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duskholland · 3 years

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Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

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

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

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

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom slows down the car.

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

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

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

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

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

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

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

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

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

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

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

“Step away from the door.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They reach the gym.

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

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

“Holland. Time to go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

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

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

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, lovie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The visit is over far too soon.

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, man.”

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

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

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

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

The prison guards don’t agree.

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

It’s still worth it.

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

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

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N? Where are you?”

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

“In here, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When was this?” he whispers.

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

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

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

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

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

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

“I really don’t,” you agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The air between you shifts.

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

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

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

“What have you got planned?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

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

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

“Please do.”

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

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

“Say please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

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

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

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

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

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

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland smut #y/n #self insert #smut #mob!tomfic

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scott-mccall-the-hot-girl · 3 years

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my ultimate guide to thiam fic !!

( as a new teen wolf stan )

the classic post war, long ass (multi chapter) fic !!with great development that genuinely made me laugh out loud, they have the best friendship in this & i love it very much. ( like theo teaches liam to drive and i just *happy sobs* ) a fundamental in thiam fanfiction !! all stans have probably already read it but if you haven’t this is in fact a threat ,, go show this vv iconic story some love !!

Airplanes - Captainmintyfresh

Summary: After the Anuk-ite and the hunters are dealt with Liam needs a break. Cue Theo and a road trip that Liam should know better than to think will be peaceful.

Not Rated, No Archive Warnings Apply, Completed, 43/43 Chapters, Words: 236,875 (236k)

okay okay so this one is also post 6B !! but ,, now we introduce fighting monroe & the hunters again ,, so we get the boys & a new mission !! so if you like an intresting plot 11/10 would recommend !! just to be clear this ISN’T complete ,, if that turns you off i understand but definitely give this one a read !! it litterally have theo doing crossword puzzles & fighting zombies

Vacancy Signs - LovelyLittleGrim

Summary: Theo and Liam are in Manhattan negotiating a pack allyship when the zombie apocalypse breaks out. Now, the two of them have to find their way back to Beacon Hills without getting eaten by zombies or killing one another.

Rated: Explicit, Graphic Description of Violence, Not Completed, 15/17 Chapters, Words: 89,605 (89k)

Royalty AU !! I REPEAT ROYALTY AU !! a fantastic au where i stan their moms more than i stan them !! genuinely so good at the childhood rivals to lovers trope !! i’m genuinely obsessed with this one. has made me cry more than once ,, hurts in a good way <3 the ending is just *chefs kiss* also one of the tags is genuinely: # theo and liam make bad choices for over 130k straight !! if that doesn’t sound appealing i don’t know what does !!

Artificial Love - songbvrd

Summary: Prince Theo and Prince Liam are forced to spend every Summer together from age five onwards. They hate each other, and usually find ways to make each other miserable as much as possible in their six weeks together. But when they're reunited because of intended unions as adults, things change. They're both supposed to be married to noble women, but neither of them is as interested in anyone else as they are with their childhood rival.

Rated: Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, Completed, Chapters: 32/32, Words: 172,935 (172k)

so if you are in the mood for a crack fic that’s not explicitally a crack fic this is for you !! okay so i’m really hit or miss with AU’s ,, sometimes i feel like they don’t quite capture the characters right but this story have the BEST dramatic liam i have ever seen in my life !! basically they all live in the same apartment building & it’s fantastic !! i saw this one floating around a lot but the summary didn’t really unrest me until i have it a shot !! so go read it rn !! also nolan & brett are genuinely fantastic and make me wheeze ,, LIKE ACTUALLY VERBALLY LAUGHING !! all i’m gonna say is that my fav characters are scott & the beetles but that won’t make actual sense until you read it !!

The Neighbors Song - TheodoreR

Summary: “I always hear you singing on your balcony every morning, but suddenly you’ve stopped?”

Or the one where Theo annoys Liam every morning with his awful singing until he doesn’t anymore and Liam is even more annoyed. Liam hates every single thing about his mornings -the fact that they happen in the morning alone is enough. The thing Liam hates the most about his mornings though is the terrible voice of the guy who lives below him. He can’t sing for shit and Liam tried to politely let him understand that by throwing flour and water on his balcony, and also by shouting it to him, you can’t sing for shit!, and then by writing it into a note he proceeded to attach to his door, but this Raeken guy just keeps doing it, every single morning, like a fucking rooster. Liam did nothing to deserve this. He probably didn’t do anything to deserve better either to be fair, he doesn’t expect to open his window and be welcomed by some angelic voice singing him good morning, he’d just be happy with nothing. Silence. That’s something Liam can appreciate in mornings. Just some bark from his dog and the sound of his misery and that’s it. But no, god forbid the new guy lets him have that.

Rated: Explicit, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Wanrings, Completed, 8/8 Chapters, Words: 42,814 (42k)

me: i’m not a big fan of AU’s ,, proceeds to talk about ANOTHER au… OKAY BUT THIS ONE !! it’s not complete but the author has been updating regularly ,, vv slow burn !! but in a REALLY intresting way !! i lOVE LIAM IN THIS SO MUCH ,, he is such a diaster of a person and it’s wonderful !! they have a great dynamic & i’m sucker for general puppy pack content ( and erica reyes being a badass ) !! also theo plays lacrosse in this & i really like it ahhhhh ,, also liam is just being an artic monkeys stan the whole time & theo is like *que confused repressed gay noises*

Inglorious Roommates - honeyscape

Summary: A roommate is defined as “a person with whom one shares a room.”

Theo would say a roommate was more along the lines of, “The person who's the bane of his existence. The weirdo that sleeps for days. The spaz that exercises at 3am. The guy with a revolving door of annoying friends. An insufferable human being that Theo has no control over living in his room.”

Example: Theo hates his roommate Liam.

okay okay i hate myself but i have another WIP for y’all !! this one is jUST FANTASTIC. i’m genuinely so upset it’s most likely not going to updated again *incoherent screaming ensues*. for this story ,, it’s very theo-centric bUT thats bc it ends right before liam becomes a concrete member of the story !! ANYWAY: basic plot = theo & acquiring not one but two children ,, so #dad theo but he is still crusty & homeless and i love him very much. it’s just so GOOD !! just read if you want to experience my fav theo coming out story & him etching high school musical

Look who's talking - Captainmintyfresh

Summary: Theo had been labeled many things in his life. Evil, failure, monster. He'd never thought Father would be one of those things but as he looked across the table to a six year old with blue smears of bubble gum icecream across her face trying to coax the first words out of her sister. Finger jabbing towards Theo's face as she repeated 'Daddy' again and again he couldn't bring himself to dispute the label.

(Theo accidentally adopts two young werewolves)

Not Rated, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings, Not Completed, Chapters: 16/?, Words: 48740 ( 48k )

so here me out: post-canon ( poetry like angst ) summer get away !! just the boys doing cute little domestic things together whilst pining !! theo’s guilt in this is just so powerful & aGjffkgkkfkvkdlv !! i think it’s so interesting to see how they interact in this one, it’s just very heart warming !! and it features one of my favorite niche teen wolf tropes of theo being great with like seven year old girls- it’s just so good ,, very much a wonderful little one shot that just makes your heart happy.

(next time i see you you'll show me) a hundred different ways to say the same things - cherrysprite

Summary: “...You deserve good things,” Liam says eventually. He makes sure not to look at Theo even though he can feel his eyes turn on him. Somehow he can already tell that Theo doesn’t believe him.

Liam instantly makes that the goal of this summer - making Theo believe him.

Rating: Teen and Up, No Archive Warnings Apply, Chapters: 1/1, Words: 28875 ( 28k )

okay so this next section of fic recs is a bit different !!

two of my favorite authors !! and a compilation of fics i’ve read by them both !!

for context: these two have written some genuinely gorgeous fics, like pure poetry, they explore the real gritty & scary side of our boys relationship in such a wonderful way. they’ve both used some of my favorite tropes & i love them very much !!

whenever i need something soothing but so genuinely intresting & enticing these are my go to !! ( also they both write a lot of good nolan angst & some vv good fics with hayden )

go check out:

eneiryu

as well as fallingforboys

here are some of my favorite fics by them ~

darling i want you here in my arms (kiss the pain away, i know you can) - fallingforboys

even before you touched me, i belonged to you (all you had to do was look at me) - fallingforboys

memories linger like tattoo scars (but your touch on my skin is just as permanent) - fallingforboys

skin, bones, a stolen heart, and an ugly creature lurking underneath -fallingforboys

i don't know how to breathe in the place i called home - fallingforboys

whisper your gossamer truths into the shadow, maybe you'll find the answers you're searching for - fallingforboys

between the mountains and the valley we built a monument to our regret - eneiryu

cracked the hinges of the cage and waited for you - eneiryu

okay and finally: since i am a self centered whore

my own fic: an rendition of the # elevator scene

it’s basically my version of post canon if we did get the kiss in the elevator. we got a classic liam pov in which he is has 12/10 for extreme bi diaster energy even whilst being shot at !! so go him ig…

Fuck Off, Fuck This & Fuck It! - nefelibata_peach

Summary: Liam thought to himself heart rate climbing, they were bound to be dead by morning. So he thought with everything but his brain and he kissed him.

Where Liam Dunbar is very confused, slightly traumatized, and just a bit scared but hey, aren't they all! Bad decisions ensue as two boys fight in a war they never did sign up for.

Rating: Teen and Up, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Chapters: 1/1, Words: 3558 ( 3k )

#this took me so long #please go read these or i’ll cry #fan fiction #fan fic recs #teen wolf fic recs #thiam fanfiction #thiam fic recs #thiam #theo raeken #liam dunbar #theo x liam #teen wolf fandom #teen wolf gay #teen wolf #ao3 #fuck you fuck this & fuck it #thiam fanfic rec #thiam fanfic #thiam is endgame

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

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Fighting Fire With Fire (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader must lower her pride after a date goes wrong and the only one who can rescue her is her mortal enemy - Spencer Reid.

A/N: This was a beast of a fic to write. It’s been in my WIP since September, and I managed to go from 11 pages to 22 pages in three days. It is now my longest fic thus far. I am insanely fucking proud of it and I hope it does well. Category: Angst Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: allusions to ‘catfishing,’ allusions to abduction, dub-con to taking provocative photos, alcohol, mentions of bruises, jealousy, carrying hug which implies weight of Reader (lmk if I missed anything) Word Count: 11.7k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I tried to play nice; I really did, but there was no getting through to him. Everyday started and ended with us fighting fire with fire.

Maybe the reason the two of you butt heads so often is because of how similar you are.

That’s what the team would say when Spencer and I got into one of our daily (sometimes hourly) arguments.

They constantly encouraged us to get to know each other so that we’d finally see the likeness, and until recently, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him to like me. However, as previously mentioned, my willingness quickly dissipated in light of recent events.

Voluntarily spending more time than necessary with him would be a recipe for disaster no doubt.

Somehow, in a matter of a month, Reid decided that he simply did not enjoy my presence, which was the nice way of putting it.

To be more crass, he loathed me to no end.

Initially, I was operating under the assumption that he wasn’t fond of change, and with me joining the BAU, the change was too much too fast for him, but after four weeks, his attitude toward me never deviated. Yet again, I made another excuse for him, arguing to myself that people are allowed to not like me. I could respect that, but where he lost my respect was how he made a conscious effort to remind me of how much he despised me. Even when I was at my nicest, he still treated me like a scelerate.

If there was a prize for gaining a mortal enemy in the shortest amount of time, I guess I already won that without even trying. He hated me with a burning passion, for reasons unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that all I’d ever try to do was be his friend.

For far too long, I kept denying the part of me that knew making peace with him outside of work wouldn’t go well and it’d simply go down in history as another failed attempt of mine to form a bond with him, so it was at this point that I decided to face the facts.

He didn’t make it easy for me, either. It was hard having to be kind to someone that was only ever out to get me.

He would constantly correct me but only after I said something incorrectly, just so he could prove me wrong.

“If each police officer patrols a street, we’ll be able to cover the entire comfort zone.”

“Actually, we’d need three more officers if we want to cover the entire comfort zone. There’s still 2.347 miles that are unaccounted for.”

I never understood why he couldn’t just say his piece before me so that I didn’t look like an idiot, but I suppose that was the point.

And he had this infuriating, unwarranted habit of judging my taste in cinema and literature. Anytime I told Emily or Derek about a movie I saw or told Rossi about a book I read, he felt compelled to share his antagonistic opinions as if I asked for them in the first place. Sometimes even spoiling the endings for me!

“Rossi, I just started reading Doctor Sleep!” I was so eager to tell Rossi that, so much so that I’d become blind to one dark cloud’s own eagerness to ruin the fun.

“The hotel burns to the ground, but the ghosts don’t die with it.”

He said it with such monotony and nonchalance, not even bothering to look up from his own book to watch my reaction to his menacing act. He just didn’t care!

The list of reasons not to like him truly did go on and on, so it was almost insulting how people would compare the two of us.

They’d bring up the congruence in intelligence, the same affinity for reading, and closeness in age, but it only made me madder. The last person I wanted to resemble was Reid, except today, I gained another glaring similarity to him.

“Look at you two. Did you plan your outfits or something?” Emily playfully pointed out after I walked into the conference room.

I eyed the doctor sipping at his cup of coffee who swiveled around in his chair to see what everyone else was seeing. Just from a short glance, I spotted his navy blue button-up with white polka dots that was nearly identical to the color and print of my dress.

“Well, looks like one of us has to go home and change.” His lips grew into a mischievous smirk behind the rim of his mug.

Was that a joke? Did Spencer Reid make jokes now?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I facetiously remarked, taking the only open seat at the table which was next to the jokester himself.

“I’m kidding. You look really nice today.” He alleged without a hint of irony. He was complimenting me now, too? It was so unfamiliar that it felt like uncharted territory, possibly even a trap.

“Why? Because I’m dressed like you?” I wasn’t going to fall for his words now, maybe the version of me who would do anything to gain his approval would have. She would’ve smiled and said ‘thank you,’ but this me was going to challenge him if that was the last thing I ever did. “Bit of a narcissist are we, Dr. Reid?”

“Mmm maybe,” He wagered, tilting his head from side to side as if to contemplate the possibility. “Or maybe I just really think you look nice.”

Without even thinking, my heart skipped a beat. I was utterly repulsed by how I let his words have any effect over me. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to fluster me with mediocre flattery.

It felt like years that I had to sit next to Reid at the round table before Hotch dismissed the team for the flight.

30 minutes later, and we were on the jet. I’d taken one of the seats at the table opposite Derek and Emily, with Spencer beside me.

Little things like this I could handle, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started bothering me. Morgan was listening to music and Emily was turned around in her seat, facing the back to talk to Rossi. Reid was playing himself in chess, and it took all of my self-control to not be a total asshole and knock the board and its pieces over and into the aisle. Luckily, I had a good enough distraction.

Grant: can you ft tonight?

Me: we’ll see. i might have to work overtime.

For the months that I had been talking to Grant, I was deliberately ambiguous about my job because I wasn’t exactly keen on telling him that I worked for the FBI and that I might not be able to FaceTime him since I was in the process of investigating a series of homicides. That’d surely scare him away and I was never one to flaunt my government job anyway.

Grant: you look stunning today

Me: you haven’t even seen me today

Grant: don’t need to.

Grant: you’ll always be stunning to me.

“Who keeps texting you?”

I looked up from my screen to see Reid fixated on his game but still engaged in my business.

“No one,” I harshly replied, making a conscious decision to turn my phone on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear the chime of my text notifications.

With one nimble side glance, Reid eyed my screen. I nudged him away with extra force.

“Nosy much?!”

This stunned him. He wasn’t used to my coldness, he probably expected me to smile in a chagrined manner and not confront it - as I would have done - but now I was fighting back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it.

I knew he could read fast, but how he managed to look at my phone so quickly it was like he never even moved his eyes - I didn’t know. Somehow, though, he managed to capture Grant’s entire username, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my entire conversation with him, too.

“Who’s Grant?” The name rolled off his tongue like he was insulted to even be saying it.

“No one.”

He didn’t respond soon after I said this, which I misinterpreted as a little victory for me since I almost believed he was going to drop the subject, but in true Spencer Know It All Reid fashion, he just kept going.

“‘You look stunning today B-T-W. You haven’t even seen me today. Don’t need to. You’ll always be stunning to me.’ Doesn’t really sound like a ‘no one’ to me.” His recitation of my entire PRIVATE conversation with Grant embarrassed me.

Did I forget to add his eidetic memory and speed-reading ability to the list of reasons not to like him?

“Shut up!” I nudged him, this time using much more force than the last. I was becoming more and more inclined to push over his ridiculous chess game so that he’d finally take me seriously.

“Oh, really clever by the way. Vaguely insinuating that you ‘might not be able to call him because you’re working overtime’ just so you don’t have to disclose the true nature of your job.” Spencer’s sarcasm was thick.

“Are you just jealous because the only date you’ve been on was a fake one with a serial killer and not even your actual girlfriend while she was alive?” My reference to Cat and Maeve caught the attention of the entire jet.

Each member mentally rolled their eyes thinking ‘Here we go again.’ And if that wasn’t their reaction, they were certainly cringing at the fight that was ensuing.

Things had been suspiciously good between the two of us today so it was about time we argued. We were due for our daily quarrel.

“Oh, that’s right! The only girls who like you are victims in our cases.” Now this comment was referring to Lila and Austin. (I had Penelope to thank for filling me in on all of Reid’s ‘entanglements’ after I was first reassigned).

“Really? You wanna go there?” He sassed back, diverting his attention away fully from his chess game now. “Do you know how many people get ‘catfished’ when using online dating websites? Or the statistics on how many people are raped, assaulted, or murdered by said ‘catfish’?”

“I’m not stupid, Reid. He and I have been talking for months. We’ve been on calls and Facetime before, too. We’ve just never met in person. Sound familiar?”

“What Maeve and I had is not at all comparable to what you and this ‘guy’ have. And just because you’ve seen his face before doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer or operating under an alias.”

I had to scoff. Who was he to label our relationship valid or not?

“What’s it to you anyway? We all know you’d be ecstatic if this guy turned out to be a serial killer or catfish. You’d get to rub it in my face and say ‘I told you so.’”

This touched a nerve. He hated it when I attacked his nice-guy facade.

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fine. If you think I don’t care about you, then don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t! It’s not like you’d be able to protect me anyway, Pretty Boy.” I sneered, using Morgan’s nickname for him as an insult got to him, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared.

Hotch had to interject now. “Alright, (y/l/n), Reid, that’s enough. We need to focus on what’s actually important.”

I settled back down in my seat, facing forward and avoiding eye contact with Reid.

“Have fun on your date,” He muttered under his breath. “Hope you survive it.”

Bastard.

For the rest of the case, I was on edge. Deliberately avoiding him was a much harder task than one might think. I had to wait at least ten minutes for my coffee, so I wouldn’t be at the machine when he was there, and if I had to guess, he probably took longer just to make me wait in agitation. I had to awkwardly squeeze into a new spot beside Rossi and Hotch when we were delivering the profile. I had to ask not to travel in the same SUV as him.

And this exhausting routine went on for days. In fact, I’d managed to almost go the entire case without interacting with him. That was until Hotch sent us both in the field to apprehend the unsub.

“Are you sure?” I asked with clear reluctance.

“Are you questioning me?” Hotch replied sternly.

“No, sir.”

I was already on thin ice being the new recruit, so I knew better than to question any of Hotch’s orders. And as miserable as working with Reid was, I figured he’d at least ease up on the hostility when we needed to be professional. Evidently though, even in the field, he wasn’t willing to work together with me.

It was a quick decision, not careless in the least, however. The unsub had locked himself in his warehouse and refused to leave unless we were brave enough to drag him out of there ourselves. The ultimatum he gave specified that only one of us could do it and we both agreed that I should go in, seeing as he’d underestimate my strength as a woman, and I’d have the upperhand when I inevitably apprehended him.

However, he also explicitly told us that I couldn’t come in with a gun - it had to be an even playing field.

“You are not going in without a gun,” Reid ordered.

“We don’t have time to argue about this - I have a spare on me, okay? There are three hostages in there, two of which are children.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I handed him my gun and holster.

Had I let him waste a single second more of my time, we wouldn’t have been able to save the three hostages and successfully arrest the unsub. I saw this as a victory and I was almost willing to celebrate it with him, but it wasn’t long before he let our enmity tear us apart again.

When we got back to the precinct, I went to the locker room to change, then suddenly, Hotch came in.

“I’ve been informed that you went in unarmed against a fellow agent’s orders. This matter will be discussed in my office when we get back. I should warn you, (y/n), you do not want to make this mistake again.” Hotch left me with those foreboding words, and I knew, I knew immediately that Reid was to blame for this.

If I took a look in the mirror of my locker, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw that my face was turning a bright shade of red. I was fuming - bursting at the seams from the anger building within me that was desperately fighting to escape. I could imagine myself as a cartoon character with steam blowing out either of my ears. I was about to go on a rampage, and no one - absolutely no one - could stop me.

The last straw was hearing him come in. This was my opportunity to unleash what was already boiling.

“What the hell, Reid? ‘(y/n) went in unarmed.’ Seriously?!” I undid the velcro on my vest so hastily out of my blind rage that the spiky side of the velcro strip nearly sliced my finger. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“If that’s what it takes to make you realize how stupid of a choice that was, then yes, I do.” He was so calm and collected in his inflection that it angered me all the more.

“What are you even talking about? What ‘stupid choice’? You knew I had a second gun on me. And even if I didn’t carry it, I still would’ve had my vest on. I wasn’t going in unarmed or unprotected, so why would you tell Hotch that?”

“In the time it would take you to assess the danger, react, and then reach for the gun at your ankle, the unsub would’ve been able to shoot you twice - if not more. That’s going in unprepared, which is going in unarmed.”

I scoffed in disbelief that he was actually reprimanding me. “Are you kidding? This is all based on a technicality? Did your eidetic memory somehow forget about what happened with Maeve? Because my memory didn’t. I know for a fact that you went into that warehouse without a vest or a weapon. And unlike you, I had a spare and my vest. AND I actually apprehended the unsub. Did you stop Diane?”

This crossed a line and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back, and clearly, it was much too late to repair any relationship I had with him. We were far beyond the point of no return.

He was so mad that he didn’t even answer me. The only response I could gauge was from his body language, which by the looks of it, all the signs of anger were plain on his face. He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind. Even his nostrils flared so primitively. His eyes narrowed down at me with a glare that said, ‘I’m the predator and you’re the prey.’

“Yeah, exactly.” I spat when he stayed silent.

I turned around, starting towards the exit, but I was too furious to stop there, so I spun around and unleashed the remainder of my wrath that had been dying to come out.

“Look, I get it. I’m the new kid around here, and it sucks when someone new comes in and changes up the team dynamic, but any mistake I make, or any mistake Hotch thinks I make, could send me packing. You’ve been working in this unit for years, and even if Hotch questions your choices, he won’t reassign you. He won’t even threaten it. He’s willing to overlook your mistakes because he knows that what you have to contribute to the team is too vital to let go, but I haven’t even had my chance to show him what I have to offer. So when I do make a mistake, there is nothing for me to fall back on, nothing to redeem me, and no safety net, but you? You have years of experience on your back to break your fall. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a favor by reporting my ‘mistake’ to Hotch. You might be costing me my dream job, and if you think that makes us friends - think again.”

I stormed out of the locker room seeing red.

This war was far from over.

_ _ _

“You’re clenching your fists again,” Emily said under her breath. I was grateful that she said it in a hushed tone, otherwise she might’ve revealed my lingering anger to the whole jet, which wouldn’t have been good.

I immediately unclenched them, opening up my hands to reveal small, dark C shaped imprints on my palms from where my nails had dug into them.

I should’ve expected that she would’ve learned at least one of my tells by now. I did have many after all. Cheek biting, fist-clenching, leg bouncing.

“Something bothering you?” She probed quietly.

She set her book down to give her undivided attention to this conversation. That was enough to tell me that an excuse like, ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ would not suffice. She wouldn’t be satisfied until I told her the truth, which I surely did not want to tell. So I settled for a half-truth.

“Hotch wants to talk when we get back.”

From my peripherals, I saw her knit her brows together in confusion. “Is . . . is that it?”

“Mhm.” I lied.

“But that’s not enough to warrant the fist clenching. Cheek biting - sure - you do it when you’re anxious, but not fist-clenching. You only do that when you’re angry about something.”

“Oh, so you have figured out all my tells,” I smirked.

“Pfft, I figured them all out the first week you got here, but I won’t tell you the rest, otherwise you might try and hide them from me,” She joked.

I shook my head playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worked up about something - it’s nothing you need to worry about though.” Habitually, my eyes looked right up in his direction. I caught a glimpse of him sprawled against the couch, sleeping. He was lucky I wasn’t ranting about the little stunt he pulled earlier to Emily. He should be thankful that I was even trying to protect his reputation to her at all.

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help. Take it from me, someone who really only trusts myself, you shouldn’t hide what you feel.”

What you feel.

I clung onto those words.

What was I really feeling?

Was I upset that instead of receiving praise for the arrest I made, I was scolded like a child? Was I angry that Hotch believed what Reid had to say about my “problematic behavior” instead of believing in me?

Or did I feel betrayed that despite my best efforts to build a bridge, Reid was tearing it apart brick by brick? Burning it to pieces with the fire of his rage?

“Thanks.” I bleakly said to Emily. I would’ve told her the truth, but it didn’t feel necessary at that moment. If anything, it just would’ve reflected badly on me.

Truthfully, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the BAU, and if I wanted a permanent spot here, I needed to make more of them - and fast.

“Hey, (y/n), we’re all going down to O’Keefs tonight to celebrate. You wanna join us?” Morgan asked, walking up the aisle and crouching down beside my seat to talk to me.

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to talk with Hotch when we get back,” I explained, smiling politely.

“We can postpone the meeting till first thing Monday morning. I need to go home and be with Jack, anyway,” Hotch added.

I didn’t realize he could hear me from where he was sitting, which made me all the more nervous that he might’ve overheard the entire conversation between me and Emily earlier.

“Looks like I’m free,” I looked back at Morgan. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks.” He winked.

Judging from the lightness of the atmosphere, everyone, except maybe Hotch and Rossi, would be celebrating at O’Keefs - including Spencer.

I think I might’ve actually preferred to be scolded by Hotch tonight, instead of being silently glared at by Spencer, but it was already too late to revoke my confirmation of presence.

Because, if Hotch could hear me from where he was sitting, then Spencer could, too.

He already heard I was coming, and there was no way I was backing down.

_ _ _

In spite of the fact that I could barely hear myself think over the loud chatter and blasting music, I could still feel the rage radiating off of Spencer. You would think with how long his nap was on the jet, he wouldn’t be so cranky, but I guess he just couldn’t sleep off his disdain for me after our minor altercation.

I wondered if the team could see it, too. The way he was burning a hole into me with his fiery stare. The tension was palpable, as it has always been, but remember - I’m not the one who wanted it that way.

He started this. I was only making the feeling mutual.

“So what about you, (y/n)? Are you seeing anyone?”

I tried to hide my growing smirk behind the rim of my beer, but I knew I couldn’t hide much from them. Of course, right across from me, Spencer was glaring at me expectantly, waiting for the answer he already knew.

“Oooh, look at her - she’s blushing! Spill.” Penelope ordered, beating her palm on the table so enthusiastically it shook all the drinks on it.

“Well, there’s this one guy I’ve been seeing for a while,” The second I started speaking, I noticed Spencer rolling his eyes. I figured his apprehension was the only response of its kind that I would receive, but I was very mistaken.

“How did you two meet?” Penelope giddily asked, nearly jumping up and down in her seat.

“A dating app, actually.”

The table went completely silent, and I immediately felt my stomach drop. It was as if I’d just said something very wrong. With just a quick glance in front of me, Spencer was basking in this.

What a dick.

Emily hesitated to ask. “...Have you two met in person before?”

Now it was my turn to hesitate to speak. “No, not yet.”

I took another sip of my drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to hide any part of my face I could to shield myself from the five sets of eyes burning holes into me now, rather than just the one. Trying to make matters better, I spoke all too quickly, nearly sputtering on my beer. “I’m completely safe, though. Nothing sketchy’s going on, I promise.”

“Of course,” JJ agreed. “We totally trust you,” neglecting to attach the cliche, ‘It’s him we don’t trust.’ But if she had, it would’ve spoken everyone’s bubble thoughts right about now.

“Just be careful, mama.” Derek’s response felt the most sincere, and I honestly believed he was happy for me, but it didn’t change how much their judgement initially stung.

For the rest of the night, I didn’t talk. No one noticed.

Except maybe the last person I wanted to notice.

I quietly slipped away somewhere in the night when the conversation was at its highest precisely so they wouldn’t question where I was going or if I was okay. If they had asked, the truthful answer to the former would’ve been ‘just outside to get some air’ and the latter ‘no.’

The cool breeze drifted through the door like rising fog and for the briefest moment in time, I felt suspended in the space around me - I’d finally caught my breath. That feeling wouldn’t last long, though.

I’d intentionally gone outside to compose myself until I came back a person who wasn’t on the verge of tears, but apparently, trying to pull myself only resulted in my falling apart. A ball of yarn unraveling is the closest comparison I can draw to what I must’ve looked like, crying quietly on the street.

“I figured I’d find you here.”

It was the mere sound of someone’s voice that shocked me, but it was the person whose voice it was that led to the frustration that followed.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to the team of people who also agree with you about Grant?”

He was too much of a nuisance to warrant exchanging eye contact with so I simply stared forward as I spoke and wiped the tears away that were still pooling on my lower lash line. I hoped he hadn’t actually seen me crying, but from what I could tell, he was probably standing there long before he said something. And if he was truly looking at me as deeply as it felt like right now, then he’d have noticed my bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and unending sniffling.

“Is that why you disappeared back there? Because you’re upset they didn’t exactly like the idea of your relationship?” The pain in the ass really tried, he really tried to get me to look at him by facing me and making these gestures with his hands that should’ve gotten my attention, but instead, I stayed put leaning against the wall, keeping my line of sight straight ahead.

“(Y/n), they weren’t insulting you or judging you -”

“Then why did it feel like it?” For the first time since he’d joined me, I’d looked at him. I didn’t even mean to and I had every intention of denying him that privilege for the entire duration of our conversation, but as soon as I asked him my question, we locked eyes, and I saw it written all over his face.

He felt sorry for me.

Now, he could clearly make out how distraught I was from this unobstructed view of my face that was kindled by the dim, flickering yellow glow of the streetlight beside us. And he kept staring, looking into my eyes to read me just as easily and just as quickly as he read a book.

“All we want is for you to be safe,” His voice crackled momentarily, and it actually touched some part of me for how genuine it sounded. “We weren’t trying to judge you or to insult you, and I’m sorry if it felt that way, but if we want your safety, and you tell us about something that could be potentially harmful, then of course we’re going to be apprehensive about it. That’s how people that care about you should react.”

“So are you saying that I don’t care about myself because I’m engaging in something risky?” Isn’t that the most ironic statement of this year? The definition of our job was risky, and even if this wasn’t the safest relationship on the planet, it was nothing like what we put ourselves through everyday being in the field.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“So what are you saying?” I dared. He shook his head and sighed like he was about to give up, but I needed an answer. “No, please, do continue. Finish what you were gonna say. Since you apparently know everything, 187. Please go ahead - tell me what you think I should do.”

Tell me what you really came out here to say, I ordered him with my eyes.

“I think I respect you more than you respect yourself, and that’s really saying something. Because if you actually liked yourself as much as I do, then you would realize that subjecting yourself to this nonsensicality of a long-distance relationship is not only dangerous - but insulting to your worth, too. You deserve more than that, (y/n).” He couldn’t have been clearer when he murmured a low and firm, “Much more.”

The world was spinning on its axis too fast for me to process anything he said before snapping back at him. “So what exactly is it you want me to do?”

With utmost clarity in both annunciation and intention, he told me, “Break up with him.”

Not a shadow of a doubt in his words.

Then, like the phantom of the opera himself, he vanished back into the bar, but even if he had stayed, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to him. I was simply rendered speechless.

Circling back to my previous argument, I questioned once more why was it any of his business anyway? I was allowed to do as I pleased and I most certainly did not have to listen to him. And I didn’t.

But I should’ve.

_ _ _

My Monday morning meeting with Hotch wasn’t nearly as fire and brimstone as I thought it would be. It did however feel like the equivalent to an “I’m disappointed in you” parent speech. In some ways, I related to the average teen who was grounded. Except instead of my phone being taken away, it was my freedom. From now on, I could only follow executive orders that had been given to me. At least for the time being.

It was clear that, deep down, some part of Hotch knew what I’d done was the right call, but he couldn’t give me any favors. Not until they were deserved on my end.

Walking onto the jet after our meeting, however, felt more juvenile than the punishment itself. I was a kid again, re-entering my classroom after using the restroom, only to have all eyes on me as I came through the door.

As per usual, the only empty chair was next to Reid. There’d been too many instances of this happening to think it was just a coincidence. At this point, I had to assume it was by design. Whose design however? That I didn’t know.

“Hello, trouble,” He sang when I took my seat.

I could only assume that this new nickname was based on what took place in Hotch’s office - thanks to him, need I remind you - but I didn’t care to know the origin because that would require talking to him, and for several reasons, that was the last thing I wanted to do. The first of which was what happened less than three days ago. An event we both hadn’t mentioned yet, and I hoped we never would.

I took every preventative measure in the book. I changed seats with JJ. I moved to the couch. I even started reading in the little hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom of the jet to avoid sitting beside him, but against all my best efforts, he always found a way to bug me. When there’s a will, there’s a way. After exhausting any real reason he had to talk to me, he had to get creative.

“You’ve been on that same page for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” I heard him say when he walked up to the kitchen to reach for the pot of coffee. Almost expecting I’d ask him what he meant, he added the explanation casually. “It never takes you more than three minutes and twelve seconds to move onto the next page. So either you’re not understanding the material or you’re not actually reading.”

It was utterly hilarious of him to imply that either of those things were definitely the answer. “What if I’m just taking my time reading this page, genius? Ever thought of that?”

His eyes turned into slits as he leaned in closer to examine me. “You’re blinking rate just increased, too.”

“Stop!” I screeched childishly, pushing him away by his shoulders in an attempt to get him off my back, but he was far from off my back. No, he was right against it. More specifically, his hand was on the small of it.

Leaning in so close that his lips were practically pressing on the shell of my ear, he whispered, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

He didn’t need to know his words or actions had any sort of effect on me, so I kept the most stoic facial expression on, and I didn’t say a single thing back. He turned back around to leave with the hand on my back being the last thing to go. His lingering touch caused a shiver to run down my spine while paradoxically burning my body from the friction.

I was disgusted with myself for having let him elicit any sort of reaction from me, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

“Yeah ... well, d-don’t expect that to be anytime soon,” was my poor attempt at a retort to shut him up.

“Whatever you say, trouble.”

_ _ _

Personal space can be a wonderful thing. Much less so when it’s invaded, however.

After what felt like the longest flight ever, all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. My wishes were granted when I was able to wash off the stress and exhaustion and slip into a blush pink satin pajama set Grant sent me that I’d been meaning to wear. The plunging neck of the tank top was lined with lace and adorned with the tiniest little bow at the center. To match the shirt, the hem of the shorts were lined with lace that trailed up the small triangular slits on the side of the shorts, where at the vertex of them was the same little bow detail. For such a pure and innocent color as baby pink, you’d think it’d be somewhat less revealing. The longer I started at myself in the mirror while wearing it, the more aware I’d become of the intentions behind why Grant had sent it.

How cute, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Gifts should always be appreciated, if for no other reason than the effort put into it, but this just felt slimy. There was obviously no valiant romantic intent behind the negligee, which spoiled the delight of receiving something out of the blue from him. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even sure how to thank him for something like this.

Me: thank you for the pajamas. they’re so cute!

Lying was easier over text message, in case you were wondering what the perks of a long distance relationship were.

Grant: good, I’m glad you like them. are you wearing them right now?

But sometimes, when you should lie, you don’t. And you regret it later on - take it from me.

Me: yeah, they’re super comfy

Grant: great! i wanna see them on! take a pic

As if to compensate for the indisputable hatred I had for this lingerie and what it stood for in our relationship, I did the only thing I could think that would make him think I really liked them. That I felt good in them.

I took pictures - not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, Yelp review pictures, though - provocative ones.

In the same breath I went to take them, though, Spencer’s words rang through my head.

You deserve more than that. Much more.

Shaking off the thought of Spencer, I decided against what the little voice in my head that sounded too similar to his would’ve said.

To add to the illusion, I situated myself within the hotel sheets and used the front camera to capture my chest that was very much on display in this top. In the middle of rolling around the bed, trying to find the angles that wouldn’t show my face of dejection, the door opened.

Instantaneously, I clawed at the sheets until they wrapped around me like a towel. I was ashamed to admit they provided more coverage than these ‘pajamas’ did.

My shriek of shock must’ve sounded familiar to the stranger intruding on me because no sooner did I scream than they questioned, “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing in here?” I grumbled, struggling to maintain a tight enough grip on the sheets that would keep them from falling and unveiling a sight I desperately did not want him to see.

“I asked you first.”

Boy, if you only knew how badly I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “This is my hotel room obviously. Your turn.”

Returning just the same tone, inflection, and vocals, he imitated me. “This is my hotel room obviously.” Like one of those magic tricks he’d show Henry or Jack, he miraculously flashed a room key between his index and middle finger that wasn’t there before.

“No, that’s impossible.”

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” That damn smirk was still there when he asked this. Maybe, just maybe, if it hadn’t been so condescending, I would’ve thought his sarcasm was ... attractive. Disgusting, I know.

“Well, if you actually plan on staying here, then you’re sleeping on the floor or the couch, got it?”

My question went unanswered until I turned around to follow where he’d traveled in the time that I spent pondering how this happened. Now perched at the window, sitting on the arm of the chair in a way that chairs weren’t meant to be sat on, he continued to stare silently at me.

“What? What is it?” I urged.

“What’s going on with the …” He made a side to side sweeping motion with his key card. “Bed sheets?”

Consciously, I shimmied the fabric further up my body. Seeing as there was virtually no way to escape an honest answer, I confessed. “If you must know ... I’m wearing p-pajamas.” My own body was rejecting the shameful admission causing the word to stumble out of my mouth.

He didn’t need to know any more than that to gather what kind of garments they were. He already figured it out.

“Did Grant give them to you?”

I almost rolled my eyes at the implication. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I know you,” He punctuated every word perfectly. “And I know that you wear big shirts and sweatpants to bed because you don’t see the point of spending money on clothes that are only made for you to sleep in - especially if they’re clothes that make you uncomfortable like these ones clearly do.”

Although, I greatly despised the fact that there was even a little bit of a chance that I might’ve agreed with him, I still defended Grant. “It was a thoughtful gesture.”

“Thoughtful, right,” He scoffed. “And which head was he thinking with?”

I was baffled he had the gall to say such an innuendo. “Spencer!”

How dare he? So what if Grant bought me something provocative because he was physically attracted to me? At least someone was.

Despite the ferocity plain on his face, he chose not to pursue this conversation. Visibly biting back on words he knew would hurt me, Spencer managed to sound remarkably genuine when he promised me, “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

I want you to, was my very first thought. Oh, God, that’s so fucked up, was my second.

He underlined his sincerity by turning fully around until he was facing the window. “But we should probably put the sheets back on the bed if you plan on sleeping on it.”

He was so patient as he waited for me to remove the cloth from my body. It almost made me feel guilty. He didn’t grumble or gripe, nor did he pressure me to do it at all. So by rights, there should’ve been no reason for me to take so long to let the barrier fall - he wasn’t looking at me. But I was just so goddamn embarrassed.

This wasn’t me, and even he knew that.

“You can turn around now,” I mumbled quietly once my safety net of a bedsheet had abandoned me. My arms were crossed over my chest and my thighs were pressed so tightly against each other as if to limit the surface area that Spencer could scrutinize.

That never came.

He did look, I could tell that much. But it wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t rage or annoyance or pity. It was a look of lust.

A look that made me positively weak in the knees. A look far more sensual than even my racy garments.

“I’ll just sleep in Morgan’s room tonight, okay?” He offered once he finally broke out of his incapacitation. Grabbing the two opposite corners of the sheets that I was holding, it was a team effort as we arranged the covers where they belonged. It was probably the longest period of time we’d ever worked together without fighting or talking at all for that matter..

Not a single word was exchanged between us while Spencer gathered his things to leave for Derek’s. The room started to feel dangerously empty in the stillness.

When he slipped past me to make his way out, I caught his upper arm, successfully pulling him back around.

I could’ve been sweet, I should’ve. But that wasn’t our thing. So I settled for what came naturally to us and what would set off the least amount of red flags - I didn’t play nice. “As long as you promise not to hog the entire bed with your behemoth body, we can sleep together -” Catching the words as soon as they came out and what they could’ve implied, I began backtracking. “Sleep in the same bed. Sleep as in rest. Not sleep as in … anything else.”

Then, in one of those rare moments- he laughed. He actually laughed. Like a real, hearty, sudden laugh. “I know what you meant, (y/n).”

I’ll never forget the smile that followed the world’s greatest laugh either.

Oh, God, I’m so fucked up.

_ _ _

Spencer’s POV

Domesticated animals are smarter than we give them credit for. Studies have shown that pets can actually sense time; They know when it’s time for their owner to leave for the day and when they’ll be coming home, too.

Animals aren’t dumb - and neither was I.

Like a dog sniffing out their owner’s imminent absence in the home, I could tell (y/n) was leaving the hotel room for the night. If her current state wasn’t convincing enough, then her behavior throughout the entire day supported that theory just as well.

Whether it was her phone, the clock on the wall, or her watch, she was evidently keeping a close eye on the time. She did it so often, though, that you would think she would just use simple deductions to figure out what time it was by estimating the time it was when she last checked, but nope. She rarely let more than a minute go by without monitoring the clock.

My suspicions didn’t end there. What’s more suggestive was the anxious fidgeting. She had her tells of anxiety - everyone does - but this was a level of stress I’d never seen her exhibit before, not even in the field.

She kept cracking her knuckles, even when she’d exhausting all the popping noises she could from them. Her leg-bobbing was another big tell, too. I tend to sit on tables rather than in the chairs at said table, allowing me to feel the earthquake occurring on the precinct floor. Her leg was bouncing up and down so vigorously it was practically shaking the room.

I would’ve asked her what she was so impatient about, but I feared I already knew the answer.

Grant.

And if I never heard that name roll off her tongue again, it would be too soon.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t ask where she was going, though.

Pretending to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I barely let my eyes venture far off the page when I loudly asked from the window seat, “So where are you going tonight, trouble?”

The faintest sound of a chuckle erupted in the bathroom, most likely from the nickname I hadn’t let die yet.

“Nunya,” was her ever-so mature answer.

I didn’t want to give her the chance to say ‘nunya business’ like I knew she would, so I quickly interjected with a monotone, “How clever of you.” If she wanted to be a child about this, then so be it.

“Let’s see. You brought your good heels out of your suitcase, which you only wear on special occasions. And you put on a different perfume than the one you usually use, so I’m assuming it’s new. ... If I didn’t know any better, trouble, I’d say you’re going on a date.”

She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re creepy, you know that?”

Seeing the small portion of her face that was embellished with a smile would’ve been enough if only I knew what dress she was hiding in behind that wall. I had yet to see that part of her ensemble, but if I had to guess, it would break my heart.

“Just saying,” I casually lied while clearing my throat.

“Well,” I heard her begin from within the bathroom. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Grant is meeting me tonight.”

Kill me now.

“I thought Grant lived in D.C.” Not that that would change much if he was already here.

“Yes, he does, but he’s driving all the way here to meet me. Seeee,” She drew out the word. “Would a serial killer do that?”

I refrained from giving the obvious answer: Yes.

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on bringing him back here. Otherwise, that’d be terribly awkward, don’t you think?” My allusion to the possibility that Grant would come back here to find me in her bed was borne from the intentions that were a complete contradiction to the words I’d just spoken. It, in fact, wouldn’t be terribly awkward. No, it would be fun. For me at least.

I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, and the worry on hers as she tried to explain who I was and why I had any right to be in (y/n)’s gravity.

The room went silent again while I stayed on the same page of my book and, unbeknownst to her, waited for her to enter the room. How long she was taking was starting to worry me, though.

“Need any help in there?” I called out.

“Nope,” She said through a strained voice that proved she was indeed struggling with something.

“Really?” I asked once more to give her another opportunity to lower her colossal pride. “Cause it sounds like you need help.”

“Nope. I’m good.” Liar.

I knew her too well. I counted down to the exact second when she finally scrambled to ask, “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

“Yyyup.” I’d already resigned to the fact that I would have to help her, bouncing happily off the bed when she finally admitted it and letting myself lose the page I was on as I tossed the book haphazardly behind me.

I was forced to join her in the bathroom for it was already hard for her to humble herself enough to ask me for help, so she certainly couldn’t be expected to lower her pride again and walk out to a place more convenient for me.

The first thing I noticed was that it was a space clearly not made for two. It was so cramped that I ended up right against her in order to fit. The second thing I noticed was how she made no movements to distance herself. She was so close to me that I could actually see the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up from where my breath ghosted on the area. The sterile smell of hotel bathrooms had been replaced by the flowery, aromatic scent of her new perfume, and my heart broke all over again.

Using the back of my fingers, I cast a barely-there caress on her neck to stroke her hair out of the way to clear the path of the zipper. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up again.

She liked that.

“So do I get to know where you’re going?” I reached for the zipper on the small of her back. “For safety purposes, of course.”

“Aww, you looking out for me, Dr. Reid?” She teased in a seductive tone while gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail that for the shortest second recorded in time might’ve reminded me of a constantly recurring intrusive image.

“Always, trouble.”

The zipper fastened with absolutely no resistance all the way to the top. My eyes flashed to the mirror to catch her expression, which told me everything I needed to know.

What a pretty little liar. She didn’t actually need my help.

Comprehending that the realization dawned on me, she gave me what she knew would shut me up. “We’re going to The Rooftop at Lamont’s.”

How effortlessly she slipped past me without a thank you or a glance in my direction served as a rude awakening.

“Well, you should take an umbrella with you. It looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight.” This was my small way of coming to terms with the reality of the situation.

“Eh,” She waved my suggestion off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t even think about stalking me!” She warned before exiting the room.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone - my peace of mind having left with her.

_ _ _

The amount of sleep you need varies for each person and is affected by several factors. However, for most adults, 7–9 hours per night is the ideal amount. And I was slowly reducing that optimal quantity, hour by hour, until there was none left.

I would continue to sacrifice my sleep so long as I was awake for her return. If she’d asked why I was still up, I would lie. Though I wouldn’t look half so pretty as she did when she lied.

Losing rest seemed like such a small price to pay to make sure I was fully alert in the event that an emergency happened, even if I would suffer the consequences in the morning. But hey - that’s what caffeine is for, isn’t it? To re-energize oneself after staying up to guarantee one’s enemy’s safety.

Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why Kaldi invented coffee in 750 A.D.

Besides the thunderstorm, my mind also made great company for situations like these. Granted, the visions it would project kept me up for a reason - they were all so awful.

There was simply no projected reality where things would turn out alright.

If she had the time of her life on her date, she would come back to throw it in my face that I’d been wrong, and her admiration for Grant would have deepened.

Or if he stood her up, she’d be devastated, but instead of letting me console her, she’d push me away as easily as she always did.

In a more neutral instance, perhaps she would admit it wasn’t as great meeting him as she thought it would be and the relationship would fade out for innocent reasons. Even if that seemed like the most favorable circumstance, she would eventually grow to resent me for planting the seed of doubt in her head in the first place.

But nothing- nothing I could have imagined would be as treacherous as what actually happened.

At exactly 1:09 a.m, my phone started to ring. I can’t explain to you what it was, but I just knew - it was her calling, and it wasn’t even her number.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?”

If she said something beforehand, I couldn’t hear her because the storm was too loud and her voice was too quiet. “Did I wake you up?”

I reassured her with a tone I didn’t even recognize. “No, no. I was awake. Why? What’s up?” The line went quiet again, forcing me to prompt her to speak in order to find out if she was still there on the call. “(Y/n)?”

“Spencer ...” She choked out a hoarse sob. “I need you. I need you to come get me, please.”

My eyes clenched shut at the dreadful sound of her sorrow, and I jolted into action. After scrambling to gather the keys to her car that she’d left behind, I fled the room faster than ever before.

“I’m on my way, (y/n). Stay right there. You’re at The Rooftop at Lamont’s right?”

The poor thing took the longest pause in history, either from shame or disorientation. “He threw me in the back of his car and drove me all the way to D.C. I …” Her breath caught on her dry throat again. “I, um, I managed to escape and now I’ve barricaded myself in a payphone booth. I haven’t called the police yet. You were the first person I thought to call. I just, I just needed to hear your voice.”

My knuckles turned an unfamiliar shade of white when I gripped the steering wheel, picturing her caged up in a rectangular box, dialing my number instead of 911 just so she could hear my voice.

“Everything is gonna be okay. I promise you. My ETA is 1:28. That’s in 19 minutes. Are you okay being there for that long or do you want to find somewhere safer?”

I could no longer distinguish the difference between talking to her right now and talking to a victim in distress. I was speaking with the same tone and inflection but feeling a sharp pain in my chest that wasn’t there before.

“I can stay here. Just ... don’t hang up, okay?” The fact that the possibility of me abandoning her over the phone even crossed her mind was more than enough to get me to drive well over the speed limit.

The list of traffic infractions only grew from there because honestly? Screw my safety or anyone else’s. Her’s was the only one that mattered. She was the priority.

She was my priority.

Throughout the entire call, I kept repeating, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Frankly, it was something we both needed to hear.

It was both the fastest and slowest 19 minutes of my life. Time no longer felt real when I finally found the payphone booth that boxed in my troublesome girl. No sooner did I drive up to the sidewalk than I ran out of the car to sprint the short distance to free her from her coop.

“(Y/n)!” I shouted, swinging the door open and throwing caution to the wind in the process. Immediately, she dropped the phone, not even bothering to replace it onto its receiver.

The pouring rain had stripped her of her dignity. Mascara ran down her face in pigmented streams of black. Her curled hair was dampened into strings. But worse of all, it hadn’t washed away the darkening bruises on her skin.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She cried as she ran into my open arms.

Her body collided with mine in such a gentle manner that I had to wonder how that was possible at all or if it was a figment of my imagination. Was our collision actually that gentle or did it seem that way because of how good it felt to have her arms and legs latch around my entire torso, crossing and connecting somewhere in between?

With one arm under her thighs to hold her up, I pulled her impossibly closer to me by cradling the back of her head with the other hand.

Her small hands found their way into my hair, a new sensation I tried not to indulge in so as not to let my attention stray away from the little life I was holding in my arms.

She was so cold.

Shivering from my warm embrace, her teeth chattered as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spencer. You were right I should’ve listened -”

“Shh, it’s okay, (y/n),” I said with the hopes that I could make the pounding heart that was thumping against my shoulder settle down until it reached her standard heart rate of 67 beats per minute.

After a second of just holding her wordlessly, she spoke again.

“I don’t wanna fight.” She surrendered so easily to me that I could hardly believe this was her at all.

“I don’t wanna fight with you either.”

That was entirely true. Fighting with her was the last thing on my mind. The first was getting her into my car.

It was easier that I imagined it would be, but then again, it’s easy to do things when you’re motivated in this way.

Before I loosened my hold on her to shut the passenger door, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if to be absolutely certain this was real and not some cruel dream.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the crook of my neck. From where her shoulder was digging into my throat, I couldn’t exactly respond verbally, so I settled for rubbing my hand up and down her back comfortingly.

“Let’s take you home,” I basically said to myself seeing as it was too quiet to be discernible.

“No,” She shook her head rapidly. “Take me to your apartment.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right now. I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

My apartment is closer than the hotel, I reasoned, pretending it was the logic of it that made my heart swell and not the statement I would fixate on for the entire duration of the ride there.

I need to be somewhere I feel safe.

And that’s wherever I’m with you.

_ _ _

Reader’s POV

Porcelain wall tiles gleamed back at me, mocking my wretched misery. They were much prettier than me, but then again, anything else would be prettier than me right about now.

I certainly wasn’t the belle of the ball in my bare naked state. The fact that I was sitting in a pool of my own washed off dried blood didn’t help either.

I would’ve looked away from the bright white walls, but where else were I to look? Into the pair of eyes that I was deliberately avoiding? The ones that were staring a hole through me right now? No. I couldn’t bear to meet those eyes. So I kept looking forward at the mean walls - those mean, mocking walls.

“Is the water warm enough?” He asked, dipping a finger into the bathwater to test it himself.

I watched as his hand snuck into the tub and swirled around some water, causing soap bubbles to revitalize.

For a reason I didn’t know nor could remember at this given moment, Spencer drove me to his apartment. That memory of why I was here was fuzzy, but the rest following my arrival was more vivid. Perhaps because it was all unfolding right now.

“I think I should go,” I murmured. The bathwater had gone cold, and the silence was too deafening. If I didn’t leave now, then I would be trapped forever.

I leaned forward with my knees still pressed to my chest to protect my modesty while I tugged on the silver drain plug of the tub to release the suction.

“You can’t go home. You’ll be alone again, and who will be there to help you that time?”

“I don’t need anybody’s help.” I responded curtly.

“Then why did you call me tonight?”

“Why did you answer?”

He was stunned by how I didn’t miss a beat with my question, stunned enough to purse his lips in contempt. “Should I have declined your call then? Said ‘no’ instead and let you fend for yourself? You know what - my bad, (y/n). I sincerely apologize that I care about you.”

I scoffed at his factiousness. “No, what you should’ve done is whatever the hell you wanted to do. But clearly, since you said ‘yes’ and came to my rescue like I’m some victim in a case - you wanted to be there. I could chalk that up to you having a hero complex, but I think it’s time for you to admit you just wanted to see me at my worst so you could throw it in my face like you’re doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw in fury, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve left you in that booth.”

This crossed a line, but I was just as ready to cross it, too.

“But I bet you liked saving me. Seeing me as a damsel in distress that you could white knight. You like that, Spence? Does my weakness settle your deep rooted fear of inadequacy in strength?”

Shouldn’t have done that.

For a second there, I was sincerely scared of the response I might’ve just elicited, so I shot up from the tub and grabbed the towel on the rack, quickly wrapping myself in it and avoiding Spencer’s gaze the entire way out of the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Judging from the loudness of his voice, he was right on my heels, following me close behind.

“You’re smart. Figure it out.”

“God, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass? I don’t want to leave you like this.” It never failed to amaze me how he could both show disdain and concern for me in the matter of a sentence.

“Well, you’re not leaving me like this - I’m leaving you like this.” My clever remark angered him more.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Spencer called out from the end of his hallway, “What are you so scared of?”

Reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I spun around to throw my arms out to my side in just the same defensive manner as he did. “Nothing! Maybe I just don’t wanna be stuck in the apartment of the man who hates me! Can you blame me?”

He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pulling at the strands out of pure irritation. “Why do you keep saying I hate you? How can any of what I’ve done for you tonight suggest that?”

He’d chosen his words carefully and for that, he was smart. His inclusivity of the word ‘tonight’ meant I could only reference his actions from the past few hours, which wouldn’t help my case, as opposed to the months and months that he’d given me the cold shoulder, which would have helped my case. But again, he was smart - he had me in a deadlock. I couldn’t accept defeat, but what could I possibly argue against his point?

My body literally shook from the power of the deep groan that tore through my chest. “God, what do you want from me, Spencer?” I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from him, but my body was resisting all those urges. Lunging forward, I pointed the sternest index finger at him, staring the most unforgiving glare into his soul. “Tell me - tell me what you want! Because when I was nice to you, you-you treated me like shit. And then when I stopped being nice to you, you still treated me like shit. So what -” I had to laugh to alleviate the sheer rage I was feeling. “What the fuck do you want from me? Because it’s like no matter what I do, it’s just not good enough for you!”

His eyebrows had furrowed and his eyes softened. He didn’t look angry whatsoever. No, he looked hurt.

“Not good enough for me?” He leaned down to my level to look right into my eyes. “You are everything … everything to me.”

With one last breath, I cried out in anguish, “Then why? Why do you hate me so much?”

He gulped back the lump in his throat - the last barrier that kept him from telling the truth.

“I ... I never hated you. I just need to be in control of my thoughts and feelings at all times, otherwise, I feel-I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m on the verge of a psychotic break that I’m genetically predisposed to have. But when you came around - I lost all my control. You were inhabiting my dreams, you were stealing my sleep, occupying more and more space in my brain until there was no more room left to take. God, I think about you all the time, and I literally cannot physically stop it. I have no control anymore,” and somehow him saying that sounded something like an ‘I love you.’

“The only thing I could control was how I treated you. I thought being awful to you would get you to despise me enough to make me despise you, too, and while it was easier to be angry at you, it was so much worse having you hate me.”

“I never hated you, Spencer.” Never.

“You should have,” He rasped. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I wish to spend every day proving that I want you. Oh, I want you so bad,” He sharply inhaled through gritted teeth, and I unconsciously laughed in return. His pain wasn’t funny in the least. What was amusing was knowing that he had the same excruciating longing for me that I had for him.

“I don’t want control anymore if it means I can’t have you.”

He leaned in so carefully that I almost didn't register the movement at all. Our hearts were pounding to the same synchronized beat. We were the shore and the tide one in the same. Our breaths would draw in and out, in and out, as he held my face so gently. We were still the shore and the tide, but more than anything we were drowning in the ocean of ourselves. The rising waters of his admiration threatened to flood every empty nook and cranny of the room until it swallowed me whole. All I could feel was him, everywhere, filling absolutely everything.

“Wow ... I finally got you speechless,” The cocky bastard hummed happily, letting his words vibrate on the smallest part of my lip.

“Oh, shut up,” I declared through a smirk I needed to fight off before finally closing that nearly imperceptible gap between us.

All the forces in the world couldn’t tear us apart after we connected. They were no match for the force Spencer’s hands had as they pulled me impossibly closer. The pressure might’ve even been unbearable had it not been for the velvety pair of lips giving me back all the oxygen it stole from my lungs just seconds ago. They were so soft, like freshly washed sheets, like biting into cotton candy, like floating for the first time, feeling utterly weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet.

Not nearly as sweet as the words that followed our parting.

“Not enough for me?” He repeated, recalling my previous claim. “You’ve had me since the day you walked in, trouble.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fingers crossed this fic doesn’t flop!

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#spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid kiss #fighting fire with fire #juniorgman187 #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years

Note

please write something about soft micah and how he secretly shows affection in camp? btw love your work!!

i've returned from my holiday ya'll 😌😌and so i thought i'd start it off with some soft micah. this ask was so fun and for reference i rewatched one of my favourite films 'Sabrina' (1954) and the soundtrack to that kinda gave me some inspo for this fic so i hope you can enjoy it! it's gender neutral and i just wanted to do something light hearted and fun to return to writing. thank u anon for this ask <3333

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It was celebration in camp, not unlike Sean’s return party however this time the gang was celebrating the success of a large train job which took almost the entire gang to successfully pull off.

Sean was dancing on the table, trying to teach Lenny (YnneL?) how to Irish dance while Uncle was proclaiming to a small crowd how he knew the secrets of being an amazing lover.

Everyone was singing and dancing to either Javier’s playing or Hosea’s old folk songs. There was boxes of liquor in every nook and cranny and it was being drunk faster than it was being poured. It seems that there wasn’t a soul having fun…

There was one exception to that matter however, and that was the broody Micah Bell who saw no intentions in getting involved and instead chose to sharpen his already sharp knife. From where you stood, you could see him mumbling under his breath and having known him for long enough you knew he mumbled when he was moody.

You stood from the crate you were sitting on, dodging a very drunk Bill to make you way over to him. Your hand came to hold his chin, tilting his gaze from the knife to your soft smile.

“Hey there…”

Micah perks up slightly, but you still notice his tired eyes and the slight sheet of sweat over his temple. Behind Micah you see Molly and Dutch as well as (and very surprisingly) John and Abigail slow dancing to the gramophone in Dutch’s tent.

“Common, come and dance with me.”

Your other hand that’s not holding his chin takes his hand in yours but Micah’s always been a stubborn one.

“Now sweetheart, ya know I ain’t one for dancing. Why don’t you go ask a charmer like Arthur to dance with ya.”

You sigh and playfully roll your eyes as Micah puffs his chest out, thinking he’s too tough for dancing.

“Well for one, Arthur ain’t my sweetheart, you are dummy and secondly I don’t want dance with anyone but you.”

Micah flipped the knife between his fingers before holstering it, mumbling about dancing being a pain in his ass but you both knew how much he secretly loved it. He stood, shuffling with his gun belt and begrudgingly took your hand as you lead him to stand between the two couples already dancing.

A soft kiss was placed on your hand before Micah placed a hand around your waist and walk in slow circles with you. Pretty much everyone had stopped to stare at the two of you but you didn’t have a care in the world as Micah clumsily twirled you in his arms. You couldn’t help the giggle that left you and it certainly caused a large blush to form high on his cheeks.

“Darlin’ it seems some folks are staring”

By now your extravagant dancing had slowed to a soft and slow swaying as you just took in each other, although you could tell Micah was still nervous about making a mistake while so many people were staring by the way his eyes were glued to his feet. Your cheek came to press along side his own, feeling his prickly facial hair as you closed your eyes and hummed close to his ear. The hand that was draped over his shoulder came to tangle in his hair and rub slow circles on the base of his neck.

“Hmm… let them stare—“

You drew back from Micah, giving his hand a squeeze as you looked at him with all the love and adoration in the world.

“—Micah I wouldn’t care if the whole world was watching, as long as your eyes are on me I am the happiest person in the world.”

You knew everyone could hear you and you certainly knew everyone was watching but you leaned in and gave a soft but extravagant kiss to Micah’s cheek and then his lips as both your arms came to sit around his neck.

His hands moved to your waist, holding you against him tightly as if you’d ever let him go.

“Ain’t gonna be looking at anyone else beside ya sweetheart— love ya too much.”

“Oh Micah, I love you too”

You spent the better half of an hour dancing slowly with each other and giggling like children at some of the sights around you. John had gotten frustrated at one point, making Abigail storm off but Molly and Dutch were still in their own little world much like you were.

The two of you couldn’t help but laugh as Bill tried to sweet talk Karen in front of Sean after Uncle had encouraged him and how Swanson was pestering Strauss who tried to turn in for a relatively early night.

Eventually, your head came to rest on his chest— not in a way that showed you were tired, but completely content and happy with just slowly moving in circles. His heart was beating at a steady rhythm, although it was still a lot faster than you own but it still soothed you nonetheless as it matched the beat of the song.

You stayed like that for a lot longer than you’d thought. Long after Dutch had turned off the gramophone to sleep and the embers of the fire began to burn out until finally Micah led you back to your tent where the two of you fell asleep.

The next morning you woke with you head tucked under his arm and couldn’t stop the smile that came to your face as you caught a now very embarrassed Micah staring at you.

The peaceful moment didn’t last however as you had to help Ms Grimshaw start on the chores since you were one of the few members who weren’t hungover and still sleeping it off. With that you made you way to Pearson’s wagon but not before you stole a kiss from Micah who was complaining about you leaving.

A few hours past and you were working away at vegetables and meats for the stew. The early morning sun was starting to show along with some of the other gang members including Micah who walked over to you with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“I uhhh… thought you’d want this since ya been working for a while now.”

Smiling and dusting your hands off, you traded a kiss for the coffee— a deal Micah was happy to give.

When you sipped at your coffee and went back to work you noticed how Micah stayed to lean on the table beside you. His mouth opened you say something every five seconds but closed it again, shuffling awkwardly as he stared at you in hopes that you understood what he wanted without him having to say it.

While chopping at carrots and potatoes you held your elbows up and created space for Micah’s arms to fit. He didn’t hesitate to either as he shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around your waist, hands resting over your stomach as his chin rested over your shoulder to watch you work.

“You feeling any better this morning?”

Micah scoffed like he didn’t know what you were talking about, instead choosing to litter kisses along your neck and shoulder.

“I don’t know whatya talking about sweetheart.”

You turned your head to look at him, that fake innocence he tries to play up to avoid emotional topics.

“Oh common now Micah— I know what goes on in that head of yours, I can only hope that dancing cheered you up.”

His forehead came to rest against yours as you noticed his arms instinctively get a little tighter around you.

“Don’t think it was the dancing that made me happy sweetheart— that’s all you.”

His accent was thick with that southern drawl that he has, not in the way that he was being sly, but in a way that you knew he was being raw and open with you no matter how many pet names he threw in there to cover how soft he is with you.

You turned in his arms, wrapping your own around his shoulders as you gave him a large and genuine smile with a hint of your cheekiness.

“Aw you flatter me Mr.Bell and to think you were gonna let Arthur have that dance!”

You make a dramatic gesture with your hand over you mouth to emphasise how sarcastic the statement was. Micah brought you in for a kiss that the two of you couldn’t stop laughing through but it bubbled away as the kiss depended and your tongue met his.

“Arthur ain’t ever getting his hands on ya darling— I’m the only one that’s gonna take ya dancing.”

Micah gave you a playful wink as you pulled him back in for another heated kiss by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt.

“Mr.Bell if you have nothing better than to do than distract those hard at work I suggest you go and make yourself useful!”

Both you and Micah pulled away, both of you shocked as Ms Grimshaw stood in front of you with crossed arms and a very angry look on her face. Behind her was Pearson who was rubbing his neck awkwardly, obviously running off to find Susan who could handle the two of you.

You had to muffle a laugh as Micah mumbled under his breath all too loud about Grimshaw being an ‘old hag who’s just jealous’ before he got up from leaning against the bench to face you properly.

“Don’t you be working too hard now sweetheart—“

Micah pulled you back in by the waist for another kiss which you happily returned. Out of the corner of your eye you see Grimshaw roll her eyes and poor Pearson who looks like he’d rather spontaneously combust then stand there for another moment.

When Micah pulled back he slowly backed way from the wagon, holding his hands up in fake surrender to Ms. Grimshaw.

“Alright alright, I’ll get out of your hair— got a coach coming in anyway, real work.”

You saw Micah saddle up Baylock and ride his way out of town, giving you one final wink and a smirk. You knew he didn’t really have a robbery planned, he always told you about it first and most of the time you went with him. This time he was merely getting out of camp chores and you rolled your eyes at the image of him waiting around at the saloon for hours until Grimshaw finally forgot about it.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of work either! The two of you cause enough trouble without you getting all lovely around camp!”

There Ms.Grimshaw goes with another lecture, you have no doubts that she was watching the two of you last night and couldn’t help the smile that came to your face at the new cherish memory you now have with the man you love. In reality, you couldn’t care who didn’t like the public affection or your entire relationship with Micah.

All you knew is that it made the two of you happy and seeing Micah smile was worth every single lecture and glaring gaze from your fellow members.

And with that you turned back to the vegetables, picking up the knife and getting on with the rest of the day.

“Yes Ms.Grimshaw”

#im back from the dead #with soft micah content #and get ready for more #gosh i have been dying to write this #but i willed myself to take a holiday no matter how bad i was desperate to come back #soft micah hours #micah bell #micah bell x reader #gn!reader #micah bell imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 writing #rdr2 headcanons #red dead redemption 2 #soft rat 🥺🥺🥺

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justmaybee · 3 years

Text

The Phantom’s New Clothes

(Alternatively: ‘I Like Ya Fit, G!’)

A/N: Yes, the spam is gonna end in a dumb fic. No, I’m not confident in posting it. But honestly? I don’t think I’ll ever be when it comes to Fling Posse. So I’m doing it anyways! Because Gen looks like a whole prince, and if I don’t start somewhere I’ll never be able to write them!

Summary: Fling Posse photo shoot time! ~ ☆ and Dice has taken a special interest in Gentaro’s outfit for the day….

Of the many things required by divisions during battle season, one ‘checkpoint’—so to speak—is the creation of promotional materials. A Chuohku-designated event, ‘asked’ of the representative teams from each district.

This is Fling Posse’s second time representing Shibuya, so Gentaro is more or less acquainted with the roadmap ahead of them. And as a group member—and friend—of one Ramuda Amemura, he’s quite used to the mild discomfort of modeling clothes far outside his comfort zone.

Though it had at first been a point of contention in the group—due to some very polarized creative decisions—Gentaro has grown into his role, just a bit. He may never go so far as to call himself a ‘model,’ but he’s done much stranger tasks for the sake of his posse.

Thankfully, this shoot leans decidedly into Gentaro’s style of choice. Unlike Ramuda’s last artistic venture, which had involved a bright yellow top in an aquarium of all settings, this outfit could be described as almost tame in comparison.

The blouse is a loose and flowing white number, tucked into a similar style of black pants. A little tighter to his waist than he’d prefer, but the fabric is soft and stretches down to his ankle—for the most part—so it’ll do. The addition of some colored cords to secure an ash grey cape around his shoulders finishes the look, and Gentaro hums an appreciative note when Ramuda shows him the full look in a mirror.

Ramuda seemed pleased, smoothing out Gentaro’s cape and tucking stubborn hairs back into place before flashing him a grin and bouncing off to help Dice finish dressing.

It’s comfortable, fashionable, and well-suited to his tastes. Gentaro must say, it’s one of his favorite designs from Ramuda so far.

That being said—there’s…one small thing he could recommend be changed.

It doesn’t occur to him until the picture taking is about to begin.

———

“Ya think Ramuda will let me keep it?” Dice asks, impish grin flashing his canine. He pops the collar, striking small poses as the dressing room around them clears out. Gentaro humors him.

He takes his time, stepping forward from behind Dice, peering over his shoulder at their shared reflection. His hand comes to rest on his chin, scrutinizing the tropical pattern with a deliberate trail of the eyes. He continues until Dice’s gaze lowers, until his hands start fidgeting in front of him.

Gentaro finally breaks with a smile, resting his chin on Dice’s shoulder. He can feel the way Dice sags with relief.

“It’s very likely that he will,” Gentaro muses. “This outfit was made specifically for you, and I’m not sure anyone else would wear it willingly.”

Dice nods in a small repetitive motion, absentmindedly checking his reflection in the mirror. The moment he comes to recognize Gentaro’s backhanded confirmation is both visible and audible. His body jolting upright with a pitchy ‘hey!’ tossed back over his shoulder. Gentaro hides a smile behind his hand.

“Oh, Dice. There’s no need to be insecure,” He coos. “From what I’ve heard, sustainable fashion is on the rise! This set may have been a curtain at some point, but your confidence in it is very admirable.”

Dice has that tight-lipped smile on, the one that pushes his cheeks up and makes his squinty faux-glare even more endearing. It says, ‘I know I’m being made fun of,’ but he continues to endure it anyways. Because it makes Gentaro smile.

Still, he’s come a long way since the early days of Fling Posse, and he won’t take things lying down if he can help it. So he sneaks his hand behind him, aiming a light pinch to Gentaro’s side; his comeback of choice since learning of Gentaro’s…sensitivity.

Unlike those recent times, Gentaro quickly back steps, pulling his head off Dice’s shoulder to smother a gasp behind a well-timed fist. Dice blinks, hand still hovering behind him in the empty air where Gentaro once stood.

Then he spins around; the biggest, toothy grin on his face.

Gentaro can feel the butterflies slowly flutter to life in his stomach. His free arm moves subconsciously, to wrap around his front and hide his torso. The longer they hold eye contact, the more his face begins to burn.

And then the photographer can be heard, calling Dice for photos.

They stay in place, gazes locked for a moment longer; then Dice shoots him a wink and jogs off.

Gentaro breathes a shaky sigh, rubbing away the phantom touch.

———

So yes, while it was obvious the outfit had less layers than Gentaro was accustomed to, he hadn’t realized just how much thinner the layers he wore were.

Photo shoots don’t have a lot of downtime, in his experience. There’s always group shots, touch ups, individual shots. While it’s undoubtedly ‘Posse Time’—as Ramuda would put it—he doesn’t get more than a passing word to either of his group mates at any one time.

Which make the times he runs into Dice all the more memorable.

Slipping past one another in the hallway when it’s Gentaro’s turn for solo shots. Gentaro feels a distinct skittering of nails over his flank. It has him stumbling, tripping on his own feet. He can hear Dice laugh as he straightens up and continues walking.

Getting his hair touched up, making sure his pesky bangs stay out of his face. Dice comes to watch for a while, leaving Gentaro with a quick pinch either side of his waist. He jolts so hard, the hair on his left side falls out of place. He mumbles an apology to the poor stylist, eyeing Dice’s retreating smile in the mirror.

In a moment to himself, Gentaro tries to retuck his blouse, smooth out the uneven bunching of ruffles. He doesn’t notice when Dice slips behind him, when he grips onto Gentaro’s hips—too easily accessible through these pants—and squeezes. Gentaro yelps, drops to a crouch to dislodge the ticklish pulses. When he turns with narrowed-eyes, he finds himself alone.

Although Dice has been able to startle a reaction out of him several times today, calling these occurrences ‘uncommon’ would be nothing short of a lie. In his extended stay at Gentaro’s apartment, Dice has been very — thorough in his exploits of Gentaro’s unending sensitivity. One could say that once he got a reaction, he couldn’t will himself to stop.

Also a lie. Well, a half-truth to be more precise.

While it had been Dice’s curiosity and willingness to take a chance that led to the discovery, he didn’t act on his newfound information much at all. While a very physically affectionate lover, he would never go so far as to touch Gentaro in a way that caused discomfort or distress.

No, absolutely not. And so despite many implicit hints and invitations, Gentaro found himself having to get very explicit.

He didn’t dislike Dice’s teasing touch.

No, quite the opposite actually.

It was flustering to a degree Gentaro couldn’t imagine, but…Dice got the message.

He got it loud and clear, and now here they are.

In a game of cat and mouse; Gentaro’s eyes darting toward every movement, hands enveloping his torso at the slightest noise. The fabric on his skin is light, breathable, and silky to the touch; impossible to ignore. His stomach swoops nervously, broiling with anticipation—borderline excitement.

Oh, the monster he’s created.

———

After two hours of lights, cameras, make up, hair, and such; things are finally starting to wrap up.

Gentaro can see the end’s approach easily due to experience. It always comes in the form of Ramuda’s name. Called out by a weary photographer and followed in turn by their leader’s sing-song reply, skipping happily out of the dressing room and into the limelight.

Ramuda’s solo shots are always saved for the end. One must save the best for last, of course.

That being so, it would be a good idea to begin making preparations to leave.

Gentaro can feel the pinpricks in his legs as he slides them off the dressing room couch, uncurling from his seated position. He kicks out, pointing his toes in a stretch, arching his back and spine. The relief pushes a quiet sigh from his lips, leaves him sagging back into the cushions for a moment, suddenly drained.

Time spent in the presence of others can already be tiring, but the looming eyes of Chuohku make things far more intense. Gentaro can find peace in having his posse with him, but the sooner he can get these clothes folded, the sooner he gets his regular attire back—the sooner he’ll be home and out from under the Party’s prying gaze.

It takes Gentaro a few attempts to rise to his feet. His center of balance equals out as Dice makes his way into the room. The timing is very lucky, Gentaro gets barely a greeting out before his arm is in Dice’s hold. Before he’s swung around, in a blur of cobalt blue and floral print.

His back hits the wall with a dull thud. Not hard enough to hurt—Dice would never—but enough to have his breath catch in his throat. The way Dice leans into Gentaro’s personal space—hand still firmly gripped around his wrist, pinning it to the wall beside his head—makes getting air back a bit difficult.

“Hey Gen,” Dice breathes, a soft smile on his lips that completely contradicts the situation, and makes Gentaro melt all the more for it.

“Hello, Dice.” Gentaro’s hesitation is hardly noticeable.

“Whatcha up to?”

It’s so casual — the way Dice speaks, despite their position which has Gentaro’s brain buzzing like radio static. Strangely, it’s somewhat placating, in a way.

“Well — I’d intended on tidying up while Ramuda’s away…” Gentaro musters up a teasing smile, a lighthearted jab. “If you’re attempting to have me fold your clothes for you, I’m afraid I’ll have to stop you right there—”

Dice laughs. The sound does strange things to Gentaro’s heartbeat. Difficult to miss while it thrums so vividly in his ears.

“No, not that.” Dice smiles. Gentaro can’t help but return it.

“But could I—uh—do one thing? Before you go?”

Gentaro can take a fairly good guess at what Dice is referring to.

He shuffles, wrist rotating the smallest bit in Dice’s hold. His grip is strong, warm, and noticeably firm. Dice hasn’t moved, not an inch from his close lean over Gentaro, but he’s suddenly all that Gentaro can see, smell, feel.

He’s trapped.

It’s invigorating.

Gentaro is somewhat proud of the light, careless hum he gets out. A flippant roll of the eyes before his gaze meets Dice’s.

“Oh fine, if you must.”

Dice laughs again. Gentaro feels that familiar swooping sensation.

“I’ve been dyin’ to do this all day.”

Despite the unaffected air Gentaro puts off, his body is already tensed up in wait. Free hand poised to the side, ready to fend off Dice’s experienced fingers. His waist, hips, stomach; they’re all compromised in this outfit, leaving him more vulnerable than even his home loungewear would allow. It’s anyone’s guess as to where Dice may strike.

Which makes it extra shocking when Dice suddenly drops Gentaro’s wrist. When he slips both hands, with a pre-planned speed, into the gaps of Gentaro’s billowing sleeves and under his outstretched arms.

Gentaro is able to clamp his lips together before Dice’s fingers make contact. It makes muffling his surprised shout marginally easier. The same can’t be said for his limbs.

Before he can even think about it, Dice has found his rhythm, spidering feather-light strokes beneath his arms. His fingertips are gentle, calloused, and so very effective in their unpredictable movements.

Gentaro’s shoulders lock up. He chokes back the bubbling wave of laughter, then clamps his arms down in attempted self-defense.

Immediately after, his spine snaps off the wall. Thrusting his torso flush against Dice, leaning in to cover him. He tosses his head back, a squeaky cry pathetically stifled as the feelings grow exponentially.

It takes all of Gentaro’s remaining brainpower to lessen the pressure of his arms against his sides, to bring his elbows a centimeter out from his waist. Because when he tries blocking Dice’s fingers—

Gentaro bites his lip against a particularly loud squeal; Dice using one finger on each hand to vibrate into the center of each hollow. Oh, please.

—when he tries to guard himself, he just pushes Dice’s fingers deeper.

“Mph! D-Dice!”

It’s debilitating. Dice rarely has access to his bare skin in most situations, but this may very well be a first for both of them. The skittering touch under his arms has Gentaro squirming, shaking. Every time his arms twitch down to stop it, he’s stuck muffling louder laughter at the added pressure he’s made for himself.

It’s all Gentaro can do to hold as still as possible; minimize the jerky, impulsive movements. But it’s so hard, and he’s quickly losing the battle with his volume as well.

What were once small, nondescript sounds are now squeaking—almost whining—noises. As Dice continues his careful track, sweeping soft fingers around and around and around each twitching hollow.

It takes Dice vocalizing aloud to get Gentaro to lift his head from the wall, blink one teary eye open and get a look at him.

Dice is smiling sweetly—no doubt a much nicer look than the hot flush and wobbly smile Gentaro’s trying to control—with his head tilted to the side. It leaves his neck and shoulder open, right at Gentaro’s head level.

He takes the invitation for what it is.

Gentaro quickly buries his face into the side of Dice’s neck. If he had the mind to think and the hindsight to see, he might have considered if this was well-meant aid or a well-sprung trap. It really depends how much credit Gentaro decides to give Dice. His scheming side is somewhat lacking.

Either way, it makes things much more manageable, and far less embarrassing when Dice’s fingertips turn to nails and Gentaro finally breaks, spilling surprised giggles into the other’s skin.

“Dihihice! What—whahat are you—ahahahaha! Wait! Th-that isn’t fahahahahahair!”

Dice had never kept his nails long before, not for so long as Gentaro has known him. He had no use for them, and it was much easier to keep clean with nails as short as can be. But he’s taken to growing them out, just a tad, for…special situations.

Situations where Gentaro is foolish, careless. Usually in the comfort of his own home, in clothes that make it too easy for Dice. To touch, caress. Warm hands over soft skin that finds another’s touch one part foreign to ten parts addictive.

Situations where the small scratch of a nail can amp the feeling of a tingle to a spark.

“Dihice, pl-plehease. I—aha! Oh no, oh pleheheHEHEHEASE!”

It’s so much easier to hide; in the warm, familiar grip of Dice’s embrace. Where he can smother his keening laughter and sudden gasps. No care in the world for his pink cheeks and ruffled hair, so embarrassingly genuine after the painstaking process of making him ‘modelesque.’

Where all he has to focus on is the rippling movement, scratching up and down the dips beneath his arms. A constant, offset graze on hypersensitive skin; gentle as can be but more than enough to drive Gentaro past the point of composure.

All too quickly, Gentaro feels his knees go weak. His back slips down the wall a fraction, hands gripping onto Dice reflexively.

Dice responds in kind, keeping him stable, then going the extra step forward. Literally.

He steps until there’s no space between them. Until Gentaro can be held up with no need for his own legs; just the cool, sturdy wall behind him and Dice’s chest against his own. He’s surrounded by Dice’s warmth, by his scent. It’s been only minutes, but Gentaro is panting for breath.

“Hey,” Dice mutters, softly, once Gentaro can focus on him. He tugs his hand free, chuckling along to the author’s stray giggle, before reaching up to cup his cheek. His thumb strokes habitually, eyes staring deep into Gentaro’s — searching. Always searching. Making sure he’s okay.

And he is. Better than okay. That’s not a lie, it can’t be, and the way Gentaro narrows his eyes, sends a challenging smirk Dice’s way — makes that abundantly clear. Dice drops his gaze, laughing to himself. Then he straightens up, thumbs the moisture from the side of Gentaro’s face.

“As I was saying…” Dice trails, locking eyes with Gentaro as he speaks. Watching the way they widen, lips pressing together, when his remaining hand flexes.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

#bee stuffs #side note I’ve never played arb #I just love their aquarium fits ✨#tickling #tickle fic #dhfhhfhdjd I don’t wanna tAG THIS #Hypmic #Dice #Gentaro #Gendice #Daigen #ticklish!Gentaro #this may be the first FP tickle fic and that’s the only thing I can be proud about #✌🏼

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werewolfsquadron · 4 years

Note

Hey! You’re my fav rdr fanfic writer. Got any recs now that I’ve worked my way through everything you’ve written! Thanks!

oh gosh, yeah do I have fic recs (and thank you for your kind words about my fics)! Fics are in the order they are in my bookmarks, so they’re pretty much in reverse chronological order. I’ve tagged those authors whom I know are on tumblr, but I’m sure there are others that are here that I just don’t know about.

Morston:

Blackwater - gaslight (@gaslightwestern on tumblr): Noir AU, ongoing but almost finished. Arthur is a private detective, John is a bar owner during prohibition that hires Arthur to look into a murder. Does a super impressive job of capturing the noir tone in writing while not being cheesy about it. Lots of intrigue, mystery, and also Arthur and John being lovable dumbasses. John manages to be a homme fatale while also being his normal impulsive, dumbass self.

Hard times come again no more - dilangley: Arthur survives the end of RDR2, and encounters John again while John is in Mexico during the events of RDR1. Complete. Really unique for Morston in that it takes place when both characters are older, and really well done. You get to watch Arthur and John build a life together, and survive what would normally be the end of their stories. The epilogue made me cry.

I’m a Rover - anotherbird (@the-other-bird on tumblr): I’m a sucker for a post Blessed Are the Peacemakers fics and this is no different. After being suck in camp healing, Arthur decides to go for a ride and John refuses to let him go alone. Oneshot, so complete. Lots of feelings, and Arthur and John being unable to communicate them to each other because they have no emotional literacy. It’s wonderful.

Hell Be Comin’ Round That Mountain - moonoverwings: There’s a frustrating lack of trans Arthur content in general, but especially with Morston, and this is one of the few, if not the only, fics I’ve found that just nails it. It’s ongoing and hasn’t been updated in a bit, so could be abandoned, but what’s there is great and still worth reading. Characters are well written with great characterization, and they really nail the “idiots in love” trope with these two.

Golden day blues - Yuu_chi: Reincarnation AU where John tracks Arthur down after they’ve both been reincarnated into the modern day. Complete. Lots of complicated feelings and struggling with being alive, and the boys fistfight and fuck to deal with it. It’s good.

Nothin’ - helvel: helvel’s got a bunch of great fics, but this is one of my favs. Modern AU where the boys are resting out in a shitty motel room after Blackwater, and things progress from there. Oneshot, so complete. It’s the unsaid and implied emotions, both good and bad, that really make this one for me.

All of Them Wolves - thegoodreverend: AU where Arthur got out of the life earlier, and is living a peaceful life as a trapper up until John shows up in his house. Complete. Not only is this fic emotion heavy and full of the good feelings, but it’s got some excellent banter and John and Arthur feel in character throughout, even though they haven’t met each other before in this AU. This fic is definitely one of my favs.

Charthur:

Lost Country - iridan: A coffee shop AU with a twist. Finished relatively recently. Characters are all so well written, and it doesn’t shy away from the darker or heavier parts of their characters. Arthur is a bartender/reluctant barista at Dutch’s bar/coffee shop, and Charles is a long haul trucker that’s started getting coffee there in the mornings. Arthur owns a small ranch and has a collection of rescue horses, and it’s wonderful.

Come and Lay by My Side - boldlygoingnowherefast: When things start going downhill, Charles convinces Arthur to leave the gang with him just before the bank robbery. Complete. Some wonderful Charthur moments, but also looks into why leaving the gang would be so damn hard for Arthur.

Up Strawberry Way - grantaire_dont_care: Charles and Arthur go on a hunting trip that doesn’t go as planned when they get discovered by O’Driscolls. Complete. I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort, and this has that in spades. Plus some great Charthur moments, especially in terms of having someone who actually cares about Arthur being there when he’s hurt.

Out of the Dark - sky_daybreak (@shady-tavern on tumblr): A time travel fix-it where Arthur gets a chance to start over and try and fix the events of the game (and, y’know, get together with Charles). Complete. Not only does it have so many wonderful moments and heart-to-hearts, but also doesn’t try to pretend that everything can be fix. Some things still go wrong, but there’s happier endings for a vast number of characters, and Arthur gets to see much of his family safe on a ranch together.

Dust and Devils (On My Conscience) - catwrites: An AU where Charles is a werewolf. Oneshot. I’m a sucker for the supernatural, of course, so this is one of my favs. Charles is keeping his werewolf status a secret, but Arthur finds out early in the fic, and that influences and colors what’s to come.

Scars Are For the Living - alliancedogtags: AU where Arthur is shot in the final mission instead, and Charles comes back for him. Complete. Found this originally when I had just beaten the game and was looking for AUs similar to what I already had in my head for BALTWIO, just to see if someone had already done it. Arthur isn’t shot by Dutch in this one, but he does get brought to Charlotte’s place. Lots of sweet moments and that good hurt/comfort, and Charles and Arthur get to live a happy life together, which is the important thing.

gen or other ships:

Blessed Are the Hearts that Bend (They Shall Not Be Broken) - Disishistory: During Blessed Are the Peacemakers, Hosea goes after Arthur when he doesn’t show up after the meeting with Colm, and Micah tags along, which goes about as well as you might expect. Complete. Plenty of tension and hurt, but also has those comfort elements and found family feelings.

Soldier, Poet, King - nerdytf84fan: A long fic that looks at the early years of the gang, from just after Dutch picks up Arthur to, more recently, John’s introduction to the gang and Arthur’s breakup with Mary. Ongoing, but has been pretty steady in terms of updates. As with every fic on this list, the characters are well written and feel like themselves. Also full of found family feelings.

Quest for Arcadia - nerdyft84fan: An Arthur/Albert Mason modern AU fic, where Albert visits Alaska for a photography project and ends up meeting Arthur, who has recently gotten out of prison after taking the fall for one of the gang’s crimes. Complete, and has a second fic full of (relatively) low stakes stories about the epilogue of the fic. Full of both really sweet moments and really heartbreaking moments. Albert still, even in a modern AU, finds himself getting into trouble with the Alaskan wilderness.

If Your Well is Empty - pipdepop (@pipdepop on tumblr): All of pipdepop’s fics are wonderful and definitely worth a read, but this and the second fic in the same series are some of my favorites. When Arthur’s hurting after Eliza and Isaac’s death, Hosea brings home a coonhound puppy to help ease the hurt. Complete, since it’s a oneshot. I’m a sucker for Copper fics, and this one is no different. Plenty of puppy shenanigans, but also some really heartbreaking moments that Copper helps resolve and turn towards healing.

Nothing But A Note In A Symphony - pipdepop: A post Peacemakers fic, where we see each gang member’s thoughts throughout the worst of Arthur’s recovery. Complete. Really heartbreaking at moments, but ultimately really sweet, especially since it ends with a really nice Arthur & John moment, and has a follow up tag about Hosea and Arthur.

Birdshot & Bone - magistrate: John and Arthur try to rob some O’Driscolls, and it does not go well. John breaks his leg, Arthur gets shot, and they get captured. Complete. I’m constantly in awe of magistrate’s characterization, and this has that plus all that wonderful hurt/comfort goodness. Plenty of John and Arthur arguing but ultimately caring about one another.

A Matter of Preservation - charlock221 (@charlock221 on tumblr): An Arthur/Albert Mason fic where Arthur agrees to be a bodyguard for Albert. Complete. Lots of wonderful Arthur and Albert moments, but also some tension as well. Includes hurt/comfort flavor later on in the fic.

Brothers - gaslight: To borrow the fic’s summary, explores John growing up but from Arthur’s perspective. Complete. Really gets in deep with all those complicated emotions of the early years of the gang—from Dutch’s manipulation and Arthur’s feeling put to the side to the way Arthur and John absolutely would die for each other. Plus, there’s John being an absolute wild child which is always a fun ride, especially when you see how that carries into his adulthood.

sorry about the wait! life has been ridiculous and I only now had time to go back through my bookmarks. I’m sure, too, that there are some fics out there that I’ve loved that I just forgot to bookmark, so don’t take this as an exhaustive list. and then, lastly, anyone should feel free to reblog this and add on their own recs—this list is just my taste, but I’m sure there are plenty of other wonderful fics that I either forgot to bookmark, never saw, or just didn’t check out in the first place because I wasn’t in the right headspace at the time.

#long post #rdr2 #fic recs #red dead redemption two #rdr fic recs #not sure if this'll show up in the tags bc of all the links but it's worth a try #ask #anon #text

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inkwell1013 · 4 years

Text

Birds of a Feather

Pairing: Futaba & Yusuke (platonic)

Genre: Fluff and Angst, Oneshot

Inspired by: The fic Lasting Impressions by @codenamegeek. I lowkey stole the idea of Yusuke and Futaba watching anime together and angst happening but took it in a slightly different direction.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Flashbacks, references to child abuse and disordered eating habits/unspecified eating disorders.

Summary: Futaba and Yusuke spend the night watching anime together, but Futaba makes a horrible mistake that effects Yusuke more than either of them expected and has to deal with the consequences.

Notes: This fic includes my hc about the Autism Squad (TM), which consists of Ren, Futaba, Yusuke and Makoto.

- - -

If you were to ask Futaba and Yusuke what they liked about each other, they wouldn’t be able to give you a real answer. On first appearances, they were as different as two people could be, but they shared a sense of kinship regardless.

The cumulation of their friendship was their weekly hang out sessions, where Futaba binged anime and ate snacks full of empty calories and Yusuke sketched quietly. They were both doing their own things, but at least they were doing it together.

“What do you wanna watch Inari?” asked Futaba, fetching another bag of snacks from the cupboard. Sojiro always kept little stashes of food around Le Blanc and their home. It made Futaba feel secure, knowing that the food kept there would always be available. She wouldn’t go hungry here.

“Can we watch Neo Featherman?” said Yusuke, pencil still in motion. “I find the actions scenes quite inspiring for anatomy practice.”

“Sure.” Futaba switched on the television and loaded the show. The familiar jingle burst from the speaker and Yusuke absentmindedly hummed along with the music. The title card flashed on screen: Death of a Condor.

“Wait, what’s going on?” he asked, looking up from his drawing. “Is Black Condor dead? I thought the feather of destiny made him invincible?”

“It does, but it was stolen by Purple Squirrel in episode eight,” explained Futaba. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Not really. I just watch it for the fight scenes.”

“And the cute boys.”

Yusuke blushed bright red. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Futaba giggled, throwing a bag of crisps at Yusuke, which smacked him square in the forehead. “Here,” she said. “Don’t forget to eat. You know what you’re like.”

“I was going to eat eventually,” he grumbled.

“Sure you were,” said Futaba, rolling her eyes. “Just remember to, okay? Sojiro will kill me if you collapse on the way home again.”

Yusuke nodded, his tongue still stuck out in concentration, as the pencil in his hand danced over the page. Futaba span back around in her chair. She was secretly pleased when she heard the sound of the bag being torn open, followed by a crunch.

What an achievement! She had gotten the starving artist to eat. The only other people who had succeeded at that herculean task were Sojiro and Ren.

She didn’t say anything though. Making a big deal about it would only upset him and he had a hard enough relationship with food as it was. Futaba was content to let him eat at his own pace and return to her show.

***

Futaba was furious. They couldn’t just wave away Black Condor’s death by bringing him back to life with Green Parakeet’s powers. Not only did it ruin the climax of the season, but it also made no sense lore wise. If Green Parakeet could bring people back to life, why didn’t she do that to save her lover in episode three? Futaba was going to write a deeply passionate blog post about it later that night.

“So… next episode?” she asked, spinning around in her chair.

Yusuke paused his sketching and nodded. “Just give me a moment,” he said. “I need to use the bathroom.” He stood up, leaving his sketchbook on Ren’s bed.

Once Yusuke’s footsteps had faded and she knew that he was gone, Futaba took a peek at Yusuke’s sketchbook. She couldn’t quell her curiosity, and who knew when she’d have this opportunity again. Yusuke was notoriously protective of his sketchbook – practically growling at anyone who so much as touched it.

The book was open at a sketch of a woman, done in careful, painstaking detail. Even with all the work Yusuke had put into it that evening, the piece still wasn’t quite finished. The woman was beautiful, with long dark hair and slender features. She looked like Yusuke; Futaba realised.

She turned the page, only to see another sketch of the same woman. Upon first glance, it looked identical to the previous sketch, but upon closer inspection she noticed a few slight differences. The nose and eyes were a different shape, and her hair seemed a deeper black.

There was another sketch on the next page. And the next. And the next. And the one after that. Each one was slightly different but still recognisable as the same person.

The door slammed open, and Futaba involuntarily jumped, tearing the fragile page in half.

“Futaba!” snapped Yusuke. “What the hell are you doing? You know you’re not supposed to touch that.”

His eyes fell upon the torn page and his mouth twitched halfway into a frown. Futaba dropped the sketchbook, which landed on the bed, with a thud.

“Inari I—"

Yusuke stared down at the ground, not wanting Futaba to see his expression. “Get out,” he said.

He couldn’t lose his temper with her. Not with Futaba, the girl who cried if people raised their voice at her, who jumped at every slam of the door, who was terrified of strangers, all because she had been hurt by someone who was supposed to love her, just like Yusuke had.

They were birds of a feather in that respect. They were two helpless fledglings who had been beaten and thrown from their nest before they were ready, doomed to suffer at the hand of fate.

He refused to do that to another person.

He refused to repeat history.

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Futaba.

“Please go. I need... I need you to go.” His voice broke, as he was barely holding back his angry tears. “I can’t… I don’t want to let myself be mad at you. Please, just give me some time alone.”

“Yusuke…”

“Please Futaba,” implored Yusuke. “Don’t force yourself to be around me while I’m like this.”

Futaba gave him one final worried look before slinking out the room, shutting the door behind her.

***

Futaba knocked on the door again fifteen minutes later, holding a plate of curry in her hands. After she had explained the situation, Sojiro served up a portion and told her to give it to Yusuke as a peace offering.

“Inari!” she called. “I come bearing gifts of curry.”

She received no response, and for a moment considered leaving the plate at the door for Yusuke to collect later. Then, the door slowly creaked open revealing the artist. He had been crying, she could tell. His eyes were bloodshot, and streaks of tears were left on his cheeks. He rubbed at his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Do you want it?” asked Futaba, offering out the curry. “You can say no.”

Yusuke looked a little apprehensive but nodded.

“Can I come in?” she added. Another nod.

They sat down on Ren’s bed, and Yusuke held the plate carefully in his hands, as if he were carrying a gift from a god.

“Are you okay?” asked Futaba. Yusuke set the plate down on his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he signed, hands trembling. “I can’t speak right now.”

Futaba had been teaching Yusuke and the rest of the Phantom Thieves sign language for a little while now. It was useful for giving commands in the metaverse and for when one of the party members went nonverbal, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, especially with four autistic party members.

Still, she knew that Yusuke wasn’t very fluent, and it would be difficult to carry a full conversation with him in sign. They would have to find another way to communicate. Then, she had an idea.

“Do you want to text?” she offered. Yusuke nodded, setting the curry on the desk and pulling out his phone. Futaba did the same.

Yusuke: I apologise.

Yusuke: It was wrong of me to snap at you like that.

Futaba glanced up at him, quickly typing in her response.

Futaba: I understand. You were upset.

Three dots hovered in place for a moment, as Yusuke typed.

Yusuke: Being upset is no excuse for how I acted. It was completely out of order.

Yusuke: It’s just hard.

Futaba: Do you want to talk about it?

Yusuke paused for a second.

Yusuke: Yes.

Yusuke: The painting downstairs is my mother. She died when I was young. I can’t quite remember her, no matter how hard I try. Her self-portrait, while beautiful, isn’t objective. No self portrait is.

Yusuke: I’ve been trying to piece her face together from the few bits I can remember but I can never get it right.

Yusuke: When I was younger, I tried to do the same thing, but I was caught.

There was a pause in the conversation and Futaba looked up. Yusuke’s eyes were watering. He looked like he was going to burst into tears all over again.

Yusuke: Madarame tore up every single sketch and burned them all in the fireplace. I cried for hours but he didn’t apologise. He wasn’t even sorry.

Futaba: That’s horrible! You did nothing wrong.

Yusuke: I’m sorry I yelled at you Futaba. I don’t know what came over me. It’s just when I saw that torn page, it was like I was back there again, having all my hard work destroyed.

Futaba: You were scared Yusuke. I understand.

She turned off her phone and fetched the curry from the table. “Here,” she said, passing it to Yusuke. “Crying takes it out of you.”

Yusuke accepted the offering, taking a bite of the curry. Futaba wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She eventually settled on sitting next to Yusuke and placing her hand on top of of his. He gave her a sceptical look, but made no move to pull away, taking another bite.

They were as different as two people could be, but they understood each other and that was enough.

#persona 5 fanfiction #persona 5 angst #yusuke kitagawa #futaba sakura #yusuke kitagawa & futaba sakura #why do I insist on torturing my children like this?#angst #but a little fluffy #inkwell writes

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chan-yolo · 4 years

Text

Benevolence Part 10

You were on the run. They were chasing you down and you needed to live. You would do anything to stay alive. But does anything include falling in love? Getting captured by EXO gave you a new survival plan, but will that all go out the window when you meet someone who’s life means more to you than your own?

SURPRISE UPDATE

A/N Heyyyy... it’s been a minute, firstly i want to apologise for the long hiatus, sometimes you have to take a minute to sort yourself out, and i had lost my passion for writing. thank you to the people who have still been liking my fics and scenarios, and to the people that are actually still reading, you guy are all absolute gems.

hopefully this part isn’t awful and I hope you like it!

also this isn’t edited, sorry

p.s let me know if you’d like another Baekhyun POV xoxo

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun / Reader

Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, ANGST

Warning: sex trafficking mentions

Word Count: 2816

The second morning waking up next to Baekhyun was even better than the first. It wasn’t just better, it was entirely different. There was a shift in the dynamic between the two of you and it was instant. Baekhyun had seemed to, subconsciously in his slumber, decided to cross the barrier and was now holding you firmly to his chest, his head resting atop your own as his snored could be heard above you. His warm breaths fanning out across the top of your head. He was way warmer than you imagined he would be. Not like you imagined this at all… no certainly not.

Just like the morning previous, you couldn’t help but stare at him. he was peaceful. Shamelessly your eyes grazed his boyish features, not even feeling embarrassed when his eyes flickered over to meet your own. His gaze was tired, but happy. At least you thought so.

“Morning.” His voice was deep and laced with fatigue, but his smile was bright and ready for the day.

“Morning.” Your whisper was small, shy, but content. Baekhyun pulled you closer, if that was even possible. His nose rubbing against your head in affection as he inhaled deeply. One of his slender hands came to entangle in your hair, resting carefully within the strands as he cradled the back of your head. Tilting your head up to look at him, he gave you a smile, his eyes looking over your features, followed slowly by his soft lips. His kisses trailed delicately from your hairline to your forehead, leaving a loving peck on the tip of your nose, before caressing your cupids bow. Your eyes were shut in contentment. Never had you once experienced a morning quite like this one, and you were basking in every moment.

Finally his lips pressed to your own. Gently at first. Leaving a light kiss, his lips hovering over yours, not making any effort to move, but content where they were. After what felt like a decade, his lips encased your own. Moulding together in a slow kiss, both innocent and full of pining and feeling. Enough to knock the breath straight out of you. Baekhyun broke away, his slender fingers pushing the loose strands of hair away from your face, his eyes scanning over your own.

“Are you still okay with everything?” His voice was low and a whisper.

“Yeah, I mean it’s going to be weird. But I’m sure about it.” His hand moved to the back of your head, gently moving you closer to him so he could leave a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Good.” Another kiss was left, making you smile at the sentimentality of the situation.

“Wow, who knew you were this soft.” You giggled out.

“Yah!” Baekhyun pushed away from you. Untangling himself from you, Baekhyun rubbed his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. “Come on princess, time for breakfast.”

Breakfast was full of lingering kisses, small stories and playful touches. It was new and it was unreal, especially for the type of people you were. But it was nice. Yet, reality came sooner than wanted, but wasn’t rejected as you had jobs to do. After a call from Chanyeol, the both of you set out to head back to the house. As you went to leave, Baekhyun grabbed you by the waist, pulling you back into him.

“Do we have to go back?” He whispered into your ear.

“What do you mean?” You tried to look over your shoulder at him, but he had hidden his face in your shoulder blade.

“Well we slept in, we had each other. As much as I love the guys, it was nice to not wake up to them.” He laughed into your skin. And even though you were cooing at his cuteness, you couldn’t help but bring him back to reality.

“But that’s not our life Baek, that’s not how it goes for us. Also you love them boys, so don’t act all cold.” You turned around, squeezing his shoulders.

“Sadly you’re right.” Leading you out the house, you made your way to the car, ready for the journey back to the house, yet not quite ready to go back to real life.

***

Back at EXO’s house, things were calm. It was quiet, yet not unsettling. You and Baekhyun walked in hand in hand. Everything felt strange to you, as if it shouldn’t be this way. But maybe it was time for you to have some good luck for once. Baekhyun was your something good, and you didn’t want to let go of him just yet.

The two of you were close as you walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. Sharing soft touches and shy smiles. It was all blissful until you noticed Kyungsoo leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. His doe eyes glanced down at your entwined hands, before glancing back up to you, eyebrow raised.

“Suho wants to see the both of you.” Nodding you let go of Baekhyun’s hand, sighing and turning around to head towards Suho’s office. Walking into the room you’d come accustomed to seeing, you were met with all of EXO seated around the room. Though you didn’t fail to notice Sehun sitting in the chair nearest to the desk. Rolling your eyes at the boy, you stood side by side with Baekhyun, addressing the leader of the group. you gave a surprised head tilt, noticing his new letter box red hair.

“So, Baekhyun. Would you like to report back on what happened/” Leaning back, Junmyeon crossed his arms over his chest, only looking at the man next to you. Yet you were distracted by his hair.

“Well, hyung, we were on our way back here from running some errands, when y/n noticed some men following us around. We don’t know how long they were following us, but y/n identified them as Hyunsuk’s men.”

“Is this right?” Both men turned to you for your confirmation, but you just gave a slight nod, still puzzled by the change to the leader’s hair. The men discussed what this meant between them, but you just looked around you at the rest of the members to see if there were any other drastic changes to them, noticing Kai’s green hair and Chanyeol’s pink hair. Looking back at Junmyeon you noticed his stare was on you.

“Can I help you?” His eyebrow raised at you.

“Did you all have a girl’s night in and didn’t invite us?” You smirked at him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your hair, its red.” You laughed. Suho rolled his eyes at you, looking down to his laptop.

“If that is all, kindly get out.” Nodding you followed Baekhyun out the room, the smirk still on your face.

Outside the office, you were ready to head in whatever direction Baekhyun was going in, planning on spending the day actually figuring out what he did within EXO. Though, before you could, Yixing came to a stop next to you, his hand lightly being placed on the crook of your elbow.

“Hey, y/n, mind coming with me? I haven’t checked your wounds in a while, after yesterday we should probably give them a look over.” His voice was kind, no sense of seeking anything else within his tone. With a shrug you agreed, smiling at Baekhyun as he gave your hand a squeeze, telling you he’d see you later, before toddling off to probably find Chanyeol.

Walking side by side with Yixing as he led you to his little infirmary, you noticed him shake his head.

“You know you shouldn’t poke Suho like that.” You turned to see the smile you could hear in his voice.

“Yeah, but it’s fun though isn’t it?” You smiled back at him, thanking the man as he held the door open for you, gesturing for you to sit on the bed.

“How you haven’t gotten in more trouble is beyond me.”

“What can I say? I’m a delight.” You smiled at Yixing’s giggle, letting him go about his examination, used to it by now.

“So… You and Baekhyun?” Yixing implies as he finishes re-wrapping your wound.

“we’re friends now, that’s all.” You look down, trying to pre occupy yourself with anything but Yixing’s stare on you.

“You can deny it all you want, but I see you…” He squints at you, making you laugh as you fix your clothes, waving him off.

“Goodbye Yixing” You call over your shoulder, heading towards the call of food.

In the kitchen you were greeted by Kyungsoo concentrating on the food he was cooking, mixing different ingredients in the pan, almost making you salivate at how good it smelt.

“I see you chose.” Kyungsoo’s monotone voice barely audible to your wandering thoughts of food.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Smiling at him you spooned a mouthful of his food into your mouth, giving a smug smile in response to his glare at your actions.

“If you want to keep it a secret, that’s up to you. But remember what you’ve chosen. If you trust him, he will trust you and if Baekhyun can trust you, we all will. Even Sehun. Just don’t run. Not anymore.” Swallowing your food, you nodded at him. Not so used to someone being so serious with you like this, you shrugged avoiding eye contact.

“Don’t worry, I plan on sticking around.” With that you left the kitchen, making your way to where you knew Baekhyun would be. The thought of seeing him put a smile on your face.

***

Making your way back down the corridor, you headed to the place you knew Baekhyun would be, his computer room. Knocking on the door you poked your head into the room, settling your eyes on his for. The room, as always, dark. The only light being the illumination from the screens in front of him.

“Hey” you smiled at him, walking to stand next to his chair. Swivelling around, he moved so you were positioned between his legs. His arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him.

“Hey stranger.” His smile held that cheekiness he always seemed to hold, but he looked happy, which made you smile just as wide.

“So Chanyeol asked about us.” You raised your eyebrow at him. “He told me I seemed different, that since coming back I’m glowing.” He laughed at the remark. “I told him what happened, he’s my best friend. I hope that’s okay?” he laid his head on your stomach, threading your fingers through his hair you massaged his scalp slowly.

“I didn’t expect anything else, I don’t mind at all, if I had a best friend I’d probably be doing the same.” Baekhyun kissed your stomach in reply, his fingertips tickling the skin underneath your shirt.

“Yixing asked me the same questions, as did Kyungsoo. I didn’t say anything definite; I didn’t know if I should yet.” Baekhyun wheeled himself back and looked at you, taking your hands in his, he nodded.

“In time we can tell them all. I want to trust you, but right now it’s so hard to…”

“I know, and that’s my fault. But I promise I won’t break it. I’m willing to give you my trust, if you give me yours too” Bending down, you planted a soft kiss on his lips, sealing the promise.

***

*three hours later*

After sitting in your room, staring at the wall for three hours, you decided it was time. You had to be truthful, if only if it was for Baekhyun.

Letting out a sigh, you knocked on the door to Suho’s office, nerves surging throughout your body.

“Come in.” Pushing open the door, you made your way to the front of his desk, staring at all the files laying across it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Junmyeon sat back, his arms folding across his chest.

“I’m ready to tell you.” You looked him dead in the eyes, trying to convey confidence, sitting up in his chair, Junmyeon looked at you in disbelief. “But… Baekhyun has to be there, and Yixing… and maybe Kyungsoo also. He kind of calms me down… it’s weird.”

“How about you tell us all?” Your confidence wavered, not sure that was something you could do, especially with one person in the room.

“Sehun…”

“Won’t say a word, I can promise you.” You nod at him. You didn’t think much of this man, but if Baekhyun can trust him, you can try to also. “Alright miss y/l/n, take a seat, I’ll call them in.

***

You didn’t sit. You stood in front of them all. Actually more like paced as they all just stared at you, waiting for you to explain why they were called there.

“Oh come on.” Sehun rolled his eyes.

“Sehun.” Suho gave him a pointed look, making the man shrink in his chair.

“You don’t have to tell us right now flower.” Yixing’s voice was understanding, you looked at him thankfully, knowing that he was someone you could fully trust, and with him and Baekhyun in the room made the situation a lot easier.

“No, I have to. I want to. You all need to know; you need the truth.” You looked at Baekhyun, his reassuring smile making the nerves dissipate instantly.

“Okay, so we all know Hyunsuk was selling things, all kinds of things. That also included people, which again you already know. Hyunsuk sold girls, sometimes boys, depending on the demand. Some were sold for fun, others for trade. Some didn’t even make it out of that house alive.” Closing your eyes, you suppressed the memories that threatened to bubble up.

“And how do you know this?” Suho questioned, his voice laced with curiousness and intrigue. Looking over at Baekhyun, you blocked out the other men in the room, directing your story at him.

When I left my parents, it wasn’t because I went off the rails. My brother, he was going to be taken. They sold him. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t let that happen. So I went instead. I was old to Hyunsuk. But, instead of selling me on to someone else, he kept me. He kept me for…” your throat dried up, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Y/n… Baekhyun’s voice was soft, he only wanted to protect you, you could feel that.

“No Baek, I have to tell you. The girls that stayed were used for whatever he wanted, and that was anything, sometimes we were shared.” You were looking at the floor now, feeling sick to your stomach.”

“The documents you have.” You looked over to the crisp pieces of paper laying across the desk. “The ones about the people owned, it’s the information on anyone they’ve ever sold. People and families they made deals with. It has what they were bought for.” You reached to the back of your jeans, reaching for the document you had taken unknowingly from them.

“This was in there to… if you want to know anything about me and my purpose there, here it is.” Throwing the document down on the desk, done with hiding. Looking each one of the men I the face, you found the confidence to carry on.

“As you have probably gathered, this is human trafficking, which is illegal. But above that this is murder. All you would need to do is find him, turn him in and his gang, though I understand it’s not that simple.”

“Thank you y/n, this has really helped us.” Suho exclaimed as his leafed through your file. Nodding, your body slumped, releasing the tension you’ve been holding in.

“Y/n?” Suho looked up at you, his eyes solely on your own. “It says here you have no family.”

“well, I never got to save my family, my brother, he didn’t make it.” You choked, the memories of the only person you ever loved being snatched away from you filling your mind. Hyunsuk doesn’t keep his promise.” Your voice had turned dark, cold.

“I’m so sorry.” Yixing spoke up in the quiet room. Wiping the stray tear from your eye, you tried to compose yourself.

“What’s dome is done. Now can I leave? I’d like to sleep.” Suho gave you a nod, not even looking at the rest you were gone, the sob being stuck in your throat.

Reaching your room, you swung open your door, sliding down the wall next to it, your cries finally coming through. What you didn’t know was that as soon as you had left, Baekhyun had followed. Rushing through the door, he took you into his arms, keeping you close to him, as your cries could be heard throughout the house.

“it’s going to be okay y/n, I’m so proud of you, your so brave.” Baekhyun comforted you, staying beside you as you let out everything you had been keeping inside.

#baekhyun #EXO baekhyun #baekhyun scenarios #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun exo #exo #Suho #lay #xiumin #chen #d.o #kai #sehun #chanyeol #benevolence #benevolence part 10 #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun mafia au

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georgemackayhey · 4 years

Text

Rules For Falling In Love: #5

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: Here it is! The end. This was such a fun, sweet, comforting little story to write. This month has been hell and I'm so so sorry it took me longer than planned to get this finished. But I can say with 98% confidence that I'm ready to be back in action! Boxer!George should be coming out soon for sure. I'm so thankful to all you lovelies who've stuck around for this easy breezy fic.

w/c: 2k

───※ ·❆· ※───

You have to tell him, you know that. The longer you go on feeling so attached to him, the fiercer you realize that he needs to know. It's not your goal to see how long you can wait until something blows up and gets ruined in the process. Because something surely will, if you linger too long. But every time you gathered your nerves to try to come out and say it, the words get stuck in your throat.

George would get a call from his agent seconds before you planned to storm into the living room and demand his attention. So you just kept bustling toward the kitchen, like you'd only been craving leftovers so ravenously.

When you pulled him aside during his family's weekend dinners, his sister would interrupt, begging for advice, or demanding you team up for some board game that couldn't ever wait. And when you got home, and Geogre asked if everything was alright, you'd lost all the nerve to say how you were really feeling.

And then, before your eyes, life forced you apart. Well, as far as you could split while remaining close as ever.

Your job became less of a second home and more like some sort of twisted sleep away camp. You couldn't remember a time you'd worked with such fervor. Maybe you'd only agreed to pick up your careers pace as some sort of torturous distraction. But you were quick to complain about how badly you'd rather be home watching trashy reality shows with your best friend.

George wasn't there, anyway. He was off filming some indie flick several towns away. The house was dark when you came home, void of bustle and whatever excitement that usually awaited when you passed through the door.

You went on for a month missing him. You went on for a month grossly surprised by how empty the space felt without Geogre. How empty you felt. It didn't help when ladies at the market and neighbors down the road asked after your husband. Sometimes, you'd forget the promise you'd made to each other. Some times you'd stare at your ring, afraid it didn't belong on your finger. Afraid someone else deserved to share in life so vastly with the guy you'd been close with for longer than some distant family members; or friends who made passing promises to stick around forever.

You thought of calling Dean and asking what to do. But you knew he was off with his own love. And this was something you'd have to figure out on your own, for both you and Geogre.

When he finally got home, you were too relieved to have him back to ruin anything. Too happy to waste days off taking walks along the waterfront together. Too content to hear his clattering about the kitchen in the mornings to disrupt the way of things. You asked often of his time away, of the friends he'd made. Geogre told you all his saved up stories on days you demanded off, trying to feel like less of a cog in the machine, and more at home in your own home.

Geogre made it easy to forget how confused he made you feel. Geogre was all laughs, head thrown back as you mucked about in the warm weather. He was silly questions shrouded in serious tones. He was quiet as the sun set while you read different books in the same room. He was everything that you'd come to adore. He was everything you were so afraid of losing, that you pushed yourself away from clinging too.

And when you went back to work, you blamed the long shifts and on your endless headaches. You'd blame your coworkers and the late hours on why you felt so bad. But work was nothing. Work was the closest thing to peace and quiet you had when your thoughts stuck on loop, echoing Georges name.

You'd get back home at the end of everyday and your heart would leap out of your chest at the sight of your best friend lounging on the sofa. You'd get home and Geogre would twirl you right back out for a spontaneous night on the town. Your stomach would flip when his hand met the small of your back in crowded pubs and on long walks home.

And even in crowded spaces when your favorite songs happened to blare from speakers and some mutual friends stood outside to share an hour long alley way chat, you still couldn't shake the dread sinking in your stomach and weighing you down.

And, of course, Geogre noticed. He lingered in the door way of your room as you switched out the lights for the evening, and asked you to tell him what was wrong. He spoke low and sweetly, insisting he wasn't turning down the hall until you fessed up to what was on your mind. When you still couldn't, he started guessing...

"Your job?" He wondered, knowing it was bound to turn your hair grey before mother nature got her natural say. He wondered after your family. He asked about your friends.

"I... I haven't done something have I?" George worried, suddenly. Your heart sank as you watched his eyes go dim under furrowed brows.

"No." You shook your head sorrily. "No Geogre, I'm sorry. I just really need to get some sleep, okay?"

He watched you with those big sad blue eyes as you shut the door to your room. The image of his worried expression remained in your head as you tossed and turned all night long.

Geogre was all you thought about till your alarm went off. He's all you saw on your drive to your job, and the only thing in the back of your mind as you moved through the motions of your work day. You broke the speed limit on the way home. Because You know he'd be there. You knew he'd greet you warmly. And above all things, you knew your time was up.

When you finally made it past the welcome mat of your entry way, you dropped your bags near the coat rack when you noticed George. He was sat cozily, scribbling away at some script. His focus would usually remain unbroken during such a task, but now, he turned his gaze up toward you with a small grin and a basic welcome home. Against your better judgment, and instead of willing out a simple hello, something broke. The dam holding back all your built up thoughts and feelings snapped under the weight of Georges soft gaze, and sprung tears to your eyes.

You stood stone still, willing your eyes to stop welling up with every bit of strength you had left.

"Whoa, what's wrong? Why are you crying." George tossed his script aside and moved to approach you. You watched in a watery sheen as he stalled before you with an arm reached out, as if to gesture you be the one to close the space.

"I've broken a rule." You admitted through your teeth, your jaw clamped shut in every effort to keep the last of you from falling apart. You watched Georges pretty face , his sea coloured eyes locking on to yours, prepared for the worst, it seemed; prepared to listen to whatever it was.

"I'm in love with someone." You spoke, struggling to hold back the waver in your voice.

"Okay." George softly responded, still frozen in place in front of where you had frozen all the same. His eyes shifted across your features, waiting for the penny to drop. Waiting for everything to change. These were the last moments you got of the reality you'd come to know and love. Maybe that was why you were still quiet, afraid of the transition. You watched Geogre seem to decide between one thousand responses before killing the silence by asking, "With who?"

In a shocking display of bravery you blurted out the answer as if you'd been ready to say it forever, even though it felt like the scariest thing you've ever had to do.

"It's obviously you." You cried, tears bursting through your will power to hold them in, pathetic sounds escaping your throat.

"Then... why're you crying?" Geogre asked, softly still. His curious gaze had grown even more perplexed, head cocked in confusion as he drifted a minuscule amount closer.

"We never wrote out a rule for this." You cried harder, hanging your head in your hands. How could something so terrifying feel like a weight off your shoulders?

You felt George reach out to you, either of his hands on your elbows. You wiped your eyes in time to watch as he gently pulled you along on his way toward the kitchen. You floated along, trying to pull yourself together for whatever chat that was about to take place.

Geogre was deadly quiet as he halted you near a row of cupboards. You leaned against them as Geogre turned and crossed to the other side of the room. You were still focused on remembering how to breathe, so much so that you didn't notice what Geogre was up to until he's almost finished.

"What are you doing?" You asked in a hoarse whisper. Geogre was leaning against the opposite counter space with a pencil in his hand. He locked eyes with you for a second that felt like forever before looking back down to whatever he'd just written. Then he started taking small steps closer to you as he started reading...

rules for falling in love:

one. do it.

two. throw away the other rules.

three. go on a big ridiculous anniversary trip every year as originally planned.

You listened on, each word adding up the perfect formula to make your head spin. The tears that felt so hot and bitter on their recent escape were now only shed out of relief as you tried to wrap your head around what Geogre was saying. It was only when he glanced up from his words that you knew he wasn't just trying to make you feel better. He was serious.

George tossed aside the little grey notebook as your flung your arms around his neck, crying out the last of every built up feeling you'd stored away for so long. He held onto you, one hand secure on your back, the other tangled in your hair, while your cries turned to chuckles of disbelief.

"I'm glad you said something." Geogre mumbled into your hair as you clung to him. "I've been trying for months."

"What?" You laughed, pulled away to shoot Geogre a look. He brushed the last of the tears from under your eyes and spoke up again.

"I mean... I just really couldn't pin down the right time to tell my wife how desperately in love with her I've fallen. It's quite the pickle we'd found ourselves in you know?"

You laughed, somehow feeling the exact opposite of the way than you had been the last month or so, all because of Geogre.

"You make everything better."

"I can make it better yet." Geogre spoke in a hush, before leaning in to kiss you. It wasn't the kind of first kiss that sent lightning through your veins, or a thunder through your heart. It was the kind of kiss that calmed to storm already raging within you. Georges lips were as warm as sunlight, melding perfectly against yours.

It seemed like hours wasted away in the dark of the kitchen, kissing him. You'd never felt more at home.

///

It didn't take long for you to switch bedrooms. Half of your clothes were already mixed in Georges closet from back when you'd ran out of space in your own. You moved a couple picture frames and pillows about, and turned the guest room back to its original form in the matter of a couple of days. You joked how all the hard bits were over. Your things had been moved, and your name had been changed. All that was left to do was enjoy each other completely.

It was easy to be in love with Geogre, with the way he was so taken with you. It was easy to sit even closer together, and fight over what to watch, like always. It was even more of a comfort reach back to Geogre when he reached out to you. The best part was, nothing was news to the people who knew you. They didn't bat an eye when Geogre kissed you goodbye, hello, or just because.

And as giddy as a school girl as you were to waste days off with your lips pressed together, it didn't take much getting used too. Kissing George was like drinking a gallon of water after being stranded in Sahara heat, the water cooler always just out of reach. His kisses were full of all the things there weren't words for. Full of love and lust and longing that had no name, or glare powerful enough to trade.

George's lingering touches were something to marvel. No longer did he let his hand drift away after reaching out to give you some kind of comfort. His finger laces through yours and held on through movies and long walks. His arm fit around your waist to keep you near, wherever you were. He was still just as private as he pulled you along red carpets and behind scenes. But the both of you were certain and proud to belong together, whenever any one asked.

And you were still always right on time for Sunday dinner. Because even when some things changed for better or worse, somethings stayed the way they were always meant too. You still brought along flowers and wine and knickknacks each weekend you were welcomed into the family home. It was a tradition you just couldn't let break, even when you showed up to George's parent's place to attend a celebration in your very own honor.

You and Geogre had been married for a whole year. Which meant Dean and Claire had been seeing each other for just as long. They were invited to Geogre's parents garden too, because they'd made more than enough Sunday brunch to celebrate the milestone.

You were snug against George's side, sipping spiked punch in the warm afternoon, when Claire and Dean showed up. You'd made quite the tradition of spending as much time together as possible. From roadtrips to midnight milkshake runs, the four of you mucked about like the cast of some outdated afterschool special. It was only natural that their presence at your party was a must.

George's father meandered out to the garden, clapped Dean on the back and yammered about how the lad was like family. George's mother showed up, laying out sweets before jumped in with eager agreement.

"You two are my only hope for grandchildren, you know?" She pointed, almost joking, but you knew she really wasn't. So you weren't very shocked when Geogre spoke up,

"Well we've sort of changed our minds about that."

You'd been talking about it. Because you sure as hell weren't going to become a parent without writing out a few rules first. This was how things always had always gone with you and George. You'd talk about it, go about it, then you'd share the news. "Oh, we're going away for the weekend." -"Oh, were living together now." -"Oh, we're getting married." -"Oh, we got married." -"Oh, yeah... we're gonna start a family." If any major life even happened in any other fashion, you might not have lasted so long as a pair. And you were certain you'd keep on that way, together.

You stayed lounged happily at your husband's side while his mother dramatically praised the heavens. His sister spun into her usual hysterics, while George's father laughed at the scene from the sidelines, after giving the pair of you a silly thumbs up. Claire shot you a wink before saving you from everyone's theatrical attention, shifting discussion to her recent travels.

When Dean shifted to reach for some of the desserts rested in the middle of your gathering, he shot you a look. It was a glare similar to the expression he gave you when you stayed sea side, shortly after getting married. Dean didn't need to say "I told ya so" but you could tell he desperately wanted too. So you flashed your middle finger his way and let yourself laugh as he feigned offense, before settling in to listen to his lady tell a story.

You were already settled. Already happy. Finally right where you belonged, in the place you adored with all the people who loved you as much as you loved them. You decidedly wouldn't have traded the way things went for the world, because you figured you and Geogre belonged together, no matter the rules.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama @haileymorelikestupid

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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dawniebb · 4 years

Text

CANON IS AN ILLUSION PT. 2

If it doesn’t spark joy, throw it away.- Marie Kondo

So now that @healing-winston-pratt and I have explained how we got rid of ¼ of Supernova, let me tell you that it doesn’t stop here because you don’t mess with the type As when something gets into their heads.

For background, you can use this post as a masterlist because we don’t have one yet: https://healing-winston-pratt.tumblr.com/post/624723862884696064/well-this-is-the-last-piece-of-our-marathon

This is our post-Supernova canon divergence :) which, btw, it’s the one we’ll use from now on to create our content (actually, @healing-winston-pratt already used it for her birthday drawings and I just stood there playing dumb pretending I didn’t have anything to do with it jssjjs). So, if you see that Callum and Winston are suddenly alive in our content or you find some of the things established in this list it’s because...yeah :)

Sooooo @novadreamer95438 and @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff you asked to be tagged if we uploaded more content about the canon divergence (Which we appreciate very much! thank you!) so here you go <3!

As mentioned before , Leroy starts living with his daughter Nova and Winston, in a house provided by the State (The Council hee hee).

Callum and Winston are (evidently) alive, but Genissa is dead.

Ace, Evander and Honey remain dead.

And this is where our canon continues uwu.

Leroy has to do community service for like...indefinite time :)

Winston, on the other hand, has two jobs. He works in an animal shelter, where he adopts a dog named Carnival bc wE CAN and also we want to quote this post :https://chiyuki-hiro.tumblr.com/post/621159663188180992/oh-no-a-head-canon by @chiyuki-hiro (AFGSHFVDGB THAT HEADCANON IS G R E A T WE LOVE YOU) because we had come to an agreement that Winston would have an art therapy group for children but this addition is honestly so freaking wholesome :’))))))) <3

Nova has a temporary resignation from patrolling and starts going to therapy, where she is diagnosed with PTSD.

Nova also helps with the establishment of a new system, modifies the recruitment system and that stuff.

She’s not in the Team Sketch full time. Sometimes she’s in the offices, and at night she works with Callum.

And just like Narcissa, she digs her own grave :)

Thing is: Nova suggested that every time a new recruit arrived, the Council had DNA samples taken from them so they could check if they had any crime attached to them.

Now, by the end of Supernova in the canon universe we elected to ignore it is mentioned that Maggie sees Leroy staring at her in the distance, in a very suspicious way. Now, we don’t know about y’all, but we interpreted this as Leroy noticing Maggie looks like young Nova XD. So, this does happen in our canon, when Leroy is already out of prison.

By this time, DNA samples from Maggie and Nova have already been taken and uploaded to the system; and let’s say that Leroy gets very...concerned about the lookalike and decides to tell Winston, who confirms Maggie looks a lot like Nova X’DDD and so, they reach out to the Council to ask them to pls compare Maggie’s samples to Nova’s. U know, like angry mothers at the principal’s office :)

And so they do it just because they have nothing to lose.

And when the results arrive, everyone’s like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r92hykpvZRw

SO MAYBE, TO DOUBLE-CHECK, they compare Maggie’s DNA to DNA found in the crime scene (from David and Tala or maybe baby Maggie herself) and the results are still the same :).

Then, Winston and Leroy have to tell Nova and she reacts in the worst way possible for reasons I’ll explain in a fic I’ll be uploading soon cause’ I wrote it MONTHS ago.

Maggie doesn’t react much better tbh :)

But after a while, since this is, like, the right thing to do, Maggie starts living with them , but changes her name to Margaret Artino until she feels part of the family and is comfortable living there.

Because at first, Nova and her don’t get along and Maggie claims she fucking hates this house even though she knows is better than living in the streets.

They basically have a very chaotic home during the adaptation period until the girls start tolerating each other :) and even then, they’re still very chaotic bc it’s Winston, Leroy, Nova and Maggie we’re talking about :) :) :)

Not long after Maggie starts living with her big sis, Simon and Hugh ask Nova to join a family vacation and bring Maggie w/her.

Maggie doesn’t want to go, so Leroy and Winston go to Nova all like “If your sister doesn’t go, then you’re not going either” and Nova fucking loses it so she ends up begging/forcing Maggie to go :)

They go to the beach in MATCHING OUTFITS bc Simon said so (LIKE IN THE WIZARDS OF WAVERLY PLACE MOVIE) :) they take a lot of embarrassing pictures and Nova and Adrian are forced to go in the banana boat with Max and Maggie.

They fall and Nova and Adrian are acting as if they were in the Titanic while Max and Maggie are having the time of their lives lmao

BC NOVA ALSO NEEDS BONDING WITH THE IN-LAWS

At some point, too, Maggie adopts a stray cat whom she names Tofu, and he fucking hates Carnival even though Carnival is the cutest thing :’)

Winston, Leroy, Nova and Maggie celebrate birthdays every year bc they’re trying to compensate years of trauma.

And for that same reason (compensating years of trauma), Nova and Maggie take their sweet time to move out.

Actually, Adrian meticulously plans the date when he’s gonna propose to Nova, so he asks her to move with him exactly a year before that.

They live in an apartment for that whole year, he proposes and they start planning the wedding uwu.

Nova and Adrian have a non-religious ceremony, and since they’re fucking extra, Nova gets married in a black dress and Adrian in a white tuxedo bc miss Artino wanted a dress the same color as her soul :)

Leroy walks Nova down the aisle.

Ruby is Nova’s Maid of Honor and Oscar is Adrian’s Best Man.

Max and Maggie have the rings.

Tamaya’s youngest son is the flower child.

Which, talking about Tamaya, she fucking hates Leroy and Nova bc, honestly, we would hate them too. Leroy fucked up her face and Nova was part of the terrorist attack lmao

SO, YOU CAN IMAGINE HOW CHAOTIC THAT WEDDING WAS, bc they had to avoid leaving Tamaya and Leroy alone at all costs :)

She hugged Nova so violently when congratulating her, that she left a bruise in her shoulder :)

Basically she was there just because she loves Adrian even though she doesn’t approve his decision to marry Nova

Nova and Maggie maintain a close relationship even after Nova marries Adrian. Maggie and Max are included in every family vacation after the honeymoon ofc.

Nova and Maggie get matching tattoos uwu

Nova has the Big Dipper and Maggie has the Little Dipper.

As for the others. The ones who...are no longer there :’)

@healing-winston-pratt and I have this headcanon that Evander’s wife (we named her Sandra) was expecting a baby at the time of the battle. They had already chosen a first name (Arthur), so she used Evander as his middle name, as the baby didn’t get to meet his dad.

Arthur Evander Wade.

Winston finally gives Evander his DS back.

The Council, thanks to Nova’s suggestion once again, limited a specific area around Georgia’s spot and called it The Aisle of The Fallen.

Genissa, Honey and the victims of the attack to the Arena, the lift of the city and the battle of the Cathedral are there.

Evander, however, is resting in Georgia’s mausoleum, next to her, because we think that mausoleum was constructed in the first place so all the members of the Council could rest together once they left, meaning that they’ll all be there at some point in time. Unfortunately, Evander was the first one to join Georgia despite being the youngest.

Ace is not in the cemetery.

Nova left his helmet in the cathedral, but asked for his body to be cremated.

When she was a child, David used to tell her stories about how Ace seemed to be really happy back in Italy; how he had revolutionary ideas and wanted prodigies to be free; how he used to be a good brother that helped him survive.

So, a few months after Leroy was released from prison, she, Leroy, Winston, Hugh, Simon, Max and Adrian went to Italy with her, to spread Ace’s ashes so he could find peace in the only place he was ever sane and happy.

Ace Anarchy rests in his cathedral.

But what was left of Alec James Artino rests in Italy. (I have a fic about this too)

Yes we’re crying as we write this

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tipsydipsydo · 5 years

Text

Precious 🌸 [M]

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Gender of the reader: female

Word Count: 4.8k

Genre: purest Fluff and so fluffy Smut it's literally Fluff!

AU: Etablished Relationship AU

Warnings: FLUFF (yeah, this here should be a real warning!) !Some Mature Content! Nipple Play, Body-Worshipping, Praising, Fingering, Soft (dirty) Talk, Mentions of Sextoys and Tears of Joy

This all here is just freaking tooth rotting fluff and it's really freaking cute!

A/N: Hello my Sweeties!

Here we go again, I got something for you! I wrote this fic also for a wonderful friend of mine for her birthday (yes, my friends are really spoiled by me!) and I got her permission to upload it. And to be honest, I'm really proud of myself that I could write such cute fluffy Smut with a great Story because usually I know myself as really kinky Shit (*cough* My Kink-Scenario *cough*) and I really hope you guys enjoy this story as much as my friend and I do!

Info: Link to the Masterlist can be found at the End of the Fanfic!

Summary: Today is your birthday and because your last few weeks have been terribly stressful, you want nothing more than to be able to sleep in on your day off. However, Namjoon has to go to practice all day long, that's why he has found a very gentle method of waking you up to unpack your presents with you together...

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

"Hey Baby ...", Namjoon whispers and gives you a little kiss on the temple before he kisses his way down to your collarbone. You sigh sleepily, only an incomprehensible mumbling leaves your lips. You don't want to get up yet, today is your birthday after all and you took some extra time off from work just for today to get some really good and long sleep. You know, Namjoon has to go to practice early in the morning again, but you told him last Night, before you two went to bed, to let you sleep in.

"What's up, Joonie ...", you mumble tormented, you wanting nothing more than your well-deserved sleep, which you almost gave yourself as a present for your own birthday.

"I told you to let me sleep ...", you complain and want to pull the blanket over your head again. However, Namjoon sits in the way and gently treats your neck with soft butterfly kisses. You are still too sleepy to resist these caresses and let your arms slide back onto the soft mattress.

"I know, I know, Babygirl. I should let you sleep in peace, but today is your birthday and I wouldn't see you all day otherwise, Darling. But I made something up for you in my mind, how I could wake you up in a soft and gentle way... I hope you're not mad at me anymore then."

Curious what this announcement could mean, you crook one of your eyes open to a small slit and look at him questioningly, but he just smiles softly and whispers: "Just close your eyes and let yourself be surprised... is your birthday today!"

When he starts to call you by your (secretly loved) petnames in such a loving way, it couldn't be that bad.

"Okay ...", you say quietly and finally give in, let yourself sink back into the pillows and close your eyes again.

Namjoon laughs briefly, looks at you with pure affection and love. Carefully, he pushes the blanket a bit away from your upper body, although he has just recently turned on the heating again, just as a precaution. The last thing he wants you to start freezing and shaking in what's coming next. Well ... you may like to begin trembling... but definitely not from a cool breeze!

Before proceeding with his actual plan, Namjoon looks at you again.

Your beautiful face, glad, he saw your furrowed eyebrows and knitted forehead way too often. Now everything is smooth and flawless again, without this one, always noticeable stress crease. Your eyes are closed, your breath is calm and even. Hopefully, that will not stay that way for much longer.

Carefully, Namjoon pushes a loose strap of your slightly too-large top off your shoulder and leans forward to caress the now exposed skin gently and calmly. He takes his time, a lot more time than usual. He hates himself for that all over again, as he has been able to allow so often in the recent times, not to pay your body the attention he deserves.

The last weeks, if not months, have been a nightmare. He loves his work, really! Nevertheless, the comeback drove him to the edge of despair. He spent most of his time either in the studio, in meetings, on the filming set for the new MV, or at least a few hours more than anyone else in the dance studio to perfect his Part in the choreography.

You took a new job that put the icing on the cake. Your working hours overlap with his few breaks, so you both have seen each other at the same time in your shared apartment only every two or three days. And mostly, you just gave each other the doorknob in the hand, because when one of you came home, the other Person headed directly to his work. Time was often only for a little peck and nothing more.

However, every now and then, as if by a miracle, when you both spent one or two hours together, most of the time you were like animals in heat and you just fucked each other senseless for some stress relief or just only to feel close to each other again.

Too much frustration and stress had accumulated in the time when you couldn't see each other. Sometimes you both felt more like two Singles instead of a Couple living together.

Some nights, when Namjoon came home late and you already slept, he wondered how much longer you could stand it.

How long you still want to join him, his turbulent life. When the time has come, when it becomes too unbearable, not only to have a long-distance relationship with your boyfriend when they are on Tour, but also to lead a kind of non-existent relationship. Your shared chat and perhaps the together signed rental contract still hinted at your relationship.

Namjoon has the feeling that he has to make it up again, just to get along with his own conscience. He has to show you how much he loves you, that he needs you not "just only" as a sexual stress reliever, because he loves you above all else and doesn't know how to withstand all this stress when you weren't by his side anymore.

You build him up again when he's close to a mental breakdown because too many people are demanding his attention all at the same time. You reassure him when he thinks he's a big disappointment for his members and when he thinks he's driving Hoseok insane when he can't learn the choreography so quickly like the other members. These times when he thinks he isn't enough for Armys. At least when he has the opinion he's not good enough for your patience and kindness.

That's why he wants to try to give something of this attention back to you.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as Namjoon moves lower with his kisses, pushing your top barely noticeable down, until the other strap slips off your shoulder too and finally exposes your breasts.

Namjoon raises his head slightly to look at your beautiful, perfectly imperfect breasts. Your left breast is a little bit larger than your right one. A detail that made you feel ashamed because you had to make some uncomfortable experiences with this unique feature. Your previous partners liked it to make a bad joke here and there about them, didn't even realize what they had done to you with such comments.

"Baby, I hope you know how beautiful you are, how beautiful your whole body is, with every little special detail. How beautiful your breasts are, their shape and how differently they react to my caresses, how perfect your left breast fits in my hands and how sensitive your right nipple is, all these details just makes it more interesting to play with your body..."

You giggle softly, full of embarrassment and hide your blushing face behind your hands. But Namjoon grabs your wrists and pulls them aside with gentle force.

"Hey, Babygirl, don't be ashamed, please don't be embarrassed of your body or what I'm saying, I'm absolutely serious, okay?"

He strokes your cheek before he gives you a long, sensual kiss. It's about time that you remember how much you are loved and Namjoon is eager to give you the attention you deserve. Otherwise, you only were so embarrassed at the beginning of your relationship with his compliments.

"I love you, and I want you to know that too, verbally and with touches as well. I want you to feel attractive and wanted, just like you are, with that damn hot body and your dirty mind, Darling. Just relax, I'll take care of you."

You nod lightly, throw a grateful smile full of love to your boyfriend that he cares so patiently for your insecurities and makes you feel so good again. With a smile, Namjoon kisses your lips one last time before returning his full attention to your chest and closing his lips around the nipple of your right breast.

A small moan escapes your lips and a heated shudder runs down your spine. Namjoon knows your body very well, knows where to touch you to elicit such reactions right away.

Joonie starts to grin, more than satisfied with these reactions he gets out of you. His left hand wanders to your other breast, begins to gently massaging it, rubbing his palm over your nipple, before he tease it with his thumb a little bit.

You bite your lower lip, try to hold back these sinful sounds in your throat, don't try to give Namjoon the satisfaction of having made you completely weak already. The tiredness that had previously been in your bones fades away more and more with every second.

Instead, heat spreads through your body, seizing every nerve cell of your body like a raging bushfire, especially the area between your thighs begin to burn with lustful heat. You might get used to being woken up like this some more often.

"You love it how I play with your nipples, don't you, Baby? I think you're already wet between those beautiful legs of yours...", mumbles Namjoon with his hot breath against your nipple, makes you shudder even more.

Like before he take his time for all parts of the body, so he did with your breasts. So long that you start getting impatient and a soft "Please ..." slip out of you. You want more, you need more, this heat in your abdomen is hardly bearable anymore.

"What do you want, Honey?"

"More, please give me more...", you whimper.

Your arousal has already soaked your panties completely, it sticks umcomfortable to you. All you want right now is to get rid of it and hope that Namjoon doesn't make you wait too long until he gives you some relief.

"As you wish, Birthday Girl"

He repositions himself next to you, now sitting on his calves at the level of your hip, carefully pushing the rest of the blanket off your body. When he sees this thin, white cotton panties with small blue dots, he finds it on the one hand unbelievably cute but on the other hand also really sexy.

You spread your legs a bit more to give Namjoon the hint that you really need him down there. Joonie can already see it, the fabric between your thighs has turned dark from arousal.

He lets his index finger stroke over the damp fabric, makes you flinch.

"Already so wet, baby ... just for me ...", he wispers more to himself, amazed how wonderful your body reacts to his touches.

"Don't tease me ...", you whimper and move restlessly back and forth. You need him, his fingers, his tongue, whatever he wants to give you between your legs. Without this damn panties.

Namjoon realizes how you grown impatient and helps you to get rid of this annoying piece of cloth. And now, you're lying there in front of him, showing him your bare and beautiful body, allowing him to see you so vulnerable and naked. Show him with so much devotion and love, you don't want anything more than your release from this hell of lust with his help.

"Baby, I know... I've said it countless times, but you're so beautiful, I love you, so freaking much, I'll give you what you need the most now."

Without hesitating unnecessarily, he let his right hand glides between your thighs, grabs your hand with his left hand, interlocks his fingers with your own. You begin to smile at this small but significant gesture, but close your eyes the next moment again and your lips parts to let out a moan.

Namjoon's fingers caress your wet folds, divide slowly with two fingers and rub your clit. Electric shocks shoot through your body, driving you crazy.

Between moaning and gasping for breath, you mumble some incomprehensible words, repeating your boyfriend's name over and over again like a luck bringing mantra. Like a salvation bringing mantra.

After coating his fingers with enough arousal, he let his fingers sinks lower, gently sliding the second finger into you after the first one and placing his thumb on your clit.

You push your back in the air, snapping gasped for breath, a soft, whimpered "Please" stumbles over your open lips. Begging for more, you roll your pelvis towards him, trying to ride his fingers, which so far remain still in you.

"Whatever you want, Princess...", gasps Namjoon, fucking turned on by this scenery in front of his eyes. But you are the only important priority now.

He guides your interwined hands to his lips and begins to place countless little kisses on your knuckles and the back of your Hand as his other fingers begin to move inside of you.

Namjoon gently starts to bend his fingers inside of you, knowing exactly where to find that sweet spot in you that makes you float into the sky.

"Oh God... Oh God... N-Namjoon...", you babble softly. Feel, how the heat within you becomes unbearable and that knot in your abdomen is not far from bursting.

"Yes Babygirl, I know you're close. I'm here baby. I'm here and gonna hold you when you're tumbles over the edge and begin to fall."

Your eyebrows are kitted together, your eyes are squeezed shut and your mouth is open, ready to let your silent moan ecape into the room.

Namjoon accelerates its rhythm, draws small circles over your clit, feels how your walls are tightening. Your legs starts to shake and your throat will flow over with small whimpers.

"I'm gonna... I-I'm gonna...", you wisper breathless.

"Come, Princess. Come for me, Babygirl. You're doing it so well, get your well deserved orgasm." Namjoon encourages you with his breathless voice.

Placing a last kiss on the back of your hand before the fireball bursts in you and you will be carried away in waves of lust for a few moments.

Seeing you reaching your High is a very personal gift for Namjoon.

You look so beautiful, so careless and peaceful. As you recover from your orgasm, Namjoon leans forward and presses a tender kiss on your lips.

"Happy Birthday, Babygirl~"

Namjoon comes back from the bathroom with a soft, wet towel to clean the little mess between your legs up (what he caused!). Then he goes to your dresser and gets you a new pair of panties from the drawer in that you store your underwear. This time it's pair of white panties with red dots on them.

You watch him the whole time with sleepy eyes and a smile full of affection. After such a wonderful orgasm, you could immediately go back to sleep, completely satisfied and there is still the will to sleep through the whole morning.

"Hey darling ... you have to stay awake for a bit longer, but then you can sleep through the rest of the day," says Namjoon softly and tries his best to keep you awake in a gentle way.

"How about a latte macchiato and your favorite croissants from "La petit réve de Florence" ? Before I woke you up I got breakfast for you. There was too much danger that I would break something in the kitchen... again.", he says quietly with a small self-ironic laugh.

Just the thought of a wonderful latte macchiato and these fluffy croissants from the french boulangerie of your trust elicits a sigh of pleasure out of you and actually makes you sit up in bed with a hearty yawn and lean against the headboard.

Namjoon takes your new position as an approval that a french breakfast is the best thing to start in the day of your birthday and disappears into the kitchen.

Namjoon comes back with a richly laid bed tray to eat comfortably in bed. He places it carefully over your lap on the mattress so that you can eat in peace. The latte has already cooled down a bit and is now at the perfect temperature to drink and the croissants smell wonderful. Namjoon also filled jam in tiny bowls, in which you dip the ends of your croissants.

"You can already start to eat, I have to get some more things", says your boyfriend, who is already walking through the door frame of your bedroom and disappeared again.

You look after him with your mouth full of croissant, but only shrug with your shoulders and dedicate your full attention now to the delicious breakfast in front of you.

Namjoon returns to the room with a second tray, tries to balance the wrapped presents and the various boxes as best he can to your side of the bed. When he has placed everything safely on the dressing chair next to your nightstand, he gives you his typical, irresistible smile again with his damn cute dimples in his cheeks.

"Happy Birthday, my Love!"

You almost choke when you realize how many gifts are there and your eyes are almost the size of a plate.

"Those... are they all for me?"

"Does anyone else in this household have birthday today? Of course they are for you, Jagi!", says Namjoon with a big smile.

"B-But at first, let me eat my croissants before I unwrap the presents! I don't want to spread crumbs all over the bed," you answer your overexited boyfriend.

Namjoon nods and tries his absolute best to stay calm, but he is too excited to gives his presents to you, so that he can hardly sit calmly next to you, always rocks nervously back and forth.

"Which gift do you want to unpack first?", he asks immediately when you wipe the last puff pastry crumbs from the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

A little bit overwhelmed, you let your gaze wander over the presents until you shrug your shoulders undecided.

"I have no idea, everything has such nice wrapping paper, so I don't want to tear it apart in general..."

Namjoon rolls his eyes playfully, he can't do anything with such a pointless answer. That's why he ultimately decides to give you the biggest gift of all of them.

A wide band of white silk is tied around the oval box, so that a perfect large bow sits on the lid of the box. You pull carefully the bow open and remove the lid from the stable and high-quality box.

You gasp when you see the pastel pink rabbit vibrator. You carefully take it out of the preformed indentation and look at it with fascination from all sides. It's not a big surprise that Namjoon gives you a sex toy as a present, you have given each other toys for the bedroom from time to time already before today.

However, this little exemplar is a completely different level, this here is no longer a "normal" sex toy, this is a real luxury item.

"The worldtour starts soon and we won't be able to see each other for months again and I thought... this one here could serve you well, when I unfortunately couldn't satisfy your needs by myself, even if I would like to do it for you when certain desires are no longer bearable... anyway, according to the reviews, it should have an excellent vibration, which should also be very powerful if you can trust these comments...", Namjoon explained his motives for this gift and winked at you with a cheeky grin.

You playfully hit Namjoon against the upper arm, who groans overdramatically "from the unbearable pain" and complacently observes how the pink blush rises on your cheeks. Especially when you consider that Namjoon spoiled you with his fingers just around twenty minutes ago and gave you a breathtaking orgasm.

As carefully as you unwrapped this gift, you gently put it back in his box and place it behind you on Namjoon's bedside. As soon as you have turned to the front again, Joonie has three other gifts ready. They reminds you of books in terms of their shape and size, what allows you to look forward in a certain anticipation. You're right with your guess and with every book that you unpack, your joy about these carefully selected gifts only increases more and more. All three books were written by your favorite authors, are the first edition and are bound in a beautiful hardcover.

In that moment you just want to hug your boyfriend and squeak full of joy, however, he stops you with a loving gesture, indicating the last book you unpacked.

"Baby, have a look...", he says and makes promising gestures on the book cover. You open the book curiously and put your hand over your mouth, can't believe what you'll find there.

The recently published book by your absolute favorite author is personally signed by her and the small text she wrote in the book is addressed to you!

You would love to have a book signed by her by hand... and now you have one that is also personalized just for you!

Dear Mrs. Y/N Kim

I am very pleased to hear that you read my books so diligently and sometimes even late into the night that your husband has to take my writings away from you and hide it so that you can still grab some sleep. I am deeply honored by this, but please make sure you have a healthy sleep rhythm! I only speak from own experiences...

I also wish you a wonderful birthday and all the best! Have fun with my new book!

Yours sincerely Y/F/A

(P.S .: I know you two are not married, but I think you're the perfect couple and I wish you the best for your hopefully shared future!)

"Oh my god, Namjoon... that's... that's... I have no words! She already calls me Mrs. Kim! Namjoon! How did you do it!?"

"Well,Y/N, there must be some advantages to being famous and everyone knows you... I called her publishing company and asked if anything like this could be arranged. The next day I was called back and suddenly I had her on the phone personally and we had a little small talk... she is really nice and I already had back then the feeling during the phone call that she lowkey ship us... ", explains Namjoon and laughs at the end a little bit and shakes his head amused.

Without realizing it, tears running down your cheeks and you throw yourself around your darling's neck. Now you're really start to sob.

"Thank you, Namjoon! Thank you, thank you, thank you for these wonderful birthday presents and this wonderful morning! I love you so much, I don't know how I can thank you for it! I-"

"Wait, wait baby! We're not done yet! The best alyways comes at the end, right?", he says and shush you gently.

"Wait, what? More? A-And even better?... Namjoon, you've gone completely crazy!", you sniff, giggling and trying to wipe the tears of joy out of your eyes.

He picks up the tray again and pulls out a plain, white envelope with your name on it in his handwriting.

With shaky fingers, you pull out a single ticket and scan with your eyes over the informations. It's a ticket from Seoul to your hometown, on a date where you already booked a ticket for yourself because your parents celebrated their silver wedding anniversary that specific weekend, but unfortunately Namjoon had to cancel because... wait-

"Namjoon, wha-"

He gently takes the ticket out of your hands, puts it on your nightstand and then looks straight into your eyes and takes your hands in his.

A smile full of love is on his lips and his eyes starts to shine in a dangerous way too, as if tears are forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Do you remember last week, when I came home all stressed and edgy and that for days? Partially I didn't want to tell you what's going on? That was because I had some arguments with Sejin and Si-hyuk, because I wanted to have three days off so that I could fly with you to your parents and accompany you to their silver wedding anniversary. After a few clarifying discussions I was finally able to arrange it and got their 'Okay'. So I got yesterday finally the chance to book my ticket. I'll come with you and we'll fly to your parents together!"

"Namjoon! You really went completely crazy! I'm the reason you've been having all this trouble?! You can't be serious!"

You almost shout at him and throw yourself at him, crying and sobbing. Nothing holds your tears anymore, they just run down your cheeks and you are so overwhelmed with all this joy and love you feel for him that you can't calm down right now.

Namjoon gently caresses your back, talks you into comfort, but also gives you the time you need to process all of this in your head and slowly come down.

"N-Namjoon! Please explain to me how I deserve all of...", you are making an extravagant gesture around you two where all the presents are scattered all over the bed "... this here?"

"You know, Y/N... I ask myself the same question every day when I wake up next to you and have the possibility to look into your beautiful face. What I deserved to have met you. A person who takes me the way I am, without wanting to change me. A person who supports me as I need it at this specific moment. A person who is patient with me when I'm impatient with myself and sometimes have unbearable phases. A person who loves me when I can't love myself in dark days. And all these things you've done for me, even when I don't have the time for you that I would like to have. I just wanted to return the favor."

You open your trembling lips, try to respond to his wonderful words, but no sound comes out of your throat. You simply cannot find any words for this literally breathtaking declaration of love.

Namjoon smiles at you softly and yet a bit nervously, almost looks like a shy schoolboy who confess his love to his crush. Then he takes the floor again.

"But please believe me, Y/N, I don't want to buy your love with these gifts here and also all these small souvenirs from these different countries and even when I just want to give you a little gift, I only want you to know that I always think of you. And somehow want to show myself recognizable, even if I have a lack of goddamn time for it. This time that I would like to spend with you. Therefore I would like to thank you again and again, that you give me the chance to realize my dream job and at the same time I am lucky enough to be able to complete this dream with you. Thank you. I love you so much and maybe you can understand now how much I love and appreciate you."

Namjoon's voice begins to tremble towards the end and when you look up at him you see tears running down from the corner of his eyes. Your heart feels as if it can no longer withstand this love in your chest and wants to burst into thousand pieces.

"I love you too, Namjoon. So, so much! And now, right now, I know exactly how much you love me, that sometimes it just steals my voice...", you sob.

You lie in the arms of each other a few more moments, enjoy being allowed to be so close to the other person, at least for a tiny moment. Until Namjoon's timer rings, which should remind him that he should go for practice now. A frustrated sigh escapes Namjoon.

"Hey Baby, it's time to continue working on your dream and make it come true... right? And I want to go back to sleep anyway until my girls storms our apartment to celebrate my birthday too. Come on, hop hop, out of the bed! Hobi doesn't like to wait! ",you giggle and shoo him out of bed.

At the door, Namjoon turns around to you the last time.

"I love you, my Queen."

"I love you too, my King."

You start to laugh together before the front door closes and you sink back into the pillows with a slight smile in your lips.

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