#but yeah over time happier endings have been written of course

[heeseungiez]

nothing i don’t have | pjs

part 2: support our son

pairings! park jongseong x reader, ft. huening kai x reader

summary! it was supposed to be simple, you and jay would fuck whenever either of you felt horny — no feelings. but it was hard not to catch feelings where park jongseong was involved. so you took the easy way out: you ended it.

genre! texts, written fic, college au, love triangle (corner)

word count! 1k

content warnings! swearing

author's note! i'm still trying to figure out what app/site to make the texts on so if anyone has a good suggestion please help please i'm struggling

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You used to come over to Jay’s place nearly every other day. But it had been two weeks, and you were nowhere to be seen. It was to the point that Heeseung, Jake and Sunghoon began asking if you would ever come over again, to which Jay was forced to answer that you were probably hanging out with Huening Kai. He didn’t know your actual whereabouts most of the time, but he guessed. Which made him internally cringe every time.

What he disliked the most, however, was his incessant urge to text you whenever the smallest inconvenient thing happened in his day. He was sure you would very likely reply, but he was scared of what it would be like now that the dynamic of your relationship changed. It should probably be the same, but what if your voice over text changed because now you were seeing someone else?

Jay wasn’t fond of the idea in the slightest. Did you even really like Huening Kai? Who the fuck was he to take you away from Jay? (Yet you weren’t his to begin with.) He missed you, but he could hardly voice it out to himself, let alone you.

The day he nearly killed a man on the spot was when he saw you and Huening Kai walking side by side on campus. It wasn’t just that, actually, because the two of you were holding hands, and you were laughing about something Kai had said. It was even worse because he was clearly walking you to class — a class that you shared with Jay. So you were bound to cross paths, and no matter how hard Jay tried to slow his pace down, you still managed to notice him.

“Oh, hey, Jay!” you called him over with a smile on your face. It was brighter than he remembered, and he couldn’t figure out if it was just his brain playing tricks, or whether you were genuinely happier than he had ever seen you before. “You know Kai, right?” you asked innocently, but it only brought back Jay’s anger from the Sanctuary Café.

Heeseung just wanted to take Jay out to an open mic. Neither of them knew that it would also be the day of your first date with Huening Kai. Jay hated every second of being there, but to you, it must’ve been an unforgettable night.

“And Kai, this is Jay,” you said with a smile, pointing at him.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Kai stretched out his hand forward, but the gaze with which he beheld Jay told him that he knew everything about you and Jay. That you gave him every single gory detail of what had been going on before the two of you began dating, and that made Jay even more furious. Because he refused to acknowledge any other emotion he felt.

He ignored the tightness in his chest as he shook Kai’s hand with a nod. “I’ve heard nothing about you,” Jay replied, not lying, because he genuinely knew nothing about Kai besides the few pieces of gossip and what Heeseung divulged some time ago. Kai wasn’t surprised by that information at all. You hadn’t told Jay anything about him either.

“We have to get to class, but I’ll see you later, yeah?” You looked at Kai with such admiration in your eyes that Jay wanted to step between the both of you and push Kai out of the way. But he couldn’t do it. All he could do was stand and watch and constantly clench and unclench his fists.

“Yeah, of course,” Kai replied, bending down to kiss your temple, but you grabbed the collar of his band tee and brought his mouth down to your lips. Kai let out an involuntary giggle as it happened, and Jay had to abruptly turn away, incapable of not rolling his eyes.

“Bye,” you mumbled quietly, a soft smile decorating your lips.

“Band practice starts at five.”

“I know, Kai,” you laughed and shook your head. “I’ll be there. We need to support our son.”

Jay furrowed his brows, but with Kai’s knowing grin and playful roll of his eyes, neither of you was going to elaborate on what you actually mean.

Your son?

And yet that was the first thing Jay asked about once Kai was finally leaving you alone, his back turned to the two of you. “Your son? The fuck happened in the last two weeks?”

You chuckled at Jay’s confusion, an amused look brightening up your features. “Yujin’s still in high school,” you said, shaking your head. “The keyboardist. If you remember him. He’s actually just started his second year.”

“So you call him your son?”

“Yeah, he’s the whole band’s son. And mine, now.” You grinned proudly, just thinking about Yujin. “Anyways, I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact much lately, but I’m still getting used to this whole new dynamic of me having a boyfriend and all that.”

“Oh, you’re official already?”

“I’d hope so,” you said, shrugging. “What about you? Any new conquests lately? Surely, you already found someone else? Maybe you’ve already had someone on your roster, you know, that kinda stuff.” 

If Jay wasn��t too busy cringing at your words, he’d probably notice how tense your tone was, and how much you hated saying them, but he didn’t. All he heard was that you really didn’t care about him any more than a casual fuck and perhaps a somewhat close friend. 

“Nah, not really,” Jay replied anyway. “I’m actually kinda… I don’t know. Haven’t felt like doing much lately.”

“Right. So just you and Jane?” you asked teasingly.

“What?” And maybe it should’ve hit Jay instantly that you were speaking of his guitar, but instead he thought that you were suggesting he really was with somebody else already, and he did not like that. “Oh.” He realised moments later.

“Yeah. I guess you could say that.” He nodded. Jay had to count all his small victories of today among the losses, too, however, because you were actively speaking to him finally. And not just that — you sat down next to him in class.

tags: (send an ask or comment to be added!) @moonpri @addictedtohobi

[perpetualexistence]

OK. I'VE DROPPED THESE QUESTIONS IN THE DISCORD ALREADY BUT I'LL ALSO DROP EM HERE

is the rest of the au plotted out?

how many parts left are there?

are team escope going to be relevant in the next part?

were there any other total drama cameos/characters you wanted to include?

is there anything in the au you wished you had written differently, and if yes, what?

ok this is a spoilery one but. are they dead. are the toxic yaoi guys dead. please i need to know

what actually prompted you into writing this au? since it's the first one you ever wrote about and stuff. did you have any other ideas around that time?

and a final one just for Tumblr:

8. If the boys are alive, is Alejandro gonna end up as Noah's goldfish after all this. because it would be funny

Aaah, so many questions! All of them good. I'll be putting anything that would be more spoilery for the future under a read more for those who want to be kept in suspense about the future of the AU.

General spoilers ahead for any of you who haven't read the whole AU. Also if you haven't, go ahead and give it a shot if horror is your vibe. I'm rather proud of it and unashamed of tooting my own horn.

3. Are Team E-scope going to be relevant in the next part?

Not necessarily in the next part, but I absolutely am going to find an excuse to make them relevant to the story. I am biased towards them, and have no shame in this fact.

4. Were there any other total drama characters/cameos you wanted to include?

I can't think of many I wanted to include in the past that I didn't already include/introduce in Spring Break Snacktime.

And if this question is more about if there are any more that will show up, then yeah, I definitely have plans for more cameos.

5. Is there anything you wish you had written differently, and if yes then what?

Yeah, I'd have to say I do wish I'd sprinkled in more of Alejandro's and Noah's happier interactions that happen post reveal.

For as toxic as their relationship is, there are reasons why Noah didn't want to go through with premeditated murder. Alejandro still treats their relationship as the same outside from when they hunt, and he's rather nice to Noah when he wants to be.

This obviously doesn't justify anything Alejandro does to him, but I do want to show how toxic relationships can be more nuanced than 'one person is horrible all the time to the other', and break down the idea of 'the perfect victim'.

Oh, and I also would have done more things with Chref actually being rather fatherly (as much as they can be anyways) towards Noah, because I do want that knife to be twisted in as hard as it can be when he realizes Chris' true motivations.

7. what actually prompted you into writing this au? since it's the first one you ever wrote about and stuff. did you have any other ideas around that time?

Oooh a fun behind the scenes question!

So, the idea of mer-eel Alejandro of course came from the eel comment and seeing plenty of other people do similar. And, me being me and a sucker for giant/tiny, my brain instinctively went:

"...But what if make him bigger?"

The toxic yaoi part of it comes from, funnily enough, the lack of toxic Alenoah that I'd found at the time on AO3.

I'd of course found the staples of Alenoah rewrites, and a lot of fic that of course has the two having positive character development. And I shall always love them to pieces and read them many times over.

But at the time I was getting into fandom I was only seeing fluff pieces. There were a few darker fics here and there that had been made a while ago. But nothing more recent.

And given how both of them are in canon, I saw a lot of potential to have them be in a no good very bad relationship.

Hence me eventually combining 'giant mer-eel' with 'toxic yaoi' to get the fic you see today.

And I did have other ideas around the same time! This one just happened to come out first because it was the one I had an actual plot outline for.

The other ones were both alenoaheather because. Well. I am a sucker for them.

The first one was one that's still officially untitled that I like to call a Beastars-esque AU. It's got giant-shifters, werefolk, and humans just doing their best in a world that's pretty fucked up when you think about it for more than two seconds.

I've got the main character arcs planned for the whole trio of Alenoaheather and...not much else in terms of plot. One day, I hope.

The other idea was an idea I did end up sharing in February with Alenoaheather trying to avoid being made into sacrifices for eldritch deities. It goes absolutely fine for them, don't worry about it.

8. If the boys are alive, is Alejandro gonna end up as Noah's goldfish after all this. because it would be funny

That would in fact be so very funny. And I can absolutely see a timeline where Noah was able to find/finish his spell and just has an Alejandro in a tank.

He just tears into a fish while glaring at a smirking Noah.

Alright, now for the more spoilery questions in the order that makes sense to me:

6. okay this is a spoilery one but. are they dead. are the toxic yaoi guys dead. please I need to know

Fine, fine, because you asked so nicely I'll reveal it to you in the smallest of text. They're not dead, but their actions certainly had consequences :)

Is the rest of this AU plotted out?

Haha, um, well you see-

No. No it is not.

I started off this fic with just the vaguest of outlines which I did share during a post a long time ago. I knew at the very least how I wanted to end it and the message/themes I wanted to share.

Rather than write things down part by part in terms of an outline, I just kept the outline of things in my head. Don't do this kids, this is a very bad idea when working on longform fic.

Arc 1 was always the one I'd had planned out the most, with the driving scene always being that it would end with Noah biting Alejandro and Alejandro electrocuting Noah.

Everything was going to plan...until Spring Break Snacktime.

It was originally supposed to go in a lighter direction, and I outlined that post with that in mind.

And then I started writing it. And I started getting other ideas. I realized the original draft wouldn't lead to that eventual confrontation. Not without forcing some things to happen.

So I started going with this new darker idea and realized that would work a lot better. So I kept going with this new little timeline until eventually getting to that final scene.

And then, well, I started thinking about where I wanted the rest of the fic to go. I started having doubts about the ending I originally had planned. There was a new direction to go into, but my indecisive self was now caught in the middle. Which put everything else into flux.

I've just recently committed to which ending I'm going with. It's the one that feels more honest to me and I think will serve the story better in the long run.

...The problem is it means re-thinking the rest of the AU by a lot. So that original outline I came up with in my head? Yeah that's getting recycled for parts.

And this time I won't just exist on ADHD hyperfixation and a dream, I will actually write an outline down for at least the basic events, and see how many parts come out through that.

2. How many parts are left?

So because I don't actually have said outline yet, I've no idea how many parts there are going to be. I will say that my original plan did have an Arc 2 and an Arc 3, and I probably will end up keeping that same structure. At the very least Arc 2 is definitely happening because the ideas behind that one aren't changed too too much by the new direction for the ending.

But basically it's a mystery to us all.

[wronglennon]

thank uuuu @menlove and @dykebeatles for tagging me mwah writing tag game lets go

how many works do you have on ao3?

cumulatively over both accounts i have 13, but there are a bunch ive deleted over the years so the actual number is unknown lmao

what’s your total word count?

on takomtrmou it’s 109,153 and on saffrontea its 46,451. my other account is primarily anime/podcast stuff and i havent used it in a while but it was a lot more short form. if you like jujutsu kaisen i have a satosugu fic on there i wrote nearly two years ago now which i still stand by i love you satosugu

top five fics by kudos?

something you can hold on to (satosugu)

stop calling (it’s time to let me be) (satosugu)

if you think you can save me, i dare you to try (satosugu)

there’s a kind of music that reminds me of you (oakworthy)

an improvised guide to co-parenting in the workplace (mythic quest, vaguely braddavid)

do you respond to comments? why/why not?

yeah definitely even if it takes me a bit to get round to them sometimes i try to reply to them. partially because i want to say thank you but partially because when they’re sitting in my inbox it doesn’t feel like i can mark them as seen till i reply lol

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

it’s between stop calling and if you think you can save me, but i think probably stop calling, just because i think you can save me is a scene that’s also included in something you can hold onto from a different perspective, and that one ultimately has a happy ending. i was very concerned with making stop calling as despairing and hollow as possible.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

thiss is hard because it’s sort of like what quantifies something being happier than something else if it’s just, they both end well. is it that despite the angst the ending is happy? because if that’s the case it’s definitely something you can hold onto. i like the ending to love is a finder as well because it’s just very sweet and i liked writing it a lot.

do you write crossovers?

no, got nothing against them i just have never found two properties that i would be interested in writing one for.

have you ever received hate on a fic?

nooo not as far as i’m aware

do you write smut, if so what kind?

sure if it fits and i want to. most kinds really. i think the smut ive enjoyed writing most has been the trixie katya stuff ive written over the course of this year, esp dead but delicious.

have you ever had a fic stolen?

noooope

have you ever had a fic translated?

noooope

have you ever co-written a fic before?

nah but i would be up for it if its a concept im really into and someone i enjoy co writing with. the concept of the daemon au was very much a split effort between me and james menlove tho so it definitely wouldn’t exist without him.

what’s your all-time favourite ship?

it changes so frequently but ill always have a special place in my heart for satosugu. tragic friends to enemies will always get me and with kenjaku there’s just another element of pain.

what’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

ohhhh banana-split lady i fear. i mean never is a strong word but i worry its not in the foreseeable future just because my passion for it kind of petered out, but i do still really love the concept soo maybe someday. just not someday soon

what are your writing strengths?

i have been told that i evoke scenery and emotion pretty vividly which is always so great to hear. more recently with the beatles my favourite compliment is hearing that i get their voices/banter down accurately because its sooo important to me when im reading a fic and its one of my favourite parts to write.

what are your writing weaknesses?

the planning stage definitely. i have a habit of throwing myself into the bit i want to write and then kind of painting myself into a corner when i realise i dont have any ideas for the wider plot. i’m working on it but yeah im a bigggg offender of just making things up as i go which also can lead to losing interest in a piece lol

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i suppose i’ve got no issue as long as it’s executed well, and yeah as prev said finding someone who speaks the language is always preferable to just google translating it lmao

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

wrote but not published was doctor who. i was writing self insert doctor who fanfiction from the age of nine. first that i published was voltron and i dont want to talk about that.

what’s a fandom/ship you havent written for yet but want to?

i have a dusty old poison ivy/harley quinn wip that probably i wouldn’t post but definitely piqued my interest in writing them because theyre a lottt of fun.

favourite fic you’ve written?

either something you can hold on to or love is a finder, always! love is a finder is recent but im very proud of how it turned out, and something you can hold onto still stands up remarkably well even tho i think ive changed as a writer quite a lot since i wrote it.

tagging: mmmmm @milfpaul @tritzie @jorkeryuri and whoever else wants to do this lol

[coraniaid]

Good news: I have objectively ranked Buffy's worst multi-episode subplots. By which I mean, these are the ones that I personally most object to, and I ranked them in a spreadsheet so this is practically science.

7) Willow/Xander secretly cheating (Season 3). Not quite as bad as its reputation, honestly? Yes, it's not much fun to watch and yes, Alyson Hannigan and Nicholas Brendon don't have any obvious chemistry (although I really have to think that's intentional). But it at least serves a useful thematic purpose in the season, with Xander and Willow's secrets both mirroring Buffy's own secret about Angel's return and influencing how they react to finding out about it. Plus, it gives the writers an excuse to break up Cordelia and Xander, so it can't be all bad.

Speaking of which:

6) Cordelia and Xander (Seasons 2-3). Yeah, this just sucks, sorry. As a silly one episode gag it was fine, but spinning it out for longer than that was a mistake for both characters. Sure, you can try to retcon it to be something more interesting than it is (especially by taking the more human and sympathetic version of Xander that the show hadn't actually bothered creating yet and projecting him back into it), but as presented on screen this is the closest the show ever comes to writing Xander as an actual Joss Whedon self-insert fantasy. Oh, of course, the pretty and popular cheerleader falls in love with awkward misfit Xander Harris (no doubt won over by his strategy of lingering hostility and constant insults and allegations of promiscuity), and of course she abandons all her friends to be with him. Of course she finds it romantic that he tries to cast a love spell on her "for revenge" after she tries to break up with him. Of course he makes her so much happier than any of her other older or more popular boyfriends did. Uh huh. As is true for so much of Buffy and Angel, Cordelia deserved a lot better than this.

5) Oz and Veruca (Season 4). In which Seth Green annoys Joss Whedon and gets written out of the show in revenge. This wouldn't be the first time that something like this happened, of course. And it's telling that Oz, unlike Darla or Cordelia, is only sent away from town at the end of the arc, rather than killed off outright. But that doesn't change the fact that this is still pretty bad. Oz has been a werewolf for almost two years by this point. It doesn't really make sense that it would suddenly start making him act like this. There were ways to write Oz out that didn't involve such blatant character assassination. (Not that Oz ever had much in the way of characterization.) Oh, and the werewolf costumes are still awful. Only this low on the list because it sets the stage for Willow and Tara.

Speaking of writing characters out of the show:

4) Riley's secret late night vampire visits (Season 5). I don't like Riley. As far as I'm concerned he's one of the weaker links of Season 4. I think he's an incredibly boring character, that he's not particularly likeable as a person and that ultimately he's a poor fit for the show. I'm glad he was written out. However. Writing him out by first making him (at least metaphorically) unfaithful, something he'd never shown any sign of being before, and then having him issue an ultimation to Buffy in which he threatens to join a secret paramilitary squad in South America if she doesn't immediately forgive him for said infidelity, and then having Xander lecture Buffy about how great Riley is, actually, and this is really all Buffy's fault for not paying him enough attention while her mother was in hospital with a brain tumor was ... uh. A choice.

3) Willow's magic addiction (Season 6). The use of magic as a metaphor for drug addiction was not new to Season 6. Arguably it's the first metaphorical use for magic in the show at all, going all the way back to Giles' backstory as revealed in The Dark Age. The show's metaphors are usually a bit subtler than this though. But the real problem is that Willow's magic addiction ends up replacing a much more interesting story the show had been slowly setting up for years, about Willow over-relying on magic to find easy solutions and not particularly concerning herself with other people's opinions or consent and her slightly warped personal morality ("occasionally I'm callous and strange", but also "I've also thought of myself as a good person"). Once all her problems can be reduced to something external, to something which happens to her rather than because of her, something which she's almost tricked into by her (retroactively) bad, unsympathetic drug addict friend Amy, the show just forgets all about this previous character work. What memory spell?

2) Spike's hypnotic trigger (Season 7). Having chosen to interpret soul lore in the least interesting way they could possibly think of (having a soul makes you Good and any of the people you hurt should just get over it), the writers realized they had a problem. Other than sitting around in a basement feeling sorry for himself, they didn't have anything for the newly ensouled Spike to actually do. Their solution -- what if Spike were ... hypnotized? -- does nothing but set up some incredibly boring new conflicts that have absolutely nothing to do with his established character or existing past. Or indeed with much of anything. I mean, come on. If this is all the writers could think of doing with a souled Spike, why even bother giving him a soul at all?

This would be easily the worst of Buffy's subplots, seeing that it throws out five seasons of existing character development, wastes any number of potentially interesting story ideas and culminates in the absolute nadir that is Lies My Parents Told Me, were it not for:

1) "Is Giles the FIrst Evil?" (Season 7). A long-running mystery that spans multiple episodes and which requires all of the characters involved to not only be complete idiots but to actually cease to exist when the camera isn't pointed at them. (None of them ever thought to touch Giles despite knowing about the First? None of them hugged him or shook his hand despite not having seen him in months? None of them ever accidentally touched him while sharing a house for weeks?) And it's a mystery that largely only exists for the audience, a question which the actual characters don't even ask themselves until getting a phone call from a complete stranger who by his own testimony can only still be alive if Giles isn't the First (if Giles had been killed by a Bringer, then why would they have left any witnesses?). All in the service of a subplot which takes up valuable time from an already painfully overcrowded season and whose only actual payoff is a wretched and sordid little joke about Giles touching teenage girls. Just abysmal on every level.

[ihni]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Ooooh, how fun! <3 Thank you! I've gone through my fics and I'm gonna do 5+1, because why not, right? Seems fic approporiate, in a way. So, here goes:

Over the edge, 16K. (Because it's a scenario I've wanted to write for YEARS and I finally did, and I had a blast writing it! Muahaha!) “You’re still on probation. But if you behave this weekend, we might –“ “‘Behave’?” Billy snorted. “I’m not a dog, Henderson. What do you want me to do? Sit? Roll around? Be a good boy?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, making Steve snort beside him. Dustin drew himself up to his very unimpressive height in the back seat, puffing out his chest. “Well you can start by not killing anyone!” “Ki– Jesus Christ, kid, I’m not gonna kill anyone!” “Well you almost killed Steve before –“ Here, Billy glanced over guiltily at Steve, who shook his head slightly as if to say it wasn’t a big deal, “– and you have a history of violence. You can’t fault us for making sure!” “Whatever.” “You promise?” “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Yes, kid, I promise I won’t kill anyone.”

Birthday boy, 8K. (Because I've never had so many people telling me a fic made them cry ... don't worry though, there are happier follow-ups!) Neil gives Max a benevolent nod. “You can go.” Max shoots up from her chair, a big smile on her face. “Really? Thank you, I –“ “You can go to the party, but not the sleepover. I want you home at eleven, at the latest.” Trying not to grimace, Max nods. It’s better than nothing. “And of course, Billy will go with you.” “What?”

At least an assist, 8K. (Because it's an alternate first meeting between our boys, and it was fun to imagine an opposite to a meet-cute - also Billy's tied up for most of it, which is always a plus!) “Dude,” he said, more baffled than angry. “Did you just try to bite me?” “I’ll do worse than that if you untie me,” Hargrove growled, as if making threats from the position he was in was somehow normal. “Yeah, because that makes me want to untie you,” Steve snarked back without thinking. Then he sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. He didn’t sign up for this shit. “Listen, yes this sucks, but it’s only for a couple of hours. Why don’t you just chill?” “I’ve been fucking kidnapped, you fuck! I’m supposed to play the finals right now, not kick back and relax while being fucking tied to a chair!” or Steve's teammates kidnap the opposing team's star player to secure a win in the finals. The star player in question is not impressed.

Fast and Frightening, 20K. (This whole fic was born from a chat about possessed cars, and because both me and DearDMVZ quite agreed that Billy would look very fetching tied to the hood of his Camaro while it's racing through the roads outside of Hawkins at night.) There's some seriously fucked-up shit going on. Billy crashed his car, was attacked by some kind of monster, escaped, ran into someone who looked just like him, punched that guy in the face, escaped again, and ended up on a random road somewhere outside of town. And now his own car has turned against him. In short, Billy's not having a good time.

Sleeping Beauty Retold, 8K. (Because I went to town on a fairytale AU and I really fucking like it, still.) Once upon a time, there was an evil king. The king married a woman who had magic, and used her to stay young and strong. To attain true immortality, though, he would have to sacrifice their child on the child's eighteenth birthday. Only, the queen thwarted the king's plans - she stoles the child away in the middle of the night and sent him away, to be raised far from the castle, so that he would be safe. The king never stopped looking. And one day, the child - who had grown up into a young man - was found.

Again and again and again and again, 4K. (Bonus fic, because if I'd had time I would have written 80K of this, I love the concept a LOT. Basically the boys being stuck in a time loop together.) It is Sunday, November 4th 1984, and it’s been Sunday, November 4th 1984 like, fifty-two times now. Fifty-four? Over fifty, at least. Billy’s lost count, which is depressing in itself.

[detective-giggles]

better days and even better nights

Just a little dads Tarlos written for @bubblesandroses8 for the Valentine’s Exchange!  ***

Carlos tosses a backpack on the counter and opens it, preparing to stuff it with everything he’ll need for a day at the zoo with his daughter.  He and TK both have the day (and evening!) off, and they plan to make the most of it. They had decided that they’d split up and each spend some quality time with one of the girls and then tonight, maybe some quality time with each other (if they weren’t too tired from the day’s shenanigans). 

He starts with a few bottles of water and sets a couple on the counter for TK to pack in his own bag.  He adds some fruit snacks and granola bars, tucking those carefully in a front pouch, so they don’t get smashed.  His bag was already half-full; a baseball cap and sunglasses for each one of them, sunscreen, a blanket, and a few small toys to keep Mari occupied for the drive.

TK breezes in, carrying his own backpack, and dumps the few snacks inside. “Thanks, babe.”

“You’re welcome. Did you pack some extra clothes, just in case? You know if you stop for lunch, she’ll end up with ketchup all over her dress.” He’s glad both girls are out of the diaper stage, but he’ll be happier when they’re both a little older, and they don’t feel like they need to pack the whole house for a day trip.

TK laughs and shakes his head but hurries into Sophie’s bedroom and grabs another full outfit to stuff in the bag. He returns a few minutes later with Sophie trailing closely behind, carrying her favorite stuffy.  Mari was nearby, trying to herd them out the door.

“Let’s goooo! I wanna see the penguins!” Mari exclaims, following TK into the kitchen. 

“You’ll get to say hi to the penguins soon enough,” TK promises as he zips up the backpack and slips it onto his shoulders. 

“You two have fun today,” TK says, picking Sophie up and settling her on his hip. 

He presses a kiss to the top of Mari’s head and one to Carlos’ temple, and Sophie leans in to try to give Carlos a kiss too.  

Carlos grabs his own backpack and Mari’s hand, and together they all head out of the house.

***

“Which one do you want?” TK asks.  

They’d been at Build-A-Bear for almost fifteen minutes, and Sophie still hadn’t decided which animal she wanted.  

“What’s this funny-looking thing?”  she asks.

“That is called an axolotl.” He kneels down next to her and does a quick google search, showing her a video. 

“It’s a fish?” 

“No? But-” TK makes a face and decides he really doesn’t want to explain to a four-year-old what an amphibian is, and he nods. “Yeah, it’s like a fish.”

Sophie giggles. “I want one!” 

“I don’t think your dad would like that,” he says.  “You can have this one, though.”

“Okay,” she agrees.  “Can we buy it clothes too?”

“Well, of course, silly girl. We can’t have a naked axolotl in the house.” TK leads her over to the rows of clothes for all the bears. 

He pauses at the little firefighter costume and pulls it off the shelf. 

“I might just make one too.”  TK steps back to look at the animals, choosing a little bear to stuff as Sophie pulls an outfit off the shelf.

“I’m ready!” she announces. 

“Okay, come on.” 

The bear and axolotl stuffing process takes way longer than TK expects, but the kid working the stuffing machine is nice enough, so he doesn’t really mind.  Twenty minutes later, they’re carrying their matching boxes out of the store and heading for the next stop on their father-daughter date.

***

“Can we go in here?” Mari asks, tugging on Carlos’ hand.  He stops short as he realizes she’s trying to lead him into the reptile house, and he shakes his head. 

“Not today, princess. It’s closed,” he says, veering away. He almost feels bad for lying to her, but she only pouts for a minute before she sees the next animal and hurries down the path.

“Giraffes!” she yells as she runs to the railing.  

Carlos takes a couple of quick strides to catch up and picks her up. As he lifts her over his head and sets her on his shoulders, she squeals with delight. 

“They’re so big,” she says in awe. “Much taller than you.”

Carlos chuckles, “They are a lot taller than I am.” 

They spend a few minutes watching the giraffes eat before Mari kicks to be let down.  He sets her on the sidewalk and pulls the map out of his pocket, asking what she wants to see. Carlos should have anticipated her response of “everything!”  The monkeys are next, and they head in that direction at a leisurely pace.  

“Thank you for bringing me here.” 

Carlos laughs, “You’re welcome, princess.”

“Can we go to the water zoo after this?”

“The water what?”

Carlos listens for a bit as she talks about all the fish she wants to see, especially the sharks. “I think the word you’re looking for is aquarium.”

 “Yes!” Mari agrees. 

“And no, we’re not going to the aquarium today.” 

“Are you taking daddy to the zoo tonight?” Mari asks. “Can we stay up late with Aunt Nancy?”

“Your father and I are definitely not going to the zoo,” Carlos says. “And as far as staying up late… Your dad and I are going to put you two to bed before we leave. We can’t stop Aunt Nancy from letting you guys get up and watch a movie and maybe eat some of the ice cream in the freezer.” Carlos gives her a conspiratorial look. Nancy doesn’t babysit much anymore, so when she does, Carlos decides to look the other way when she spoils the kids.

“Yesssssss!” Mari cheers. “That’s why Aunt Nancy is the best!”

“Because she lets you do things your dad and I don’t?”

Mari grins excitedly and nods, and Carlos is already worried for her teenage years.

***

“What took you guys so long?” TK asks as soon as Carlos and Mari walk through the door.  TK’s sitting at the table with Sophie on his lap, a giant coloring book on the table in front of them.

“We were enjoying the zoo,” Carlos comments. “And a quick dinner for Mari.”  He kneels down in front of Sophie. “Wanna tell me about your day while you get ready for bed?”

“Yes!! And you can see my new toy!” Sophie climbs off TK’s lap and starts to run for the stairs.

“No running in the house!” both TK and Carlos manage to spit out at the same time. Sophie freezes and then gives an exaggerated tip-toe all the way across the room. Carlos shakes his head and follows her headstart, taking the steps two at a time.

“Did you have fun with your dad today?” TK asks. 

Mari climbs into the seat next to him and nods.

“But he wouldn’t take me to the reptile house again.  I wanted to see the snakes!” She picks up the crayon her sister discarded, and they color as they talk.

“The snakes, huh? Next time. We can spend the whole time in the reptile house if you want.”

The girl sighs but nods in agreement, “Okay, next time. Promise?”

“I promise. I mean, you’ll miss out on some other really awesome animals, but if that’s what you want…” TK stands and starts stuffing the crayons back in the box. “Come on, buttercup. Go get your pajamas on and pick out a book. I’ll be in to read to you in a minute.”

Mari heads for the stairs, and TK finishes cleaning off the table before following.

***

“So… What’s in the bag?” Carlos asks as they wait to be seated. They have had these reservations for a month, but it was still a new restaurant and it was crazy busy. 

TK gives him a look, “It’s a surprise.”

“It’s not my birthday, and it’s not our anniversary,” Carlos points out.  He reaches out and adjusts TK’s tie, smoothing out a wrinkle.

The hostess calls their name, and they follow her to the table.  TK shakes his head and says, “No, it’s not. But I was thinking of you, so I got you this.”

Carlos reaches into the bag and pulls out a small bear dressed in a little firefighter uniform. “Really?”

“For your desk at work! Now I can be with you every day! They don’t have a paramedic outfit,” he says, “I looked.” 

Carlos huffs a laugh and nods. “To be fair, this is exactly what you were wearing the first time I met you.”

“That’s not even the best part. Have you been there?”

“To Build-A-Bear?” Carlos clarifies. “No.”

“They stuff the bears and you get to pick out a little outfit and stuff. But look. Squeeze here.” TK reaches out and points.  Carlos gives a little squeeze and feels a little plastic… heart?

“Don’t you just love him?” TK asks.

“I do,” Carlos admits. “But not as much as I love you,” Carlos drops the bag at his feet and sets the little bear on the table as they order their drinks.

“I really enjoy getting to spend some quality time with the girls,” TK says softly. “But we only get so few days off together, and I really miss getting to spend them all with you.” TK reaches out, brushing his fingers against Carlos’ and Carlos gives his hand a squeeze.

“Well, you have my undivided attention tonight,” Carlos says. “So be interesting.”

TK laughs. “You know, speaking of interesting, I had a very interesting discussion with our daughter tonight about the reptile house.”

Carlos shudders. “We don’t talk about that. It was closed for cleaning. End of story.”

“I love you so much,” TK says, still laughing.  “But enough about that. Tell me everything about your week.” 

Carlos takes a sip of his wine as he tries to decide where to start. “Okay, okay, I gotta tell you about this case…”  

He leans in and they take turns exchanging stories during dinner, filling each other in about their week at work and the girls, eventually drifting into a comfortable silence over a shared dessert. 

“This is nice,” TK says finally. “I mean, we can talk and have a conversation, but we can also just…be together.  Unlike the girls who have to be talking all the time.”

“Well, speaking of just being together. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Carlos shrugs and grins. “But Nancy is staying, so we have the rest of the night to figure it out.”

*** I also slipped in the line “I was thinking of you, so I got you this” to check off a box on my TMP Tarlos Bingo. 

Tagging: @plaidbooks, @tarlosweeklyprompts, @tarlosmonthlyprompts

[lola-andheruniverse]

For ZA Tuesday I love “For Her, For Us “ by CarolPeletier. After the farm, Carol and Daryl never reunite with the group but they find their way and build a life. Also Fervor by the same author is Za and has a lot of spice. Sophia makes it in this version. The author hadn’t written in over a year but she is so good. Maybe some positive comments will help.

Hi, anon! I've been saving your recs for a while now because I wanted to read both fics before reviewing them. Sorry it took me so long and thank you to introduce me to a new author and new stories! Our fics for today were both written by CarolPeletier and I have to tell you, dear fellow caryler, this author approach on new possibilities for our old TWD ZA are very interesting! Both fics diverge from canon very early so nothing is sacred here - except, of course, Carol and Daryl. Be ready to see our TF characters developing and connecting to each other on different settings and different points in TWD's timeline. Shout out to two of my favorite Merle portraits ever! He's amazing on both fics. Nothing makes me happier than a happy ending with a Dixon family and here we have two versions of it so satisfaction guaranteed!

For Her, For Us is posted only on AO3.

Summary: After the Greene farm is overrun, Carol and Daryl are left separated from their group. After weeks of searching, they find a new place to call home. Broken and weary from the events at the farm, an unexpected complication brings them closer together and helps them heal.

Rating: M/Mature Word count: 115.481 (55 chapters) Published: November 18, 2019 - COMPLETE What I loved most about this fic is how Carol and Daryl progress from friends to lovers. It feels very organic and real how they fall in love while taking care of the "unexpected complication" mentioned in the summary. Yeah, dear fellow caryler, this one is a spoiler I won't give you, you've got to go and read it. But trust me, it's a very sweet one, especially if you enjoyed S9/S10.

Fervor is also posted on AO3.

Summary: Carol waits until everyone's asleep to take her shower at the CDC. Daryl has the same idea. Two lost souls find each other in the middle of the night and take each other by surprise.

Rating: E/Explicit Word count: (54 chapters) Published: April 07, 2020 - COMPLETE

Anon is right, this fic is spicy! But the smut is really well written and it works nicely with the plot, which is something important on a long fic. I've loved how our author used major canon plot points to build a whole different story (for example, how Carol deals with Alpha when there's no Henry to be lost?), creating a truly AU ZA. Thanks anon, one more time, for your recs! They're delightful stories and I'm sure more carylers will enjoy them just like us. Feedback is water and food for any author's soul so please give these two fics lots of kudos and reviews, okay? Sending positive vibes to you all! Caryl on, lovelies, caryl on!

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Maybe I Have to Find My Own Inspiration - A SoKai Day 2024 Fic

Summary: In the far future, after all the battles are over, Sora and Kairi share a normal life together where they're both fashion designers on Destiny Islands. Written for SoKai Day 2024. SoKai. Destiny Trio friendship. Oneshot.

"I never thought we'd end up as fashion designers," Kairi mused to Sora, as the two of them looked in their closet for inspiration for some of the designs they were currently having trouble with.

As Kairi spied her favorite purple top and pink skirt, she suddenly thought about a violet shirt with blue jeans and a model rocking intense blue eye shadow… But right before she could bring it up to Sora, he brought her up short with his own thought: "Well… they say you should never do your passion as a job, or you'll end up hating it, so I couldn’t be happier with how things turned out!"

Kairi nodded her head at that, knowing that Sora was talking about writing having been her dream—though she also did enjoy art, but not nearly as much as Naminé did. And then Sora, of course, more than anything loved making people laugh. Also, dancing (…there was also fighting. But since they were mostly retired, they were both really trying to get away from that).

All-in-all, Kairi did think that this was the second-best career choice for both of them, and she was so glad that they'd found it… together.

"So, what do you think of me trying to make orange the look this year?" Sora asked, pulling Kairi out of her reverie.

And she had to smile, as he draped some of his own orange garments over his shoulders—orange was so not his color, just like black had never been, though not that it really mattered—before she sauntered over to him and pecked him on the cheek, "Well, as a certain character would say, ‘you're obviously disturbed���," Kairi joked. "But everyone who loves to make Halloween get here early would jump at the idea. I say go for it, baby."

"Awesome!" Sora exclaimed, jumping up once, and beaming the most beautiful smile Kairi had ever seen from him. How was that even possible? How did he get better every day? "What color do you think I should pair with it? Something normal, like white? Or should I do an ombre with different oranges?"

"Or you could excite people like you've always loved to, and do the opposite of the color wheel with green," Kairi supplied, imagining a nice sunset as she did so—and perhaps even things like when Sora and Riku had been returned to her on the Island after first defeating Xemnas, or when she and Sora had shared paopus with each other.

"Oh, yeah! That's a great idea! What do you think you’ll design for the show this year, Kai?” Sora asked suddenly, surprising Kairi as he Quick Ran and ended up behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist, and his chin resting on her left shoulder. Oh, yeah. She could definitely get used to this.

Smiling, as she reached back and tangled a hair in Sora’s forever unruly locks that she had ever loved, Kairi simply shrugged. “I don’t know. Riku recently opened up to me about how his ballet dreams aren’t entirely over… but he’s somewhat scared to pursue them. Maybe if I designed a really nice leotard, inspired by him, he’d be willing to give it a go. What do you think, Sora?”

Sora chuckled against Kairi’s skin, which definitely tickled and caused gooseflesh to appear upon her shoulder. Kairi swatted Sora on the arm playfully for that, as he stepped away from her. “If anyone could make Riku look at that long-lost dream of his again, it would be you, Kairi… Well, should we get to work?”

Kairi thought that that was a fantastic idea. And once she had fetched some coffee for the two of them (a light brew for Sora, who—surprisingly, even with all his time world traveling, and keeping weird schedules [where one would have thought he would have needed something strong at times to keep him awake]—still was wired when having only the slightest bit of the stuff, and a dark one for the princess), the fashionistas began their “nine to five,” as it were.

And Kairi loved it… she really did. And she knew that Sora did, too. Once upon a time, Kairi had read a book about playwrights that lived together and the method to their madness. Apparently, they would both sit in the same room, across from each other, and work the same amount of hours together… and when they were done, let each other read what the other had written, and then offer advice (and Kairi didn’t doubt that there were hijinks throughout it all, too). It was much the same for her and Sora.

For instance, in the winter when she would bring out the toe socks that she loved so much and wiggle her toes in absent minded thought, Sora would take this as cue to play footsie with her for a little bit. And did Kairi mind? Most definitely not.

On the professional level, sometimes the two of them would get stuck on something in the middle and bounce ideas off of each other or trade work… it was all truly delightful, and Kairi really couldn’t imagine doing anything else as a career anymore.

Sora’s art was truly something to die for now, too. While she’d never say what he’d done on the cave walls had been… terrible, when he’d become serious about this venture with her, he’d taken up a challenge where he’d drawn every day for one hundred days. And just comparing his baseline from day one to day one hundred had had her jaw hitting the floor. With where he was now, Kairi would dare say he was a better artist than her. And maybe even most people on the island, too. But that was just Sora, wasn’t it? When he put his mind to something he really wanted, there was just no stopping him.

“Kairi, why are you staring at my face like that? You look like you did when we recited our wedding vows… Not that I’m complaining. But are you making any progress on the look for Riku?” Sora asked, pulling Kairi out of her thoughts, as he put his sketchbook down and came over to peer at her drawing.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” the princess exclaimed at once, covering her attempt at her present for Riku, because dear God, was this not ready for anyone to see it yet. “This is still in the early stages, and-”

“Kairi… since when do we ever care about that?” Sora chuckled. “I know every step of your process, and you know mine. Are you struggling? Having second thoughts about your project?” Sora inquired far too correctly, as he looked at her with a raised eyebrow now.

The jig being up, Kairi uncovered her drawing with a sigh, and let her hubby take a gander at it. “It looks like Peter Pan! I hate it! Riku would never wear it! I want to try something else now. Maybe akin to what you’re doing? You almost seem to be doing something superhero-y. Maybe I should, too?”

Sora seemed to blanch at Kairi’s words, but she couldn’t imagine why. She thought his drawing was looking great. But thankfully, she didn’t have to guess for too long. Because like always, Sora revealed what was on his heart without too much preamble. “You don’t really think I’m doing something superhero-y, do you? I mean… not that I’m against superheroes, of course! But that wasn’t really the intention here. It was just mainly supposed to be a shirt with shorts?”

Now it was Kairi’s turn to nitpick, because the way Sora had stared at the intense green of what she was creating hadn’t at all escaped her notice, after all (he hadn’t liked it, but was far too kind to say so). Taking a sip of her coffee first, Kairi turned to the love of her life’s creation with a keen eye. “The orange and green might be a hard sell for a superhero… or anyone, really, but it’s one I personally love, as you know. But the outfit you’re working on here definitely looks like it could withstand much: no doubt inspired from your many looks designed from the Three Good Fairies. So it’s not hard to read ‘superhero’ from this.”

At that, Sora looked at Kairi, then back at his project, then back at Kairi once more before scratching his head, resigned. “I guess so. But you know what? You’re right. I’m not complaining. Superhero, it is!

“And Kairi…” Sora suddenly started monologuing, taking Kairi’s sketchbook away from her right when she’d thought that maybe she’d found some inspiration for what Riku desired, after all. Or was that just wishful thinking on her part? She honestly didn’t know at this point. “Why don’t you try your luck at something superhero oriented, after all” Sora offered, looking at Kairi’s art as if he’d found much needed inspiration there himself. “I know you’re still hung-up on how you didn’t get to do much heroing with us until late. Maybe this could be a way to remedy that? And honestly? What you’re working on here has some of the same bones as what I started with, too.”

“Give me that!” Kairi laughed, poking Sora in the ribs. And since he was extremely ticklish there, he didn’t have to be told twice. Once Kairi had her book back, she could see what her spouse was talking about. Now the green of the leotard didn’t so much remind her of Peter Pan, but skin… She could just imagine red hair with it—like Sora was describing in a bit of a self-insert for her—like Mystique… Or maybe someone else. No, the outfit and character she was picturing was way different from Mystique, actually. Hmm…

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Sora laughed, seeming to have rightfully realized the creative bunnies had once again found his love.

But if the way he was running to the computer out of the corner of her eye was any indication, Sora himself might have had an idea, too.

And so it was, that many moons later, Sora and Kairi would become the sole creators of the characters of Aquaman and Miss Martian: something they both very much cherished, because it reminded them of their Keyblade adventures that they did somewhat miss. And it proved, once again, that they were soulmates and often on the same wavelength.

And the characters’ looks were so stylish, if Kairi said so herself.

She also adored that Sora created a character from the sea, and she made one from the sky, so to speak.

After the two of them wrapped up their press junket for the day (talking about the characters), they walked over to Riku who was pirouetting out in the courtyard like the best of them—having finally decided that he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought about him, his family, or friends—and as Kairi and Sora made their way over to him, Kairi knew immediately what the twinkle in his eye met.

“Kairi, did you finish my leotard ye- Oof!”

He was immediately cut off when said princess placed said leotard into his arms.

“Honestly, Kai, I don’t know why you didn’t think of making it turquoise from the get-go. It would have saved a lot of problems.”

“As if you had that idea, lazy bum!” Kairi huffed, but deep down, she was living the dream. Today had been perfect… and she was thrilled that she had finally had the epiphany on how to deliver this gift to Riku.

“Okay, simmer down you two,” Riku snickered. “I swear, you’re worse than my son, Heiwa. But I want to talk to you guys… this trademarking superheroes thing is no joke. Do you think you might try it again?” He smiled at each of his friends in turn, clearly thinking that it was cool and maybe wanting them to do so more. Kairi couldn’t help but to shake her head in laughter at that.

Thankfully, Sora was giving Riku their answer before Kairi had to burst his bubble—as he placed his hands behind his head in his classic Sora pose. “Nah. I think we’re mostly done with hero-ing in every aspect. If inspiration strikes again, then maybe. But let’s let our clothes be championed!”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Kairi smiled a thousand-watt smile, before taking both Sora and Riku’s hands, like she had once done so long ago. “Besides, Riku: don’t you know it’s your turn to be the hero now: the hero of the dance?!” Kairi laughed before starting to run away from her boys, who chased after her.

But not before both boys had said at the same time said, “You’re a doll, Kairi.”

Yeah, life really couldn’t get much better than this, Kairi decided, as her two best friends ran after her trying to catch up with her this time, which eventually they did—tackling her to the ground in laughter as they did.

Life was pure joy now, and she and all of her loved ones were enjoying each and every minute of it together.

Author’s Note: A really random idea I got one night when I was trying to sleep. I usually get my best inspiration and story ideas at night… but also some of my weirdest.

This surely isn’t my best work and I’ll admit that I don’t love it. But I also don’t hate it, and do like parts of it. And the Destiny Trio do deserve domestic bliss and a normal life like this in the future, of course (though it probably won’t be like this). So, yeah. It’s fine, I guess. -shrugs-

Happy SoKai Day!

Edit: The title is a line from Kiki’s Delivery Service:)

[theeasterly]

Life So Far

Life so far? the answer is fiineeeee. Yet, sometimes i feel the urge to vomit a torrent of sad words from my crowded mind, eventho im not really sad. But, of course i cancel that weird plan since it would sound stupid, right?

Hot Cappuccino

In the past few months, I’ve really come to love less sugar - Hot Cappucino. I used to be a fan of iced coffee with normal sugar, but since iced coffee has lost its appeal lately, I've switched to hot cappuccino. No other coffee will do, must be cappucino. I once tried palm sugar coffee with hot oat milk, but the taste was so awful that I wanted to throw that coffee cup. Of course, I didn't, do that.

Mountains That Are Not High

Besides my new love for hotty cappucino, i'm happy because recently revisited some shorter mountains for trekking. I trekked up mount panderman, standing at around 2000-ish meters above sea level (with bunch of monkey on it) and mount puthuk siwur which is about 1000-ish meters high.

it was a spontaneous plan, born out of my exhaustion with city life. Visiting cafe, buying coffee, eating sweet cakes with white krem in the middle, eating spicy meatballs, fiery coto makasar, salmon fried rice, cheap steaks, expensive steaks-all of it bored me. Back to nature seemed like the perfect escape.

Becoming Newbie Mentor

In addition to working fultime as a product designer, i have a part time role as a mentor for a small agency. I teach product design to beginners after fultime work hours, at night of course. Initially, i wasnt that confidence because my skills weren't perfect, but yeah, nobody perfect, fluffof perfectinizm and i didn't want to pass up the opportunity. After all, i could learn while teaching, right? yeaaa. What makes me happier than, is that some of my mentees want to continue their mentoring sessh by taking private mentor with me after their regular classes over. Isn't that gewd? yez

Annoyed with this writing

Honestly, ive been writing on this blog since last night. so many words keep swirling in my head, but so frustating because i cant seem to write them well. I've written several paragraphs, deleted it, wrote again, and deleted it, over and over until my brain felt like it was burning and it all ended up as a draft.

Today, i manage to write this much with the help of NIKI's song—Anaheim, Backburner, Ocean and Engine, Take a chance with me. The rhythm makes me feel more desperate and sad, but somehow, this feeling makes it easier for me to write, brain to work. Does it sound good? melancholic and pathetic?

yea, after all the paragraphs above, this writing just sounds very bland and lame. No direction and lost. Instead of writing it '---ally', I just ruined it. Dang! writing is hard for this brain, but the brain keeps producing bubbles of words that are dying to be released. Pop pop pop!

[projecthipster]

Radiohead - OK Computer

Transport, motorways and tramlines / Starting and then stopping / Taking off and landing / The emptiest of feelings / Disappointed people / Clinging on to bottles

This is a big day for the blog! Working through the lists, I’ve been excited to get to the albums. Music is such a major part of Hipsterdom, it almost felt wrong to not yet have any album review here. 

So I’m going to start out by committing full on Music Internet suicide. This is the first on the list, so it’s the one I’m doing, and I have to be honest with myself and the 0 people reading this:

I don’t really get what the big deal is with Ok Computer.

Before you get the pitchforks– well, no, carry on, but before you set them on fire– I do think it’s a good album. It has its strengths, which I want to focus in on. But first or second of all time for decades running according to Rate Your Music? You’re telling me this droning is better than Abbey Road or Kind of Blue or Dark Side of the Moon or In the Aeroplane Over the Sea or Funeral or Illinois or Helplessness Blues or…? Am I being gaslit by a quarter-century of Music Internet? I get the feeling that I’d like Ok Computer and the entire Radiohead discography more if everyone else liked it less (how's that for hipster.) If this was just known as a Good Album, which it is, I wouldn’t feel this pressure to understand why Radiohead fans in general think that Thom Yorke’s mumbling makes for The Greatest Band Ever.

So, let’s just try to unplug and listen.

This is 90s Gen X disillusionment not-quite-grunge type of media, which always feels a little poorly aged, though at its best you get stuff like Fight Club, Alex Garland’s The Beach, Nirvana, and David Foster Wallace. I think what keeps Radiohead from reaching those heights is its unwillingness most of the time to have any fun with the sanding belts of corporate life. Ok Computer’s best moments come from breaking out of the drone and playing a bit with its form and melody, allowing for moments that can actually be remembered. Those moments also define the theme or concept inasmuch as there’s any commitment to one, evoking digital isolation and control. I know this has been pointed at as prophetic, and, yeah, I can see that, though of course more contemporary art actually made in our Age of Tech-Corporate Dopamine does it in a more relevant way. There’s the early experimenting with vocaloids in “Paranoid Android.” There's the jazzy influence and alien abduction plot of “Subterranean Homesick Alien,” even if it’s a bit of an unwarranted dig at Bob Dylan to have that allusory title on a song that has nothing to do with his masterpiece.

As I listen to the album for the second or third time, I’ll admit that the melodies stand out better after a few listens. “Exit Music For a Film” is the grandest composition, building from the acoustic intro to a crescendo that the rest of the album could learn something from, appropriate given it was originally written for a Shakespeare adaptation. “Let Down” almost has, perish the thought, a hook with a tune, and thanks to those opening lines quoted at the top of the post, is one of the best melancholy train songs (a crucial mood to have in your library– note one of the best, it's nothing on Vashti Bunyan's "Train Song.") Then there's the very symbolic duel between acoustic guitar and synthesizer at the end. “Karma Police” has its entrancing piano runs, which lead into the best moment of the album, “Fitter Happier.” The synthesizer absolutely victorious, sounding like a breaking-down sci-fpropagandic indoctrination reel into suburban mundanity, hinting hauntingly at a receiver of the message who plucks wings off of moths in apathetic sociopathy, this is a genuinely haunting and memorable piece of art, and I do think it’s one of the best “songs” of the ‘90s, precisely because it stretches that definition a little.

Pragmatism not idealism

saith the robot masters. If that isn't the antithesis to all hipster ideology!

"Fitter Happier" is such a climax that it’s a bit disappointing to return to Thom Yorke’s nasal whine. I recognize what that whine adds to the songs, but for some reason it just doesn’t work for me as well as his contemporary Mangums and Meloys. Maybe it’s because I can’t actually hear most of the lyrics? Speak up, sir.

Anyway, we return from the fascinating netherworld of “Fitter Happier” into the regular Radiohead world with “Electioneering,” a pretty bombastic song that starts with a cantering Beatlesy guitar riff and builds quickly into big-sounding rock. The only other remotely memorable moment on the back half is the pleasantly pretty, lyrically ironic “No Surprises,” a song good enough to almost make me like Yorke’s vocals. Sadly “Climbing Up the Walls” has nothing to do with top-roping. "The Tourist" is a satisfactory closer, with its buildup and thesis refrain of "hey, man, slow down," delivered better than it sounds here.

I think I need to listen to Ok Computer on a train through the city at night. This is definitely night train music, and sitting at home in the incessant prairie sunlight, this doesn’t feel like the right way to appreciate it. 

Finally, apparently this album was recorded in a haunted mansion in the English countryside, which I love. That's worth some credit in itself.

I give this hipster album four pigs in cages on antibiotics out of five.

Because even though it's growing on me, Neon Bible is still better.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the fifth list, The Hipster's Guide to Music.

Stay deck.

[carewyncromwell]

“With straw, I'll weave a garland; I'll weave it wondrous fine;

With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine,

And I'll present it to my love when he returns from sea...

I love my love because I know my love loves me."

~“A Maid in Bedlam”

((Here are three lovely variations of this traditional English ballad -- Juliette “Jules” Farrier belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier...and you can read the first part of this POTC AU for Carewyn and Orion here!! <33))

x~x~x~x

Of all the things Carewyn could’ve expected to happen on her voyage back to Port Royal, one was certainly not being tended to by the infamous pirate Captain Orion Amari -- and yet, here she was, her blue Navy coat discarded, sitting on his bed in his cabin as he wrapped her cut and bleeding hands in bandages.

The gesture felt familiar. She’d wrapped his arms and hands in bandages too, while he was staying with them. A few of his wounds had been from bullets, while others had probably been from evading canon fire -- he’d even lost the tops of his pinky and ring fingers on his left hand. It had been a challenge to bandage him properly, since he was shaking so badly...

Carewyn found herself staring at Orion’s hands more than his face as he worked. It was just too hard for her to look him in the face.

For this pirate captain to be that boy she’d helped, all those years ago...for her to see that boy again, after more than ten years...it was so surreal. It wasn’t hard to see that those ten years had changed them both too. The quiet, distrustful, anxious young man who’d flinched at her touch as if he’d never been shown any gentleness in his life was now the detached, unreadable, oddly honorable pirate who had surfed the stair railing down to the deck of her ship and serenely compared Percy to a parrot. It was foolish to act like he was still that same boy who had rippled over her mind off and on over the years whenever she felt most alone and afraid. Even so...

Carewyn’s gaze flickered up to Orion’s face. He was looking down at her hands like she had been, as he tied off the first round of bandages around her left palm and turned his focus to her right hand.

This Captain Amari...was truly nothing like she had expected, all the same.

“May I ask what this was from?” asked Orion softly.

He gestured to the scar on her right forearm.

Now that Orion had initiated conversation again, Carewyn felt comfortable enough to respond. As she’d said before, she wasn’t superstitious, but most of her fellow sailors were, and she’d been at sea so long that she’d grown used to not speaking until spoken to, so as not to needlessly upset anyone else.

“A Frenchman’s cutlass,” she replied. “I was engaged with one of his cohorts in a sea battle off the coast of Martinique. I might’ve lost my arm if Bill hadn’t alerted me in time.”

“Bill...the man who first gave you his name?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. It was fortunate he was there, then.”

Orion’s dark eyes lingered briefly on her scar before returning to bandaging her hand.

“Yes, it was,” granted Carewyn. “...I feel very fortunate to have met Bill and his family.”

Orion didn’t answer. Carewyn let them fall into silence again, her blue eyes once again drifting away.

Orion’s cabin was quite unlike a lot of the Navy cabins she’d visited. The finely carved wood pieces he’d collected evoked lions, unicorns, and ocean waves. Even his walls were decorated with pieces like a dock landscape and an Asian print depicting a dragon.

“That’s from Japan,” said Orion, when he noticed where she was looking. “Their dragons are benevolent creatures in charge of the seas and skies -- it seemed like good company, to have on board.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Carewyn.

She looked at Orion, her lips curled up in a small, wry smile.

“You have very good taste. I must wonder how much of this is stolen, though.”

Orion raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Not as much as you’d think. Though I admit, I may have purchased a few of these with coin I did steal.”

Carewyn gave an airy sigh, and Orion chuckled lowly.

“I’m surprised you didn’t decide to have some naked woman carved into your bed, like so many Navy officers do,” Carewyn said sardonically. “Aren’t they supposed to be ‘good luck?’“

“And yet women themselves are supposed to be bad luck on board a ship,” said Orion, his lips spreading into a wry smile. “A rather confusing contradiction.”

Carewyn scoffed. “Apparently women are only something a lot of men want on board a ship when they’re something they can salivate over.”

“A shame -- Skye is a woman, and she’s easily the fiercest of any of my crew. And...”

Orion’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

“...well, here you are, chosen as ship’s Captain.”

Despite the mischief in his eyes, though, there was an almost impressed sound somewhere in the back of his throat as he spoke.

Carewyn’s blue eyes softened slightly. “It’s certainly not where I imagined myself ending up.”

The traces of a smile on Orion’s face faded.

“...Nor I.”

His gaze again fell to his own hands as they wrapped her right hand in bandages that bit more gently.

“I never would’ve thought I’d find you here either. A captain of the Navy -- a soldier, surviving a War and then being forced to serve the will of the East India Company...”

His dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, but they seemed sadder rather than angry.

“...It’s no proper fate, for a woman with so kind and free of a heart as yours.”

Carewyn felt like her heart was being squeezed. “Orion...”

She shifted forward and almost made to get off the bed, but Orion quickly knotted the bandage on her hand and clutched it between both of his. He raised his head to look her in the eye.

“I can’t act like I knew, or even thought seriously, that our stars would align again...but even with that...I’d imagined a life much better than this for you.”

Carewyn’s eyes grew a little smaller upon his face.

“...You thought of me?”

Something flickered at the back of Orion’s eyes -- was it uncertainty? His gaze flitted back down to their hands.

“...Yes,” he murmured. “Not...constantly, but...the memory of your voice was very soothing, on the most restless nights at sea.”

Carewyn stared down at Orion. The faint shyness in his expression, for the first time, made him suddenly look just like that boy again -- the bruised, scared, trembling boy she’d tended to and sang to sleep...

“I suppose...that was what I’d imagined, mostly,” said Orion, his voice lower than ever as he looked up at her again. “That you’d have married a man who you’d look after and sing for.”

Carewyn couldn’t completely fight back an amused snort. “As I said, the only marriage proposal I’ve been faced with was to Juliette Farrier...and I would never deprive Bill of his lady fair.”

Orion blinked at how wide her grin was while saying this. Then his expression softened.

“...A good reason not to accept it, then.”

His shoulders seemed to relax slightly. Carewyn’s eyes went down to their hands again too as she brought her left hand up to hold Orion’s right, so that they were now both holding each other’s hands.

“...I thought of you too, you know,” she said gently.

Orion looked startled; her lips spread in a soft smile as she kept her gaze downcast.

“As you said, it wasn’t constant or anything...but for whatever reason, you kept appearing in my dreams, at random times. Sometimes right before a battle, or on Jacob’s birthday...but for whatever reason, you just kept appearing. I don’t know...maybe I just subconsciously never stopped wondering what had happened to you...”

For a moment, Orion didn’t speak. His hands holding hers tentatively adjusted their grip around hers, almost as if he wanted to squeeze them, but didn’t for fear of hurting her.

“...Carewyn...”

His voice was so quiet and misty, and yet, there was something rippling in the back of it -- like a shadow moving behind fog...

Rap, rap, rap.

Both Carewyn and Orion stiffened at the sound of a knock on the cabin door. They immediately let go of each other’s hands and Orion shot to his feet as the door opened and McNully rolled his chair into the doorway.

“Captain,” he said, “Tortuga is within view.”

He glanced from Orion to Carewyn as she put down her rolled up sleeves and then reached for her blue Navy coat and pulled it back on.

“Thank you, McNully,” said Orion levelly, as he slipped his own long olive suede coat back on, fluffing the collar.

His face twisted in confusion, McNully rolled up next to his Captain, shooting both Orion and Carewyn a very pointed “side-eye.”

“According to my calculations, there’s a 98.7% chance that I’m missing something,” he muttered to Orion very coolly.

Orion gave him a patient smile. “Don’t worry -- it’s nothing that consequential.”

His eyes drifted over his shoulder in Carewyn’s direction. She’d finished buttoning up her coat and looked every bit the “Naval officer” again. Even when she faced him and spoke, she again sounded like she had when she’d first arrived on board.

“Is Tortuga to be where I’m deposited, Captain?” she said very coolly, folding her arms behind her and lightly puffing out her chest in typical soldier fashion. “I suppose I should be glad it’s not on a barren isle with a jug of water and a pistol with one shot.”

Orion raised his eyebrows amusedly. “I believe the barren isle would be a better place for you to end up than Tortuga, Captain. Fortunately my crew only has need of supplies, before we settle on where to drop you off -- I appreciate your patience.”

“What shall we do with him, while we’re getting supplies?” McNully whispered to Orion. “You don’t intend to leave him here in your cabin alone?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Orion airily. “He is our guest, is he not?”

“Orion.”

McNully’s voice had hardened noticeably.

“I see those cut ropes,” he muttered. “I see your decorative swords on the floor, stained with blood. I see the Captain���s hands are bandaged. It’s clear he tried to escape, and I’d say there’s a 86.3% chance he’ll try to do it again...unless there’s something you know that I don’t.”

Orion didn’t respond. He distracted himself by putting the decorative swords back on the wall.

Carewyn glanced from Orion’s back to his first mate. Even if his face was so hard, she could tell it was due to confusion and concern, not genuine anger or resentment.

‘Orion said I’d found a family,’ she thought to herself. ‘It seems he’s found one too...’

“Orion.”

Both Orion and McNully looked surprised when Carewyn spoke. Her voice was its usual youthful-boy-sounding pitch, but it was much less cold and distrustful than it had been.

“Go ahead and tell him,” she said solemnly.

Orion immediately put down the second of the two swords on a nearby dresser and turned around.

“What?”

“He’s your comrade-in-arms. He deserves to know.”

Orion looked oddly hesitant. Carewyn could tell he wasn’t sure how much to say -- after all, she did have multiple secrets. Not just the fact that they knew each other and that she’d hidden him from the Navy back in the day, but her ancestry...her real gender...

She swallowed back her fear and unease, putting forward the bravest face she could.

“If you trust this man...then it’s okay.”

She glanced at McNully. The first mate looked more confused than ever, and yet his face seemed less suspicious toward Carewyn than it had been, like he was starting to wonder if he’d misjudged her.

Orion stared at Carewyn for a very long moment, his dark eyes running over her face with an unreadable glint. Then, taking a deep breath, he nodded.

“McNully...I’d like you to meet Carewyn Cromwell.”

[lazycats-stuff]

Bruce Wayne x Male!reader

Summary: (Y/N) just wants to spend time with Bruce after work. Bruce spoils him rotten.

Warnings: None, just fluff.

So, this is going to be the 3rd part to the teacher series and it's kind of a filler because I have one idea for a oneshot, but it will take me a while to write due to school and other commitments, but it will get written and published in the near future.

(Y/N) sighed glancing at the watch. It was already 2:30 and his day ended half an hour ago. Why was he still here? Well, a parent was late and they didn't even call to say they were going to be late. Just as he was going to pack up and go to the manor where Bruce was probably waiting. Yes, he moved to the manor after the kidnapping and after Bruce told him he was Batman.

It was a shock, of course, but (Y/N) had accepted that. It took a couple of days to process, but it kind of made sense.

He started packing up, because for one his day was over. He didn't work like most of his coworkers, he worked until 2. He was happy with the schedule and he was even happier today. Bruce was home today, on a Friday none the less, which meant that he was going to spend the Friday afternoon with his boyfriend.

That is, if the parent shows up. He sighed. If they aren't coming now, they won't come. He started packing up his stuff.

" Why are you packing up? " A high pitched voice asked him from the door.

" Well miss Jones, my workday is over and you didn't call or let me know you were going to be late and I am under no obligation to stay here after my work day is over. "

" Then why did you call me here? I was in the middle of something important. "

" I wanted to talk about your sons grades, they have been going down in the last few weeks. "

" Well, that is your fault. "

(Y/N) was stumped. What the hell?

" How is it my fault? "

" Luke always says your subject is too difficult. You need to make it easier. "

" Ma'am, my subject isn't too difficult. I have kids who are aceing it. And besides, I have offered him some time after class to help him, but he said no. So, we can meet again next week today, but preferably at 2. "

" So I came here for nothing? " Miss Jones scoffed.

" Yes, because you were late and I don't get paid overtime. "

Miss Jones scoffed and left his room. He sighed in relief, but groaned when he heard his phone ringing, but that groan quickly turn into an excited yes. Bruce was calling.

" Hey hun, did the parent come? "

" Yeah, but half an hour late, so I told her we could meet next week. "

" Okay, I am back at the manor and waiting for you. It's been a while since we spent some quality time together. "

(Y/N) smiled sadly. Bruce was right.

" I know Bruce. " (Y/N) responded, leaving his room, going straight to his car. He was going to cuddle Bruce until he goes on patrol.

" And that is why I am going to smother you in affection darling. "

" And I can't wait for that to happen. I will see you in a little while, I have to drive. "

" Sure thing, drive safely. "

(Y/N) hanged up and got into the car, putting the keys in and started the car. He can't wait for Bruce to smother him in affection.

After a long drive back to the manor, he parked the car and took his bag. He closed the door and quickly went into the manor. He took of his shoes and put his jacket away on the hook. Then he popped his head into the living room. No Bruce.

Okay, he must be in their room then. He made his way up the old staircase and went straight to the bedroom. He stopped for a moment once he smelt something flowery. Could it be roses? Or lavender?

He opened the door. He heard the water going from the bathroom and Bruce was just stepping out. The two men locked eyes for a moment, before they reached out for one another in an embrace.

" Hey hun, I missed you. " Bruce muttered into (Y/N)'s hair.

" I missed you too Bruce. Did you about to have a shower? "

" I wanted us to have a bath together. If that's alright with you. "

" It is. And also, do you mind if I change into your clothes? " (Y/N) asked, looking up because of the height difference.

" Hun, I have told you before, you can always take my clothes. I love how big they are on you. " Bruce smirked, leaning down to peck (Y/N)'s nose.

" Go on and get into the tub. I will just pick out your favorites and I will join you in a minute. "

With a kiss to Bruce's lips, (Y/N) went to the bathroom. Bruce prepared him a bubble bath. (Y/N) stripped and threw his clothes into the basket. He looked at the warm water, then stepped into the bath. He lowered himself into the warm water, sighing from the warmth that enveloped him. He closed his eyes, leaning back. It was truly relaxing. He opened his eyes once he heard the door opening.

" Is the water okay? "

" It's perfect Bruce, now please join me. "

Bruce nodded and started taking off his clothes. (Y/N) was compelled to watch Bruce's muscular body.

" Do you like what you see? " Bruce teased his boy.

" I do, now get in and hug me. I need the cuddles. "

Bruce laughed and motioned for (Y/N) to move forward. After (Y/N) had moved forward. After Bruce sat down, he wrapped his arms around (Y/N), making his boy lean against his front. (Y/N) was happy now, content that he was finally wrapped into his lover's arms. He smiled and let out a happy sigh.

" I missed you Bruce. Are those investments finalized?" (Y/N) asked.

" They are. We are officially one of their partners now. "

" That's nice. "

" I missed you too hun. I missed your hugs and kisses, your excitement when you talk about how your students are doing well... I still remember how you pushed Damian to be better and working with him on your own time... " Bruce remembered, smiling at the memory.

" Does this mean that you will have a bit more stable work hours? "

" Until a new business deal, yes. But until then, I will have 9 to 5 work hours. "

(Y/N) hummed, closing his eyes, leaning his head back onto Bruce's chest.

And they stayed like this for a while. They didn't need to say anything, they simply needed one another. After a while they moved to the bed, because they got wrinkly and water got cold.

Right now, lying in bed, facing one another. Bruce's arm was around (Y/N)'s waist, making sure to bring his lover closer.

" Bruce? "

" Yes hun? "

" Do you think that I could come with you to the next gala? "

Bruce's eyes widened slightly. His boyfriend wanted to stay out of the spotlight and he didn't want to be hounded by the media.

" Don't get me wrong, I would love that, but are you sure? There won't be going back. You will be in the spotlight. "

" I know that, but recently I was thinking about it. I am ready for the spotlight and I don't want to feel like I am a dirty secret. And before you say anything, I know I am not that, but I feel like I am. "

Bruce smiled at his lover, moving closer to give him a kiss.

" Okay. If you are 100% sure, then sure. Now go to sleep. I will wake you for dinner. "

(Y/N) nodded and closed his eyes. He felt Bruce pulling the warm covers higher and a gentle kiss to the forehead. Bruce muttered an I love you and settled next to him, ready to take a quick nap. He needs to tell the boys about (Y/N)'s wish, so they could make sure (Y/N) has a perfect gala.

[246sn]

mc enemiez! ( ✶ ) chapter 15 : sunghoon // don’t forget to read the written chapter below! // word count : 1.2k // *italics are jungwon’s thoughts :]

⸝⸝ SYNOPSIS ‎𐪆 despite jungwon being a #humble leader, he was kinda salty about the fact that his almighty title of the “youngest leader in k-pop” has been taken by blackpink’s brand new juniors. the world goes against jungwon’s wishes in staying as far away from her as possible when they both end up being the new mcs for ‘the show’. ₊˚✸ ༘

the idea of sunghoon accompanying jungwon this morning made him feel very uneasy. he wasn’t exactly sure why he felt this way but maybe it was because y/n and sunghoon would be formally meeting each other for the first time.

he trusted sunghoon with his whole life, of course but a part of him felt scared at the thought of you both hanging out. who could blame him? you’ve been fangirling over sunghoon since the beginning and well- sunghoon’s sunghoon; every girl who sees him, falls for him.

hi the rest of the story is below !

what if he charms y/n to the point that she would never look at jungwon again? he didn’t want to lose his brand new friend this quickly… or maybe he was just overreacting and sunghoon’s intentions were really what he said they were.

“jungwon!” he heard from behind him, seeing you running towards him at full speed with your manager far behind trying his best to catch up.

“y/n, hi! are you nervous for later?”

before you could even answer his question, sunghoon tapped jungwon’s back making the latter frown and look back at him.

“oh, i forgot... y/n, sunghoon hyung will come and watch us for support.”

“hello!” you said while bowing at sunghoon.

“hello!” you said while bowing at sunghoon.

“nice to meet you, y/n.”

“nice to meet you too, sunghoon sunbaenim.”

jungwon noticed how sunghoon’s smile got wider after that. am i the only one who saw that… does he think she’s cute… god, no… ew i really hope not… jungwon thought to himself.

“just speak to me casually, y/n. besides, you’re co-hosts with our jungwon so it’s okay.” he said while patting jungwon’s back a little too aggressively for the boy’s liking.

does he treat wonyoung like this too? ugh, i don’t wanna think about it… he thought to himself once more.

the two of you continued talking while jungwon decided to just cancel out your conversation which he was clearly not a part of. he wasn’t exactly sure how long he zoned out for while blocking out your conversation but he got sent back to the real world when he felt you tugging on his arm before linking it with his.

jungwon tried to stop the smile and blush from creeping onto his face thanks to your actions while also trying to ignore the fact that sunghoon’s big smile immediately fell afterwards.

however, just a few simple words from you would make his attempts on not smiling fail miserably. “speaking of being co-hosts! are you ready for later, jungwon?” you asked before looking up at him.

“i’m ready as i’ll ever be.”

maybe jungwon felt a little bit happier because you finally paid attention to him and not sunghoon but secretly it was because he thinks sunghoon is jealous about all the attention he gets from you.

“cool! we can practice before we go onstage if you’d like? we have an audience too, sunghoon sunbae!” jungwon’s smile immediately faltered after that. it sort of gave him a quick reminder of the fact that sunghoon was still there.

“ah, yeah… sunghoon hyung can watch…” he said with slight disappointment coming from each word. in other circumstances, jungwon would’ve been so happy to have sunghoon with him but this is y/n he’s talking about…

he’s had a hunch that the only reason why sunghoon hangs out on sunoo’s bed often is because they ‘secretly’ watch y/n and other arcane fancams. it’s not exactly a secret when it involves sunoo, though.

that boy is not great at hiding his emotions when secretly unboxing arcane’s album — jungwon still remembers when he screamed “wow! y/n’s so pretty here in this album.” which made sunghoon leave his steak to go to sunoo. maybe sunghoon did deserve his steak to be eaten by riki that day…

“jungwon, why are you smirking? are you planning something?” you joked, bringing him back into the real world.

“huh?”

“it’s nothing. let’s go?”

“sure!”

“great!” you and sunghoon said in sync.

jungwon rolled his eyes while you and sunghoon were giggling at how they said the same word at the same time. go ahead and giggle, sunghoon hyung. do you see whose arm hers is linked with? that’s right, it’s mine.

he was too busy threatening sunghoon in his mind that he got startled when he felt your hair slap his face when you looked back.

you immediately let go of jungwon’s arm when your manager getting closer and closer before ushering all of you to go to the meeting room.

right when you got there, you both spent no time to practice your lines for the final run through which surprisingly went even smoother than before.

“jungwon-ssi, do you see anything different about me?” you asked him with the same enthusiastic voice you used while mcing, twirling some strands of your hair at the same time.

“h-huh? th.. that wasn’t in the script? was it..?”

“hm? just answer.” you said with laughter coming out at the same time.

“i- uh…”

jungwon was absolutely confused. he kept thinking long and hard about the script while just staring at you. was there a line i missed? i’m so dumb i can just look at the cue cards. however while jungwon was trying his best to search for the line, sunghoon cleared his throat.

“ah, sorry. your parts… they were done right? by the way, i think the purple really suits you.” he says while pointing to his hair. this clearly had an effect on you since your face started turning bright red which sunghoon thoroughly enjoyed to see. i mean, could he blame you? sunghoon is a literal god.

oh so it wasn’t part of the script… y/n just tried pranking me… but why does sunghoon hyung have to butt in this wasn’t a question for him?!

“sunghoon-ssi, we have to go.” says his manager in almost the best timing since jungwon was fuming in jealousy towards his older member.

thank god he’s leaving. i can finally have y/n’s undivided attention.

“ah, sorry i have to leave early. work calls for me! see you on tuesday to watch the real thing, y/n. i’ll see you at home, won.” sunghoon said before tapping jungwon’s back and walking out of the meeting room.

“y/n, jungwon? are you two ready for the rehearsal stage? the director is waiting.” one of the staff says, leading everyone else towards the stage.

damn, seriously?!

while walking, jungwon tries his best to cancel out whatever you were talking about since you were just gushing over sunghoon.

“jungwon, are you listening to me?”

“huh? what did you say?”

“sunghoon sunbae’s aura is crazy! was i starstruck when i was in his presence or did i seem okay? gosh, he is so handsome! i can’t believe…” aaand he has turned on his avoid yn talking about sunghoon mode once more.

once the rehearsal ended and the director gave his final remarks, you and jungwon began talking once more which was basically just you complimenting how well he did and him doing the same to you.

“i bet sunghoon sunbae would think you’re amazing too. i must be going crazy! i’m still not over the fact that i actually met him today! am i fangirling? i don’t think i’m fangirling… am i?” with that, jungwon groans and walks out of the building, leaving you behind while still freaking out about sunghoon.

〈 masterlist | next 〉

⸝⸝ NOTE ‎𐪆 as promised if i got the memories 😁☝️ also help is that purple or pink i literally cannot tell 😭 i’m so bad w colors yall ++ jungwon feral catboy era <3

⸝⸝ TAGLIST ‎𐪆 [status : open for taglist 2 / italics can’t be tagged] @enhacolor @youngbloodslut @ceoyjw @lunaflvms @enhyped-up @yizhoutv @fairycheol @kissuzies @yvesismywife @ja4hyvn @wony6ung @vlykai @woopetals @papiibuprofen @hiqhkey @bloodylovelymary @luvarots @missmadwoman @hoonstrology @mitsukifilms @soobin-chois @venusesroses @bearseulgs @jiwlys @jaywonlix @jungwonniecore @awkwardnesshabitat @xuanya @ultnishimura @yjwfav @shynypeacekitten @stealanity @wonfiles @renjunvrse @niocity @higamersitsbarney @jwlvr @maeumiluv @annoyingbitch83 @darrensos @odetoyeonjun @s35nbae @nrksrealgf @afiaaaa19 @moonchilddfics @myluckycat @c9tnoos @yogurteume @gguksblush @drunkwithfever @staysstrays @limiliib @penghoonz @acciomylove @soobsdior @hobistigma @nikisgirlfriend

[reidsaurora]

"Funeral" ~ S. Reid

pictures not an actual depiction of reader; Spencer Reid icon by @ofwilliamandwalter (lmk if u guys want the icon)

Summary: After Emily Prentiss's death, Spencer notices his cravings for Dilaudid coming back. In an attempt to distract himself from everything that's happening around him, Spencer begins using weed. Little did he know what one intoxicated phone call would lead to…

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (reader is Emily's cousin)

Word Count: 2,572

Content Warning: usage of marijuana, Emily's funeral, mild swearing + two uses of "God", sexual humor, mentions of Spencer's drug addiction

Genre: Angst with a lil bit of Fluff and Comfort sprinkled in, sorta Open Ending?

Extra Notes: i kind of forgot Spencer was on a cane at Haley's funeral and not Emily's but it's too late to change it now so AU? // i have never been to a funeral before so my knowledge of how funerals work is v limited

Based On the Song: Funeral by Phoebe Bridgers

Originally Written: over the course of 03/29/2022 to 04/06/2022

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

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"𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞." - 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

Y/N sat by the phone, waiting for the phone to ring like she did every night at 8:45 p.m.

She took another hit of the joint she was smoking, giggling at the smell when the phone finally began ringing. "Hi," she answered giddily, perhaps a little too giddily.

"Hey," the man on the other side of the phone answered. "How was your day?"

"Awful," she told him, followed by a small chuckle.

"You seem a little happier than you usually do."

"That's because I upped my dose. I just took my second extra hit," she explained. "Told you my day was horrible."

"Yeah, mine was pretty terrible too," he chuckled in agreement.

"Have you had any tonight?"

"Uh, no, actually. I just got home not long ago," he answered.

"Then hit some, silly," Y/N laughed, breathing in the heavy smell of the weed. Changing the subject, she commented, "You know, I'm thinking about changing up the place."

"Are you sure that isn't the weed talking?" he joked as he attempted to find a lighter.

"No," she rolled her eyes. "I'm serious."

"Well, research shows that filling your home with decor of certain colors can improve your mood and help your focus. For instance, blue might make you feel -"

"You're too chatty when you're sober," Y/N giggly interrupted him.

"Sorry," he replied shyly.

"I'm just kidding, Spencer," she apologized. "I love it. I could listen to your voice all night long."

"Well, now I know it's the joint talking," he kidded.

"Spencer Reid, you take that back right now."

"I will not," Spencer argued, finally taking his first hit of the night.

"And why is that?"

He chuckled multiple times, one after another. "Because you know it's true."

"Did you finally find that lighter I could hear you searching for in your junk drawer?"

"Maybe," he chuckled again.

"You know, you're weird when you're high. You always start out really funny and laughy and then you get really sad."

"What do you think I talk to you for? You're like my weed therapist," he said, followed by a small snicker.

Even in her intoxicated state, Y/N still found a way to be offended by his comment.

Due to her silence, Spencer was able to conclude that he'd hurt her feelings. He was quick to apologize though once he realized her mood had suddenly changed. "I meant that as a joke, Y/N. You know I love talking to you."

"Sure," she replied sarcastically. Changing the subject again, she exhaled and commented, "I don't know. I feel like changing my apartment could improve my mood or something. I have a family member who died recently and while we weren't all that close, hearing everyone talk about her has me thinking maybe I should brighten the place up. Which reminds me, if I don't call tomorrow, I have a funeral to go to."

"Huh, small world. I also have a funeral to attend tomorrow."

"Yeah, it's my mom's cousin. They asked me to sing," Y/N said, scoffing at the end of her sentence. "I don't know why everyone in my family is obsessed with my singing voice. Personally, I think I sound terrible," she giggled.

"You're being modest. Your voice is beautiful," Spencer argued.

"Now that… that is the weed talking," she giggled.

"Sing something for me."

Y/N rolled her eyes as if Spencer could see it. "Are we gonna do this every time we call each other?"

"Yes," he answered.

"I'll humor you since it's the two week anniversary of our first call," she told him. "Hey, Jude. Don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better," she sang through her end of the phone. "You know, that's what they want me to sing tomorrow. Hey Jude."

Even with her voice slurring from the effects of the weed, her voice still managed to be the most beautiful thing Spencer had ever heard. "It suits your voice. I think they'll love it."

"Kiss ass," Y/N giggled.

"No, I mean it."

"Nope, you're a kiss ass."

"And I suppose you aren't a kiss ass? Even though you compliment my every move?"

"That's because you deserve it, Mr. Genius," she replied matter-of-factly. "I'd trade my voice for your IQ any day of the week."

"Well, we could always join forces and use our skills together."

She knew exactly what he was implying. "Spencer," she stopped him.

"I'm serious. We should meet up in person."

"OK, first of all, you've only been calling me for two weeks. Second of all, you know why we can't do that."

"And why is that?" he questioned sarcastically.

"Because I can't let the FBI know that one of their agents is having phone sex with a known pothead who works two part-time jobs just to stay in D.C."

"We do not have phone sex," he scoffed.

"We should," she blurted out, followed by a long trail of laughter.

"I'm serious though. I think the team would love you."

"They'd love throwing me in jail."

"They'd throw me in with you considering I smoke every bit as much as you do."

"Now you do. Two weeks ago when you started, you would've thought you were hitting a joint of air," Y/N snickered, attempting to stop herself from another full-on laughing fit. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, before saying, "You know, you never did fully explain to me why you started smoking all the sudden two weeks ago."

Spencer sighed, noting in the back of his mind that he was about to turn into the sad stoner she'd mentioned earlier. "A couple years ago, I was addicted to Dilaudid. It only lasted for a couple months but it was still a hard thing to get over. As soon as I got the news that my colleague had passed away, I had the urge to start using again. So I thought using something natural like weed would help me, but it's never been as good as the Dilaudid."

"I once had a boyfriend who told me, 'The last is never as good as the first,'" she told him. "He claimed he was talking about how weed would never be able to replace acid, but I'm still convinced he was talking about one of his ex girlfriends."

Spencer chuckled at her statement, though he knew there was some truth in her ex boyfriend's words. He randomly glanced at the clock, noticing it was past his normal bedtime. "I gotta go but I'll call tomorrow if I get a chance," he told her.

"Good night, Doctor."

He felt a small blush appear on his cheeks, secretly grateful that she couldn't see him. "Good night."

☆☆☆

The next day, Y/N found herself dressed in her favorite black dress and sporting some dark lipstick, stepping out of her car at the cemetery.

The gathering was small, much to Y/N's surprise when one considered her great-aunt was a U.S. Ambassador. She always assumed that her great-aunt knew practically anyone and everyone.

Y/N spritzed herself with perfume one last time, insecure about the possibility of her clothes smelling like weed, before taking a deep breath and walking over to the crowd of people.

Meanwhile, at Spencer's funeral, he found himself limping over to a group of people he knew, questioning why he used that damn cane considering how it frustrated him more than it did anything else. Spencer stayed close to the few people he knew, a.k.a. his colleagues, nervous to talk to anyone else. He, too, was insecure about the smell of his clothes, though it wasn't until one of his coworkers made a comment that he actually thought about the smell.

"God, Reid, you been burning incense on the car ride over here?" Derek laughed.

"You know, Morgan, incense actually has many health benefits. For instance, lavender incense has been known to aid sleep and reduce stress and anxiety," Spencer corrected him.

"Well, maybe try a different scent next time," his colleague chuckled.

Just then, Spencer felt someone bump into him. He was sure it was his own fault, seeing as he was paying attention to Derek and not where he was going. "Sorry," he blurted out.

"No, it was my fault. I'm sorry," a voice, a familiar voice, replied.

Spencer took in the sight and scent of this woman who bumped into him. He noted that she smelled strongly of patchouli and vanilla, and that the dress she was wearing fit her body perfectly. He couldn't lie, he was intoxicated by her, and he'd only said one word to her.

She gave him a quick, awkward smile before running off after a woman who looked almost exactly like her, just older, and the woman he knew to be… Emily Prentiss's mother?

"Woo-hoo, lover boy," Derek kidded, waving his hand in front of Spencer's face.

"Huh?" he asked, breaking away from his trance.

"Need I remind you we're at a funeral? Emily's funeral?"

"Sorry," Spencer shrugged. "You're right."

"Hey, I'm not saying she wasn't pretty. But she was walking away with the most important woman here."

Spencer sighed, nodding in agreement with coworker.

Derek began walking off toward his seat, Spencer hobbling off behind him.

Elsewhere, Y/N sat down next to her mother and great-aunt, feeling both sets of their eyes staring holes through her.

"Is that really the most funeral-appropriate dress you had?" her mother whispered.

"I think Emily would approve of my dress. Don't you think, Aunt Eliza?" Y/N quipped, situating her dress as best she could while remaining seated.

"Emily, yes. The rest of your family, no," Elizabeth commented, almost daringly.

Y/N smirked. "Good thing we're here to honor Emily and not the rest of the family."

"Y/N," her mother scolded.

Y/N rolled her eyes, turning back to face toward the front. She felt a separate pair of eyes on her, glancing around and attempting to figure out who else was staring at her.

Finally, she spotted the extra set of eyes, sitting in the front row on the opposite side, where the pallbearers were seated. It was the man she accidentally bumped into earlier, the one with the cane. She thought at first he was also concerned about her dress, but realized his expression was much more gentle than judgemental.

She shot him a smile, causing him to nervously look away. Once she was sure his eyes were no longer on him, she took a moment to look him over. She couldn't lie, she found him quite attractive, but had to reel herself back in. After all, she was at a funeral.

☆☆☆

"At this time, we'd like to invite Y/N Y/L/N to sing one of Emily's favorite songs," the priest introduced Y/N.

She took a deep breath as she walked up to the mic. She took one final sigh before the song began playing over the speaker.

"Hey, Jude. Don't make it bad," she began singing. Her eyes were clenched shut, knowing if she so much as even thought about anyone looking at her, she'd teleport back to her seat.

Spencer felt a breath hitch in the back of his throat. He finally realized where he knew her voice from, the girl on the phone.

He kept his composure, distracting himself by focusing on the sound of her voice. He knew she had a beautiful voice, but he didn't realize how much more he'd appreciate it when he was sober.

Once she finished her song, Y/N practically ran back to her seat. She knew she should've taken an edible or something to calm her nerves beforehand, but she remembered that she promised she wouldn't for Emily's sake.

Spencer looked at her from across the way, noticing a shift in her body language. He could tell she was nervous, and figured it was probably because of the lack of marijuana in her system.

Fortunately for Y/N, singing "Hey Jude" was a sign they were in the home-stretch. All that was left was Emily's burial and the reception, which she wasn't technically required to attend.

However, two hours later, she found herself surrounded by pretentious businessmen and women in flamboyant suit-dresses.

"Thank you," Y/N said as yet another businessman complimented her performance and walked away. She shot an annoyed glance to her mother, who simply replied with an eye roll.

"Don't act like you don't like the recognition," she'd commented multiple times throughout the afternoon.

Nevertheless, Y/N attempted to blow it off and have a good time.

However, when the man from before came hobbling along with his cane, she found it hard to focus on anything else besides figuring out why he'd been staring at her earlier.

"Hi," he smiled awkwardly once he'd finally reached Y/N.

"Hi," she smiled back in a similar tone.

"I just wanted to compliment you on your performance earlier," he explained.

"Thank you," she replied. She could've sworn he sounded familiar.

"You know, your voice reminds me of someone I heard sing that song before."

"Yours too," Y/N thought. Instead, she opted for a kind smile, as she was unsure what to say.

"Reid!" a tall, black man called for the brunette in front of her.

Y/N's eyes widened when she heard the name. "Oh, my God. You're Spencer?" she asked.

He gave her a kind smile, nodding at her question. "And you're Y/N," he sighed, overwhelmed with internal joy from finally meeting the woman on the phone.

"Reid, why'd you lea- Oh," the other man said as he walked up. He gave Spencer a teasing look once he'd assessed the situation.

"What?" Spencer asked, confused by his colleague's behavior.

"Aren't you gonna introduce me to your friend?" he smirked.

Spencer sighed in annoyance. "Y/N, this is Derek Morgan. Morgan, this is Y/N."

Y/N held out her hand, Derek taking it in his immediately. Derek was silent for a moment, but he could've sworn he smelled… weed?

It was like a switch clicked in his brain. Spencer smelling like incense, Y/N smelling like weed.

Spencer must've noticed a change in Derek's behavior, seeing as the next thing he asked was, "What? What do you know?"

Derek smirked. "I don't know what you're talking about, pretty boy."

"You know something. You have that look you always get when you know something's up," Spencer reiterated.

"Nothing," he said, "Just that it makes sense as to why you smell like incense and why you never go out at night anymore."

Spencer's and Y/N's eyes both widened, realizing what he meant.

"Don't. Tell. Anyone," Spencer demanded.

Derek began walking away, a smug smile still across his face.

"Morgan!" Spencer called, attempting to run after him as best he could while still using his cane.

"Hey," Y/N stopped him, grabbing his hand. She couldn't believe she was finally touching him for the first time, much less holding his hand.

Spencer turned back to look at Y/N, who had a smirk matching Derek's plastered on her face. "Yeah?"

"Call me later… pretty boy."

Spencer turned away to hide the blush on his face that she'd just caused. He looked forward to calling Y/N every night, but this was a call he knew he'd never want to miss.

"𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞." - 𝐍𝐢𝐤𝐤𝐢 𝐑𝐨𝐰𝐞

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y'all, there was a very specific idea that came to my mind the first couple times i listened to this song. i just wanna apologize that this was that idea 🤣 i srsly don't know how i got here

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[duskholland]

Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

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

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

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

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom slows down the car.

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

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

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

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

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

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

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

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

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

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

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

“Step away from the door.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They reach the gym.

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

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

“Holland. Time to go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

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

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

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, lovie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The visit is over far too soon.

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, man.”

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

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

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

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

The prison guards don’t agree.

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

It’s still worth it.

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

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

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N? Where are you?”

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

“In here, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When was this?” he whispers.

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

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

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

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

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

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

“I really don’t,” you agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The air between you shifts.

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

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

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

“What have you got planned?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

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

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

“Please do.”

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

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

“Say please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

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

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

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

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

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

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

[twistsandturnsroundwonderland]

Some dnd/ttrpg headcanons because I’m a predictable lass

Ace Trappola

Rogue rogue rogue chaotic stupid rogue

The reason for half of the house rules

Good thing the dice absolutely hate him, it keeps him humble (marginally)

This was probably all his idea in the first place

If you give him a puzzle for six year olds, he will absolutely fail

Decent DM, very rule of cool

Deuce Spade

This good boy is so excited; he has put in so much effort and written eight pages of backstory

Bladesinger wizard because he wants to play a smart boy but then he realized how squishy wizards are

Now he can be a delinquent wizard boy with 25 AC in peace

Will bug DM for in game magic motorcycle

Trey Clover

Everyone assumed this man would play a cleric

False he is playing a barbarian and having the time of his life with barb rages

Brings the good snacks because of course he does

Occasional DM, he swears off DMing afterwards every time, but really, he won’t actually say no

Cater Diamond

King of getting the party derailed on wild side quests that end up being foundational moments for characters

High charisma low wisdom character for maximum chaos

Magicam account specifically for his many, many dice

Riddle Rosehearts

Has read the rule book and at least twelve companion books cover to cover

Please Riddle stifle the urge to rules lawyer

Relates too much to Paladins

What is Off With Your Head if not Riddle’s Divine Smite?

Please Riddle play a chaotic good Circle of the Moon Druid and chill for five minutes

Jack Howl

Jack Howl is as close to the embodiment of Lawful Good as you will find within 500 km of NRC

Probably paladin, ranger, or druid

Circle of the Land Druid specializing in desert because CACTI

House rule that he has to be in wolf mode any time he uses Wildshape as a Druid

Ruggie Bucchi

Somehow has his mouth full of snacks every time it’s his turn in combat

Better at playing a rogue than Ace and will remind him of that at every opportunity

No drama backstory; just adventuring to go from dollars to donuts (quite literally)

Leona Kingscholar

Comes in with as little preparation as possible and zero backstory and a lazy concept

Ends up entirely invested in the story - and in being better than everyone else at both combat and solving puzzles

Character development ends up being essential for campaign plot

Floyd Leech

As with everything, either fully engaged or nowhere to be found

Plays something like a ranger, rogue, or monk who goes off to have solo adventures at the least opportune time for the party

He can play or not play as desired and that keeps the table as a whole happy

Eats the dice

Jade Leech

Encourages Floyd to eat the dice

With a straight face (naturally)

Discovers Circle of Spores Druid and has never been happier

Creative problem solving- fighting a dragon at level 5? Magic missile the ceiling and drop half the cave on it

Azul Ashengrotto

Okay, assuming you can even get him to play because he is not going to hand over his character’s future to the whims of the dice

If you can get him to play, be prepared for min-maxing the likes of which you have never seen

Would probably be a fantastic DM/GM

This man is practically a warlock patron on his own

Jamil Viper

Swears he will never, ever do a character voice

*Three hours later* dramatic in character monologue

Please don’t ask him to DM; he already spends 95% of his time babysitting

Kenku rogue, tiefling sorcerer, or Naga warlock- his characters have an aesthetic

Kalim Al Asim

Wait which dice am I supposed to roll again??

Hey Jamil which dice is the d20??

Oh no his dice are on the floor now

Save him

DMs a grand total of ONE TIME and it turns into the Donald Glover Community meme

Complete with actual fire

Epel Felmier

Give this boy a SWORD

Or give him any and all weapons, really

Heavy emphasis on the fighty classes - why hello there Battlemaster fighter

Can carve apples into minis on demand

“Can you carve a beholder” *looks up beholder* “Yeah, gimme two minutes”

Rook Hunt

Absolutely DELIGHTED to be here

You’d think ranger but no let him be a bard so he can make many long, flowery speeches to his heart’s content

Is he trying to seduce or kill the monster? The answer is yes.

Vil Schoenheit

Leans into hero archetypes since he never gets to play them normally

The folk hero fighter, the world famous bard, the devoted aasimar paladin…

Always getting DM inspiration for those dramatic character moments

Absolutely will not respond if you don’t ask him in character

Ortho Shroud

The only one who knows the rules as well as Riddle

Can minmax better than Azul

But that’s irrelevant because he really is just here to have fun

Time with his brother and new friends! Ortho is having a wonderful time!

Idia Shroud

Of course he’s played before but what do you mean actually playing in person?? With real people?? Not through a computer screen??

Has DMed before… online

Might actually have an easier time DMing than being a PC if he can hide behind a laptop and DM screen

War forged artificer? War forged artificer

Give him enough time and junk food and maybe let him talk through a screen and you’re golden

Sebek Zigvolt

Eladrin on main

Gets incredibly attached to his character in about three seconds

Was his character inspired by Malleus maybe, maybe not you can’t prove anything

Please never make him roll a death save, he might cry

Silver

Get this boy a pre-rolled character he is so confused

Forgets to come up with a name for his character, panics and says something like Sword

When he’s more comfortable with character building, makes a series of characters of all classes, all based on Mulan

Lilia Vanrouge

Ready to go with some of the wildest character design you’ve ever seen

Aasimar Reborn un-fridged wife Gloom Stalker ranger? Goblin warlock with a demon familiar that looks like a long Furby? Half Drow lore bard/pact of the tome warlock who tattoos their spells on themself? YES

Says he helped invent the game with a straight face; not even the Diasomnia boys know if he’s lying or not

Malleus Draconia

Endlessly confused by the concept of spellslots

Why can he simply not cast lightning bolt as many times as he wants? That’s how it works in real life (when you’re Malleus Draconia)

Forget the main quest; his goal is to adopt any animals or endearing NPCs that come his way

Grim

Playing a house cat-sized Tabaxi wild magic sorcerer/barb with a penchant for fire named Grim

Hey, why mess with perfection, right?

No one knows if he’s talking in character or out of character because it’s the same voice