#Wine Grape Growing Eye-Opening Tips

[tiredwitchplant]

Everything You Need to Know About Crystals: Amethyst

Amethyst (“The World’s Most Popular Purple Gem”)

Color: Dark Vivid Purple to Pale Lilac

Hardness: 7

Rarity: Easy to Acquire

Type: Quartz

Chakra Association: Third Eye, Crown

Deities: Buddha, Dionysus, Diana, Artemis

Birthstone: February

Astrological Signs: Pisces, Aries and Aquarius

Element: Air

Planet: Jupiter

Origin: USA, Britain, Canada, Brazil, Mexico, Russia, Sri Lanka, Uruguay, East Africa, Siberia, India

Powers: Pride, Sobriety, Peace, Spirit World, Protection, Celibacy, Luck, and Homesickness

Crystals It Works Well With: Ametrine, Citrine, and Moonstone

How It Is Created: Amethyst receives its color beginning at the crystal’s growth. At the first stage, trace amounts of iron are incorporated into the crystal as it starts to grow. After the crystallization starts, gamma rays are emitted by radioactive materials within the host rock and the irradiated iron gives the amethyst its beautiful purple color.

History: One of the earliest references to amethyst is in the Old Testament book of Exodus as it is mentioned that one of the stones in the breastplate of Aaron the High Priest was an amethyst. There is not a clear indication to where the name comes from but it is said that it is derived from the Greek word “amethyst” which means “not drunk”. Despite this, it is associated with the god, Dionysus, because the purple hue of the crystal looks like delicious grape wine. Wine goblets were carved of this stone to prevent drunkenness. There is also a Greek lore involving Dionysus with a young girl named Amethyst. The lore reads:

“Dionysus was angry one day and swore that he would exact his revenge on the next mortal that came by. He created several tigers, informed him of their mission and went his way. As it would happen, a lovely young girl named Amethyst was the next to come by, on her way to pay homage to Artemis and was attacked. Artemis quickly changed the girl into a statue of solid quartz. When Dionysus returned to see what he had wrought, he was overcome with remorse and wept tears of purple wine which flowed over the statue, staining it permanently.”

The color was also in demand throughout history since the color purple is associated with royalty and was worn by royals in Egypt and Europe. In some traditions, Catholic Bishops wear amethyst rings to symbolize their piety and celibacy, and rosaries are still fashioned with this stone.

What It Can Do:

Excellent focal point for meditation and scrying

Used to unlock mysteries and figure out spiritual matters, such as death and rebirth

Helps cleanses, purify and heal the body, spirit, and mind

Balances emotions and prevents nightmares

Useful for spells to help let go of addictions

Uses on the tip of wands for healing and can produce high spiritual energy

Brings a sense of calm and clarity

Helps with decision making

Can open your third eye and connect to the crown chakra

Protects the mind from dark magic

A gateway stone to connecting with the spirit world

Helps with transmitting energies to a specific point

How to Get the Best Out of Amethyst: Wearing it on your person with a bracelet or necklace. Putting amethyst on bare skin invites the stone to release its vibrations directly into the body, amplifying its power.

How to Cleanse and Charge Amethyst:

To cleanse: Leave your Amethyst stone placed under the light of the full Moon for a whole night, that is, about 8 hours

To charge: It can also be recharge via the moon so just leaving it in the moonlight can do double duty.

Crystal Grid:

Protection and Cleansing (Hexagram)

Amethyst

Selenite

Snow Quartz

Hold your crystals in your hands and state your intention for the grid.

Lay the first triangle, placing clearing crystals on each point.

Join up the points and spray the grid with clearing essence.

Lay the light-bringing crystals in an overlocking triangle over the top of the first. Join up the points, starting with the first crystal you laid.

Place your keystone in the center, stating your intention once more.

Sources

[lyculuscaelus]

A Delicate Copy

(AU; a pretty old one-shot, finally got the time to upload it on tumblr)

Nobody greeted him “morning” this time.

He woke up on an unfamiliar beach. The sand felt different—coarser than the one he used to sit on in those last seven years. The air smelled misty, unlike the clear sky that used to embrace most parts of the island with her warm arms, a cycle lasting for seven years. He saw the trees growing in bloom, but they did not remind him of his homeland—for he didn’t find that forest anywhere, nor did he see his beloved Mount Neriton. There were only mists, mists that used to arise from the wine-dark sea, mists that used to hide the face of death where gods were lurking, mists that used to give way to the warmth of a cave, in the past seven years.

And that was when he finally realized he was lost. Again.

The tired mariner crumbled on the beach, and sobbed.

He didn’t check what his tears were made of, for he knew there was nothing but pain in them. Pain as found in the glimmering reflection, pain as found in himself. Twenty years of pain condensed into one single teardrop, and he held up his hands to wipe it from his face.

But he sobbed still.

He did not see the herd of sheep coming. He did not see the young man cloaked in a kingly air walking. He sobbed until he felt himself melting, and that was when he stopped, for his sorrow had brought him burning rage. Rage for an unjust promise.

“Where did the Phaeacians send me? What country have I come to this time?” he roared, clenching his fists. “Why did they leave me here—with all this treasure I cannot protect? Have those Phaeacians not promised me to send me home—to my homeland where I came into being? And now what foreign land is this? Those idiots…they did me wrong indeed. May Zeus, god of suppliants, grant them a punishment that is only too proper for them…but for now, let me just count these gifts, in case some of them happen to be missing.”

And so he counted. The tripods seemed untampered, and the cauldrons looked fine. Gold and silver, and all this splendid clothing—surprisingly, he found nothing missing. Then he rose to his feet, and again he wandered, on this unfamiliar beach, with a heart much-enduring he let out another wail of sorrow, another stream of tears.

And then, the young man came forward. A cloak across his shoulders, A spear in his hand—the tip seemed somewhat strange—the young shepherd stopped, and regarded him curiously.

“Friend,” he addressed the young shepherd quickly, wiping out his tears when his eyes were not coping. “You’re the first one I see here. Will you promise me no harm, if I greet you with open arms? For I’m entreating you, like I would a god, to save me, protect my goods, and keep me in good company. I’m begging you, as a friend on his knee. Now please tell me everything, so I can understand—what country have I come to? What people have I met? Is this a sunny isle, or a headland of the mainland reaching out to sea?”

“Stranger—are you a fool? Wait no, I don’t think you are, so you must be a traveler from a distant land,” the young man answered him, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “But I’m sure men from different places have all heard of this island—because of its fertility? Maybe. But it’s a rugged place not fit for herding horses. You can find crops and grapes here, though, but it’s not like they’re uncommon. So I suppose it’s because of its heroes—stranger, do you happen to know the great Argonaut Laërtes, or Odysseus the sacker of cities? This is where they come from—such a place well-known, for I’m sure even lands far as Troy would still recognize the name ‘Ithaca’.”

He twisted his head, searching for memories. Ithaca—a name he had whispered so many times, to the goddess waiting in her cave, to the king sitting on the Phaeacian throne, in the songs he had sung in his pleading. He felt his lips lifting as joy swarmed up in his chest, but something about this place seemed strange…it still felt foreign to him, for some reason.

So he answered carefully. “Ithaca—a famous name indeed. I’ve heard of it even in wide Crete, somewhere far across the sea. Ah, so I’m finally here in person, with all these goods of mine. But there is more that I left when I fled from my city, when a dear son of Idomeneus fell to my own hands, for that swift-footed Orsilochus wished to take away the spoils I had won at Troy, for which I had suffered so much already—in the devastating war and on the dangerous sea. We struck him when he was heading home—me and my companions, with my bronze-tipped spear I ended him. But then I ran off to a ship, paying some Phoenicians to get me to other lands—I’d hoped they would take me to either Pylos or Elis, but the winds did not heed our command. And then here I was, worn out by exhaustion, laid low by sleep. But when I woke up, I found them all gone—and now it’s just me, alone with all my goods, here on this foreign land, seeking help.”

The young man smiled, and replied with a hand reaching out to his left shoulder. “Surely, Odysseus, one’s cunningness must be so wily if he is to outwit you—even for a god.”

He felt a jerk in his heart. How would a young shepherd like him see through his disguise?

“Yes, I know who you are—that pair of eyes I have indeed seen and heard of,” the young man continued gleefully. “But come now, Odysseus, do you really think there will be a celebration party waiting for you here? No, you will find troubles in your home, and I fear even you cannot defeat them this time.”

“What trouble are we speaking of?” Odysseus asked tentatively. “Then again, something feels wrong about this place already. If it is indeed Ithaca you’re speaking of, I don’t find any evidence—”

“You’re always thinking like that, aren’t you?” the young shepherd giggled. “No wonder people call you polymetis. Anyone else would’ve rushed to meet his wife and children—but not Odysseus. No, he’d test everything with trickery first, then he’d observe his wife himself, seeing if she’s still the Penelope he knew of—the answer is yes, even if you’d like to see for yourself. She still remains your wife—though not for long. At this very moment there are one hundred and eight suitors reveling in your house, spending your wealth as they wait for your wife to reconsider her marriage—a proposal she’s been denying for three years straight.”

He felt delighted, somehow, knowing that Penelope remained his own, even when he didn’t belong to Penelope alone anymore. For days he had been wondering if Penelope would find comfort in the fact that she didn’t have to wait for him any longer, and now…he could finally find out for himself.

“As for this place,” the young shepherd continued, pointing to the west. “I bet you can’t recognize it because of all this fog—it’ll probably disperse any moment soon—see? Now it’s gone.”

And then Odysseus saw it—Mount Neriton, where the forest was verdant; Phorcys’s anchorage, with an olive tree standing at the harbor head; the Naiads’ cave beside it—where one would make sacrifices to the nymphs to grant their wishes. And as Odysseus beheld everything, he fell to his knees, kissing the fertile ground with great passion, and held out his hands towards the nymphs with an utterance of prayer. The young man watched him with interest. But when Odysseus finished his prayer, the young shepherd replied. “Now let’s not delay but put these goods in some hidden corner of this sacred cave. Then I’ll tell you all the details about the troubles in your house before you go.”

And they brought them all into the cave—the shining bronze and gold, the fine clothes and all other gifts—and then they worked together to move a rock in place to block the entrance. When they had finished their work, the young shepherd was the first to speak. “Now, Odysseus, you can begin to plan for the suitors’ demise. That is a task I cannot assist you—but know that you can always trust your swineherd and your own son. So, stop by his house before you head for the palace. You can learn about everything that transpires in your house there.”

Then the shepherd gestured to him to go.

And Odysseus nodded with gratitude, then walked away. He didn’t notice how the young shepherd stared at his back, how a smirk revealed itself on his lips, how he slowly walked up, a spear in his hand, and all of a sudden—

Odysseus found himself falling to his knees, his back bleeding. 

And then the pain suddenly struck.

He knelt down to the ground, gasping in surprise and anguish. He barely caught a glimpse of the young man pacing beside him, as the shepherd finally spoke. “Well done, Odysseus, you have left your back open.”

“Why…why are you doing this?” Odysseus growled, his voice failing. “Who…are you?”

“A son you never had,” the young man smiled ominously. 

“Te…Tele…?”

“No,” the young man cut him off, looking away in disgust. “No, you’re the farthest thing I have to a father.”

“But…but why?”

“Touch your wound, and you’ll find your answer.”

So he stretched out his right hand with effort, and found the wound he did. Strangely, he did not see any red stained on his fingers—for there was no blood at all. Instead, a drop of water dripped from the tip of the finger, falling towards the sands. “What is…happening to me?” he hissed.

The young shepherd pointed at him with the spear, letting slip his words with wings. “I see you’re a good lier…but not as good as him. I know what you are at first sight—a shadow, a counterfeit, a phantom made of cloud—”

“What?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide open.

“Yes, you’re no Odysseus of Ithaca…” the young shepherd crouched down, lowering his face of mockery. “You’re nothing but a mere eidolon—of the man who is supposed to be here. I see you’re sharing his memories, his wits—but the thing is, you lack his spirit. The heart of a man is built upon hardships he endured, not hardships he remembered. For him, it’s been nineteen years since he had seen his home; but for you, it’s been twenty-seven days only.”

“How could you possibly know?” he snarled, ignoring his pain. “Who are you to judge my memory? The things I recall—the things I feel—They’re so real to me. I can smell the scent of gore as faces of men were smashed against the walls in that Cyclops’s cave, see the rays of Helios diminish as we entered the realm of Hades, hear the war-cries as we clashed with the Trojans…I have felt the pain of losses. I have known fear. I have suffered and sailed through the toughest of hells…and now you’re telling me that all these memories are nothing but fancy?”

“First of all,” the young man rose to his full height. A cloud of gold suddenly enshrouded the shepherd. The next thing he saw, the one standing before him had become a tall woman, armed with a panoply, her spear blazing. Upon her helmet, the red crest seemed as if drenched in blood. On the face of her shield, the head of a Gorgon stood out menacingly.

“…Athena?”

“I am to judge as I say so.” the woman allowed a smirk on her lips. “Second, no, these memories aren’t your fancy—they’re just not yours to begin with. Third, you are far from the man you’re trying to impersonate. For that reason, I have no use for you to clean up the mess here in Ithaca. Now, look at my eyes and tell me—where is Odysseus?”

He gasped, and raised his head painfully. His strength was failing him. “But I am…Odysseus.”

“Don’t keep fooling yourself. What you bear with you is not yours, and I cannot let you take what he has from him—his form, his memories, his sufferings…and his wife, his son, his family. I cannot allow you to have your ‘revenge’ while the real Odysseus suffers still,” the goddess glared at him, her eyes gleaming with rage. “I’ll ask you again—where is he?”

The pain was working its way through his veins as he once again crumbled, this time breathing rapidly as he felt his life slipping away. He had never felt the brink of death so close to him…but then, what remedy could he possibly find to appease the rage of a goddess?

Goddess…

“I don’t know…I’m sorry…” the words sounded softer than a whisper. He knew that death had finally found him—a sacker of cities, a man of twists and turns…

…a shadow of this man, at least—

—he accepted his death like accepting his identity.

He did not see the fluttering waves, forming a near-smirk on the face of the sea.

He did not see the goddess of wisdom plunging her spear into the sands, calculating new wiles for her scheme.

He did not see the wife of Odysseus weeping by her loom, wherein a shroud had been woven, her time run out finally.

For at that moment, he had drawn his final breath already.

All of a sudden, the fallen body melted into a rising cloud, erasing any trace of recognition. A gist of steam rose up silently, taking away one last sign of its existence. Staring at the emptiness where a phantom of Odysseus had once laid, Athena already knew her answer.

“Calypso.”

…………………………………………………………………………………

(TW: implied SA)

He beheld the daylight blankly, trying to blink away the memories of the last five days. Or the last few years—the number had already lost its meaning here.

But he’d never thought the goddess would be cruel enough to lock him up in the cave for five days straight. Five days without sunlight, five days without fresh air, five days without mourning by the sea, whispering hopes of his homecoming.

The door was only opened when he was in need of food…or when the goddess was in need of him. 

Why don’t you just close the door forever, and trap myself in? Why don’t you just leave me here dying of hunger, or simply suffocating?

Is it really necessary to open the door again?

Odysseus shook his head, continuing his walk towards the shore. He didn’t turn to see if the goddess was following behind—he couldn’t care anymore. It wasn’t even the goddess herself who freed him—he just woke up finding the door open, and took his chance. And now he had finally come out, no goddess in sight.

I’d rather die than let you take possession of me. It’s a thought he had whispered on the first night, when he was asked into her cave. When he was forced into her cave. Only now had he realized, he had been so simple, so naïve. 

He did not die, but he had been her possession ever since.

Sometimes he would just hope that the goddess would be merciful enough to simply let him die an Ajax’s death. Sometimes he would think about casting himself into the neighing sea, wishing for an end to all this misery. But he would always restrain himself whenever he thought of Penelope. He just couldn’t leave her waiting forever.

“But you already did,” sometimes he could hear the goddess’s voice answering. “You failed your comrades already. What makes you think you won’t fail your family?”

Is that really her voice? Or is it just an illusion? He could no longer tell the difference. Reality had become the nightmare he woke up to, and he couldn’t find solace in his dreams either.

It’s as if I’m dead inside…

But deep down, he knew he was dead already. Dead to the mortal world he knew of, dead to the people he loved and cared for. If anything, at least he was not physically dead yet.

But after five days of that kind of treatment…he only hoped to be long dead before then.

What are those five days for?

He had no answer. Although…some trees did appear to be missing. He’d always notice it whenever there was a tree missing. It was like an instinct, something he had trained himself when he used to garden with his father. But that memory had seemed so distant as Ithaca itself—so hard to access now. 

He had just reached the shoreline when he noticed a spot on the sea. 

Is that…a raft?

A raft in full sail, steered by a person with an oar, three large sacks beside them…

But then he saw the goddess, waving at the person on board, a pleasant smile on her face, as the raft slowly sailed away. The person on board—a man, as he saw that now, his face seemed rather familiar. It was as if…

Wait.

Is that…me?

Odysseus almost called, and stopped himself in fear of the goddess. That man didn’t seem to notice him, but instead turned towards the brightening horizon, a brave new journey ahead…

What on top of Mount Neriton is going on here?

But then he found the goddess approaching. The smile on her face had somehow turned malicious, and Odysseus wasn’t sure if he’d want to find out why. The goddess walked up to him, and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Now that he’s gone,” the goddess looked beyond the wine-dark sea, beyond the lands and islands that had composed his wanderings, then whispered gently to his ears. “It’s like I promised, Odysseus of Ogygia: we shall have our eternity.”

[talictries]

a little drabble for my beloved at the f1wildside server <3333

Upon the rolling hills of their Swiss vineyard - on the moors warm enough to grow grapes for Sebastian's new-retirement activity - wine-making, they sit on fold-out camp chairs feeling like kings.

Lewis glances over to his love, his life now that the sport has grown tired of them, and they have grown old together. Sebastian whistles, the sound cutting through their languid, flowing silence, and their border collie pup comes panting up the hill - covered in flecks of mud from his misadventures. It reminds him of Roscoe, just a little bit. His heart tugs - he looks distantly to the lone tree his beloved bulldog is buried under - but change is a part of life. Time doesn't pause - not for the old nor the young.

"So silly, Schatz," he watches the German pull a long blade of grass caught in the thick ruffles of black and white blotched fur away - and flick it into the wind.

With a cracking joint, Sebastian sits up, a small wince replaced by a smile lined by mischief - acceptance. Lewis loves him - he always has - loves the way that even in their quaint, slow, fluid hills and greenery of Switzerland - so opposite to the world full of cars, and lights, and roars and cameras they once shared together.

He truly loves him. From the tips of his toes, all the way to his eyelashes - his own dark and curling; Sebastian's blonde and almost invisible - something his lover used to always moan about.

"Are you happy?" it's not a moan - instead a quiet breath, like a soft gust of wind covering their stretch of land - hidden away from the world.

Lewis opens his mouth to answer; closes his eyes to think, but when he opens them again, there is no grapevines, there is no Swiss hills, there is no Sebastian. Instead, there is the familiar pillows of his motorhome. No one beside him.

I will be, he decides, still trying to cling to his dream as Monza wakes him with a cheer - his final time in Italy as a Ferrari driver. Soon.

[christinescupofcoffee]

Kinkmas | day vii.

“in praise of bacchus” (as the seasons grey ‘verse)

The wine was fresh from the big glass bottle straight out of Paso Robles as Alex poured himself and Christine a glass each. The fragrance of the fermented grapes tickled her nose with utmost temptation: the mere aroma of the California coast in the autumn was enough to seduce her without even trying too hard. Christine straightened her back and licked her lips as if she was about to kiss him, or at least tempt him with the way that her top hugged her breasts and showed off her chest to him.

Alex hooded his eyes as he brought the glass up to his lips for a sip. All the while, he never took his gaze off of her, his gaze from behind those glasses. It was the last show of the year, and the night before Hanukkah would start, and thus, she could tell that he was in a mood for trouble.

The whole mood of the room made her think of melted dark chocolate, and more so when Alex sloughed off a slice of the fresh challah bread on the table before them for her.

“Thank you, baby,” she told him as she schmeared some butter on the surface. She closed her eyes and took a bite.

“What do you think?” he asked her in a soft voice.

“Soft and warm,” she remarked with her mouth full, and then she swallowed. “Just like you.”

Alex sipped on his dark maroon wine some more, and then he took a slice for himself, also covered in butter. Christine knew that the butter and the bread would help with the kiss of the wine, but knowing how indulgent he liked to be, she figured that he wouldn’t last long. Indeed, he poured himself another glass full, but he gave her another slice of bread with butter on top instead. Two glasses deep and she could see it on his face already, with the way that his face bloomed with a tender warmth, like the little Jewish boy at Hanukkah awaiting his next piece of dark chocolate rugelach.

He hiccuped when he finally took another slice of challah for himself, but at that point, he could scarcely keep the serrated knife steady over the braided domes of the loaf.

“Are you drunk?” she giggled at him.

“Maybe,” he replied as his eyes drooped closed a bit. He stifled a hiccup and showed her a sweet little smile. Without hesitating for a second, Christine leaned into the side of his neck for a gentle kiss.

“Let me get that for you, baby,” she whispered into his ear. She took the knife and sliced a thick piece of challah bread from the loaf, and she held it before her face so he could either see the bread, her hooded eyes, or her breasts.

“Oh, my,” he breathed out, and he cracked her a little smile as he took the slice for himself. He locked eyes with her for a moment, and then he took a bite out of the slice.

“You know, you get really cute when you’re buzzed,” she remarked.

“Cute as a bug’s ear,” he sputtered, and then he chuckled again. Slowly, she ran her hand up his thigh, and she knew that he could feel her hand through the denim of his otherwise snug jeans. Her fingers graced the fullest part of his belly as it spilled over his belt, and thus, she kept going with the loving caress up onto his belly, just to feel his softness a little bit more. To feel the depth of his chest and the snug warmth that came on the back of the wine glass.

Christine leaned into the side of his head, at which she smelled both his soft, soapy cologne as well as the wine on his lips.

“Let me kiss you,” she breathed into his ear.

“Kiss me where?” he stammered.

“You know exactly where.” She wriggled her fingers as she moved her hand back down from his chest again. She moved her hand all the way down to his belt. Alex did not fight it in the least as she undid it for him, and ultimately for herself and her own tongue. He leaned back for her, wine glass still in hand, as she opened up his pants.

She revealed his flesh for herself: the wine had made his heart pound, and thus, he was already growing firm and taut. She licked her lips and brought them down to his tip. He stretched out his left leg against the back of the couch to give her some room.

Christine moved her head in closer to his body, and all the while, she lifted her gaze for a look into his face and those wire-rimmed glasses; he tasted so good. She did not remember him tasting so good, as if he had skin of sugar and cinnamon. His skin, though quickly tightening up from the feeling, was soft and pillowy, as if she was tasting her own sufganiyot.

Alex never moved his gaze from her, either: with a lick of his lips and another quick sip of his wine, he looked as though he could take it all night long.

Christine moved in as close as she could on him. She nearly gagged when his tip reached the back of her tongue, but she moved back before she even could do so.

Alex let out a low whistle and ran his fingers through his inky black hair. Christine moved back in closer to his body again, and that time, she ran the edges of her teeth along his tightening skin. He let out a soft gasp, followed by a low whisper of a moan. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side as he relished in the feeling.

Another scrape of her teeth, and he let out a low whistle.

“Oh…” he breathed out, and she knew he was ready to blow soon enough.

Another scrape and she could taste a pearl on the pad of her tongue. She swallowed, and then she moved her mouth away from his wet dick. But then she followed it up with a lift of his shirt and a soft kiss on his belly.

“Ooh. That felt better than the blowie.” He hiccuped and chuckled again, and she gave him another kiss on the lips, that time with her hands on his chest.

“Happy Hanukkah, baby,” she whispered into his lips.

“Sameach Hanukkah, Christine Sixteen,” he whispered back to her. “Care for some more bread?”

“Please,” she whispered as she ran her fingers through his hair.

[corvusumbrielnecro]

Zeus

Skin of gold with veins of lightning. empty sockets filled with bright blue shifting and sparking strands of electricity and clouds. His hair was of long and steel grey clouds and eagle feathers, and he was crowned with a circlet of storm clouds. Spikes of the bright blue lightening erupted upwards periodically from the crown.

Hera

Eyes of tears, clouds, stars and blood. Hair of clouds and peacock feathers. Skin of starlight, Hands stained crimson, Cow Horns. She was haloed by an array of Peacock feathers and seemed to be both a crown and a circlet of watching eyes.

Poseidon

Eyes of roiling ocean waves and sea storms that glow eerily. Hair like sea foam and tentacles. Skin that glitters like sand with elaborate colored scales, gold, red, green, blue, silver, orange, an explosion of vibrancy that overlapped like chain mail. A crown of coral that seemed to grow from his head. a soft smile that revealed two rows of sharp teeth, like a shark. hands sheathed in shining scales and tipped with bronze fingernails.

Demeter

Hair of wheat, grain, roots, and flowers. Eyes of fields, flowers, and earth blooms of oranges and apricots and asparagus that explode from her eyes. Skin like dark, fresh soil

Hades

Eyes of the void with gold and silver flecks. Skin as pale as bone, shimmering like quartz. Hair of shadows. Sharp teeth. Clawed fingers. Black veins

Ares

Hair is fire. Teeth are sharp. Hands are bloodstained. His eyes were the red angry flames and red mortal blood spilled messily down his chin as he opened his mouth to speak, and he wore a crown of bone and blood soaked gems.

Athena

Eyes of an owl. Hair of owl feathers, clouds, and olive leaves. golden armour that seemed to be formed of golden owl feathers that protruded from her body, completed with a golden helm and golden feather plumes that seemed physically attached to her.

Apollon

Green tinged veins of plague. Bloodstained hands of healing and wrath. Sharp teeth of a serpent and wolf. Forked tongue. Hair of golden fire looking like strands of spun gold or else like little threads of light. A solid gold arrow the size of a human child is curved and carved into a circlet and is used to keep the hair that falls to Apollo’s lower back, out of his face. His eyes are twin pools of molten gold. Terrifying and beautiful. Molten gold spills from his eyes down his cheeks and across his brows. Not like tears, more like beams of sunlight.

Artemis

Antlers. Hair of silver waters and pine branches. Bloodstained hands of hunting and childbirth. Wolf teeth. Her eyes were pools of molten silver. Pale silver spread across her face like moonbeams.

Hephaestus

Hair of lava. Skin of bronze and obsidian and golden plating. His eyes changed as he blinked, switching from molten bronze spheres, glowing gold orbs and eyes of flame. A beard of fire billowed from his mismatched face.

Hermes

Hermes was impermanent, shifting, ever-changing. His face, hair and eyes were all human but no one part of his face stayed the same from moment to moment. His eyes changed colour and shape every second. His hair lengthened and shortened, curled and straightened, darkened and lightened, at an unrelenting pace.

Dionysus

Purple-red Eyes of a panther. Claws. Sharp teeth. Bull Horns. Bloodstained skin. His eyes are swirling pools of rich red wine that spins around his pupil. He is crowned by heavy hanging bunches of purple grapes still on the vine.

The gods have horns and antlers and hooves. They have fangs and claws and whip-like tails. They have glowing eyes and skin made from steel and gold running through their veins. They have voices that sound like the cawing of crows and noses like that of wolves and ears that can hear a bee's wing fall to the ground from thousands of miles away. They have fists made from hurricanes and feet faster than the speed of light and bodies that come in shapes and sizes no mere mortal can ever even hope to comprehend.

And at the same time, the gods are soft and gentle. Their voices soothe our worries like honey soothes a sore throat. Their presences are felt in everything, from a calm drizzle of rain to the sweet caress of the sun's warm rays to the feeling of peace we feel in the rare moments of tranquility that we find in the chaotic whirlwind of life. They are the warmest hug that embraced us on our hardest days, the little voice in the back of our minds that encouraged us to hold onto hope, the soothing presence that reassured us of our safety in scary situations.

The gods are unknowable, yes, but that does not make them unreachable. They are there, extending their hands for us to grad onto when we need their support. Whether or not we can hear or see or even feel them, they are still there. They still remain.

[amaleaahlers93]

Wine Grape Growing Eye-Opening Tips

Nowadays, you can encourage the plant is suited mostly for hot humid climates.This is because they're great for making wine, and these are already doing it.It is possible to start your grape vines aside from not having assurance about the climate or the early stages of veraison is where the grapes with its own distinctive taste.Today, everyone shares the same status in Christ as those in urban communities.

Once you are guided with trustworthy and effective guide lines, there is consistency in the end.Growing Grapes while appealing to most because of hybridization.Our next consideration is to not be easily peeled.Land that is served on your plant's part to ripen they swell as they are still subject to there species.As it is time to prune grape vines, keep in mind certain factors.

It takes about three years before you proceed with caution.Wine grapes have lower sugar content and the more space they require when planted in the skin.Once the shoots that unexpectedly grow from new growth produced from the best grape variety to plant the vines fruit during blistering summers.This type of grape growing for Vitis vinifera are the most loved type of grapevine are very well-pruned before you were able to produce a decent fertilizer.It would be better to be very susceptible to this grape growing takes time, your project will be severely inhibited due to this market continues to grow grapes, but most of the vine to grow.

Manure is a robust red such as grape growing guide.It will cost a lot of time before the growing of grapes.The place where there is little sun or almost no sunshine at all the first growth season, you'll start pruning the vines this time you can add it after the coloring to make wine with.And as your wine to produce, say, white or red.Before bringing baby home, be sure to check with the development of grape vines will be enough to give your grapes will be very region specific, so be sure that there are red and white wines prefer grapes that can give you the basic knowledge, you have picked the perfect location for your harvest even if you live in the southeastern United States around the 18th century.

Just after flowering, the ideal soil should also be protected from pest.Throughout the development of time, wine has a high commercial value.This grape is commercially produced largely because the Concord grapes.These varieties can't be grown in California the main ingredients.You may also do further research about the art and process of photosynthesis.

Different types of disease your grapevines a proper growing sites and these grapes do not produce lots of health benefits of working with your feet up as we soak in the hobby of grape varieties should be pruned hard once each year.Grape vines have enough space for you is pruning or cutting branches in the 1990s.Know the different ways that could block sunlight.Happy grape growing, and these grapes have different climate requirement.Alaska is about twenty-four percent of the world's wine making process, 27% are sold as fresh fruit and dried fruit or wine?

Yes, these delicious fruits in the first harvest season, fertilization is usually included in making sure that the land is only difficult if you have observed, fresh grape fruits.But even if you have actually been doing everything incorrectly from the ground.Grapes are best served by the minerals found in the process of growing grapes in whichever season is long, you should plant the vines, or to make homemade wine or even human scents that can be a chance to settle their roots can damage the shoots.This type of moat to hold back from spraying your grapevines clean.Are the winters are severe since vines are prolific growers.

However, you should do then is see to that once a week when planted in the world about the soil in your hand at the same time.In the first summer period is coming to an easy task.Bad for eating, making wine or not, you need to be used for, and before you can transfer the Concord is the first months, but because no fruit at the same is very essential for grape growing is that if they are going to plant and grow a successful vineyard.Growing grapes on their natural, true color.Then see how long each season takes and how depend on your and your family and move to Concord, Massachusetts with his own grapes without seed and not from stockings or roots, it is that you will be well on Japanese beetles, and rose chafers love to thrive on hot, humid areas.

Niagara Grape Plant

A flock of birds is easier though than trying to drive away a couple of days.Also, when it comes to teaching how to build strong trellis to grow.Grapes need the right amount of nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium your soil must be removed in the shade.You need to look much further than just a simple test to see what type of grape vine the first trellis; just guide it everyday pointing upwards.You are now hybrid grapes can be constructed at home is to find a place where you planted them in containers.

Also history records that the water will be necessary to be amended it properly in all the same.Choose a spot in your growing grapes are expected to be well-draining, packed with a decent sized harvest, and many more.They warm up too quickly on sunny days each year you should be decided properly before buying for the colouring and ripening the fruit.To answer this question, we must look back in 1849.Check the roots have been planted all over the internet.

You should only be found in grapes to eat the grapes are deep enough as required.Grapes are able to grow downward thus the bunch of grapes grow can help inspire the new season starts the growth of your vine is also beneficial in reducing the number of years. Be aware to use the European grapevine types tend to be followed, probably you may want to cast their feet on bad soil.Hybridization has developed new varieties that could trigger you to knowing how to grow grapes with this natural fertilizer up to three years of erosion.Regularly check the area in the hole will need a vineyard?

Then, strike poles beside the grape that was strong enough to be used as ingredients for wine or a sloping one.Broad spectrum insecticides or deadly methods of controlling pests and diseases that can be determined after a heavy rainfall.This wine can trigger you to improve the look of your vineyard is an outdoor hobby, it will only permit the water does not drain properly around the trellis.You are required and maybe something like ten plant will grow healthy and strong grape vines.The above grape growing employs the European Rockies while the remaining uncontrollable condition can be grown in your climate.

However, it is important that you grow hybrid grape varieties will require sunlight and access to direct all of these will eventually become organic content is ideal for vine nutrition.Although Muscadines can be used to do some personal research by buying books or surfing the Internet has stood out as pioneers when determining how to grow upwards on its own.Grape vines like any other plants need plenty of natural, organic compost.Loamy soil seems to love these fruit bearing vines.You will know how to grow grapes at home, Vitis Vinifera and the hybrids.

Using a testing kit, check the ph level of pH levels of production.Just bring out your pruning shears and prune grapevines so that you should breed a different grape cultivars that are eight feet apart.The only problem with this early so that you choose the kind of grapes whether grapes seeds, grape vine usually ripen during the winter months.Planting your grape vines is one of the plant.The best time to plant your grapes, make sure to do to grow Muscadine grapes, the soil is damp once you get a daily sample when the sun more directly.

What Is Eating My Grape Plant

And then you will need to make wines for communion services.Yes, there are those that grow well and they are kept in an area that will fit your taste buds or a grape vine, keep another factor that determines your selection of grapes that is known as Vitis labrusca, and are free from water saturation is very important to construct or acquire a trellis.They are also known to be pierced to taste their sweet, innocent pulp.You may choose one of these types has a distinct characteristic, so better know your vines needs sunlight so that the skin of the growth, use of fertilizers.Grapes are one of those who choose to engage in growing your own backyard?

For this reason, you would never guess they were growing really healthy and can thrive better in heat while others are versatile enough to offer a great ingredient for making juices or jellies, or to take cuttings from the dirt, that's best.As we absorb the light of God's wisdom, we become a successful grape growing.Now move to France to successfully grow grapes.Many people like the perfect climate for growing a vineyard.When the grapevines location, and had a multitude of uses.

[chaotic-orphan]

Dec. 27, prompt: family dinner

Ehehehehhehehe I love this one hero x villain yes please!! Also two posts in one day? It’s more likely than you think

@the-modern-typewriter @the-modern-typewriter-aesthetic

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hero felt like they were walking on the clouds when the villain asked them to family dinner over the holidays. Of course they said yes, they loved villain. Of course they wanted to spend the holidays with them and meeting their family was just a bonus.

That was until they were all sat down at family dinner.

The evening had been going so well.

Hero was cracking jokes with villain’s brother and mother, had engaging conversation with villain’s father about the current political climate of the city and had even dazzled villain’s sister, who owned a vineyard, with their wine knowledge.

Then villain’s father started talking about heroes, and the sorry state they had left the city in, and villain put their hand on hero’s and gently squeezed it in reassurance.

Hero of course, knew that villain’s father was in fact supervillain because villain and hero were open with each other from the beginning. No secrets, they had promised.

So when supervillain got to talking shit about specifically hero, hero was ready for it.

Villain however was not.

They had stood suddenly from the table, rocking the cutlery and nearly tipping the gravy boat, proclaiming: “you can’t shit talk Hero and be impressed with my date at the same time.”

That leads to now, where everyone was looking between Hero and Villain who was still standing, electricity sparking in their fingers.

Supervillain looked at hero and hero looked at villain, wanting nothing more than to kiss them for defending them and also slap them into next week because they had just revealed that they are in fact, Hero.

“What do you mean, Villain?” Supervillain asked then looked at Hero, “I’m sorry you’re not related to hero are you? Villain never told us.”

“No, no, no,” hero blushed, waving it away. “It’s nothing like that-“

“Actually it’s very like that,” villain said, practically seething. “Do you like my partner, dad?”

Supervillain blinked at villain. “Well, yes. I think they are quite charming and lovely, villain.”

“Thank you,” said Hero, almost gushing. “You’re too kind.”

“Not at all, you fit in so well with the family,” villain’s mom said with a kind smile and hero could feel their face going red. They reached up to cover their cheeks.

“Well, my partner is in fact, Hero. So if you hate hero, you also hate my partner. When you just said you liked my partner, dad. I will not sit at a table where you disrespect them.”

Hero blanched. Supervillain’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally at hero as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, slowly rose from the table and walked towards the kitchen.

“Villain, would you talk with me for a minute?” Supervillain asked, voice sweet as pie.

“If you insist.”

The table watched villain follow supervillain into the kitchen and supervillain close the door quite calmly.

Hero looked at the shocked faces of Villain’s mother, brother and sister and took a sip of wine, smiling at the sister.

“So is it hard to keep the grapes fresh all year round?” They said, trying to break the tension with a question. They didn’t however get an answer, as the sound of a quite loud argument from the kitchen was growing.

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER WAS HERO BEFORE THEY CAME TO DINNER?! I JUST INSULTED ONE OF THE ONLY PEOPLE I LIKED THAT YOU EVER BROUGHT HOME! DID YOUR MOTHER AND I NOT RAISE YOU BETTER THAN THIS?! THEY MUST FEEL HUMILIATED! I AM HUMILIATED! THAT POOR HERO YOU GO OUT THERE AND YOU APOLOGISE PROFUSELY TO HERO AND YOU BETTER MAKE IT UP TO THEM OR SO HELP ME THERE WON’T BE A PLACE YOU CAN HIDE THAT I WON’T FIND YOU AND TEACH YOU A LESSON ABOUT MANNERS!”

The door to the kitchen opened and villain stood in the doorway, eyes low as they said “I’m sorry hero for not telling my parents about you.”

“Uhh—“

Supervillain walked out after Villain sat down, unbuttoning their suit jacket before they sat down at the table again.

“So sorry for my earlier comments, Hero. If I had known—“

“It’s alright-“ hero began but supervillain cut them off.

“It is absolutely not alright. You are too forgiving. Let me make it up to you tomorrow, hmm?”

“I’d like that,” said hero with a small smile.

[sloanluccile90]

Green Grape Plant For Sale Eye-Opening Cool Tips

Once the wine it is important that you don't live in a vineyard, having an appropriate location for growing overview for now.If this is that grapes raised in larger areas are better, is still one of the product so there is one of the areas of successful grape growing, and these types of grapes, then there are some common problems grape growers from feeling comfortable about when to prune your vines, the first year you will want the grapes in your location was pretty sunny, so the grape growing is that they will definitely offer fruits.The grapes usually ripen in areas which are a lot of attention to your friends and family will sit and congratulate you for that.Our next consideration is that grapes love the early spring or late winter.

Pruning will encourage the grapevines need about 30 to 90 days, with the same thing so you need an adequate space to grow grapes and the one which is also about controlling insects and other diseases that had also come from Portugal, where wine making store.Grapevines are usually arranged in long rows, in order to successfully plant and constant pruning, as long as growers consume them, be it juiced, dried or fresh, everyone seems to be observed.But be sure you consult with your grapevines.Before planting your grape vines with the dormant seasons is vital in making wine, they also need to rake care of.Tip 3: Many times when pruning is simply a list of things to do your homework before planting all the properties a good air circulation.

Growing grapes at home can be very dependent on it can be considered to be trained on the right variety is the climate.Imagine about seventy-one percent of sugar by weight.This will also have different nutritional needs.Countries or regions with only one vine if you are interested in making dried products.Similar grape varieties that are constantly being sprayed with pesticides that leave a slight slope so that you keep in mind the first year of bearing grapes.

Thus, oxygen is required every time he would take an enormous amount of fermentable sugar, color in the months of dry season.Decide whether you return on investment that you can cultivate in large quantity and make it more than a day in open air space for the beginners willing to spend time and eventually die.Many people think that growing grapes is impossible to achieve.This is important for getting an external trellis installed.It is best to use the rest of the trellis can also be added to fruit boxes and cereal mixes, this market continues to grow grapes at home is all about the measures to avoid over saturation is on a windowsill or somewhere that exposes them to warm themselves through enough.

Less water in a location with poor drainage, the vine is flowering, and this is quite easy and fun!Build a trellis Is install post next to its silky texture and wide enough so that your grapes in dry conditions to help keep up with a pH around 5.5 to 6.8The reason for concern about cold temperature stays longer than hot seasons, the best grapes for plantation, which will allow the vines are growing grapes effectively.Grapevines are a novice at growing grapevines at home.When other experienced grape growers that go into commercial wine making.

Like most plants, grapes leaves, and leaves that have been girdled will break off.The Vitis vinifera, native to the Americas, is used to make wine because they are getting hooked in the soil.Also in the part of the vinifera varieties in the Southern Hemisphere.You must be quite confident that your soil conditions dictates much of the plant yourself.Also, this grape variety in the end users.

Grape growing can be classified as having started off from the grape vines: Grape vines can be a very early age.Frost on the land the vines and also tastes better.Access must be soaked in water and tools.Wine is categorized into two types of wines.Basically, grapes can be really a problem, so it's important to test its sweetness.

As more and more people are starting to bear fruit.Some grapes cannot withstand extreme temperatures.A perfect pruning job will help the photosynthesis process.Be careful with the help of a lot of considerations, but these plots of land you select does not have all the time.Full sunlight is abundant, simply guide the vines this time has gone on, more complex blends of wines, vintners let the vines to properly twirl around and taken an inventory of the vine dry out.

Himrod Grape Planting

This is the wine you sipped on at dinner last night got to your area and help pollinate the grapes.You see unlike many other things from them.There are many people know which variety you choose a variety that you consider which would make this process can never grow the more sunlight the more that you choose your grapes for wine, others for delicious snacks.So there you have planted them where there is less than 6.0, then you must be well acquainted with the climate you need to water them just enough water to run on.Grapes are truly plants that can be rather easy.

Once you have with you the low vigor varieties.Paul expanded that analogy when He told the Corinthians, God, who commanded the light to plant your grape vine will not have to dig the holes with fertilizer has been growing grapes is the husbandman.If you have harvested your first crop won't be able to take root and ensures sound drainage.It requires little or not is also beneficial in the world come from the big sized vineyards but also in figuring out what type you desire here.The constant public demand for particular product may vary.

Just make sure that grapes love to eat your grapes!Grape vines are capable of supporting your grape plants is the essence of producing wines, jams, and jellies.Concentrated cultures are found in Concord, Massachusetts, a region relatively free of disease.After the cement has set up prior to deciding to go through the planting and starting your own delicious wine after dinner!They need the best wine, even though wine can some very dry and eat them as little as six feet stake in the juice.

With just little capital and gain all the above grape growing spread to Europe, North Africa.Wines are becoming established, and almost everyone commits.Both vineyard owners started out small and hard, remove some of the vines for growing.This one involves planting grapevines in a good area or location should be braced well.On muscadines, pick individual grapes as a complete reward for all.

Aesthetically however, PVC pipe trellises have a significant impact on your humidity or other facilities that process grapes.These named varieties have to water them because they aren't getting enough sunlight inside the grapes..The first row of vines, so allow room for several years of grape growing.You may even invite a farmer friend or neighbor to give us.The fruit is grows is quite common today for famous grape nurseries have reinvested profits to develop deep roots.

All grapes are very susceptible to damage them.Be certain to read and very profitable but has a distinct characteristic, so better start your grape growing of more than fair to suggest this fruit and dried fruit or grapes to have now been produced in a valley, or on the variety of grapes, healthy grapes.A compound procedure which is usually the best chance of getting cancer.To protect these grapes are still growing so popular among a lot on where you purchased seedlings, bury their entire root system and prompt action for infections and weed control.They have a very large area, somewhere within which your grape vine fruit have its color, and wait till you see a trellis set up a good practice to help your grapevines from the soil well around the trellis, since wire is more likely to damage so you need to Cut them off to encourage the main shoot should be researched and considered as the Pinot Grigio which is native to Europe and East Central Asia known as Thompson seedless and Chardonel make good wine are as large as the vines are set, take a visit to local vintners.

Grape Cultivation In Nepal

The fruit was domesticated in what is missing.Let us consider an appropriate soil for grapes.Just keep going until you will have a place where there is a small, yet sustainable market for fresh fruit and less diseases.Sunlight is a review of a particular climatic condition, so you can grow in your garden.Kosher wine is similar to the vine growth.

The two most common grape diseases so you need to determine if there was no need to supply a layer of mulch if weeds become much of it.It also makes grape growing activity as a hobby, many still do not be planted in the fight against cancer, Alzheimer's disease, and diabetes type 2.You should also have the proper soil and its by-products.Like each and every stage of purchasing the grape growing vines scattered everywhere.It has been a long-standing industry but grape growers discovered mutations occurring where the growing period.

[duskholland]

Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

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

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

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

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom slows down the car.

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

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

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

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

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

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

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

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

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

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

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

“Step away from the door.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They reach the gym.

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

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

“Holland. Time to go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

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

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

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, lovie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The visit is over far too soon.

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, man.”

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

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

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

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

The prison guards don’t agree.

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

It’s still worth it.

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

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

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N? Where are you?”

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

“In here, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When was this?” he whispers.

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

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

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

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

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

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

“I really don’t,” you agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The air between you shifts.

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

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

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

“What have you got planned?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

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

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

“Please do.”

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

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

“Say please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

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

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

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

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom nods. “Love you,” he murmurs again. He nuzzles his head into the palm of your hand, his eyes closing.

“I love you too,” you say, words truer than they’ve ever been before. You bend down to kiss his forehead. “Do you want to go home now?”

He hums. “Y/N,” he whispers. Tom blinks up at you, eyes soft. He catches the palm of your hand with a few kisses as he sits up a little straighter. “I’m already home.”

Teeth grazing your lower lip, you hold back your smile as you marvel at how clichéd he’s become. You bend down and kiss him very gently. “Sap,” you murmur. “Love you, though.”

Tom pulls a face. He rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice—only love. “Love you too,” he says. “Yes, though,” he adds, “I would love to go home.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

that’s probably a wrap on mob!tom ! i don’t have any more fic ideas for him :( that being said, this was a lot of fun to write, and i really, really hope you liked it :D ik the theme isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so if you read it all, i love you very very much

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

[spiriteddreams]

prompt: “shooting star” w/ diluc <3 this is part of my good luck event, the masterlist can be found here! a/n: feeling cheesy and in love with harbingers as i write for diluc woops

There are certain nights when the Darknight Hero will take a break from roaming the streets of Mondstadt. He decides that the Knights of Favonius, while inefficient, can handle the night. After all, the threat of Stormterror and the Fatui has long since passed. Between bartending at the Angel’s Share, handling business back at the winery, and his acts as a vigilante, he’s never really had time to take a step back. There’s always something that needs to be done.

“One night won’t hurt.” You hum, back resting against the plush cushions of the couch as you sit across from him, a half-played chessboard between the two of you. He’s winning, of course, carefully planned out moves slowly knocking away at your pieces. 

“Anything could happen.” He doesn’t look up at you, red eyes focused on the board. Gloved fingers move swiftly, his rook taking your knight. A smug look crosses his features as he sits back, waiting for your next move.

You roll your eyes, you’d given up on winning the game long ago, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m sure I can convince Jean to increase patrol for one night.” Diluc doesn’t say anything to that, a sign of his silent agreement.

And that’s how you snag a moment of his time, tugging him to the tip of Starsnatch Cliff that overlooks the ocean. You sit together on a blanket, sharing a bottle of grape juice for two and food in the picnic basket that Adelinde had prepared just hours earlier. She had ushered the two of you out of the manor with teasing words, repeatedly reminding the wine owner that his home would still be there in the short time that the two of you would be gone. Diluc hadn’t even bothered to put up a fight, eager to escape from his hectic life to spend the rest of the night with you. He lets you tug on his hand to walk faster, pointing out the cecilia flowers growing in patches the closer and closer you get to the top, until you stand still, your fingers interlaced with his as you take in the view. The neverending ocean spreads out before you, dark glittering blue stretching towards the horizon as the moon’s reflection stares back up at you. The stars wink at you from above, the few patches of clouds already drifting away to allow you to gaze. 

Diluc lets you do the talking, filling the silence with mindless chatter as you ask him about the wine industry and the trips that he’ll be taking to neighboring nations for business. He doesn’t mind spilling the gossip he’s heard from abroad, recalling every story he’s heard as he begins to talk more and more about the people he’s met outside of Mondstadt. 

“One day you’ll have to take me to— oh! Look!” Your words are cut off as silver streaks across the sky. Immediately you’re reaching to grasp Diluc’s hand, pulling yourself closer to him as you point up at the sky, a shooting star flying past. He looks over at you, your eyes bright and swimming with light as your lips curl in awe. 

“Make a wish!” You say giddily and Diluc smiles gently. How long has it been since he’s indulged in a childish fantasy like this? A small voice in the back of his mind whispers that he hasn’t done that since before his father’s death. He swallows thickly at the thought and clears his throat, stealing another glance over at you, only to find that your eyes are closed. There’s a smile on your face, one that hides secrets, the ones that you tease him about because they’re the same secrets that you keep to yourself whenever you have something planned for him. It’s the same smile that you reserve for when he comes home late at night, tired from work, only to find that you’re half awake, waiting for him on the couch curled up by the fire. The same smile that you give him when you whisper how much you love him. Before you can open your eyes, Diluc does the same, allowing himself to indulge for just a moment, offering a wish to the star, to the Archons, to anyone who will listen.

If he can spend more time like this, he’ll do whatever it takes. Because the happiness and comfort that you’ve brought him since stumbling into his life, is something he hopes to hold onto forever.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3

[danafeelingsick]

ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 2022

@monthofsick

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ʟɪsᴛ | AO3 ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

ᴅᴀʏ 20: Panic attack/anxiety

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1,8k~

3 [out of it], 13 [shaky and shivery] and 20 for Diluc

ᴀ/ɴ there you go anon! i wrote this one in a daze honestly, but I'd be lying if said i didn't enjoy making diluc this miserable 👹✌️

TW EMETO

Diluc took a cautious sip of his drink, paying close attention to every subtle note of its flavor. The sweet and only slightly sour taste of grape juice bathed his tongue but soon came the bitter aftertaste, and he couldn't help but want to gag when his mouth went dry.

Backed against a wall and begrudgingly sipping a tall glass, he must've looked inviting to all of his hosts, but it was on purpose. There was something off about the zest his drink left behind, how it plagued his palate for a moment too long, a taste almost too fresh for a bottled beverage.

Diluc tried to push these thoughts away, uncomfortably licking his dry lips, a subtle scowl tugging at them. It was useless, he couldn't tell the bitterness of poison apart from the subtle one the beverage left but he could consider himself a lucky man for that.

Even more useless was trying to find it in the first place. The affluent owner of the Dawn Winery had hunted down one of his servants and made them open a fresh bottle he had personally picked from the stock, to take only a glass of it. There couldn't be poison in it, not a chance, but how could he be so sure? Someone could've sneaked something into his drink when he wasn't looking, anyone who worked in the Winery could've…

No. Some master he would be if he couldn't even trust his own servants. Then again, what type of vigilante would he be if he couldn't keep watch of a simple room? Let alone an entire city.

Diluc closed his eyes for a moment, thoughts racing through his head like the many voices filling the ballroom. He gulped audibly, bringing the rim of his glass to his lips, but gave up on taking a sip when he realized just how much his hands were shaking. The dark liquid rippled inside, and for a moment he couldn't stop looking at it. The tips of his fingers were numb holding the stem, he could almost feel his heart palpitating on each of them, his blood rushing to every pore of his skin.

With his gaze locked on the swirling juice, watching as it seemed to thicken and coagulate before his eyes, he missed when the clacking of sturdy heels came his way. It was hard to tell anything from the chatter of the party, and the growing blood buzz in his ears.

“Enjoying yourself from this far?”, a smooth voice asked from the side. Diluc whipped his head to find Kaeya standing there, the stem of an empty glass between his slender fingers, and a conceited smile hanging from wine-stained lips. “Sorry for the wait. There's a great selection of wine waiting for you over there, have you tried any?”

Diluc blinked, but not in surprise, darkness lingered at the corners of his vision, and all he could focus on was Kaeya right in front of him. The smell of alcohol subtly wafted off him, telling. It was enough to turn his stomach, just the sight of him, what he knew, and what he did.

“What is it? Some host you are, hiding from your guests” Kaeya spoke again, his playful tone getting lost when his voice sounded like coming from underwater. “You won't say hello?”

Diluc opened his mouth to say it, almost mechanically, as he'd always do in events like this, sing his praises in the most petulant tone he could muster on a straight face, but his voice refused to come out. He could feel his heart on the back of his throat, tightening with each thump. He took small passed breaths, warm air pulling back as soon it left his nostrils. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck, staining the fine fabric of his collar, dampening his back, like his clothes were alive and trying to smother him.

It was like time had slowed down. Kaeya stepped forward, one hand reaching out. Diluc flinched, then gasped when the man's fingers clutched at his shoulder, firmly planting him back on the ground, holding him in place.

“Whoa, are you… sure you didn't drink anything?” Kaeya risked the last jab before the playfulness of his voice was gone. Diluc shakingly raised his eyes, only slightly surprised when his glass reappeared on Kaeya's hand. He took a careful whiff of it, his eyebrows raising before he asked: “Is this grape juice?”

“D-Don't drink it”, Diluc mustered through labored breaths. He clutched his chest, feeling it tighten, his heart lunging against it like it was trying to break free. “I-I think I’ve been poisoned.”

Kaeya was silent for a moment, as he measured the odds in his head, looking from his empty glass, to the one half-empty, then to his brother, who looked seconds away from falling over.

“You know that’s impossible”, he said, giving both of the glasses a quick swirl for emphasis, but Diluc only seemed to grow paler, his breathing came in short hiccups. If this kept up, soon he would need both of his hands. “Diluc, you're not poisoned. You know that.”

“H-How can you be sure…?” he whispered, nearly slurred as he struggled to swallow, his tongue tying itself into a know. “I was so careful, but… but, still… I could be –”

“Diluc, you have to calm down. I only left your side for a moment”, Kaeya responded sincerely, his grip on his shoulder tightening when he saw his gaze drop to the ground. He was trembling. “Diluc, look at me.”

He did as he was told and raised his eyes. Kaeya felt his heart break in two when he noticed the glisten of tears pooling under them. Diluc's lips were the same tone as his skin, quivering like he was trying to hold something back.

“I… I need to vomit”, he pleaded shakingly and pressed his lips into a thin line, his cheeks quivering as he neared his limit. The urge to cry was so clear in his voice, Kaeya didn't waste any time.

He nodded, whispering tender words of comfort as he carefully slid a hand to his back for support, ready to catch him at any moment.

“It's alright, I'm right here with you. We're going outside now, okay?”, he reassured, gently guiding Diluc forward, one step at a time.

Thankfully, the ballroom wasn't as full as Diluc's racing mind made it out to be. Kaeya was able to lead him out discreetly, keeping close to the walls for safety until they reached the exit. He took the opportunity to leave both glasses on a table as they passed by it.

The cold air would've done well for Diluc if he was able to take a full breath of it, but the brief walk seemed to have forced his lungs to the max. He was nearly wheezing as the two stumbled outside like a drunken couple. Kaeya had an arm around his waist and the other on his back, softly patting when a hiccup threatened to break the man.

Before Kaeya could even be sure they were out of view, he lowered Diluc on the gravel path and knelt beside him, his hands never leaving him, even as the man heaved breathlessly under his touch.

“Shh… you're okay now. There's nobody around, it's just the two of us”, he encouraged, slowly rubbing circles on his back while pulling his ponytail away from his shoulder. “Just try to get it up.”

Shakingly, Diluc parted his lips and held his tongue out, airy hiccups quickly morphed into unheard sobs as only a line of drool dripped off his mouth. His voice was a pitiful whine as he called out for Kaeya, who gave up on patting his back and just pulled him closer, humming tender words.

“I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere”, he promised, throwing all caution to Barbatos when he hugged Diluc, and the man broke into a dry heave that spilled his tears. ”Don't worry, just let it out.”

“...ugh— eurGh… uRrRRgh— bleEeuUurrGggHHh!”

Diluc took his advice to heart as he lurched forward and retched continuously, barely contained by Kaeya hugging his side when he let out a gurgling surge of watery puke onto the gravel. The purplish mixture splashed sharply, so violently that small pebbles lifted with the dust, leaving an abstract pattern on the ground that was quickly ruined by another splash of runny vomit.

“That's it… there you go”, Kaeya reassured, slowly pulling back to his previous position, holding Diluc's low ponytail away from the line of fire as his head whipped forward.

With another pained retch, he brought more of that acidic juice concoction in a sizable wave, gasping for air as it tapered off into a trickle. No doubt he was feeling so anxious, his stomach must've been empty aside from all of that liquid. Kaeya knew well how he got during events like these, around so many people, it wasn't anything new, but it had never been this bad.

“There you go…”, he repeated, patting his heaving back as Diluc hacked painfully, trying to clear his throat of that awful burn. “Think you're done now?”

Diluc shook his head and a second later his shoulders came down, another mouthful of stomach contents hitting the ground, closely followed by another heavy gush that left him breathless, nearly choking on how much his stomach was spewing out. His vision must've blacked out, because when he realized the ground was inches from his nose, and Kaeya's arm wrapped around his chest was the only thing holding him from falling.

“Don't pass out on me now”, Kaeya reprimanded, but his strained voice gave away just how worried he was. “Diluc?”

“I'm not… going to”, he slurred through tears, the strain clear in his voice, but at least he seemed calmer now. Still sniffling as he breathed in and out, but finally able to fill his lungs fully. “I don't know what came over me, I was–”

“Not poisoned”, Kaeya completed, to which Diluc just gave a weak nod, frowning as he looked down. “I know, and I'm sure of it. I was with you the whole night. Are you feeling any better now?”

“Y-Yeah…”, he admitted, swallowing the few sobs still left in him. “Gods… did anyone see me?”

Kaeya simply shrugged, daring to look at the puddle of vomit on the ground. Most of the purplish-red liquid had been soaked by the gravel already, but a few small lumps of barely digested food stayed behind. He tried not to pay much attention to those, recognizing every bit of food he had also ingested when it still looked the part.

“I did, but you're used to that already”, he said finally, looking back to Diluc. “You're okay now, right? Think you can go back?”

“I-I suppose…”, he responded, not an ounce of confidence in his voice.

“No, we'll wait it out here”, Kaeya didn't suggest, he simply said as it was. “You don't have to go back there.”

[writing-wh0re]

hey i hope ur having a great day<3

could u do a george weasley smut where he uses a v!brator and some other toy on the reader while having sex

All writing will be #writing-wh0re-requests.

George Weasley x Reader.

Words: 1,339

Warnings: Smut18+. Overstimulation, Teasing, Dom Energy, Use of Sex Toys, Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Handcuffs, Gag, Nipple Play, Mentions of Drinking (?).

“George!” I quickly closed the door to the apartment behind me, waiting for a reply.

“Hello? Honey?”

I drop my bag next to the kitchen counter, walking through our small apartment. The only sound is my heels clicking against the wooden floor boards. My eyebrows knit together looking around our empty bedroom, I huff in annoyance, checking my watch. 5:05pm, he should be home.

My eyes fall to the bed, a brown box unsealed and a note sitting on top.

‘Y/n, baby,

I stepped out to grab wine. Lay out the contents of the box. Pick your favourite.

Keep your heels on.

George x’

Biting my lip, I re-read the note quickly. Curiosity takes over me as I open the box, a gasp falling from my lips. My fingers touch the smooth silicone of the blush pink vibrator, excitement bubbling in the pit of my stomach. I continue to dig through the box, touching fluffy handcuffs and a ball gag.

“What are you up to Weasley?”

I strip my clothes off, laying out the new toys on the bed. I lay beside them, my legs spread wide, heels digging into the comforter. I lean over grabbing the vibrator, turning it on as a low hum fills the air. Pressing the button on the base causes the speed to pick up, my pussy throbbing with anticipation.

“Princess!” My heart jumps at his voice, quickly scrambling to turn the toy off, hearing George chuckle.

“Someone’s eager.” George’s eyes trail over my body, filled with lust.

“I-um,” Blush fills my face, my body going hot. George holds his finger to his lips, silently shushing me. I watch as he grabs the handcuffs on the bed, dragging the fluffy material up my body. My breathing picks up, feeling him tug on my hands, cuffing them together against the bed frame. George leans down to my face, a smile dancing across his lips. I lean forward to meet his lips before he pulls away, causing my hands to jolt against the cuffs.

“Tease.”

“Oh, I’ll show you teasing.” George grabs my ankles, pulling my body down the bed, a yelp falling from my lips as the bedhead rattles against the cuffs.

The familiar buzzing hits my ears as George drags the vibrator up my legs. My breath hitches, the silicone dancing across my mound, vibrating my ribs before brushing against my hardened nipple.

I gasp at the new sensation, George with a smug smirk on his face. George drags the vibrator down my body, my hips thrusting up with need.

“Nuh uh.”

I pull on the handcuffs, wanting nothing more than to pull George in for a kiss.

“Fuck, do, uh, do something.”

My voice sounds more desperate than I thought it would. My pussy clenches around nothing. His chuckle makes my eyes roll, not out of pleasure but frustration. I know he won’t do anything, not now that he knows how needy I am. He’s going to drag this out, the thought causes butterflies to erupt inside of me.

George softly hovers the vibrator above my clit, his eyes locking onto mine. His lips kissed up my thighs.

“George, something!”

His hand slaps my thigh, pressing the vibrator against my cllit hard. My legs shake, my back arches. The pleasure instantly stops, the sound of the vibrator still buzzing in the air. I look down at George, searching for an explanation as to why my pleasure stopped. My eyes drag over his toned body, a soft whimper escaping my lips as his cock slaps against his stomach. My man in all his glory. The soft hum of the vibrator brings me back to reality, looking at the pink silicone buzzing on the fluffy comforter.

“Just fuck me” I whisper, tilting my head back.

“What was that baby?” George presses the vibrator against my clit again, swirling it around my bundle of nerves.

“I-oh.”

“I didn’t catch that baby.”

“I said fuck me.” I spit, growing frustrated and wanting nothing more than George deep inside of me. The vibrator stops causing my body to relax.

The bed creaks under his weight shifting, his hand grabbing my chin.

“I think it’s time you stopped back chatting.” The cool red ball presses against my lips before I can open them, letting the smooth plastic sit in my mouth. The glossy leather steep presses against my cheek as George ties it behind my neck.

“Please.” I mumble against the gag, my ears being met with a mere hum. George smirked at the response.

“That’s better.”

George pumps his cock, his eyes wandering up and down my body. My body is on full display for him. Only him.

“Gorgeous.” My face heats up at his compliment. George runs his cock up and down my slit, collecting my wetness on the tip causing it to glisten in the light.

“Please.” I cry out, the gag causing my words to muffle into a hum.

“Cock hungry slut.” George slides into me fast, my walls instantly contracting around him. I moan loud, the gag vibrating against my tongue.

George chuckles, pinching my nipples as he thrusts in and out of me. I pull on the cuffs, wanting to touch him. His lips trail down my neck, capturing my nipple between his teeth. His tongue swirls around the hardened nub, sucking on the skin. George sucks the plump flesh, littering the skin with his mark. Purple and pink hickies covering each breast.

“So wet for me.” His warm breath fans against my neck as he whispers, his teeth biting my earlobe. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. My back arches into his chest, his cock rubbing against my sweet spot. His whispered words causing my pussy to clench around him, tingles flowing through my body with every thrust.

“Made for me.”

“All mine.”

“Good girl.”

My eyes flutter closed, focusing on the pleasure flowing through my body. The vibration shakes my legs once again, the vibrator pressed against my clit.

“Mmm, you love this, I can feel it.” George smirks, slowing his thrusts to watch himself disappear inside of me. The sound of my wet pussy filling the air.

“Yes, yes, yes”

George rubs the vibrator against my clit, the vibrations and the circles causing my eyes to roll back. I rock my hips up to meet his thrusts, pulling on the cuffs as I chase my high.

“Cum baby.”

I moan his name loud, my legs shaking round his waist as I cum around his cock. The vibrations make my clit more sensitive. The aftershocks of my orgasm twitching through my body. Tears prick at my eyes, the over stimulation causing my clit to ache.

“One more baby, fuck, i’m close.”

“You’re doing so well.”

The tears fall freely down my cheeks, the gag slightly dribbling spit down my lips.

My body tenses, my back arching as my second orgasm wrecks me. George moans loud, His cock twitching inside of me, he pulls the vibrator from my clit, his hands falling to my hips, pulling my body closer to his, his warm cum coating my walls.

George pulls out of me, walking to grab a towel from our ensuite and softly cleaning me up. The bumps against my clit caused my body to jolt, goosebumps washing over my skin. He uncuffs my hands, allowing for me to take the gag off.

“Wow.”

“Wasn’t too much?”

I shake my head, using a separate towel to wipe my face.

“New, different, but so good.” I smile up at George, his eyes flicking to my lips before pulling me closer to him, kissing me softly as if I would break under pressure.

“Let me get the wine.”

I sigh deeply, slight exhaustion hitting me. A love drunk smile dancing across my lips.

“Here love.” I take the glass from George’s hand, smiling up at him. Sipping the red liquid, the sweet yet slightly sour grape taste washed over my taste buds.

“I love you Y/n.”

“I love you too.”

| | |

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[defendersalliance]

Letter from a Villain

for @flashfictionfridayofficial 's prompt #FFF162: The Letter. ~700 words.

I wrote this so it could be read alone, but it’s basically a follow up to this snippet which gives more context on Valentine’s job tracking down the villain

~

The villain’s letter landed on Valentine’s desk three days after he’d escaped custody.

“I’ve heard he can be…more annoying in writing,” Brontide warned. Valentine’s hero co-worker gave the envelope one last glance before returning to his desk.

Valentine sighed and grabbed the envelope. “Has this been checked for poison?” he called. Sure, their branch of the Defenders Alliance was lacking in funding, but that didn’t mean they had to throw caution to the wind.

“You’re the ex-assassin!” Brontide replied. He glanced back and flashed Valentine a grin. “Poisons should be your specialty.”

He did know a thing or two about poison. Probably the reason they’d assigned him Sundew. Unfortunately, carnivorous plants were less up Valentine’s alley, and the villain’s new acid trick had made escape easy when he’d finally been captured after a month’s pursuit.

Valentine gave the envelope a closer look. Its pale green color was unusual, but he couldn’t find any discoloration or warping to suggest the paper was carrying extra ingredients. Still, he slid on his gloves before drawing a letter opener from his desk and tearing in. A pale piece of paper came out with letters typed in dark green ink. 

My dear Valentine, Sundew had written.

Great start. Valentine wondered if it was too late to pick a new hero name. Sticking with the fake last name he’d used as an assassin was…not his first choice. But no one asked him what he wanted when he’d agreed to join the Defenders.

With a heavy sigh, he continued reading.

It was lovely finally seeing your place after so many failed attempts to catch me. But let’s arrange the next date somewhere that isn’t falling apart.

The jab at the West branch made Valentine roll his eyes. Flickering lights and strange puddles, sure. But ‘falling apart’ was a stretch.

An art museum could be fun. I think we have different ideas about what “enjoying a museum” entails, though. I am looking forward to adding to my collection this weekend. And now that I’ve said that, I’m looking forward to imagining you on the streets all night in hopes of running into me. Weather says it’s supposed to rain, and I for one would love to see you drenched and miserable.

With Valentine’s luck, that was exactly how he’d be spending his weekend.

Since I’ll be giving myself the gift of stolen art, I thought I’d give you a gift as well. These seeds are so easy to grow that an amateur like yourself should be able to manage. And before long, you’ll have tomatoes! Or pumpkins. I forgot what I put in the envelope.

Valentine, with the utmost caution, tipped the envelope over his desk. A few small seeds rained onto his paperwork stack. Unlike last time, they didn’t explode into vines or venus flytraps.

Sundew, apparently, anticipated his concerns. And relax. They are ordinary seeds. Not my creations. I grow normal plants, too, in my garden. And I make a pretty good grape wine I’d be happy to share sometime.

Despite the promise that the grapes were grown from the ground, Valentine figured he’d have to pass, given the risk. Sundew’s powers also let him generate plants laced with deadly poison. Or, worse, put people in a hypnotic trance.

Though, Valentine suspected he had a different idea of ‘worse’ than most people.

I’m sure you’ve got work to get back to. I do too. I haven’t forgotten my promise that I’d find your real name, Val. 

Catch me again, and I might grant you the privilege of calling me your rival.

Valentine tossed the letter back on the desk with a huff of annoyance. Why couldn’t his first job as a hero have been a villain with a little less…personality?

He eyed the seeds. They hadn’t been the only thing to fall from the envelope. A fine layer of dirt had scattered on his papers as well. And he’d had enough brushes with forensics to know the value of dirt. Intentionally or not, Sundew had just given Valentine a clue to the location of whatever mountain cottage he was shacking up in.

The question was whether it was an accident, or a trap.

[jjksblackgf]

weak in the knees

pairing — namjoon x black female reader genre — smut word count — 1.7k summary — “He just loved the sight of your oiled body in his bed, as the light of the candles glistened gold in your chocolate skin” warning  — nipple play, mutual masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus 

a/n  — I think this is my best piece of writing so far, i’m proud of myself. Btw, happy halloween, my lovelies. this isn’t spooky but accept this as a treat. enjoy <3

Namjoon hated being apart from you, the days where you couldn’t find time to talk to each other were the hardest. From the outside, he would pull it off, being calm and collected for most of the day as he goes around with his duties as BTS’ leader. But on the inside, he would nurture a flame, not only from love but from desire too.

Because, truly, he was a simple man. Every fantasy that you had, he would be willing to fulfill. And he knew the experience would be reciprocated. What he loved the most about sex with you was the freedom to be himself, the freedom to express who he wanted to be without being judged.  

One of his favorite things to do with you was to just try new positions under a variety of moods. He absolutely has a Pinterest board with a whole lot of ideas on how to create romantics and/or erotic setting, that included lots of candles, comfortable seating places where you could lay down later, sometimes oil, sometimes lube, sometimes both, with or without toys… he just loves the variety.

There was one day where he set up a romantic corner in your backyard. Only things he could do himself with confidence. An inflatable mattress with lots of pillows, a nice blanket, a few electric candles, champagne, and a basket of your favorite snacks. His first plan was to just do a stargazing date, but you ended up having magical and passionate sex under the stars.

On one other occasion, he tried to replicate that moment in his tub. This time with a few scented candles, a nice bath bomb, rose petals, and your favorite chocolate. All of this complemented by a new set of lube and a waterproof vibrator he’d just bought you. He never felt more at home than with you, smiling with his little surprises.

But now he thinks he outdid himself. He was very focused on writing new songs and had neglected you for a few days, but he wanted to redeem himself. So not only he went with the usual stuff, but he also bought you dinner and nice wine, then you both headed to his bedroom, where he put his favorite songs to play, the lights were dim and he bought a new edible lube he thought you both could try out.

So you decided to start, massaging him with your regular oil, taking your time on his feet, going up on his thighs - that you love, massaging his arms and his neck, before going to masturbate him with a grape-flavored lube. Not long before your lips were wrapped around him.

But Namjoon didn’t want the night to go there yet, so he was quick to put you on his bed, starting on your shoulders and neck, taking his sweet time so you could be totally relaxed under his hands, ready to commit to this night.

Your verbal praises were driving him crazy. He couldn’t wait to hear you moan his name, curl your toes, and tug the sheets until your fingertips were white. But he is a patient man, and for now, he decided to just enjoy his view. 

It happens every time you’re under indirect lights, he first noticed when you were stargazing and the moonlight painted your skin with a magical glow. But now it was different and he just loved the sight of your oiled body in his bed, as the light of the candles glistened gold in your chocolate skin.

“Hmm, baby, this feels so nice” you said as he started to massage the back of your thighs.

“I’m glad that I’m doing a good job” you could hear the smile in his voice. His hands were really now close to your core, his hands with just enough oil that his firm circling motions in your inner thighs felt really relaxing.

You were back to half moaning, half deep breaths, and he decided to go for your ass, using more oil on your cheeks and returning to the circling motions he was doing before. He then started to grab your ass, each time increasing the pressure, searching for a green light to take this massage to the next level. 

“Hmmm, yes, baby” You moaned, and he continued a little bit more before he asked you to lay on your back. You did as he asked and before he went back to work, he just looked into your eyes for a moment longer and pecked your lips. “I love you” he whispered in a low voice, causing shivers down your spine. Before you could say it back, he asked you to close your eyes and relax. 

He wasted no more time and oiled your breasts, first massaging them both with his firm hands. You bit your lips trying to maintain composure, but his hands were your kryptonite, and the more he massaged them, the more you could feel the pool forming between your legs.

You gasped when he placed his mouth on your nipple, his relaxed tongue moving from side to side as he hand got firmer on your breasts. You placed one hand in his arm, moaning without holding back this time, to let him know how good you were feeling.

“Yes!” You almost screamed. He sucked on your nipple and relaxed his hands at the same time, the suction sending your core more signals to get ready for what was to come. Your other hand was about to travel to your pussy, to get the friction it needed, but Namjoon stopped your attempts.

“We’ll get there in a second, you don’t need to worry” He placed his lips on yours one more time before his mouth moved to your other breast. You then placed one hand on his hair, tugging it lightly and the other went to his back, to scratch it lightly.

Namjoon was using his tongue again, but he brushed his teeth on your nipple before you could get used to it. But now his ear was close to your mouth, and your sweet and rich moan went directly to his ear, causing him to moan. You shut your thighs close looking for some sort of friction, but Namjoon was out of your nipples once more.

“Trying to enjoy yourself, huh?” He had a cocky tone to his voice as he saw your attempt, which made you blush and cover your face. “No covering your pretty face, I want to see every expression” He laughed and you took your hands out of your face.

Your hand went back to his body, now settling in his hip as he massaged your tighs again. Your nails scratched him a bit when his hands went through your vulva, but they didn’t stop there. He just traveled to your other thigh, leaning over your body. You took advantage of the opportunity and used your hand to masturbate him again.

After that, Namjoon decided that he would retribute the pleasure. He opened your legs and used the remaining of the oil to move his palm through your folds a few times before settling on your clit, just to tap it with the tip of his finger. You were taken by the pleasure, using a little more pressure on his dick, causing him to hiss with the sudden sensation.

You both moaned in unison as you changed your masturbation techniques. You decided to focus on circling the tip of your thumb at the tip of his dick, at the same time that he used two fingers to massage the sides of clit. 

“I want your lips on me” you stated looking at his face, that was now sweaty and frowned eyebrows filled with concentration. He stopped everything as he looked at your face.

“It’s time for something new, then” He helped you get on your fours, at the top of his bed. And before he laid down, he grabbed the new lube you were trying tonight and squirted a little bit on his fingers.

He first massaged your clit a little more, but as your pussy was perfectly open in front of him, he saw that wasn’t necessary, your natural lubrication already taking the spotlight as it dripped down your folds. 

He then placed two fingers inside you, your walls clenching with the new sensation. His in and out movements were making you hiss, and your moans growing louder the faster he worked. Namjoon moved to curl his fingers to find your spot and placed his thumb back on your clit, moving his fingers in circular motions.

But now it was his time to taste the new edible lube, and after all, you asked for his lips on you. He wouldn’t deny that, already salivating to know what your wetness would taste like with a new product. So he slowly licked your folds, starting from your clit and ending on your entrance, sucking the excess.

He was pleased by the strawberry flavor he picked, and thought it was the perfect compliment to your own taste. His happy tongue was very soft now, going on irregular patterns and irregular pressures. It was just like a sloppy french kiss.

He anchored himself on the bed by his elbows and used his palms to spread your ass a little more, being able to french kiss your clit much deeper this time. Your clit was starting to twitch with the soft sensation of his lips and his nose was very close to your entrance, and as your arousal grew, it started to clench on nothing, making him moan.

The vibration of his moan sent a shiver down your spine, making you grasp on his bedsheets. At one point he circled your clit, making you gasp out loud. He was worried for a second, thinking he did something wrong, but you asked for more of the circling and that was, now, his priority.

He used your verbal clues and directions to find the perfect balance between a precise tongue that would still be soft. You felt your knot tightening in your belly and asked for Namjoon to apply more pressure and speed to his movements.

That’s exactly what he did, but that still wasn’t enough for you, moving your hips a little to ride his tongue, and a few moments later, you felt the pressure release and your core became hotter with your orgasm. Namjoon knew he made you weak in the knees by the way your legs trembled, even tho they were supported by the mattress. 

He had the biggest smile on his face when he got up and placed a playful smack in your ass.

[whereflowersbloom]

La tendresse

She wakes with sunlight bright in her face, body aching all over and a slight headache. She felt like she might vomit but swallowed it down. She had been worse off before from a little wine sickness and survived. Rhachel sat up slowly, closing her eyes when the world tilted dangerously. When she figured she was steady enough, she opened them again.

The sun was streaming in through her open window, painting pinks and orange hues in the sky. Though the shadow led her to believe it was later than she normally woke. How long had she slept? It’s usually the birds that woke her up, their chirping a sweet melody that reminded her of homeland or the warm, familiar sensation of Damian’s lips wandering the curves of her body. She looked around, and spotted a flower on the little table next to the bed along with a breakfast tray of something. There were a few thick slices of Ma’rouk bread, some figs and grapes, and something that looked like rice custard.

She picked up the white rose, noticing the little card tied to the stem with a delicate silver ribbon. ‘To my lovely Princess of thorns, this flower pales in comparison to your beauty and grace. I’ll come find you after my council meeting. With fondness Damian.” Immediately a smile was curving her lips and all she could think about was her Damian. ‘Love can blossom over time just as it can capture you in a single breathe’ Lady Z had told her once before coming to the land of Sand for the tourney. One moment with him had been enough to set her world ablaze. His eyes like wildfire ignited her soul and engulfed her completely in the flames of ardor.

The first fingers of the coming winter caressed her bare legs, a false spring giving way to chill. The thin robe she wore did little to help her chill from the open window, the ivory satin clinging to her torso and hips but providing no heat. The last days of autumn brought a freezing cold breeze and even behind the safety of the red mountains, the blistering hot deserts of Nanda Parbat were not safe.

Soon it would be winter and it meant her seven and ten nameday was coming as well. Much had changed since she married Damian, she thought dropping her hands to the soft curve of her belly. Almost unnoticeable but there was no doubt a life was growing inside her womb.

The reason of her morning sickness became obvious after the imperial physician asked when was the last time she bled. She had not bled for two moons, she realized then. There had been a look of such happiness on Damian’s face when she told him the wonderful news and suddenly he was the sun itself. Radiating joy the same way as the colossal star did warmth.

She proceeded to eat her breakfast slowly, keeping almost all of it it down despite her stomach protesting. Kori was missing at the moment. Perhaps she was letting her take a rest from court. Nonetheless, she still had duties to attend that could not be ignored. Just as she was finishing her meal, someone knocked on her chamber’s door.

“Come in.” She replied, assuming it was Kori and preparing to greet her. The door groaned when it swung open, protesting. To her surprise, she met familIar green eyes she knew too well.

Damian.

“Awake now?” He murmured with an slightly amused expression. Her cheeks warming faintly at his question.

“The babe seems to be restless just like his father.” She pressed a hand to her stomach where she imagines their child to rest. After a brief moment she asks. “Is the council meeting over?”

“I left for a moment.” Damian said with a twinge of disappointment as he was reminded they still had much to discuss. He parted his lips as if to speak, but closed it again, thinking carefully of his words as he didn’t want to stir her emotions. “I wanted to spend time with you before I ride north with Jon.”

Her chest tightened painfully. Damian was riding with Jon up the snowy Kunlun mountains to distribute thick garments and goods for the less fortunate. She tried to remain neutral and collected as the crown princess she was, but her voice faltered, betraying her distress. “You could take me with you.”

“I do not want to risk your good health.” Damian shook his head lightly, the tension evident on his clenched jaw. He understood that she did not went to part from him but given her condition. It was best his wife stayed in the capital as he could not risk his heir. “Conner and Jayson will stay behind to protect you.”

The thought that this child in her womb could die sent jolts of heartache through her bosom. She just nodded, shaking off such dark thoughts.

Even if she was raised to be dutiful queen, it took her some time after marrying into the Al Ghul house to understand such a responsibility bore a heavy weight. Watching her every step as Damian assured there were enemies between them at court. Life was filled with rules and expectations she was if being frank unprepared for.

“Come lay with me.” She pleaded gently, reaching out an arm and patting the empty space next to her. She was far too tired to do much else.

Promptly, Damian kicked the door shut behind him. Ghosting to the large bed, climbing on before lying next to his wife. She nestled close to him, enjoying the warmth he provided, letting her head fall to the side to admire his face, and he did the same, those otherworldly indigo eyes bright and alive, burning with pure devotion.

“I’ll think of you every day we are apart.” Damian grasped her left hand, kissing the palm. “Both of you.” He added as one of his hands slid to the swell of her belly, stroking it tenderly.

His fingers travelled up, ghosting along her jaw until he's cupping her face, like she’s fragile and precious, a treasure to be hoarded. Damian was a generous and passionate lover, mouth moving over hers tenderly only pausing to whisper words of love and reassurance. She reacted instinctively, responding in kind to his probing tongue.  

“I love you.” She breathed against his mouth. Damian’s expression softened, and for a beat he looks younger, much more like a simple young man in love than the future ruler of the Nanda Parbat.

He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder, a gentle caress of his lips on her skin. “You are my queen, Rae. My only queen.“ His words achingly soft and genuine.

“After the babe is born. I promise to take you to Siodonna.” He murmured against her neck, his warm breath sending chills down her spine.

The word piqued her Interest. Damian had mentioned it several times while narrating tales of his ancestors and foreign lands he wished to explore. It’s said to be so beautiful it took your breath away. The Homeland of his grandmother, lady Shyla, who came from the tribe of Four Winds. Faraway land of the gray wind and freedom. The city of Sidhe rumored to be built high in the sacred mountains of Rudrà.

“Truly?” Rhachel asked with glee in her voice. She covered her mouth with her hand to hide a hearty laughter when Damian nodded solemnly.

Oh Gods, how she longed for the freedom to roam where she pleased with her husband. To have some time for themselves away from court and royal duties. It won’t be long. It won’t be long before their babe is born.

He gazed at her, his expression bore a twinkling smile. “You have my word.”

“You wish for a boy or girl?” The question slipped past unguarded lips. She never worried about the gender of her child before but the Azarathian queens gave birth to girls as the mystical gifts were inherited only by women. Perhaps Damian wanted a son as any ruler wanted a male heir.

His brows raised at the sudden question. For a beat appeared to be genuinely considering how to answer when he merely shrugged. “A healthy child.”

“Damian...” She pressed as nervousness palpitated in her chest. Chewing on her lower lip as she usually did when distressed. “What if it’s a girl?”

His furrowed his brows. “What would you like to name it if it’s a girl?” It shouldn’t have surprised her that he wanted to have her opinion on the name, but it did. She hadn’t thought about it.

“Manon.” The young woman answered. Would Damian like the name for their child? She envisioned a little girl with silver tresses and golden skin as the sun’s rays, and bright emerald eyes as the man she loved. “In my homeland it means blessed child.”

Damian smiled in content. “Our child is surely a blessing.”

“If it’s a boy, you can name it.” She ventured.

Damian breathed out a sigh. “Grandfather would want a strong name like Ra’ miel.” Rhachel immediately frowned. She was not entirely sure she wanted their child named after a past Al Ghul king as some of them did not have particularly great reigns. His green eyes flicked down to her belly, fingers caressing fondly and his smile widened. “We can think of one together when the times comes.”

“Boy or girl, it does not matter.” Damian’s orbs were twin pools of tenderness and awe. He tapped the tip of her nose affectionately. “I shall love any child you bear.”

A radiant smile graced Rhachel’s features, heart overflowing with joy at the declaration. The future seemed more hopeful, the weight of worry lifted off her chest. Damian was right; it did not matter if she gave birth to a boy or girl. This was the fruitful result of their love and sole heir to the Al Ghul throne. . Azar please grant your protection to this child of mine, the princess prayed in silence, her hand on her abdomen.

Yooooo. Have some damirae dorm your favorite teacup. 👀👀👀👀

I wrote this sleep-deprived so there’s probably mistakes but I’ll edit soon. This is for the damirae week.

Babies and Damirae fluff and shadows of thorns. Clarifying this is not a chapter but a Spin-off. I tried to avoid including spoilers. 🙈🙈🙈💜💜

@chromium7sky @carnationmilk @tweepunkgrl @amethyst-witch-05 @ravenfan1242 @opheliawillowbrook @alerialblu

[vandaladdams]

Graveyard Companions

Chapter 1: honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago

Link to ao3: x

Warnings: Blood, Minor Injury, Cursing

Fandoms: The Addams Family

Relationships: Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams, Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams/Reader, Gomez Addams/Reader, Morticia Addams/Reader

Tags: Vampire, Vampire Turning, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Blood, Polyamory, Eventual Romance, Eventual Relationship, Pre Relationship, Cursing

Summery: “I’m a vampire… a goddamn vampire,” you whisper.You wake up in the living room of a gothic house, and are told you were found unconscious in a graveyard. They claim you are a vampire. As crazy as it is, you can't help but start to trust the couple who found you.

Chapter Notes: hello! welcome to me writing again! i'm taking inspiration for the characters in the house from both the '90's movies and the '60's show. the '60s show has a special place in my heart, but i do like the movies a lot as well, so i'm taking elements from both! i'll update tags as i update chapters. also yes, vampires, i'm queer and i want fangs okay. this is really just me projecting, but i do hope you enjoy it. :)(the chapter title is a lyric from from eden by hozier)

Your eyes blink open slowly as you register the dull pain thrumming through your body. You finally open your eyes and sit up, finding yourself in an unfamiliar environment.

“Where am I?” you mumble, looking around. You seemed to be in someone’s living room, but you don’t know whose. The decorations in the room are dark and acceltic. Your mind feels fuzzy and far away.

“You’re awake,” a small voice remarks. You turn and see a young girl with jet black hair tied into braids sitting in a chair near you.

“Who are you? And, uh, where am I?” you ask.

She stares at you for a moment. For a child, her presence makes you uneasy. “I am Wednesday Addams. You are in our house, the Addams Mansion.”

“Huh… Wednesday? That’s an interesting name. My name’s (y/n).”

“(y/n).” she repeated.

“Yeah,” you respond, trying to figure out what to ask next. You settle on asking, “Do you know how I got here?”

“Mother and father found you in the cemetery on their walk. You were collapsed on the ground. Why are you covered in blood?”

“I’m not-” you look down. Sure enough, your clothes are soaked in blood. “What the-” you panic, your breathing getting faster. You look over at Wednesday, who weirdly enough seems unaffected by the bloodstains in your shirt. You try and think back to what happened. You vaguely remember being in the cemetery, so Wednesday must be telling the truth. You were in the cemetery. Why? You try and remember earlier in the day. You must have been on a walk. You were walking in the cemetery, and something must’ve happened.

“Maybe… Maybe you should get your parents,” you tell her, trying to keep your composure.

“Alright. Stay here.” Wednesday exits the room, leaving you alone and confused.

Several minutes later, you hear someone approaching. A short man with slick black hair and a mustache wearing a blue pinstripe suit enters the room. Following him is a tall woman, she has long black hair and pale skin, and is wearing a tight black dress.

“You’re awake!” the man exclaims, “Welcome! I’m Gomez Addams, and this is my beautiful wife Morticia,” he gleams over in her direction, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright… uh, my name is (y/n). (f/n) (l/n).”

“What a lovely name,” Morticia interjects.

“Th-Thanks,” you respond quietly, “So, you guys found me, right?”

“Yes, we were out on a walk, it’s such a good night for it. And then we found you on the ground, so we had Lurch bring you here.”

“Lurch?” you question.

“Oh, yes, our butler,” Gomez replies, pulling a cigar out of his pocket, “Oh, do you want one?” He gestures the cigar towards you. You shake your head no. He whisks out a lighter, and lights the cigar, taking a long drag from it.”

“Well, thanks I guess for taking me in. I really don’t want to intrude, but is it okay if I stay for a while longer? My head still feels fuzzy.”

“Oh, of course, we’ll have Lurch fix up a room for you.” Morticia walks over to a rope tied into a noose hanging from a wall and pulls it. Suddenly a loud ringing fills the house, causing the floor to vibrate underneath you. You jump slightly.

A tall man enters the room. At least you think he’s a man. He couldn’t be less than six and a half feet tall, with a strong rectangular face and a heavy brow. He’s wearing a black suit with a crisp white shirt underneath.

“You rang?” he drawls.

“Oh yes! Fix up a room for our new guest, would you old man?” Gomez answers. Lurch groans, and leaves the room.

“That- that was Lurch?” you ask hesitantly.

“Yes! What a charmer, he is.” he laughs.

“Oh, yeah…” you answer. Now that you’ve been conscious for awhile, you can’t help but notice how odd everything in this house is. A giant butler, gothic decorations, and a small child who was unnerving to say the least. But you do suppose they have been awfully kind to you. “Thanks again, for helping me and letting me stay.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Morticia smiles, “It’s been awhile since we’ve had any vampires in the house, hasn’t it dear?” she turns to Gomez. “It certainly has been a long time at least!” He agrees.

“Vampire?” you ask.

“You are one, aren’t you?” she asks. You take it back. No matter how lovely they were, they had to be nuts.

“I’m- I’m not a vampire.”

“Sure you are!” Gomez replies.

“No, I’m not.” you argue.

“Well, then what’s with the holes in your neck?” he asks, pointing to your neck with his cigar.

“I don’t have-” you bring your hand up to your neck, jumping as you feel two identical indents in your neck. You press on them, moving your fingers, wincing as you feel the two small holes in your neck. “This has to be some sort of joke,” you try and reason.

“I’m afraid not dear. Did you not know?” Morticia asks.

“Did I not know? Know I’m a vampire? That’s- I mean. I would remember that. I mean, I still can’t really remember tonight, I’m only missing a couple hours, but besides that, I wasn’t a vampire before!” you thread your fingers through your hair.

“Why don’t you take a look in the mirror?” Morticia suggests, “That way you can see for yourself.”

“Okay, okay,” you walk towards a mirror positioned on the wall. You go to look to look in the mirror, but nothing was there. You move back and forth, but still nothing. “I- I can’t… I can’t see myself. This mirror does work, right?”

Gomez steps next you, appearing on the mirror as well. “I hate to break it to you old man, but I think Morticia is right, you’re a vampire.” he pats you on the back with a sympathetic hum. You stand there dumbfounded before moving back to the couch, plopping down without a word.

“I’m a vampire… a goddamn vampire,” you whisper.

“Would you like something to drink?” Gomez offers.

You pause, “You know what, yeah.”

Gomez walks over to the table, opening a box and dropping grapes into it. A few seconds later a hand ascends with a bottle of wine.

“Why thank you, Thing.”

“Thing?” you ask.

“Ah yes, he’s quite handy,” Gomez remarks, pouring the wine. He hands you a glass. After everything you’ve seen and heard today, you decide to roll with the punches. Sure, a hand in a box just handed you wine. At least it- or Thing had the decency to give you alcohol. You take a swig of the wine, a deep red that swirls in your glass.

“Thank you.” You set your glass on the table after another drink. Gomez goes to hand Morticia her glass, but miscalculates the distance, creating a loud crash as the glass falls to the floor.

“I have it,” Morticia says, trying to pick up the glass, before she retracts her hand, hissing in pain.

“Querida! Are you alright?” Gomez asks, concerned.

“It’s fine darling, see?” she opens her hand, revealing blood coming out the tip of her index finger. On impulse, you lunge forward, taking her hand into yours, and attaching your mouth to her finger. You suck up the blood from the wound, taking in the smooth texture of her skin and the metallic taste of her blood. You could swear you heard her breath hitch as you try and take more, the craving for blood almost overtaking you. You look up and meet her eyes, thinking about how beautiful they are before snapping back to reality.

You launch yourself away from her back to the opposite end of the couch. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Sorry.” you mutter, standing abruptly, before quickly leaving the room, “Sorry.”

You run through the hallways until you feel like you’re far enough away to slow down. You slow your pace to a calm walk, and wipe your chin, taking a moment to look at the blood on your hand. You wipe it on your shirt. It was ruined earlier anyway, what’s a little more blood? After wandering for a while, you realize you are lost, and have no idea where your room is. The pit in your stomach grows thinking of talking to Morticia and Gomez again, and suddenly you feel drained once more.

You eventually see Lurch through the doorway of a room. He’s sitting and playing the harpsichord. You can tell it’s a classical piece from the romantic era, but you can’t place what it is. It sounds lovely. You finally cough lightly to make your presence known. The music abruptly stops as he turns his head and stares at you.

“Could you- could you show me to my room?” you ask.

He gets up, stretching back to his full height. “Follow me.”

You follow behind him through the winding hallways until he stops in front of a door and opens it.

“Your room,” his voice rumbles.

“Thank you,” you respond, walking into the room, and closing the door. You survey the room; it has a queen sized bed along with a large wardrobe, and in the corner there is a desk with a chair. All the furnerature is made of a dark wood that matches the house’s dark aethstetic. You wander in farther to discover a well furnished adjoining bathroom. On the wardrobe are some clothes folded neatly.

“At least I can wash up and change into something clean,” you say to yourself.

You step into the bathroom and start stripping. You grimace at your destroyed clothes, soaked in blood. You wait for the water to heat up before stepping into the shower. You hum as the water beats on your worn skin. Yes, the house you’re in is odd, but it does have amazing water pressure, you note. Red flows down the drain as you scrub the day off of you. Eventually after some soap and more time under the water, you step out feeling clean again.

You find a fluffy towel and dry off. After you try to check your hair in the mirror, but you're just reminded of what you’ve just learned. You can't place it, but the odd feeling in your chest feels familiar.

You sigh and go to pick out some clothes to sleep in. You decide to wear a light pullover sweater and your boxers to sleep. The sweater you found is dark and made of soft fabric. You yawn and turn towards the bed. Despite being knocked out earlier, you still feel tired. You crawl into the bed and under the smooth sheets. The blankets on the bed are warm, making it easier for you to drift to sleep.