heart, heavy and persistent in its certainty that he’s a lousy partner.

He can handle being a bad guy, but a bad man? A bad brother, bad friend, or bad lover? The opinions of the guards mean nothing to him, and neither does the law, but when it comes to the people he cares about, their opinions mean everything. Tom has let Luther get into his head, and whilst he knows that was the guard’s intention, the seed of doubt has been planted. As he pumps iron, he feels it grow, taking root, blooming taller.

“Holland. Time to go.”

He grunts as he stands. Sweaty and sore, Tom hobbles to the doorway, feeling considerably smaller than he had when he’d left his cell. The cuffs hurt his wrists as his hands are clasped back together, and the walk back feels even longer than before.

“You had a parcel delivered,” Luther says, breaking the silence. “It arrived last week.”

Tom’s eyebrows pull together. “Last week?”

“I thought I should hold it back until you’d settled in,” comes the patronising response. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many new experiences, Thomas. Not that being in here is anything out of the ordinary for you, though.”

He feels his jaw twitch. He flexes his hand, knuckles burning for movement. Not yet, not yet. He has to wait, has to play the long game.

“You’re a dick,” Tom decides. He doesn’t care that he gets thrown roughly into the cell. He trips over the floor and barely manages to scrape himself to his feet, but he throws out a smirking “fuck you,” before the door slams shut. He’d follow it up with more snide remarks, but he becomes distracted by the sight of the parcel sitting on his bed.

It’s neat, despite the obvious intrusion into its contents by the guards. He flops onto his lower bunk, glad his cellmate is absent as it allows him to drop the ruse. Lips sagging into a frown, Tom rips open the package.

He releases a fragile sound as the contents pour across his duvet. Polaroids fall across the sheets, glistening slightly, neat and pristine. A lump comes to the back of his throat as he shuffles through them, finding images of you, Harry, Sam, Tess… The list carries on. For every person he can think of, there’s an image captured perfectly in time. He even appears in a few of them, with his hand around Haz’s shoulder or his lips pressed to your temple.

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

Tom, I thought you’d want some reminders of home while you’re away. We’re all looking forward until the day you can come home to us. Love you forever, Y/N <3

As Tom traces the edge of his nail along the outline of your face, his eyes well with hot tears. You always know what he needs, even when he doesn’t. You know him, inside out, and you’re continuing to support him, despite it all. He is indebted to you, and he knows already that as soon as he’s let out, he’ll spend every second of his life trying to repay that.

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two weeks later, Tom finally gets to see you again.

The prison visiting room is fucking grim. Toned in sludgy shades of grey and brown, it’s about as ugly as it could be. There are window slits pressed high into the walls, but the primary source of light is from the musky bulbs set above each table. The chairs are uncomfortable, and the decor lacks inspiration. Tom often wonders if the room was designed to be as revolting as possible.

Despite this, as Tom shuffles into the room that smells suspiciously of plasticine, he couldn’t be happier. It doesn’t matter that his wrists ache from the cuffs, nor that the garish shade of orange clashes horrendously against his skin: you’re here, and that makes everything better.

You’re sitting at the table in the corner of the room, drumming your fingers pensively over the surface. His eyes catch on the glinting ring wrapped around your fourth finger, and the sense of longing that had settled in the hollowness of his chest is quickly burnt away. Sensing his movements, you glance up, and when your eyes meet with his, Tom feels his heart come home.

You raise a hand in greeting, smiling shyly, and he tries to look as non-threatening as possible. He knows the new buzzcut and the stupid get-up probably don’t help, but you don’t look at him like he’s any different.

As he draws nearer, Tom finds himself blinking a few times, questioning how long you’ve been separated. The version of you he has holed up in his memories pales in comparison to the woman that he sees before him now, but he can’t quite pinpoint why. You seem fuller somehow—vibrant, glowing, alive, your face doused in a heavenly glow and your skin bright with health. Your figure has changed slightly, and Tom can’t stop himself from running his eyes all over you, trying to memorise every tiny detail his memory had blurred away. You look so beautiful, every single part of your form enhanced and bright, and your chest—

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

“Y/N,” he exhales the moment he’s been pushed into his seat. His guard unclasps his cuffs, and Tom immediately reaches out across the table, almost moaning from relief when you wrap your fingers around his. Your skin is so warm.

“Tom,” you whisper. Emotion seeps into your voice, and he feels his chest crack as tears pool in your eyes. “Are you okay? I— I missed you.”

He hums, biting his lip. “I’m fine, baby. I’m okay. Are you?”

You nod quickly. “I’m okay too,” you say. “Things are strange without you, but we’re working around the clock to get you out of here.” You drop your voice slightly. “I think we’re near a breakthrough.”

Tom’s teeth brush his lower lip. “Good, good,” he says. “How’s Tess? And Harry, and the others? Are they looking out for you?”

“Yeah,” you say. You squeeze Tom’s hands tightly. “They’re all okay. Mainly just worried about you.”

He shrugs, trying to lessen the furrow in your brow. “‘M all good, darling,” he promises. “Don’t worry about me.”

Your eyes skate across his face. “I like your hair,” you say gently. For a moment, Tom thinks you’re going to try and reach out to touch the buzzed fuzz, but you seem to remember that anything beyond handholding is prohibited. You have to settle for a slightly suggestive smile. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks, lovie.”

Your smile is sad but it’s still hopeful. Whatever emotions you’re feeling, it’s clear that you’re trying to smooth them away and keep them to yourself. “There’s something I wanted to tell you,” you say, easing into the words with difficulty. Tom watches as you look away, doubt casting across your face.

“What is it?” Vaguely, Tom remembers how skittish you’d been the day he’d been taken away, the memory distorted from the noise of everything else that had happened. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You bite your lower lip. “Uh, just first… how are you holding up in here? Like, actually. Don’t bullshit me and play the tough guy.” Your eyes are wide and persistent. “How are you actually doing?”

Tom blinks a few times. “Fine,” he shoots immediately. He clenches your fingers tightly in his, clinging on for a moment until he exhales. “I wish I could be here for you properly, though. It worries me that I don’t know what’s happening on the outside…” He hates being left out in the dark, but it isn’t your fault. It’s his. “I wish I could be a better boyfriend to you.”

“Fiancé,” you correct, the word soft like it’d left your mouth without thought. “You’re already a good boyfriend, Tom. I knew what I was signing up for. I wanted this back then, and I still do now.”

“Still,” he grumbles. He tries to even out the heaviness of the conversation with a smile. “I think about you all the time, baby. And the others too, but… mostly you. I just hate that I’m missing out on our life together.” He has to stop for a moment as he recollects his thoughts. “I’m sorry that I did this to us, and I’m sorry I let you down.”

You crack a wry smile. “You can’t change the past, Tom. You can only affect the future.” You pause, your expression hardening. “I need to know that you’ll go slower when you get out. I know this is your life, but some things need to change. We— I need you to stay out of trouble. Do you understand?”

He nods his head immediately. “Of course, of course. I don’t ever want to get arrested again, darling.”

You drop your voice. “I’m not saying you need to quit everything, just… get better safeguards and be smarter. I love who you are, Tom, but this…” You break off to gesture around, pointing vaguely at his cuffs, the jumpsuit, and the guards. “This isn’t good for you or for me. And I love you, but I won’t stay if you don’t try.”

It’s hard to hear, but he knows it’s what he deserves to hear. He knows you deserve to stand your ground.

“I know,” Tom says gently. “I’ll get clean when I’m out, Y/N. I promise. I’ll be a good man by you.”

You squeeze his fingers tighter. “You already are,” you promise, “and I love you so much, even when you’re being an idiot.”

He laughs breathlessly. “Thank you, darling.” Tom tilts his head to the side. “What was it you wanted to say?”

Conflict briefly colours your face, manifesting itself in the arch of your eyebrow and the biting of your lower lip. You inhale sharply, only to exhale again a moment later.

“I’ll tell you when you’re out,” you say softly.

Tom scowls. There’s no anger there, just confusion. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

You shake your head. “I… Pretend I never said anything,” you say. You follow it up with a quick, “if I thought you needed to know, I’d tell you.”

He doesn’t want to push it, so Tom lets the topic slip away. You sit together silently for a few minutes. It’s hard to talk, difficult to express how much he misses you, how much he’s sorry. He knows that you understand—you always do, and you have similar tears wobbling across your eyes. Talking can come afterwards when he’s out and he’s free. All he needs now is the feeling of your hand back in his.

The visit is over far too soon.

Leaving you is difficult. Tom isn’t allowed to hug you or go any nearer than the linked hands on the table, but you tug at his fingers until he feels the imprint of your engagement ring rubbing against his skin. He even manages to kiss your knuckles a few times before he’s pulled up from the table and cuffed again.

“Be on your best behaviour,” you say, soft with your parting words. “The lawyer says the better you are, the easier it’ll be to get you out early.”

Tom has a bit of his spark back. Even as he’s pulled back, he manages a devious smirk. “When am I ever not on my best behaviour, darling?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

To be fair, it isn’t really his fault. He’s pushed to the very verge of insanity, prodded at and provoked beyond the point of return.

It happens when he’s in the barber, huddled in the back corner of the room as he gets a new tattoo. Tom is used to the pain of the burning needles as he already has a few pieces on his arms and his hands, so he’s able to take the fresh marks to his knuckles as the ink stains black against his skin. However, he’s a bit on edge from the sharp buzzing, which is perhaps why he responds so negatively to the taunting he starts to receive. It comes from Toni and the rest of his snivelling gang. They’re all members of the East London mob, ruled over by Tom’s nemesis Gordy. Most of the time, they stick to their side and Tom sticks to his, but they’ve caught him in a vulnerable position, and Toni never seems to know how to pick his timing.

It’s basic teasing, instilled with a brutal hard edge that would phase him if Tom cared enough about their opinions of him. It doesn’t hurt him when people attack his character or his honour—Tom knows the truth about his life, and he couldn’t give two shits about an outsider’s opinion of him. However, he finds it a lot harder to grin and bear it when the man changes angle.

“Word is, a couple of our guys saw your missus out with Haz the other day,” Toni taunts. “He said they were getting real close if you know what I mean.”

Tom’s jaw flexes. The action is minute, but it doesn’t go undetected. Toni smirks.

“Eh, you don’t like that, do you?” The man steps a little closer and Tom tries to ignore him by looking down at the needle pressing into his fingers. “Don’t like the idea of your best friend hanging around your wife. Can you even trust them?” He breaks off, laughing coolly. “They think you’re so stupid, did you know that? You’ll get out of here, and they’ll have cut you out of everything—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tom murmurs. He flexes his right hand, shaking out his knuckles. With every passing day, he’s felt tetchier. He can feel his anger burning, churning deep within his stomach, growing brighter, harder. He knows he shouldn’t lean into it, but… He wants to. He craves that rush of the fight, selfishly so.

“But she’s not your wife, is she? You aren’t actually married. Have you ever thought that maybe she’s just using you? Maybe they all are? Look at you, Tom.” Toni breaks off to throw a disdainful hand in Tom’s direction. “You are so weak in here… How are any of your guys going to respect you when their leader can’t even stay out the slammer?”

The guy tattooing Tom’s hand finally pulls away, glancing up at him with knowing in his eyes. “You’re done,” he says. “Don’t do anything with that hand, though.”

“Thanks, man.”

Tom stands up, Toni mirroring him. The man looms in front of him, 6’2 and stocky. He’s larger than Tom in every respect, but he’ll never be the bigger man.

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

“Make me, twat.” Toni smirks. “Or are you too much of a pussy to follow through on that as well?”

Tom sees red. Acting on the edge of adrenaline, he pounces, rushing the man and jumping with so much unexpected force that the larger man goes tumbling to the floor. Tom hears the shouts of the guards, but they pale in comparison to his need to straddle the man’s chest and make him pay. With each meeting of his fist with Toni’s face, Tom feels better. He’s never been an excessively violent person, but old habits die hard, and it’s so, so, so fucking easy to pummel the guy who dared breath an uncomplimentary word in his family’s direction. Tom would put the whole city six feet under if they so much as breathed wrong around his loved ones, so really, Toni had it coming.

The prison guards don’t agree.

He ends up in solitary, and when he’s put back into the normal population, Tom is given restrictions. He isn’t allowed visitors for a fortnight, and his calls are reduced to once a week. All other privileges he’d had are taken away again, and he’s relegated to the very bottom of the pecking order.

It’s still worth it.

When he’s finally allowed visitors again, Tom is surprised to learn that his next meeting isn’t with you or his lawyer. Things only make sense when he shuffles into the meeting room and sees his right-hand man settled in the corner, and if Tom had found the room drab before, it appears even more depressing with the addition of the blond man sitting in it. Harrison sucks the life from the room, any hints of happiness at being reunited with his friend overshadowed by the pinched expression on his face.

The guards don’t let Tom take off his cuffs. He has to sidle into the chair, falling into the heavy silence as he places his hands on the table. Metal links click, and Harrison just stares. He stares, and stares, and stares, his blue eyes almost black.

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

Harrison’s jaw twitches. He brings his hands to rest on the top of the table, flexing them as he takes a moment to find the right words. “Tom,” he says, speaking very slowly. “You are a twat.”

He blinks. “Wow,” Tom mutters, chuckling slightly. “Okay. Good to see you too, mate.”

“Do you…” Harrison breaks off, groaning. His forehead develops angry ripples. “Do you understand how detrimental this has been to your case?”

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

“You’ve been pushed to the bottom of the pile,” Harrison says, voice controlled but simmering with unspoken anger. “We were about to get your appeal passed for early release.” He sits back, crossing his arms as he shakes his head. “There’s been a penalty applied due to your stint in solitary. Your case won’t be assessed until it’s lifted.”

Tom feels his stomach drop. “Shit,” he mutters. “That’s not ideal.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Harrison sits forward, leaning on his hands. “You are a bloody idiot. Stop acting like a child… Why… Why did you even attack him? You must have known this would happen. Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t like the patronisation in his tone. Tom’s already beat himself up enough about this in solitary. He doesn’t need Harrison questioning his judgements, doesn’t appreciate his friend breathing down his neck so obviously.

“He deserved it,” Tom says firmly. “I would do it again.”

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

“I think you’ll find that I can, Harrison.” There’s a stupid smirk on his lips now. Tom’s missed being a little shit to his friends. He knows it’s not the time, but he’s vibrating. The callous concoction of shame, anger and isolation make him volatile and abrasive. “I’m pretty sure I can do whatever the fuck I want, actually.”

The expression that mars Harrison’s face looks very out of place against his demeanour. The man is in a long black trench coat with a tight grey turtleneck layered beneath it. He has a few pendants hanging from his neck, the gold metal bringing out the warm tones in his curls, mussed in a way that screams of old charm and perfect romance. Harrison’s illusion of control falters only under the pressure of the anger that manifests itself so clearly on his face.

“Tom.” Harrison bangs his fist on the table. The ring wrapped around his pinky clangs against the wood. “You can’t keep this up. If you do, the case gets pushed further, and that is unacceptable.”

Tom scowls. “Well, Haz, last time I checked, I was the one who has to deal with the consequences of my actions. Not you.” He can’t stand the expression of condescension hanging over Harrison’s face. “If I want to throw a few punches, I bloody well will. You have no idea what it’s like in here. No idea at all.”

Harrison’s angered expression fades a little, but only for a moment. When Tom hardens the curve of his eyebrow, Harrison devolves into irritation again, almost snarling as he narrows his eyes. “Your actions affect everyone in your life,” he snaps. “Stop pretending you’re the only one paying for the things that you’ve done.”

“I’m the one with the cuffs, Harrison. I’d say I’m paying considerably more than anyone else.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah? Tell that to the men who had their property searched and their possessions seized. Tell that to your family, who continue to be pulled in for questioning. Tell that to Y/N, who—” he breaks off awfully quickly, cheeks flushing slightly. “Nevermind.”

Tom’s blood goes cold. “Y/N?” he repeats sharply. “What about Y/N?”

“Nothing.”

He sits up straighter. “What about Y/N, Harrison?”

“Nothing.”

Tom is angry now. “Tell me right now or god help me, I will find a way to kill you.”

Harrison rolls his eyes, then covers the movement with a sigh. “I can’t. It isn’t my place.” He seems regretful as he jumps in to add, “she’s fine. She just needs you. We all do.”

The guilt returns. It falls over Tom like a wet blanket, extinguishing his frustration and leaving him cold. “Does she… Does she hate me?” He’s looking down at his cuffs.

“What— no. No, Tom.” Harrison looks guilty for the first time, but at least he isn’t confirming Tom’s deepest insecurities. “Nothing like that at all. Just… Listen to me, alright? You need to behave. I know it’s hard in here, I know that, and I understand it must be frustrating. You just… You can’t let that rule you, Tom. You have to look at the bigger picture. You need to come home, and the sooner the better.”

It’s easier said than done, but he knows Harrison is earnest with it.

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

Harrison nods. “Thanks, mate,” he mutters. “We all miss you, myself included.” He glances up at him, eyes finally back to the cool blue tones Tom grew up beside. “It isn’t the same without you around.”

Tom manages a tight smile. “I miss you too.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS since Tom was taken away, and you are miserable.

Every day has been the same. You wake up, nauseous and alone, always on Tom’s side of the bed despite forcing yourself to fall asleep on your own. The mornings are a blur of paperwork and phone calls that follow you into the afternoon. You work around the clock, Harrison, Harry and Sam at your side as you go over Tom’s case, again and again, only stopping when night falls, and one of you throws in the towel.

You had been so close to springing him until he’d gone and got himself demoted to solitary, and there’s not a morning that you don’t think about that. You’d submitted the appeal, stacked full of so much evidence that there was no way the judge would deny him freedom, only for Tom to get into a fistfight the day before the hearing. Just like that, the floor had vanished from beneath your feet.

You’d taken it badly, the others too. Losing Tom to the judge’s gavel had been hard enough, but for his escape to be taken away by his own actions hurt a thousand times worse. You know it’s worse for him, being alone in a cell, but that doesn’t stop the bitterness seeping into your mouth every time you think about the lost chance. Harry and Sam had been incensed, their anger fuelled by the void of a missing brother, and you know Harrison’s frustration comes from similar veins.

Even now that Tom’s served his time in solitary, the frustration lingers on, manifesting itself in the way none of you could decide who should go and visit him first. Under normal conditions, you would’ve been there in a heartbeat, but… Things have been complicated, even without recent events, more so than they’d been when you’d visited two months ago. When Harrison had bitten the bullet and volunteered himself, all of you had been more than happy to let him go.

He’d left this morning, and the house has been quiet ever since.

You’re sitting up in one of the spare rooms as you wait for Harrison to return, your back aching and your mind spinning. You twirl the rings on your fingers as you think, taking turns alternating between your engagement ring and the silver signet rings you’d taken from Tom’s dresser. Keeping him close makes everything easier. You’d take any reminder of him you could get, be that his rings, his shirts, his cologne, or…

The baby.

You shift a hand down to sit on the swell of your belly. Tears prick your eyes as you let them close, a frustrated sigh tumbling past your lips.

You’re four months pregnant, and that throws a spanner in the works.

Sure, you would’ve tried equally as hard to get Tom released under normal conditions, but the biological countdown that has now been sprinkled into the mix has only given everything an air of desperation. Even if it isn’t you vocalising what everyone else is thinking, the fervour to get Tom out before it’s too late is there. You can see it in the way Harrison never lets you go anywhere unaccompanied, and Harry and Sam have been working nonstop to get their brother’s freedom. Everyone around you is aware of how vital Tom’s release is, even when the man himself remains oblivious.

Exhaling gently, you shift around on the cosy armchair. The nursery smells of fading paint, and as you move around, you glance at the messy borders of the walls. The sex of your baby is still a mystery to you, but a few days ago, the twins had freshened up the room with a shade of light green whilst you and Harrison were in court. Neither of them is particularly artistically inclined, but they’d done a pretty decent job, all things considered.

Tom’s family have all been good to you—very kind. You haven’t felt alone, even with half your heart locked away in the outskirts of London. It just hasn’t been the idyllic pregnancy you’d dreamt about with your fiancé.

Guilt falls across you as you look down at the rising swell of your belly.

It’s been hard trying to decide whether or not to tell Tom what you’d tried to come clean about three months ago, down by the Thames. You’d wanted to tell him when you’d gone to visit him, but you couldn’t find the heart to come clean and admit that he’s missing out on the one thing he’s waited for his entire life. Telling him would hurt him immensely, and he’s already hurting being away from you. You don’t want to tell him until he can be part of it, and with that uncertainty present, you’ve kept your lips sealed.

Visiting him today in place of Harrison is all you really wanted to do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’re vulnerable and explosive, and you want to come clean to Tom when the situation is better. There would be nothing worse than storming into that dingy meeting room, flaunting your obvious pregnancy but being too distracted by your anger at your fiancé to explain everything else. You won’t hurt him like that by taunting him with the one thing he wants but can’t have. You refuse to.

All you can do is hope that he forgives you for holding the information back, pray that he understands your motivations, and, above all, hold onto the hope that he’s there when your child comes into the world.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

Blinking yourself from your reverie, you look up through the open door.

“In here, Sam.”

A moment later, Tom’s younger brother appears in the doorway. The man looks as exhausted as you feel, deep shadows hanging beneath his hazel eyes. When he sees you, his mouth pulls into a small smile and he lifts his hand in greeting, and you can tell that he’s trying. You try to match him by sitting up a little straighter and smiling back.

“Hey,” he says. “I was just… bored, I guess. Thought I’d come and check on you.” Doubt briefly flickers across his face. “Is that okay? Are you busy?”

“I’m bored too,” you admit. You stand from the armchair and groan as you stretch your arms, your stiff back aching. “Do you want to do something?”

Sam grins. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Can we try the mural?”

Wincing, you manage a smile. “Okay… But if it looks terrible, I will paint over it.”

“As if. I’m the artistic one here, Y/N. Just be glad Harry’s still away.”

“Did someone mention me?” Harry’s voice rings through the air, startling you. With a hand clutching your heart, you look to your side in time to see Sam’s twin taking his place at your side. Where Sam is in a shirt and tie, Harry is clad in a pair of deep denim dungarees. He offers you a rusty smile. “We’re just filling in these lines, yeah?”

Sam’s the one to nod. He gestures at the wall and you notice the faint outlines, scratched in pencil. “Be precise,” he informs, “it took me bloody ages sketching it.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shooting you a silent smirk. “Yes, sir,” he mutters. “Anything you want, sir.”

“Fuck off.”

Harry pulls a face. “Well,” he says, looking at you pointedly, “I hope you’re keeping a record of how many times Sam is swearing around the baby, Y/N.”

Brows furrowing, you pick up a paintbrush. “Why would I be doing that?”

The ginger grins. “Just betters my case for being the better uncle,” he says.

“Oh, what? Don’t you mean the boring uncle?” Sam chides, bristling beside you.

Harry laughs. “I will be the favourite uncle. I don’t care what you say, Sammy. Both of us know it.”

Rolling your eyes at the argument you’ve heard a thousand times before, you give them both a nudge. “Shh,” you plead. “Paint, don’t fight.”

Sam shoots you a soft smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

With a smile lingering on your lips, you watch as Harry puts on one of his playlists, then relax as the three of you get to work. None of you say anything, but the air is full enough—tickled to life with Sam’s quiet whistling and the sound of paintbrushes thick against the wall. You concentrate on the intricate details of the mural, like the outlines of the clouds and the spirals of the grass, and marvel at how wonderful it is to be so content in silence. It’s indicative of how tight your bond has grown, you think.

No longer despising solitude, you’ve found a comfortable middle ground around the men. You and Tom’s inner circle have learned to work together well, stringing together complex case files as you’ve organised accounts. Nothing you’ve been doing recently is legal, but you would’ve left a long time ago if you genuinely cared about the law. You can stomach a few fixed accounts if it means Tom gets to walk free—you can stomach a whole lot more than that, actually, for Tom. You’d set the whole world on fire just to see him smile.

Like the splotchy mural covering the walls, your team has got the job done. Your case for the court is watertight, if a little messy, but you know it’ll be enough to spring Tom. It has to be. You need him, and your child needs him. Everyone in the house needs him.

“Guys? Where are you?” Harrison’s voice joins the mix just as you’re stretching up to flick a few rays of gold into the sun. Harry is at your feet, crouching on the balls of his feet as he tries to paint a few red flowers to the sprigs of grass.

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

A few moments later, Harrison joins you. You fail to meet his eyes as the focused man sweeps into the room, billowing coat swirling around his feet. His expression is terse as he jerks off his jacket and grabs a paintbrush, dipping the tip in a bit of sky blue paint before standing at the end. You don’t rush him. He’s vibrating with something, his face flushed and his eyes dark, so you give him space.

A few minutes pass, illustrated by Harry’s playlist and the colours of the rainbow. Just when you’re beginning to worry, Harrison speaks.

“Tom is an idiot,” he states, drawing a laugh from one of the twins.

You bite your lip. “Did you explain?” you ask.

Harrison nods. He glances at you, and you note the fleck of purple paint pressed into the pale arc of his cheek. “He said he wouldn’t do it again,” he tells you. “He was angry, though. I think he’s having a bad time.”

Harry hums. “It’s hard in there,” he mumbles. “Was he still himself?”

The blond nods. “Yeah,” he says. “As snarky as ever.”

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

“Good news, though,” Harrison adds. “I went to the courthouse on my way back.”

“Oh?” You look away from your cloud, your heart skipping a beat. “And?”

“And,” Harrison continues, a semblance of a smile twitching across his lips, “I submitted the appeal again. They said they’d probably process it next week. So, if things go according to plan this time, he might be out by next Friday.”

You almost drop your paintbrush. Eyes widening, you turn to face him properly. “Wait, really?”

Harrison’s expression softens. “Yeah.” He puts his paintbrush down, tugging yours from your fingers as if he can tell you’re close to dropping it. “He’s almost out, Y/N.”

Relief spills across you, uncontrollable and overwhelming. Closing your eyes before those easy tears can fall down your cheeks, you step closer and push your way into Harrison’s embrace. He’s ready and waiting for the action, eager to comfort his friend.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Harrison’s chest is warm, and though his hugs aren’t as good as Tom’s, you’ve come to rely on them. You’ve come to rely on all of them. “That’s amazing news.”

“Mhmm.” He squeezes you. “This nightmare is almost over.”

“Thanks, man,” Harry speaks up. You pull away from Harrison’s hold when you hear the quivering tones in his voice, quickly glancing to the man to find him glassy-eyed and flushed. Biting your lip, you extend a hand towards him.

A group hug unfolds, as it’s had the tendency to do since Tom was taken away. The first time had been stoic and cool, with frozen elbows and embarrassed shuffling, but slowly, each one of them has loosened. They’re tough men, burdened and hard, but love ties them to you, and at your request, you know they’d do anything for you. You also know that they all enjoy the physical comfort more than they’d ever let on.

It’s been hard without Tom, and you’d do anything to have him back, but if there’s anything his absence has taught you, it’s that his brothers have become your brothers as his best friend has become your own, and you’ve never really been alone.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s release day comes quickly, hidden behind the retrial and the quick-paced days in court. It’s busy at the trial, and spaces are limited, so Harry and Sam attend in place of you and Harrison. You get them to take in a few letters for Tom and pass on your condolences for your absence, but you don’t allow yourself to get too hung up on it. When Tom’s release is announced, the weight that rolls from your shoulders is immediate.

As you wait outside the prison, you try to find solace in the rays of the mid-afternoon sun. It’s quiet in the car park, allowing you to ruminate in peace, and though you’re comfortable resting against the bonnet of Tom’s car, your thoughts are far from restful.

Anxiety weighs heavily in your chest, mixing with your excitement and creating a volatile concoction. You find yourself pacing, biting back your nerves as you try to reason with yourself. Draped around your shoulders is a long coat that obscures your bump, chosen as you’ve decided you don’t want to overwhelm Tom with too many things at once. You hope it does the job. The coat twitches in the wind as you walk, noisy and obnoxious.

Things around you are still until there’s a sudden, loud buzzing noise from the prison compound. You jerk your head around to see two men leaving the main building, small in the distance but gradually growing larger. They’re still enclosed in the fenced courtyard, but they’re on their way to the exit, and every rational thought you have flies from your mind as you see him. Tom. Your Tom.

He’s in the clothes he’d been arrested in—red shirt, black slacks, shiny shoes. Looped around his hands is his Rolex and his rings. Tom seems almost identical to how he’d been on that cursed day, just his head is buzzed and he looks a little smaller. He’s carrying himself with confidence, though, and when he looks fervently around the car park and spots you, his entire face swells with happiness. The sight of that large, lovely smile hanging from his lips brings immediate warmth to your eyes.

Every breath is easier now you have him in your sights. Overwhelming love gluts your insides, warm and emotive, choking you up. It takes everything in you to stay still as you wait for Tom to finish talking with his guard, a tall man you recognise from all of his stories, Luther. Tom’s smirking in a way that’s obviously infuriating, and the guard doesn’t hesitate to give him a light punch as your boyfriend saunters out of prison, leaving the compound with a swagger to his stride and a smile the size of Saturn.

The sight of Tom jogging towards you breaks you from your reverie, and you push yourself away from the car to meet him somewhere in the middle. Nothing matters until you’re colliding with his front, finding warmth in his arms, feeling his entire body shake as his tears fall into your hair. Nothing matters unless it’s him.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper. Your grip on the back of Tom’s shirt is hard, a violent sprawling across your knuckles, but you won’t let go. You’re giddy with love. “Fuck, Tom, I missed you so, so much.”

You pull away from his chest and look into his eyes, your lower lip wobbling as you note the fresh tears on his face. You use your thumbs to brush beneath his cheeks, flicking away the tears as you clean up his handsomeness.

“I missed you so much more,” he promises. Tom brings a hand to rest on the back of your head, breath hitching as he meets your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He kisses you, and it’s so intense you end up pressed against the side of the car. Tom moans with relief as he strokes his fingers over the side of your face, delicately reacquainting his lips with yours as they meet again and again. You keep your hands gliding over his back, his arms, his shoulders, letting your tongues come together as tears flow down your cheeks. The kiss is everything and nothing, familiar and new. The kiss says I missed you. It says I thought about you every day. It says I would wait a thousand dawns if it meant I got to wake up beside you again, but thank fucking god you’re here right now because I missed you more than I ever thought was possible.

“Baby,” Tom murmurs. He pulls away but keeps your foreheads pressed together, the cool tip of his nose brushing yours. “You’re so perfect. I missed you so much that it hurt me.”

He tries to move closer, but you become aware of the pressure to your belly, so bring a gentle hand to push his shoulder away. Hurt immediately floods to his eyes, his expression twitching as Tom takes a few steps back.

“Tom,” you say, voice soft. “I need to tell you something.”

Tom’s jaw twitches. “What is it?” he whispers.

“A good thing,” you clarify. You reach up to wipe the residue of your tears away, then bring your hands down to the tie of your jacket. Biting your lip, you take a steadying breath. “I hope you aren’t angry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” you preface, “but I did it for you.”

Tom nods intensely. “Okay,” he says. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s fine. I’m… I’m here, okay? For anything. It’s me and you. Just… me and you forever.”

A smile flickers across your face. “Me and you, and…” You gently open the front of your coat, then reach out for Tom’s hands. Guiding them slowly, you bring the warmth of his palms to rest on the rise of your bump.

“Wait…” Tom shifts his hands around your belly before staring up at you, slack-jawed. He doesn’t try to hide the obvious tears in his eyes. “You’re…?”

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

“Oh god.” Tom sniffles. “What?” He immediately drops to his knees in front of you, his fancy dress trousers getting dirty in the dust. “How— how far along?”

“Almost five months,” you whisper. “I found out right before you got back from Liverpool. I was going to tell you when we went on that date, but…”

“But I fucked up.” Tom sounds wrecked, his aching eyes fixed on the curve of your belly. “I fucked everything up. I… I left you alone for this entire time, and you had to do this all without me.” He rests his forehead against your bump, very, very gently, and you see him close his eyes. “I am a terrible partner.”

Rolling your fingers over the scruff of his hair, you guide him up to look at you. It’s second nature as you roll a thumb over his cheekbone, trying to instil the action with love and reassurance.

“I’m not angry,” you tell him. “You didn’t know, and you didn’t get arrested on purpose. If anything, you should be angry at me for keeping this a secret.” Your teeth catch your lower lip. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought telling you would only make things worse. I’m sorry.”

Tom shakes his head. “No, no. Don’t apologise.” He rests a hand on your leg, the other still on the curve of your front. “I’m sorry.” He drops his voice and looks at the bump. “And I’m sorry to you too, little one.” He nudges his mouth forward and deposits a soft kiss to your stomach. “I love you too.”

Digging one of your hands into your coat pocket, you pull out a photo. “Here,” you urge, handing it to your boyfriend. Tom takes it after a moment, his eyes slow to move away from your front.

He releases a noise somewhere between an exclamation and a choke, nimble fingers gripping the image from your ultrasound. His cheeks flush a brilliant rose.

“When was this?” he whispers.

“At three months,” you reply. You continue to run your hand over the top of his head, trying to soothe him as he absorbs so much information at once. “I went with my mum and Haz.”

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

Tom hums. He looks between the photo and your bump, then nudges forward to kiss the rise again. His lips are so warm you can feel them through the material of your dress. “Have they been looking after you well enough?”

A light laugh slips past your lips. “Yeah,” you promise. “They helped so much, Tom. It was hard at first… Really hard. Especially when we thought you’d be in there for five years, but… Things worked out.” You have to pause to gather your thoughts. “We converted one of the rooms into a nursery. There’s still stuff left to do, and we can do that together, of course, but… They were all really helpful.”

“Good.” Tom looks up at you, still kneeling, and your hand slips down to cup his face. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “I wish I could’ve been here for all of this.”

Shrugging gently, you squeeze his face. “You can be here for the rest of it,” you promise. “And, I guess… If we have another one, you’ll be there for all of that, right?”

“Of course, darling.” You smile as Tom tilts his lips to knock against the side of your palm.

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Chuckling softly, you nod. “Yes,” you promise. “I love you, and I’m so happy this has happened for us, even if the timing was difficult.” Feeling yourself well up, you exhale slowly. “We’re going to be parents, Tom. Isn’t that crazy?”

“It’s brilliant.” Tom’s eyes sparkle. “I’m going to be a father.” He blinks. “What the fuck.”

Laughing, you move your hands to the crown of his head. “Yeah, it’ll take a while to get used to that.”

“I’ll get there,” he states. Tom returns his attention to the bump. “Hey, little one,” he coos, voice all silk and amber tones, “it’s going to be the biggest honour of my life being your dad.”

Tom spends a while at your feet, speaking softly to you and your bump, and you keep your hand resting on the back of his head. He’s weary when he finally climbs to his feet but regains some of that spark when you step forward to kiss him. You don’t mean to make it as heated as you do, but it hasn’t only been your heart that’s missed Tom. You’ve craved him, constantly, during every single lonely night, and now that he’s here, you’re willing to take everything you can get.

“I love you,” you say, hushed against his mouth.

Tom’s teeth brush over your lower lip, and you moan when he tugs. There’s a fervour to it, hot lust burning through sensitive emotions. He releases your lip and pulls back to stare at you, his eyes rippling darker.

“I love you too,” he murmurs. He brings his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. “I love everything about you.”

Your mouths come back together, and it’s messier than before, your lips wettening as your kisses become wilder. Tongues dance and teeth clash as your body temperature starts to rise. Now you’ve moved through the emotional reunion, you’re left with an underlying pulse—a heat throbbing persistently between your legs. The fire builds as you hear Tom’s grunts and feel the desperation in his hands when they grab at your sides and jerk you closer, his mouth devouring yours until your lips are puffy and tender. You’re greedy, chasing more, desiring everything you’ve missed out on in the months you’ve been apart from your lover.

“Darling,” Tom murmurs, breaking the kiss to whisper hotly against your lips, “I missed you, but if you keep this up, we’re not going to get home.”

Desire takes hold of you. “Who said I wanted to go home?” You push in closer, shifting slightly until you’re able to feel the hardness of his crotch pressing up against your thigh. The familiarity of it all makes you inhale sharply. You drop your tone, trying to seem coy as you speak, “I don’t think you understand how badly I needed you whilst you were away, Tom. I missed you.”

The tips of his teeth glint as he arches his brows. “Well…” Tom mumbles. “I owe you about four months of lost opportunities.” He swallows, briefly breaking from the lust-filled headspace to look guilty. You smooth it away by reaching down to squeeze at his hands. “If my radiantly stunning fiancé decides she wants me to start repenting for that now, then who am I to stop her?”

Rolling your eyes, you step away from the car. “You’re a suck-up,” you taunt. You plant a light kiss to his lips. “C’mon,” you urge. “The car.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “The backseat?” he teases. “Shit, angel. You must be desperate.”

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

Tom smirks deviously. “It’s okay,” he soothes. He darts forward to open the car door for you, resting his hand on your lower back as you step forward. “I’m just as desperate as you, baby.”

“I hate you,” you murmur. Tom follows you into the car, shutting the door behind you both. You wait for him to sit before straddling his lap, your legs stretching until you have a shin planted on either side of his thighs. The position is comfortable, with enough space between your bump and his chest for you to breath, and you whimper as Tom bends nearer to ghost his lips over yours.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

You want to tease him, but you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You’re alright with too much adoration to even think about pressing it down.

“I really don’t,” you agree.

Tom makes a soft noise of vindication, the tip of his nose brushing yours for just a moment until he’s bearing down and bringing your lips together. You sigh, reaching up and urging him closer. His lips are lovely, and you enjoy kissing them for a while, but then you find yourself distracted by the open expanse of his neck. With his hair buzzed, you’re keenly aware of his throat, pale and sensitive, and if there’s one thing you remember about your boyfriend, it’s his affinity for lovebites.

You bring your lips to the side of his neck, nuzzling your mouth against the long, pale stretch of his throat. Smirking against his skin, you start to suckle deep hickeys against the side of his neck, revelling in the throaty gasps Tom deposits into the air in response.

“Fuck, darling,” Tom whines. He has a hand on your back, urging you closer. When you graze the tips of your teeth against his skin, he whimpers. “Shit. More.”

“More?” you tease. “Forgotten all your manners, Tom?”

He growls. The hand on your back shifts to the back of your head, and he jerks you ever closer. He’s still mindful, especially of the bump laying between you, but he knows just as well as you that you aren’t a piece of porcelain; you like being tugged around. You’ve missed it.

“Give me what I want, and maybe I’ll return the favour.” He says it like you’re oblivious to the desperation in his words. You decide to oblige him.

“Okay,” you murmur. You look up to meet his gaze, his honey-brown eyes full of appreciation. For a moment, it knocks you off balance. It’s so strange readjusting to having Tom back—almost overwhelming to be able to touch someone who had existed only in your memories for so many weeks. You drop your head and give him what he wants.

Tom’s skin tastes clean, and it smells distantly of pinecones. He groans, fisting at your hair and holding you close as you kiss and suck along his skin, drawing deep hues to the surface of his neck. He shifts in his seat, basking in the pain and whining every time you soothe a fresh mark with the warmth of your tongue. You keep your hand resting on his hair, the cropped length of his buzz prickly and coarse beneath the pads of your fingertips.

“Oh god yeah,” he murmurs, voice mingling with the wet noises coming from your lips. “Your mouth is so fucking good, baby. I missed it.” Grunting, he brings a hand to your waist, squeezing the flesh of your hips hard. “I thought about you all the time in there.”

Tom releases his hold on your hair and begins to stroke his hands over your back. As you continue to mark his neck, he starts to tease you, gradually dropping the heat of his palms lower and lower. You can’t stop yourself from bucking down into his hold, moaning against his neck as he grabs handfuls of your ass.

“Tom,” you break off to whimper, panting softly. You feel dizzy on the taste of his skin. “You’re being mean.”

“Mean?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “How am I being mean?” Tom squeezes the curves of your figure, his slender fingers warm against your skin. You’re in a dress, the material thin, and he doesn’t hesitate to curve his hands beneath the hem and bring them to rest over your panties. “You’re the one who wanted to come in here and get your hands all over me… I’m doing what you asked.” He breaks off, chuckling darkly. “That’s not how things usually work, though, is it?”

The air between you shifts.

You pull away from Tom’s neck, your mouth inflamed and throbbing. You have to dig your teeth into your lower lip to muffle your whimper when Tom brings a hand to the front of your legs, gently brushing two of his long fingers over the front of your panties. He’s teasing with it, eyes alight with deviousness, jaw set in a determined line.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe I want to be in charge this time.”

Tom laughs gently. “Oh, yeah?” He rubs your cunt a little faster, causing you to suck in a sharp breath as you feel the delicate pressure on your clit. The contact makes your passage clench, growing wet enough to dampen the front of your panties. “So you don’t like this, hmm? You don’t want me to follow through on everything I have planned for you?”

“What have you got planned?”

He tuts. “Oh, I’m not going to tell you, angel. That’d be too easy. Either you want me to be in charge, or you decide to call the shots.” Tom smirks as he feels you buck down against his hand. Maybe if the circumstances were different, you’d find the strength to push back, but you don’t. It’s been so long, and your cunt is weeping already just from the husky tones in his voice.

“You’re in charge,” you whisper. The vindicated smirk he flashes in response is enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Damn right, baby.” Tom moves his hands away, pressing them to your waist instead. “Can you lay down for me, please?”

You shuffle across the car seat as instructed, Tom shifting until he’s kneeling in the footwell of the backseats. It’s a good thing the car is obscenely huge, otherwise, the already-cramped fit would be unworkable.

Draping your legs over Tom’s shoulders, he pushes the hem of your dress up, bunching it just above your bump. The hungry fire in his eyes fades slightly.

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

“It’s fine,” you soothe. “Are you okay down there?”

Tom nods. The scruff of his buzzed head scratches against your inner thighs. “I’m bloody perfect,” he responds. “Can I touch you?”

“Please do.”

The tip of his nose nuzzles against your covered clit. “Perfect,” Tom purrs, his breath hot against your panties. “I think it’s time I remind you who owns this fucking pussy… As hot as it was when you were trying to tell me what to do, it’s not on.” He brings his mouth away from your core, and you whimper as his tongue laps gently across your thigh, the muscle deliciously slippery. “I’m the one calling the shots.”

You’re throbbing, every inch of you aching for his touch. The burn is visceral—pulsing, wet. “Yes, sir,” you return. Tom’s eyes snap to yours. “Do whatever you want.”

“Say please.”

Swallowing the dryness in your throat, you add, “please.”

“Good, baby. You sound so pretty begging for me.” Tom easily pulls your panties down your legs, returning to push your thighs further apart. He brings both of his thumbs to your sensitive lips, humming when you whimper. Using the pads of his fingers, he gently parts your centre, groaning softly at the sight. “Say it,” he murmurs, entranced by the paradise between your legs. “Tell how badly you want me.”

He’s incredibly infuriating, but you play right into his hand. “Please, Tom,” you whine. “Please touch me.”

He hums. “Of course, lovie,” he murmurs. He glances up at you. “All you had to do was ask.”

The first touch of his tongue against your slit makes your eyes roll back. A breathless whine slips past your lips as his mouth envelops your clit, the strong tip of his tongue nuzzling over your sensitive skin in a way you’ve only dreamed of. You’ve been able to get off in his absence, but nothing can simulate the sizzling heat of his mouth and his tongue, nor the scratching of his short hair against your fleshy inner thighs.

The way he unravels you is obscene, toned with the sounds of spit and lazy lips, the sensations of desperation. Tom devours you, using his elbows to push your thighs apart as he buries his face as close to your centre as possible. You can barely see him over the rise of your belly, but you can certainly feel him. When you start to grind down against his face, things only escalate, your eyes fluttering shut as your spine arches in response to his feverish movements.

“Oh god,” he murmurs, voice thick as it vibrates across you. “Missed this… Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart.”

Your high rolls over you suddenly and without warning, manifesting itself in a silent cry as your body goes rigid. You hear Tom hum in surprise, then feel his hands lock around your thighs, holding back your legs as they shake in the face of absolute pleasure.

“Sorry,” you pant, recovering gradually, “I didn’t know that was going to happen then.”

Tom runs his tongue over your slit, still sensitive and throbbing. “‘S okay, lovie,” he replies, voice warm. He nuzzles in closer and brings two slender fingers to push against your entrance. Your hole is hot and pulsing, pooled with your arousal. You hear it pucker as he gently presses against your cunt, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. “I’m not done making it up to you, though. Is that okay?”

Exhaling, you nod quickly. “Fuck yeah,” you say, struggling to think. “Oh.”

He slips two fingers into you, your eager walls parting and welcoming him in. Tom removes his mouth from your heat and replaces his tongue with the pad of a thumb, and when you release a loud noise of strangled enjoyment, he begins to crook his fingers into you. He strokes his digits against your walls with poise and elegance, nudging up against your g-spot and stroking, again and again, chasing the noises you release.

“So pretty,” he coos. “My pretty baby. Making all those beautiful noises.” Tom smiles almost proudly. His chin is wet with your arousal. “I love your cunt… Look at how well it's taking me.” To prove his point, he feeds a third finger alongside the others. “So greedy for me, eh? Greedy little pussy. So hot. So wet. God…”

Tom drops his head again, disappearing from your sight of vision. You moan, body jerking as you feel his tongue move around his fingers, catching the arousal that seeps from your pussy as he works you open. He releases an obscene moan before dragging his mouth to your clit, stimulating you with his hands and tongue in tandem.

“Holy fuck,” you whimper. You feel hot in the best way, your skin becoming sweaty as you writhe over the leather seat. “Feels so good, Tommy.” It feels like heaven—especially when he bends his fingers and the tips of them stroke up against your sensitive spot. “‘M gonna cum again.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

Tom chuckles. “I’m so good at this,” he murmurs. “Go on, angel. Don’t hold back on my account… You’re so pretty when you cum.”

The tide breaks, and your climax rolls across you, legs trembling as Tom holds you in place. You writhe as you bask in the heat, your knuckles losing blood as you clench your hands into hard fists. The press of your nails against the soft flesh of your palms hurts, but you don’t care. It feels far too good to think about anything beyond Tom.

You ride it out, and Tom eventually draws his face away from your clit. He kisses along your inner thighs as you gasp for air, only removing his fingers when you start to whimper. As good as the climaxes have felt, panting for breath on the backseat, it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough by far.

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

Tom chuckles as he appears from between your legs. He gives your thighs a little tap before he closes your legs, wriggling out of the footwell as you sit up. Easily, like you’ve done a thousand times before, you swing a leg over Tom’s lap, straddling him when he sits with his back against the car seat.

“Are you okay up there?” he checks, bringing his clean hand to rest on the curve of your stomach. When you nod, his brown eyes darken. “Perfect…” he hums. “Clean off my fingers, will you?”

You nod, opening your mouth expectantly and moaning as Tom slips three of his fingers between your lips. Fighting your smirk, you maintain eye contact with him, your pride swelling as you see his cheeks darken. He gently fucks his fingers into your mouth, making you moan at the movements and the taste of your heat as it spreads across your tongue. He’s messy with it, and you feel your lips and chin grow heavy from spittle.

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

Tom goes to move his fingers from your mouth, only for a detail to make you pause. Eyes straining, you reach up to catch his wrist, holding his hand in place just as his fingers pull away from your lips.

“What’s this?” you query, narrowing your eyes. You drag Tom’s left hand nearer your face, gasping softly as you take note of a new tattoo resting at the bottom of his ring finger.

“Oh.” Tom shifts around slightly, biting at his lower lip. “I got your initials tattooed… When we get married, the ring will cover them, but I wanted you with me—I want you with me—all the time, even without a bit of metal.” He hesitates. “Is that okay?”

You press a delicate kiss across the letters. “Yes,” you say. You feel shy as you meet the eyes of the man who loves you so immensely. “That’s really, really sweet, Tom.” You bite your lip as you look up at him. “Gone soft on me, baby?”

“‘M always soft on you,” he says gruffly, guiding a hand to your face. He brings you closer, encouraging you to lean higher on your knees. “Love of my life, angel. You know that… My wife.”

You shift on his lap, smiling bashfully. “I’m not your wife yet.”

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

Both of you come together, no words needing to be exchanged for you to know what to do. Tom loses his clothes as you sit up a little straighter, one of your hands curling around the headrest of a seat as Tom angles himself slightly. With the rise of your bump between you, you aren’t able to be flushed together like times before, but the man beneath you is quick to readjust so he’s laying further back, giving you plenty of room to move in a way that’s comfortable. He kisses over your knuckles as you run his hard cock through your slit, his interested eyes fixed firmly on the sight of his length as you finally begin to move down.

The moment the head of his cock pushes into you feels indescribable. The ache of the stretch falls away as relief pours over you, the closeness satisfying far more than just your arousal.

“Gentle, gentle,” Tom murmurs, hand resting on your belly. “Be careful.”

You chuckle, beginning to move but only slowly. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “it won’t hurt them.” Your eyes roll back slightly as you bring your hand down to rest on Tom’s shoulder, moaning quietly. “You can move too… Please, move.”

“Okay, darling.” Tom gently starts to move his hips. He groans as he slumps back against the seat, beautiful face coloured light pink. You’d missed the expressions he makes, how emotive the slants of his features can be. His nostrils flare and his jaw tenses as you ride him, your cunt so wet the movements are almost effortless. “That feels… so good.” His voice is hollow, gutless. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about you. You, and your hot cunt.” He moans again, unable to sit around the words. Tom ruts into you a little harder, guiding you to move faster with the hand on your hip. “Taking me so well, darling. So fucking well. I’m not going to last at all.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur. “I won’t either.”

Tom manages a lazy smirk. He opens his eyes as he brings a hand to your clit, teasing the sensitive bud with his thumb. You jerk a little at the stimulation but start to ease into it, basking in the pleasure from the bud and Tom’s cock. He’s buried deep within you, pressing your walls apart, the curved tip of his head brushing deeper than you’ve felt in months.

“So tight,” he murmurs. Tom leans back, clearly enjoying the sight of you riding him. “My darling. You look so beautiful like this… I swear your tits are bigger, too.” The hand on your belly gently caresses the bump, Tom’s tongue briefly wandering out to wet his lower lip. “Look at how beautiful you are… I can’t wait to knock you up again.”

Stifling a moan, it takes everything in you to focus on your movements. “You feel so good, Tom,” you whimper, unable to hold back the praise he loves to hear. “I missed this so much.”

“I know, baby. I missed this too… Come on, now.” His voice hardens slightly. “I’m about to cum, but I don’t want to unless you’re right here beside me. So… will you be a good girl and finish with me? Please?”

Heat flushes through your system as you bounce your head quickly. Your eyes close, breath hitching as you feel your climax rise. It starts in the pit of your stomach, a coil pulling tighter and tighter until it bends and snaps, bursting wide and spilling pleasure across your body in warm waves of enjoyment. You cry out as you fall apart, holding Tom’s shoulder tightly as his hand clamps around your waist. You feel him mirror you, hear his loud groan as his cock pulses inside you, your movements unceasing as you ride it out together.

It ends, but you stay joined. Tom sits up, the distance put between you by your belly requiring him to stretch closer and seize your lips in a smouldering kiss. His hand returns to your cheek, yours to his, and the look in his eyes is dizzying.

“I love you so much,” he speaks, words soft like a promise. “Everything I do from here on out is for you, and…” He glances back at your stomach. “And our child.” Words thickening, you see Tom’s eyes well with tears again. He chuckles, cheeks flushing red. “Sorry,” he adds. “I get a bit choked up thinking about it.”

You stroke your fingers over the back of his hair, spiky strands smooth against your hand. “Don’t apologise for expressing your emotions, baby,” you whisper. “It’s been a very long day.”

Tom nods. “Love you,” he murmurs again. He nuzzles his head into the palm of your hand, his eyes closing.

“I love you too,” you say, words truer than they’ve ever been before. You bend down to kiss his forehead. “Do you want to go home now?”

He hums. “Y/N,” he whispers. Tom blinks up at you, eyes soft. He catches the palm of your hand with a few kisses as he sits up a little straighter. “I’m already home.”

Teeth grazing your lower lip, you hold back your smile as you marvel at how clichéd he’s become. You bend down and kiss him very gently. “Sap,” you murmur. “Love you, though.”

Tom pulls a face. He rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice—only love. “Love you too,” he says. “Yes, though,” he adds, “I would love to go home.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

that’s probably a wrap on mob!tom ! i don’t have any more fic ideas for him :( that being said, this was a lot of fun to write, and i really, really hope you liked it :D ik the theme isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so if you read it all, i love you very very much

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland smut #y/n #self insert #smut #mob!tomfic

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too. 

#queer stuff #lgbtq #gold star lesbians #long post #sorry #Anonymous