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#self insert
rootbeergoddess · 10 days ago
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Already Taken
It’s 2am, I’m not great at editing but here is some Loki fluff because I’m still angry about the season finale and I just want Loki to be happy goddamnit.
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“You’re so cute!” You cooed, holding up the alligator.
The alligator seemed to smile, obviously enjoying the attention you were giving him. How could you not adore him? A little alligator with a little Loki crown? It was absolutely adorable.
Well, you found it adorable. Loki found it annoying.
Loki had always been a bit protective of you.  Being in the TVA hadn’t changed that, and being in the Void only made it worse. The three Lokis and the alligator had taken you to their hideaway and the other three kept looking at you. The young Loki was smitten obviously, while the other two seemed wistful.
“Whose a little baby?” You asked, holding up the alligator. “Whose a little baby?”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Loki said, stalking over to you. “Put that damn thing down.”
“Last time I checked, you’re not the boss of me,” You said playfully.
“I think he’s merely jealous, m’lady,” Boastful Loki said. “He seems to not enjoy sharing you.”
“Well, he’s going to have to get used to it. I’m adopting Alligator Loki now,” You said, holding the reptile.
“You are not keeping that thing!” Loki hissed.
“If the lady would like to keep a Loki as a pet, I wouldn’t mind volunteering,” The eldest Loki said with a grin.
“You’re bad,” You said with a giggle.
“Alright, alright, that is enough from all of you!” Loki grabbed the alligator out of your arms. “We’re leaving.”
“Loki, I---”
He grabbed your hand and started to pull you away. You looked back at the four other variants, offering an apologetic smile. However, Loki stopped when the entrance to the hideout started to open. He backed away, getting in a protective stance. The other Lokis quickly join him, making sure you’re as far away from the opening as possible. Even the alligator hissed as the hole opened up, and yet another Loki dropped in. He was wearing a tattered suit with a presidential pin that read ‘Loki’ and the signature horns.
“Well, well, well,” He said, grinning at the scene. “What do we have here?”
His eyes went to you, and he whistled.
“So it’s true. There’s someone in the Void who isn’t a Loki,” He said, his eyes going up and down your body. “Pretty, little thing too.”
“Keep your eyes to yourself,” Boastful Loki gripped his hammer.
“Oh, did I strike a nerve?” President Loki asked mockingly.
“Do not speak of the lady in such a manner,” Old Loki added. “She’s of no concern to you either way.”
“I don’t believe that,” President Loki’s eyes were glued to you. “I mean, it gets pretty lonely here in the Void, don’t you think?  I could use a bit of company.”
“Sorry, already taken,” You said, taking your Loki’s hand.
“Taken? Oh, dearest,” President Loki chuckled. “You’re acting as if you have any say in the matter.”
You never knew how fast alligators were until you saw Alligator Loki speed towards the president, jump up and clamp down on his arm. He screamed in pain, trying desperately to get the creature off him. Boastful Loki took this as an opportunity to charge forward, hammer out.
“You two need to go,” Kid Loki said. “There’s another way out. Follow me.”
“But what about them?” You said.
“They’ll be fine, my lady, but you two need to get out of here,” The eldest Loki said. “Please, stay safe.”
Loki took your hand, and the two of you followed the child out of the underground bunker. Once you got out, the two of you kept running until you were sure you were safe. Exhausted, you collapsed on the ground against an abandoned car.
“Are you alright, darling?” Loki asked his hand on your face.
“Yes,” You said, squeezing his hand. “What about you?”
“Who cares about me?” Loki said, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m more worried about you.”
“Really? I thought you were angry at me,” You said.
“No,” Loki chewed his lip. “Alright, I was a bit jealous of the lizard.”
“Alligator,” You corrected.
“You were fawning over it,” Loki ignored your comment. “Cooing at it as if it was a babe and acting as if you had never seen anything so adorable.”
“Loki,” You squeezed his hand again, and he looked at you. “Were you afraid I’d like the alligator more than you?”
“No.”
“Loki.”
“Maybe.”
“Loki, come on.”
“Yes,” Loki sighed. “Love, you have to understand something. You’re so wonderfully amazing and bright. You’re a light in the darkness; people are drawn to you. I’m selfish, and I want your light to be only for me. When others try to get close, I panic.”
“Oh, Loki,” You pulled him close to you. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yes,”
“So trust in me and my love,” You said. “Just because I was fawning over the alligator doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
“You called it a baby,” Loki pouted slightly.
“What, does the almighty Loki want to be called a baby?” You teased. “You’re my baby, if that means anything.”
Loki smiled and kissed your lips.
“It means the world.”
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rulaineyu · 2 months ago
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Genshin Boys’ Reactions to You Wearing Their Clothes
Fandom: Genshin Impact
Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Childe, Xiao x gn!Reader
Genre: Bulleted headcanons, fluff, humor 
Warnings: None.
A/N: Shoutout to the genshin wiki for describing the characters’ clothes so I didn’t have to spend hours googling what the heck Kaeya’s shoulder thing is
Diluc
His coat
He took his coat off when he came home, but something came up and he had to head back to the Angel’s Share. 
Spends ten minutes looking for it. He almost came to the conclusion that he must have left it at the tavern when he sees you, spinning around in front of the bathroom mirror, engulfed in his jacket. 
All frustration disappears into worry. He wears that jacket everywhere—at the bar, in his wine cellars, when he’s patrolling Mondstadt’s streets at night. It must smell of alcohol and sweat.  
To his horror, you take a deep inhale.
He’s already muttering excuses, but a big smile spreads on your face and you tell him it’s your favourite scent in the world, because it smells just like him.
He won’t be able to stop himself from grabbing your face and kissing you
From then on, Diluc will randomly lend you his coat. Sometimes, if he sees you talking to someone else, he’ll just drape his coat over your shoulders as a subtle way to show you’re his. 
“What? You just looked cold. By the way, who was that person you were talking to?”
Kaeya
His cape and pelt
You’re the first one to wake up this morning. While your lover is snoozing, you climb out of bed and get dressed.
As you’re buttoning up your shirt, you spot his cape draped over the chair. Can’t resist the fluff
When Kaeya finally gets out of bed, he sees you standing in front of the mirror, staring at yourself.
Whether because you’re short or because you put it on incorrectly, it trails onto the ground behind you.
Chuckling to himself, Kaeya loops his arms around you, pressing his body against your back. The fluff of the pelt is soft against his bare chest and he rests his chin on your shoulder. He adores the way you slightly jump in surprise before leaning into him. 
Jokingly says the two of you should trade places for a day and see how long it takes for people to notice 
You keep his cape on for the rest of the day, the two of you giggling when you see people do a double-take.
Upon entering the Angel’s Share, Diluc spots you from the corner of his eye. Thinking you’re Kaeya, he immediately starts insulting you.
He apologizes profusely afterwards and your drinks are on the house
“Well, you look like a little fairy, don’t you?”
Childe
His jacket
When you ask him if you could wear his jacket, he’s ecstatic, immediately unbuttoning it as fast as he can, regardless if you guys are in public
Even if you don’t need help, he’ll hold the sleeves up so it’s easier to put on and buttons it closed for you.
He laughs at how cute you look, unable to keep the grin off his face.
If you’re smaller than him, he loves how big it looks on you. It just emphasizes how much bigger he is than you. 
If you’re taller than him, the cropped opening rides higher up your stomach. He won’t be able to keep his hands off of you, his fingers exploring your exposed skin.
Wraps his red scarf around you like he’s Eren and you’re Mikasa and you just finished killing three men together
Coos at you, his hands cupping your face as he calls you adorable. 
If you’ll allow him, he’ll hook his hands under your arms and lift you up, spinning you in circles
Shows you off with pride
“Hey, Zhongli! Look at how cute my lover is!” 
Zhongli
His tailcoat
Surprised at first when you ask if you could wear his coat. He never thought much about his clothes—it was just a costume for him in his part as a consultant at a funeral parlour.
Nevertheless, he obliges. When the two of you get home, he lets you try it on. 
Smiles fondly as you twirl around in his tailcoat. He has such a soft and loving look in his eyes as he watches you that it makes your face flush.
Takes you to his closet and chooses articles of clothing he wears everyday for you to try on.
He’ll have more fun with it than you do. If your hair is long enough, he’ll tie your hair into a ponytail at the base of your neck. He also applies orange eyeshadow to the corners of your eyes so you can get into full “Zhongli cosplay.”
Looks you up and down, hand on his chin as he thoroughly examines his work. 
Tells you that you look better in his clothes than he does.
Goes shopping with you so you can buy clothes similar to his. Childe picks up the tab
“You look like a sparrow, darling. I would be content to wake up every morning to your beautiful plume and enchanting voice.” 
Xiao
His shirt and shoulder guard
While he’s in the bath, you see his clothes laying outside of the bathroom and decide to try them on
Confused when he can’t find them. When he goes to ask you if you’ve seen his clothes, he finds you standing in front of the mirror, donning his missing shirt and shoulder guard.
Initially annoyed and angry that you’re wearing his clothes without his permission. 
Before he can open his mouth to scold you, however, you turn around and he sees the expression on your face
There’s a twinkle in your eyes as you smile widely, practically bouncing up and down in excitement as you ask him what he thinks
Seeing you so happy melts away all his anger. He’ll look away, muttering under his breath to not take his clothes.
Removes his shoulder guard and helps you take off his shirt. 
When he sees how disappointed you look, he’ll sigh before putting his hand on the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder.
“Those clothes do not suit you. Someone like you deserves the finest attire.” 
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zwagyzonk · 2 months ago
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rainbowsans · 2 months ago
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*papri does not understand why...wouldn’t you rather be with someone who’s better?
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rulaineyu · 2 months ago
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Tending to the Genshin Boys After They Get Hurt
Fandom: Genshin Impact
Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Childe, Xiao x gn!Reader
Genre: Bulleted headcanons, hurt/comfort, hints of humour
Warnings: Descriptions of injuries. Mentions of death.
A/N: This is probably one of my favourite bunch of headcanons I’ve written so far :) Also I realized Xiao didn’t ~technically~ get hurt but he’s in pain so it works.
Diluc
He’s sore and exhausted after a night of being Batman protecting Mondstadt.
Very sleep deprived. There’s nothing more he wants to do than crash into bed and snuggle into your warm figure, but he has asses to kick and names to take.
Diluc is used to running on very little sleep, but it does take a toll on him. On his fourth night of being sustained by three hours of sleep, his senses are not the sharpest and he catches himself dozing off several times.
That’s how a cryo abyss mage was able to sneak up behind him, releasing sharp shards of ice that cut into his skin. 
The cold pain jolts him awake. He leaps into action and burns the abyss mage with ease. 
Takes this blunder as a sign he should go home and sleep.
Ignores your gasp when you see him in such a state, covered in cuts and blood. He mutters something about going straight to bed.
You’ll have to force him into the bathroom. He sits down at the edge of the bathtub, eyes closed as you take out the first-aid kit. The sting of the rubbing alcohol on his wounds startles him awake, and he inhales sharply. 
As you’re bandaging him, though, he finds himself falling asleep. He lets out a pleased grunt when he feels you kiss the top of his head, letting him know he’s done. 
Too tired to move. He’s >this< close to just sleeping in the bathtub
Leans against you as you half-drag, half-carry him to bed.
Snuggles into your shoulder as he spoons you <3
“I don’t need medical attention. Just seeing you is enough.”
Kaeya
There’s a reason he doesn’t fight on the front lines often.
Kaeya and Jean were investigating an area in Wolvendom, where there had reportedly been suspicious activity. 
You sit on the ledge of Mondstadt’s bridge, eagerly awaiting your lover’s return. When you see their figures appear in the distance, you jump to your feet and run to greet them.
As you got closer, however, you could tell something was wrong.
Kaeya’s hunched over, his arm around Jean’s shoulder as he limps. He’s shaken, covered in burns and blood—whether they were someone else’s or his own, you were too afraid to ask.
According to Jean, he had let himself get hit by a pyro abyss mage. She whispers to you that he didn’t even try to fight back or defend himself.
He won’t look you in the eye. When you reach out to touch him, he draws his hand away.
He’s filthy. He doesn’t want to infect you. You must be repulsed by him—a captain, injured to this extent. 
He expected you to turn around, to leave him at that bridge. To his surprise, you stay.
You guide him back home, letting him lean against you for support. 
You clean his wounds with a warm washcloth, whispering encouragements in his ear as he winces. 
You touch him with a gentleness he’s never experienced before in his life—soft as sunlight, full of love.   
Although hesitant at first, he finally relaxes and lets you tend to him.
Rests his forehead on your shoulder. You tell him you can’t move properly, but he’s more concerned with basking in your warmth than his wounds.
“Please...stay like this, just a little longer.”
Childe
Despite how battle-prone he is, it’s rare for Childe to get injured after a fight. Enemies never seem to even have the chance to lay a scratch on him.
So when he comes home, wounded and about to collapse from exhaustion, you immediately know it’s because he used his foul legacy form.
Denies it at first, but he knows there’s no use lying—you knew. His shoulders slump forward as he comes clean. 
He had originally promised you that he would not use his foul legacy form anymore since it placed a strain on his life force, but he was faced with a formidable foe this time—or so he says, but he can tell his excuses are falling onto deaf ears. 
You’re angry. He can see it in the way you bite the inside of your cheek as you rip a bandage off with fervor and wrap it around his arm a little too tightly.
He’ll try to tell you jokes, making light of the situation, but each time he was silenced by a glare from you. 
When you’re putting the first aid kit away, he comes up behind you, engulfing your body in his as he leans his chin on your shoulder, whispering apologies in your ear as he hugs you tight against him.
If you start crying, he’ll cry too.
You’re scared. You’re scared one day he’ll push himself too far, and a broken red mask will be all that remains of the love of your life.
Childe understands that, and he’ll silently vow to himself that he’ll take care of himself for you, that he’ll never make you cry like this again.
“I’m sorry. I’m...I’m sorry.” 
(“Okay but did you win…”) (“Hell yeah I did.”)
Zhongli
After losing his gnosis, he’s weaker than he has been for thousands of years. He still has yet to be fully accustomed to this change.
This means, in the same way he overestimates his bank account, he frequently overestimates his own strength and ends up hurt. 
The first time he came home with his clothes torn and golden blood dripping down his face, you screamed.
He has to walk you through how to tend to an adeptus since you never had to before. Even though he is trying to live as a mortal, regular medicine is useless to adeptal bodies.
You can barely keep your hands from shaking as you apply a salve of qingxin and crushed topaz silver to his wounds. The topaz was not ground finely enough, causing it to stab into his shoulder, and your trembling hands sometimes caused him more unnecessary pain. 
But he grits his teeth and bares it. He knows you’re trying your best despite how scared you are, so he does not let on that you are hurting him.
When you finally finish, you’re a bigger mess than he is, unable to keep your tears back any longer.
He pulls you into his arms, hushing you and smoothening your hair as you sob into his chest.
You ask him what will happen if he disappears from your life, and he promises that it won’t happen.
“I will never leave you alone in this world, my love.” 
Xiao 
No matter how much he pretends he’s alright, thousands of years of karmic debt takes a toll on him. 
On good days, it’s a dull ache that he pushes to the back of his mind as he piles on more bad karma. 
On bad days, he is unable to move, his every nerve on fire and burning away in white-hot pain. 
He hides himself from you. He doesn’t want you to see him in this state—weak and pitiful.
It was unsightly. It was pathetic. 
He tends to himself as best as he can, but no medication is able to fully soothe the pain.   
Usually able to endure it, using his adeptal powers so no one can find him, but this time his pain is particularly bad.
He’s cradling his head in his hands as he leans against a wall, biting back screams, when he feels someone touch his shoulder.
You’re leaning over him, eyes wide in worry as you ask him if he’s hurt. Xiao tries to disappear again, but another wave of pain renders him unable to use his powers. 
He’s ashamed you’re finally seeing the worst in him, and barks at you to leave. 
But you don’t. You sit on the ground next to him, murmuring that he’s going to be alright. You intertwine your fingers with his, letting him know he can squeeze your hand to help him bear the pain. 
You sing softly to him as you rub his back with your other hand, soothing all the hate building up inside him.
Morax may be his saviour, but in this moment, you are his angel.
“Don’t look at me. But...sing that song again.”
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cinnimani · 3 months ago
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OKAY HERE IS MY PERSONAL LIL GASTER HC'S/NOTES.... PLUS A COMIC OF CINNI (MY S/I) AND GASTER MEETING FOR THE FIRST TIME 😳🚶🏾‍♀️
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farminmono · 20 days ago
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posting one of the oldest art i have on my farmer cause i’m still trying to sort out the mountain of wips i have on SDV-related art i have in my files :”^)
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cirrus-selfship-blog · a month ago
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The realization of new F/O
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zwagyzonk · 2 months ago
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swapfell paps as a scruffy mutt
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duskholland · 2 months ago
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Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut
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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
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stormcallart · 2 months ago
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you guys need to really stop encouraging me to draw myself with the faves 😂
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rulaineyu · a month ago
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Diluc, Kaeya, and Albedo Realizing You’re a Missing Archon
Request: Diluc, Kaeya, and Albedo find you asleep in a cave in Dragonspine. After taking you in, they later realize you are an archon that has been missing for thousands of years. 
Fandom: Genshin Impact
Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Albedoo x Archon! gn!Reader
Genre: Bulleted headcanons, fluff, hurt/comfort(?)
Warnings: None.
Diluc
Suspicious of you from the beginning
You had to have some sort of secret. No one can survive in Dragonspine uninjured like you did. 
You had to be hiding something, and it was up to Diluc to figure out what it was. And if it turned out you had malicious intentions...well, he’ll do what he has to do.
Allows you to stay at the winery. At first, it was so he could keep a close eye on you. 
As he spends more time with you, however, he finds himself getting drawn to you.
Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps you really were just a normal person who got incredibly lucky, allowing you to survive in the cold before you were found.
That’s when he sees you use an ancient power thought to have disappeared thousands of years ago, and he’s struck with a familiar feeling of anger mixed with betrayal.
Accuses you of being a spy. He pulls out his claymore, but for some reason finds himself hesitant to strike. 
You’ll have to explain who you really are in order for him to back down.
Lets his claymore clatter onto the ground as he leaves without a word. 
Beats himself up for jumping to conclusions. He’ll avoid you for the next few days, thinking you don’t want to see his face anymore after he made such harsh accusations.
You’ll have to chase after him, grabbing onto his arm and forcing him to look you in the eye. 
“Archon or human...I don’t care. But I pointed my sword at you. How can you forgive me so easily after that?”
Kaeya
Surprisingly sympathetic to your situation. 
He knows what it’s like to wake up in a completely different world from your own. 
Unlike his fellow knights, who want to immediately question you about your identity and how you survived unscathed in the cold, Kaeya focuses his attention on helping you adjust.  
Patiently explains to you where you are and what is happening, slowly introducing you to the new world.
He’s very different towards you than he is with everyone else. When he looks into your eyes, perhaps he sees a scared young boy from that dark day, many years ago reflected back at him. 
Of course, that won’t stop him from tormenting his co-workers. When he leaves your room, one of the knights approaches him, asking if he got any information out of you. 
He’ll tell them you used to eat hillichurls raw to survive, chuckling to himself at the way the knight pales at the graphic imagery. It gets him in trouble with Jean later
Listens to your stories of the world before you fell asleep. However, he realizes one of your adventures sounds similar to an insignificant archon from a minor fairytale he heard once long ago as a child.
It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots and realize you are the missing archon. 
“This is your secret, so I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to. But whatever you choose...at least allow me to stay by your side.” 
Albedo
At first, he was interested in you as an experimental subject. 
How were you able to resist the cold in Dragonspine? How long have you been asleep? How were you able to sleep, unfrozen, without your body wasting away or getting torn apart by enemies? What put you to sleep in the first place?
You are an enigma, a treasure trove of questions for him to dig into.
Spends every waking minute with you. You can tell it’s because he wants to know more about your condition rather than you as a person, but the way he asks you questions with such genuine passion makes it difficult to feel annoyed. 
For the first time in a while, he feels a fire inside of him, a thirst for answers that leads him pouring over books and studying charts late into the night.
He finally comes to the conclusion that you must be like him—you must not be human.
When he confronts you about it, you confirm his findings. He’s relieved to hear he’s right, but he also feels a sort of sadness.
He was right. This means he’ll lose interest in you now, doesn’t it? That’s what always happens, after all. 
Yet for some reason, he doesn’t. It puzzles him for a while—what was so different about you that knowing your secret wasn’t enough for him?
Eventually realizes that he’s indifferent to the fact you were an archon—he wanted to know more about you as a person.  
“You can tell me about how the world was like before if you want. But I want to know your favourite food, and how you like your eggs, and if you prefer sunsets or sunrises. I want to learn more about you.” 
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letstalkaboutshtufff · 11 days ago
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Imagine being caught by Loki...
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"Well well well what do we have here...a lost little kitten?"
"Take me"
"I- uh... what?"
"I said take me. Now. make me your slave"
"Now just hold on a minute, you're not supposed to wan-"
"Lather me in butter and make me your love toast"
"😦"
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