#hope i haven’t lost the tiny spark that i had before

[hellverse]

the act

[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

hellloooo kt 💖

for a blurb: joel and reader on a camping trip. maybe they go swimming in a lake and watch the stars at night time :)

fluffy or smutty idc i just love how u write joel! 🤍🤍🤍

Hello sweet Lali! ❤️ Your compliment goes straight to my heart; thank you so much. 🥹 I’m equally, if not even more, obsessed with how YOU write, Joel. Anyways...

So, I kind of got carried away with this one, and it turned into much more than a blurb. Once the fluff began, I couldn't stop it. Whoops. I hope you like it :)

Forever Like This

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Words: >1k

Vibes: fluffy & flirty

———

“Are you sure about this, Joel? Where are we going?” you call out, your voice a little breathless as you trail behind him along the thick forest path.

The sun is low in the sky, casting long shadows between the trees. You've been walking for what feels like ages, your legs sore from the hike, and the soft rustling of leaves around you makes it feel as though you're stepping deeper into the heart of the woods. You can’t help but wonder if you’re lost.

Joel glances back over his shoulder, his brown eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. He shifts the overnight bags in his hand, effortlessly transferring their weight to one arm before reaching out to take your hand. His touch is warm and grounding. “We’re almost there,” he says with a grin that only makes your curiosity grow.

Minutes later, the forest parts, and suddenly, you step into an open meadow. The sight takes your breath away. Sunlight filters through amber and gold leaves overhead, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. A soft breeze stirs the tall grass, making it sway. The leaves above rustle gently, sending a flurry of them dancing in the air, floating slowly to the earth below.

In this picturesque clearing sits a small log cabin, its wood weathered with age. It's tucked away into the corner of the clearing. A sparkling lake stretches out to one side, the water mirroring the clear blue sky. A little john boat lies tipped on its side at the water’s edge, its wood faded from years of use.

Your heart skips in your chest, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the scene. “What is this place?” you ask, your voice soft with awe, turning to look at Joel.

Joel’s gaze is already on you, watching the wonder in your expression. He smiles, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. “This cabin’s been in my family for years,” he explains, leading you toward the clearing. “Tommy and I used to come here to hunt or fish when we had the time. Haven’t been in a while, though.”

You look up at him, your eyes catching on his rugged features, the rough stubble along his jaw, the intensity in his dark eyes, and the way his dark hair flips slightly at the nape of his neck. You feel an undeniable sense of peace just being here, beside him.

“C’mon,” he says, guiding you toward the cabin. “Let’s get settled.”

The cabin’s door creaks as Joel unlocks it, revealing a small, cozy interior. The air smells of pine and wood, with the faintest trace of something earthy. As you explore the cabin, you notice little wooden carvings scattered throughout the room, birds, bears, and tiny trees, all crafted by hand. You imagine Joel sitting here by the firelight, carving late into the night.

Joel opens the windows, letting in the cool autumn air, and begins to unpack the bags. “Spent a lot of nights here when I was a kid,” he says, his voice softer now. “Tommy and I used to fight over who got to steer the boat. I learned how to hunt here, shot my first deer in these woods.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he speaks, lost in the memories.

You listen intently, feeling the weight of his words, then glance around at the tiny cabin. The wooden walls, the faded rugs, the firewood stacked neatly by the door, it all feels so personal.

Joel offers you a smile and gestures toward the lake. “Come on.”

You follow him, shoes and socks quickly discarded as you step into the soft, cool grass. The lake stretches out before you, its surface smooth and inviting. You dip your toes in, and a burst of laughter slips from your lips when tiny fish begin to dart around your feet. They nibble lightly at your skin, and you shriek, pulling your feet out of the water in surprise. Water splashes onto Joel, who’s sitting right beside you.

You glance at him, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but when you see the damp patches on his T-shirt and the playful glint in his eyes, the teasing smile on his lips, you know exactly what’s coming.

A huff of laughter rumbles from his chest and he smirks, “I was just thinkin it might be nice to take a dip.” Before you can scramble away he’s pulling you into his arms with a swift move, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

You squeal in surprise, trying to wriggle free, but Joel just chuckles as he carries you toward the water. “Joel! No, don’t!” you laugh, your voice half-pleading, half-giggling, “Our clothes!”

Your struggle is futile. Before long, he’s wading into the lake, the cool water quickly rising to his knees. He releases you when the water’s chest-high, and you find yourself drenched, laughing helplessly as Joel grins at you, clearly pleased with himself.

“Refreshing, huh?” he smirks, his voice deep and amused.

“Yeah,” you say, sticking out your tongue at him, “I guess it’s not too bad.”

The two of you spend the next few minutes wading and splashing, playfully dunking each other in the water, until you both end up stripped down to your underwear, your soggy clothes thrown onto the shore. You float together, bodies pressed against each other in the water, content in the intimacy of the moment.

Joel wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. He presses a soft kiss to the tip of your wet nose, his breath warm against your skin. “Did I do good? Like the surprise?” he murmurs, his voice tender, hopeful.

“Perfect,” you whisper, and then kiss him. It starts off innocent and slow but builds, passion quickly catching flame. Beneath the water you wrap your legs around his torso, anchoring yourself to him and his hands cup the cheeks of your ass, kneading the flesh. His tongue sweeps against your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you allow it as your fingers tangle in his hair.

A groan rumbles in Joel's chest; it vibrates against you where yours is pressed up against him. His fingers skirt at the edge of your panties, asking for permission. To his surprise, you pull away from the kiss, and he watches you with a puzzled look, confusion in his lust-filled eyes.

“Not here,” you breathe, nodding toward the water. “Too many fish... and who knows what else is swimming around in here.”

Joel’s eyes narrow in playful frustration, but his lips curl into a grin.

“That cabin got a shower big enough for two?” you ask, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

He groans low in his chest, his eyes dark with desire. “We’ll make it fit,” he grumbles, giving you a squeeze that makes you laugh.

“Well, what are we still doing out here?” you tease.

“Fuck if I know”, and before the last syllable has left his mouth the both of you scramble out of the water, dripping wet and laughing as you race toward the cabin.

———

Later, after the sun has set and the stars begin to twinkle against the clear night sky next to a thin sliver of the moon, you and joel lie on a blanket in the meadow, the cool grass beneath you.

The sounds of the forest are a backdrop to the two of you, an owl hooting and insects humming in the distance. A cool wind skirts across the meadow, and you lean into Joel, the warmth of his body blooming beside you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave,” you sigh dreamily, perfectly content at where you find yourself, resting your head on his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Joel wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, planting a kiss on the crown of your head. He grins to himself secretly, thinking about the diamond ring in a tiny blue box hidden in his suitcase just a few yards away in the cabin.

“You're right,” he murmurs, his voice equally content, “I could do this forever.”

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Her Game (part 2) | Damon Salvatore x reader

Summary: After playing Katherine’s game, you and your daughter are left with picking up the pieces. Will you ever get your Damon back or has he been lost forever, falling through the cracks that Katherine left in her rage? 

Part 1 

A/N: It was requested multiple times I write a part two especially since I left the first part to the mind! I hope you enjoy this part! and please read part one if you haven’t! 

A/N 8/7/24: I wrote this over a year ago. Cleaning out my drafts! Decided to finish this and get it posted. Hope yall enjoy x

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} closed

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** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

The screams of the girls Damon slaughtered only hours ago continue to ring in your ears and Damon’s blank, emotionless face haunts you. After Katherine had instructed to kill you and your daughter, Damon had turned to you and for a moment you believed he would do it with no regret especially when he lunged at you. 

The small girl finally asleep in your arms, had not let go since everything happened, her tiny hands keeping a firm grip. She would begin crying if you even tried to put her down. You were grateful that she didn’t understand what exactly had happened, but she knew what monsters were and that’s what she saw her dad as. He’d managed to always hide away his vampire side from her until today.

“He’s never going to turn his humanity back on.” You continue to slowly rock back and forth. “I almost didn’t get him back the last time.” 

Damon was laid out in the floor of the cellar. Alaric had injected him with vervain to keep him weak. Stefan knew the trouble you’d gone through to get him back and even though he was his brother, he worried about him turning his humanity back on. But he knew he needed to stay positive for you. “We will. We’ll do everything we can.”

You’d almost died to get him back. You’d drained him, vervained him, kept him locked away in the cellar for months, but none of those measures worked. He was hell bent on keeping his humanity turned off. After he escaped, you and Stefan found him, coming up with a plan to push him to his limit. Would he truly let you die? 

“You really don’t feel anything for me anymore?” You asked Damon, tears in your eyes. 

“No.” He said, emotionless. “I never did.” Talk about a slap to the face, especially after everything you both had been through. 

“You don’t mean that.” 

Damon stalks over to you, causing you to flinch and cower back as he leaned in, his eyes empty and without emotion, “I wish I had never met you. I wish I would have killed you that first night I met you.” His voice is laced with such hatred. 

Your bottom lip trembled as you searched damon’s eyes for a hint, a spark of emotion before stepping back from him, “So, wouldn’t care if I died? Right here, right in front of you?” 

“no.” 

With shaky hands, you pulled the knife from your belt. What would he do if you ended your life right in front of him? What would he think then? Would he truly let you die right in front of him?

Damon watched your motions as you pointed the knife at yourself, right below your heart, “What are you doing?” 

“You said you wouldn’t care if I died so what does it matter?” And with that you plunged the knife deep inside you.

Damon’s body had jerked in response, watching in horror. His mind, heart and body fought for dominance. Don’t save her, you don’t care. Save her! Save her! 

You dropped the knife and it clinked loudly against the hardwood floors, blood quickly staining your shirt and hands. You’d dropped seconds after that. 

He could hear your heart beat slow. You were dying in front of him. His heart had won, overwhelmed with emotion as he dropped to his knees, “No no no..” He quickly bit into his wrist, his blood trickling down your throat. “Come on drink it!” 

His blood worked it’s way through your system, healing the wounds you’d created. It was the moment your heart had slowed that it truly hit him. 

~ 

Damon groans as he begins to wake. Stefan quickly shuts the door, locking it. You both stare at him through the bars. 

“What the hell.” He grumbles pushing himself off the concrete floor. “What the hell stefan.” He sees you standing beside him, but ignore you all together. 

“Which Damon am I talking too?” Stefan asks. 

“Your brother.” 

Stefan crosses his arms over his chest, watching as Damon slowly stands, stumbling toward the bars of the small window in the door and gripping tightly onto them to hold himself up. “let me out of here Stefan.” 

“No,” Stefan says sternly, “You killed three women right in front of your wife and daughter. And then went after them without a care. Why would I let you out?” 

Damon aggressively shakes the bars, but he’s too weak, it’s only loud as the sound bounces off the stone walls. “Stefan, so help me god-” 

“mommy,” your daughter whimpers waking for only a moment.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You sooth softly, rocking her back sleep, “I should go.” You direct your statement to Stefan and glance at Damon, who doesn’t meet your eye. 

“go,” Stefan nods, “You both need your rest,” 

Both Salvatore brothers watch as you turn to walk away.

“It’s me.” He calls out to you, eyes trained on the small child asleep in your arms, “is she okay?” 

You place a protective hand on her head, “She’s terrified.” 

Damon’s forehead meets the cold cage bar, shaking his head against it, “I didn’t mean for her to see me like that. I never.. I never wanted that for her.” 

“You were going to kill us, do you realize that? Stefan saved us!” 

He looks back up at you, his eyes are tearful and full of emotion, “I would never harm you, or her. I never turned it off.” 

“But you-” 

“I knew if I did there was no coming back.” 

There’s a moment of silence between the three of you. Your eyes search his; searching for your demon. Is he telling the truth or is this one of his manipulative ways to get out of the cell? You come to your conclusion.

Stefan unlocks the door when you nod at him, “Katherine isn’t going to be happy if she figures out you never turned it off. That was the whole point of her game.” He hands Damon a blood bag and you turn away, unable to stomach watching him. That’s the one thing he didn’t do around you. 

He sighs in content, tossing the bag to the floor and wiping his mouth with his sleeve before coming closer to you, “We’ll deal with it when that time comes,” He wraps one arm around you, his other hand touching your daughter’s head, “She’s never going to look at me the same way.” 

Your daughter nuzzles deeper into your neck, Damon’s touch disrupting her sleep. He removes his hand from her, hovering before making the decision to let his hand drop to his side.

It’s silent for a moment, before a thought comes to you, “What.. what if you compelled her to forget?” 

Stefan and Damon share a look, “Would it even work on a child?” 

Stefan shrugs, “I’ve never done it before, but I’m sure we can try. I mean I don’t think it would be any different than if it was an adult.”

The three of you headed back upstairs where you began the night time routine. As you got your daughter comfortable into bed, Stefan entered the bedroom.

You comb the hair off her forehead, “Stefan is gonna tell you goodnight..”

Stefan glances at you as he bends down to her side in the other side of the bed.

She gives him a sleepy smile, “uncle efan” her S’s were still a work in progress.

He returns the smile, capturing her eyes in a trance and begins the compulsion.

You can’t help but get emotional. This was something you’d hoped would never have to be used on your daughter. Your innocent, precious girl.

He made her remember playing with mommy and daddy. Nothing bad happened. No other lady showed up. It was happy times.

Your daughter blinked a couple times as the compulsion ended. Your daughter looked at you and for the first time since all this happened there was an innocent sparkle in her eyes again.

Damon had stood outside the room, listening. If he still had a beating heart he knew it would have skipped a beat when he heard his daughter ask, “where’s daddy? He tell me night time story?”

He shook off the emotion, smiling as he entered the room, “I’m here baby girl.” He slipped into bed where she curled into his side as he told the story.her eyes filled with love and affection as she stared up at her daddy telling this story. He was the best at telling stories especially made up on a whim.

~

“So what do we do about Katherine?” You ask the Salvatore boys the next morning.

“We kill her.” Damon shrugs. “Easy as that.”

“We don’t even know where she is.” Stefan says, “she could have left town for all we know.”

“Well when she finds out my humanity is still on, I’m sure she’ll show her face. You know she doesn’t like to be lied too.”

You look to Damon, “I’m not living the rest of my life in fear. Or putting that burden on my daughter.” You cross your arms over your chest, “we kill her. Even if I have to be the one to put the dagger through her chest.”

Damon is shocked at your words. You weren’t one for violence, or killing. Ironic considering you fell in love with the most violent Salvatore brother. “Uh oh mamma bear is coming out.” He teases.

You slap his arm, earning a laugh from him, his hands thrown up in surrender, “sorry.”

“I’m serious, what do we have to do to kill this bitch?”

~~~~~

The end. Comments, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! Xx

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Between Love and War

X Men Masterlist

X Men Masterlist 2

The hum of the airplane is loud, but the tension in the stifling air is even louder. Charles and Erik are shouting at each other, their voices sharp and full of accusations that have built up over the years.

“You betrayed us all, Charles!” Erik’s voice shakes with anger as he faces Charles. “You betrayed the mutants, yourself—and me.”

Charles retorts sharply. “And what did you do, Erik? Where were you when we needed you? You left us all for dead and didn’t even look back.”

Suddenly, the air flickers between them, and a figure materializes in the narrow aisle of the small plane. Y/N stands there, breathing heavily and raising a hand. “STOP THIS IMMEDIATELY!” she calls out, her voice painfully familiar.

Both men fall silent at once, their faces filled with shock. They haven’t seen her in ten years, not since that fateful day in Cuba when everything fell apart.

“Y/N?” Charles’ voice is a whisper, filled with unimaginable pain and surprise in his eyes. Erik stares at her just as dumbfounded, as if seeing a ghost. But then, a glimmer of hope creeps into his gaze.

Y/N looks at the two men, between whom she once stood and whom she has lost. She swallows and forces her tone to remain steady. “Why can’t you two stop fighting? What has it achieved? Just look at yourselves!”

Erik, regaining his composure first, presses his lips together. “Y/N, you have no idea what’s happened since then. Charles and I… we’re on opposite sides.”

Y/N glares at him. “I know very well, Erik. But whatever has come between you since Cuba, you can’t just destroy everything. I… I thought we had something special.”

Charles steps closer, his eyes soft and full of despair. “Y/N, you were… you are… more than that to me. But I made so many mistakes back then. I thought… I thought you were gone forever.”

A heavy silence hangs over them. Y/N’s heart aches at Charles’ words, but she also sees the spark of anger in Erik’s eyes. “And what about you, Erik? What has this coldness brought you?”

Erik turns away, his face tense. “What was I supposed to do, Y/N? Love makes you weak, vulnerable. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And I couldn’t bear the loneliness,” Y/N says quietly. “I loved you both, and yet, in the end, I stood alone.”

Charles looks at the ground. “I lost you. I lost everything.”

They all fall silent, the words heavy and full of meaning. Y/N runs a hand over her forehead, trying to maintain control. She directs her words to both of them. “Life is too short for this hatred. Back in Cuba… we were happy before everything shattered. Do you remember?”

Erik looks at Y/N, a trace of wistfulness in his gaze. “The three of us, back then… it was the only thing that truly meant anything to me. But that was once. It’s… gone.”

“But it doesn’t have to be gone!” Charles steps forward again, his voice firm and filling the space. “If we change, if we… try to forgive each other.”

Y/N looks at both men and sees the old sparks, the deeply buried feelings that, despite everything, still flicker. “Charles, Erik… can you do that? Can you at least stop destroying each other for a moment? If there was ever a chance, it’s now.”

Erik takes a deep breath and looks Charles in the eyes. “What do you think, Charles? Can you really forgive me?”

Charles nods slowly, hesitantly. “I… I can try. For Y/N, for us.”

A faint smile spreads across Y/N’s face. It’s a beginning, a tiny moment of peace in a decade full of conflict and loss.

“Then let’s take this path together,” she says, taking both men’s hands and pausing for a moment. “The three of us, like before. Maybe we can’t restore everything, but we can heal each other.”

[irenic-max]

anagapesis

Angst Prompt: “I don’t think I can look at you and not think of how you killed every last bit of love I had for you.”

Reader x Jisung // Jisung x Minho

Angst, Heartbreak, Cheating, Jealousy, Unrealized Feelings, Not A Happy Ending, CollegeStudentsAU, Not idols

_____________________________

Another weekend, another party. You fought to keep the scowl off your face and to keep your features neutral.

You took a sip of your drink and ignored the sharp bite the liquor left as you looked around for your boyfriend. He dragged you to parties every weekend and almost always disappeared into the crowd and with his friends.

Particularly Minho.

You huffed angrily at the thought of your boyfriend’s best friend and threw back the rest of your drink, hoping the alcohol would dim the irritation radiating through your body.

You and Minho just didn’t get along; you two had a completely separate sense of humor, different style, different likes, different taste in food and in music, everything. The only similarity the two of you shared was the adoration for Han Jisung. You would both hang the moon for the playful, energetic boy.

Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem. It hadn’t been an issue for such a big part of your relationship. But since Minho moved into an off campus apartment with someone else in his department, you felt like you were constantly begging and competing for time with Jisung. Your boyfriend began to act like seeing his best friend was a rare event when, in fact, he saw Minho more frequently than ever. He got so easily wrapped up.

You tried to be understanding at first and gave Jisung the time to adjust and figure out how to balance his time without feeling like you were nagging him about plans or dates. But that only sparked arguments when a few weeks had passed and nothing changed. Fights, tears, conversations, yelling, pleading, crying, ignoring - nothing changed Jisung’s blindness to how much time he spent with Minho and how often you were brushed off to the side in favor of the other.

Finally, Jisung decided to invite you out every weekend with his friends. “Why not both?” seemed to be his solution to splitting his free time. Except it wasn’t a solution and it wasn’t split; he always ended up gravitating towards Minho.

You stayed in the kitchen for a round of shots with a few mutual friends before setting out to find Jisung. He was going to spend time with you, you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

You looked around the living room and first floor for a couple of minutes but couldn’t spot your boyfriend anywhere. Or Minho, for that matter.

You recognized one of Jisung’s friends talking in a hallway with a handful of people from a class they shared. This friend was one of the few you could actually tolerate. It was impossible to hate him, really.

“Felix, hi,” you greeted warmly when there was a pause in conversation.

“Hi, y/n,” he responded, smiling at you and offering a tiny wave. “Are you here alone today?”

His words stirred the anger in your belly, but you kept composure.

“No, I came with Jisungie but I lost him somewhere and can’t find him. Do you know where he might be?” You feigned a pout for effect and Felix laughed lightheartedly.

“I haven’t seen him, but Jeongin brought his pen, so maybe they’re taking a few hits? I’d try the basement; Jeongin usually hides down there to smoke.”

You squeezed Felix’s arm gently and thanked him before heading down to the house’s basement. Chatter faded away as you navigated down the hallway and then stairs. The basement was pretty big and divided into a few sections, almost making them different rooms. You knew Jeongin was smart enough to move away from the base of the stairs and hide away as to not get asked for hits all night. You spotted a few guys sitting and sharing the pen, but no Minho or Jisung to be found.

You exhaled, frustrated. You were about to give up when you heard giggling further back, towards the washing machine and water heater. You went to investigate.

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt your stomach lurch. You had to grit your teeth to keep yourself from vomiting on the spot from shock. You heard blood rushing in your ears but couldn’t do anything but stare.

Stare as Minho pinned Jisung to the wall in between his arms and kissed him hungrily. When they parted for a breath, Jisung chased his lips and kissed him back feverishly. Drunken giggles floated in the space between them and you felt the air being punched from your lungs.

You didn’t realize a broken noise cracked from your throat until the boys broke apart and Jisung’s head whipped up. Instantly, the color drained from his face and the tipsy euphoria that was there seconds beforehand was gone.

“I- y/n, uh, we-”

You looked from him to Minho and saw almost no emotion etched into his face; no guilt, no shock, no worry. The bastard almost looked smug. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than a galaxy of space between them and yourself. You turned on your heels and all but bolted away, back through the basement and up the stairs. You heard commotion behind you but kept moving. You weren’t entirely sure when the tears started, but suddenly, your vision was blurring and it was impossible to make out much of anything in detail.

You could tell there was a mass of bodies near the front door and decided to steer towards the back patio. You threw the door open without any care and stumbled out.

How could you be so stupid?

How could you be so blind?

He’s in love with him. He’s fucking in love with him.

Not you. Not you.

Your stomach lurched again and you lost balance, falling forward onto your knees into the grass. Sobs kept bubbling up in your chest, but they would stop before they came tumbling out. They were being drowned out by fury.

“Y/n!”

You lifted your head to see Jisung climbing out the back door onto the patio with Minho trailing close behind.

“Stay away from me!” you snarled, legs still weak and shaky. You still couldn’t get up.

“Y/n, will you just listen to me for a second?”

“I don’t want to hear a fucking thing from you!”

“I love you! I do! You’re one of my best friends,” Jisung shouted out desperately, holding his hands out in a pleading manner. “You know me and I know you. It...It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I didn’t even know what I was feeling, what I was thinking, what I’ve been going through. I’ve been trying to figure it out without hurting anyone. But you’ve been my best friend for so long and you’re more than my girlfriend because of it. We share a special bond, not even one Minho and I have.” Jisung hesitantly took a few steps forward. Minho was smart (for once, you thought angrily) and stayed back.

“Can...can you just look at me? So we can talk?” Jisung asked with a shaky voice. You could hear the emotion behind his words and it only set fire to the rage you felt.

“Why?” You asked, a wet laugh interrupting. “Why? What could talking possibly fix here, Jisung?” You took a second and let out a shuttering breath. “I don’t think I can look at you and not think of how you killed every last bit of love I had for you.

“You chipped away at it, piece by piece over time. You wore it down and when it was at its weakest point, you ripped it out of me. Stomped on it. You’re watching me bleed out and then asking me why I’m not patching you up.

“It’s over. We are done. I...I fucking hate you, Jisung. And I fucking hate you more, Minho.”

You took the moment as Jisung stood stunned from your words to finally stand and break away from them. You clenched your fists, digging your nails in until they pierced your palms and used that pain to ground yourself as you walked away from all of it. You let your tears and cries fall freely as you mourned life as you knew it with Han Jisung.

[darlingsfandom]

If it's ok with a kitten x reader

They used to be childhood friends and if kitten didn't do those peep show what if she's a model and reader became a fashion student/ designer . They catch up along with admitted to having feelings for eachother ^~^ no pressure and hope it's not a bother

It’s never a bother honey 💕 always feel free to send me a request ! My inbox is usually always open!

“Son of a bitch!” You jumped a little as the tiny needle poked through your skin making Kitten giggle across the room. You waved your hand a little before throwing the needle into the trash once you got it out of your finger. After getting it cleaned up and bandage Kitten came over to you, lifted your hand and gave it a kiss.

“Ya gotta learn how not to stab yerself.” You rolled your eyes at her and she returned the favor before giving you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. Kitten was your best friend. She had been your friend since you switched to the school because you needed “better direction” in your life. You wanted to be mad but it brought Kitten into your life and for that you couldn’t be more thankful. As the years went by the two of you grew closer, went to parties together, experimented with each other in which she taught you how to kiss and french kiss (that one she taught you in detention for kissing in the first place), the two of you went to your prime together both wearing green dresses that you had designed and she sewed together because god forbid you’d hurt yourself with the sewing machine!

Sadly after graduation the two of slowly lost touch. Kittens a wanderer who makes her own mark on the world while you stayed on your path and somehow ended up in design school in London.

“Alright! I know this is your first show for some of you but no need to be nervous.” Your instructor clapped her hands together before looking around the room “now I do have good news, I did get one the best models out there to agree to do this show but on one condition…. She picks her stylist and designer ! So please help me welcome Miss Saint Kitten.” Everyone was clapping including you but your mind was lost because you haven’t heard that name in years.

“Hello!” The voice rang through your ears, you knew that voice! It was kitten! Your kitten! She stood tall , proud and was now blonde. You couldn’t believe your eyes. She waved a little before her eyes met yours and her jaw dropped as you stood there with your hair pulled back, tape measure draped around your neck all wrapped up in a little red dress. Kitten gathered herself and made her way around the room. People followed her like a lost puppy. She complimented some outfits until she made it to you.

“This one! I’m picking her.” She glanced over her shoulder towards your instructor but your instrcuter made a face.

“Are you sure? She’s not …” “

“How dare you?!? The whole point of going to school is learn something you love and youre going to insult her ? I’ve worn many high fashion labels that don’t even touch this design she’s sketched out! Who’s the super model diva with a nice house hmm? That would be me! So if you don’t mind, I’m picking her or else I’ll take my money and free sponsoring somewhere else hmm?” Kitten sassed back. Still sassy as ever actually and it made you feel so proud. Your instructor closed her mouth, pulled back her shoulders and huffed before walking away while a few others finished clapping Kittens speech.

Kitten grabbed your hand, took your sketch book and walked with you towards a more secluded area.

“Kitten… wow! You look amazing!” You sat down next to her before she set your book down. She pulled you closer until her knee was touching yours. The spark in you was still there! Butterflies still swarmed in your stomach. Your crush on Kitten was alive as ever.

“You look amazing honeybee!” She made the cute joke since she always remembered the time when you two were at lunch in seventh grade and you spilled honey on your lap. Since then you’ve been honeybee but only her honeybee. The nickname made you swell with pride.

“I know it’s been awhile since we’ve talked and I understand why… but I’m so proud of you kitten! You always said you’d make a name for yourself and everyone will know the tale of Saint Kitten.” Your hand rested on her hand, squeezing it gently she looked into your eyes and you could see how filled with love they were. Kitten ran her thumb over your knuckles before she leaned in and pressed her lips against yours.

Sparks bursted in your skin. Your heart raced, your toes curled in your shoes and your hands squeezed onto her arm. Kitten pulled away to look up into your eyes. Her right hand landed on your cheek while her thumb brushed away the tear that was daring to drop down your cheek.

“Why are you crying honeybee?” Her head tilted a little while her voice sounded like it could break.

“I’ve missed you is all…” you looked down at your hand and still couldn’t believe that you were reunited with her.

“That’s all? Honeybee!” She wrapped her arm around you and pulled you close as she could since the two of you were sitting. “I’m not going to let you go again.” She stood up, pulled you up to your feet and put you in her arms. The two of you held onto each other as tight as possible. Her scent intoxicated you all over again. She still smelled the same like she did in high school, a sweet and Smokey mix like an overcooked vanilla mixed with honey. Her chin rested upon your head while her hands rubbed your lower back tracing small circles every now and then since she remembered how much it gave you comfort.

“Please don’t go anywhere again.” You hiccuped against her chest. She pulled away, lifted your head with her hands and made you look into her eyes.

“I am not going anywhere without my girlfriend… I mean honeybee!” She quickly corrected herself but you still heard the word you’ve always wanted to hear.

“Kitten… do you like me?” You bit down on your bottom lip.

“Of course I do you idiot! I’ve been in love with you! I just thought you didn’t like me beyond a friend.” Kitten stroked your hair slowly.

“I’ve been in love with you since our senior year! When you first taught me how to kiss! Everytime we kissed I felt sparks! Any time you’d touch me my heart would skip a beat but honestly I thought you were going to end up with Charlie !”

Kitten let out a little laugh before she shook her head.

“No no honeybee! Charlie and I are close but she’s not into me like that. Plus I told her that I liked you and she told me I should ask you out but…”

“AND YOU DIDNT LISTEN TO HER!” You gave her a playful smack on the arm making her chuckle again. The two of you stood there smiling at each other holding hands with love pouring from each others eyes.

“My honeybee, I’ll never let you fly alone again.” Kitten pulled you into her arms until you were chest to chest and her lips pressed into yours tenderly making you lift your leg a little. She is your Kitten, always had been and always will be.

[ketchup-monthly]

Batfam’s Favorite Batman Actors

with the help of the lovely @space-specs who typed most of this while we talked at like 1AM

Bruce-  Kevin Conroy (SO many things, but most well known for DCAU) (he’s THE batman actor and its only fitting that he is bruce’s favorite.)(i made myself cry with the implications of this -specs)

Dick- Michael Keaton (Burtonverse) (Keaton reminds us of what bruce should be like around the time he gets dick, so watching the movies would make dick nostalgic for those days, even if Keaton didn’t have a Robin in those movies)(plus the lack of neck mobility would make dick laugh bc he’s been batman and had to wear the cowl before, even if he could turn his neck)

Babs- Diedrich Bader (Batman: the Brave and the Bold, Harley Quinn the Animated Series) (Its a really goofy interpretation of Batman and unlike some of the younger bats or bats who haven’t been around as long, who believe that Bruce was never that goofy, she has the videos. She knows, and gets no end of amusement from the fact that Bruce and Dick used to be that ridiculous)

Jason- David Masouz (Gotham) (Baby Bruce triggers Jason’s latent inherited adoption instincts and he's mad about it. The show also tackles all the weird shit Bruce gets up to, especially in response to grief, which we think is important for him to see)

Tim- Ben Affleck (DCEU) (Similar to Dick, Affleck is a Bruce that is familiar to Tim. This is a Bruce that still has hope for building a better world, but it’s also a Bruce that has lost so much and is in crisis)(plus hes a dilf -ketchup)(this one also makes me cry a bit if i think about it too long -ketchup)

Cass- Adam West (Batman (1966)) (She definitely has a bunch of reaction gif from this show that she sends all the time. It just sparks joy to imagine Bruce in such a whimsical version of Gotham)(it’s the slapstick -ketchup)

Steph- George Clooney (Batman & Robin) (Similar to Cass, Steph loves being a nuisance to Bruce about this. the goddamn batnipples, y'all 💀)

Duke- Will Arnett (The Lego Batman Movie, The Lego Movie 1&2) (He’s hijacked the speakers in the Batmobile to blast the Lego Batman tunes. Also, thinking about the time Duke confronted Bruce so he would stop hiding from the fact that he was Batman vs. Arnett's Batman having to realize that he isn't better off alone.)

Damian- Ethan Hawke (Batwheels) (He would never admit out loud to enjoying both batwheels and Ethan Hawke's Batman. That man is such a dad even in the cowl and Damian would love that)(we like batwheels, and are not afraid to admit it, unlike one small tiny feral child -specs)

Cullen- Val Kilmer (Batman Forever) (He’s gay. We're gay. Val Kilmer pretty)

Harper- Troy Baker (DC Lego movies) (It's Lego, enough said. He’s just a little guy! She loves watching the Shazam one and Family Matters back to back. (Her and Duke both bond and argue about their different Lego Batman’s in turn))(are we projecting? a little bit. the shazam lego movie is the best one, closely followed by family matters -ketchup)

Kate- Christian Bale (Nolanverse) (She likes Bale as an actor (she enjoys American Psycho), but doesnt like Nolan’s interpretation of Batman. He is, however, painfully straight, and that amuses her to no end. If she and Bruce patrol together, she will follow him around doing the Bale Batman voice)(fun fact! ketchups least favorite batman actor bc they dont like the nolan movies :D)

Alfred- Winston Duke (Batman: Unburied) (the one thing Alfred wants is for Bruce to be happy. thinking about the speech Bruce gives to his parents about the joy he has found in being Batman)(plus BU is a podcast so he can listen to it while gardening or doing other things)(legit tho, this is one of the ones that almost made us cry)

Terry- Robert Pattinson (The Batman (2022)) (It’s the flying squirrel suit for him. Terry also sees a lot of himself in Battinson, and it’s refreshing for Terry to see that Bruce wasn’t infallible as Batman. He didn’t have all the answers, and that was okay. Terry doesn’t need to be perfect to live up to Bruce’s example, because Bruce wasn’t perfect.)(sobs sobs sobs sobs sobs sobs sobs -ketchup)

Matt- Joe Walker (Holy Musical B@ man) (He quotes this musical religiously. He sings the songs on patrol to annoy Terry. He is just like me fr. He has also said the “aaaaaalfreeeeeeed! How could you do this to me? You got my hopes up so high and then you mugged and shot them in an alleyway” line in front of Bruce exactly once and then never did it again)

Jarro- Roger Craig Smith (Batman: Ninja) (Because Batman: Ninja is a fucked up little movie and Jarro is a fucked up little starfish -ketchup)(The plot to this movie sure is something)

Drake Winston- Jeffrey Wright (Batman: the Audio Adventures) (Good with kids. Honestly, seems like a halfway between B:TAS and Keaton, which feels fitting for Drake)(plus its a podcast that he can listen to while working in the shop or on patrol so yay! bonus!)

Carrie Kelley- Codot (Rogues! the Podcast) (given the everything about DKR universe, this one feels appropriate for her with Bruce being an asshole)

Jim Gordon- Ben McKenzie (Batman: Year One) (Batman: Year One really focuses in on building the relationship between the two. Also ketchup pulled a sneaky on me by selling me on this before I realized it was also the actor for Gotham Jim and this is now hilarious -specs)

Bette Kane- Jensen Ackles (Batman: The Long Halloween) (She watches Supernatural and thinks its funny. She actively makes supernatural references to Bruce. He pretends not to get them. The other bats get the jokes and find it so amusing)

Luke Fox- Rino Romano (The Batman (2004)) (It just feels right. Hes a serious batman but he has kids. Also he has claws and Luke thinks that Bruce should implement those in his own suit with how often he has had to listen to Alfred and Lucius complain about Bruce damaging himself or property while falling off of buildings that he couldn’t get a good enough grip on)

Bonus!

Hal Jordan- Jason O’Mara (DCAMU) (He’s a more serious Batman, he’s such a dad, but also he’s a little shit and Hal loves that about him. (are we pushing our superbatlantern agenda? Yeah a little bit. Fight us -ketchup)

Clark Kent- Bruce Greenwood (Young Justice, Batman: Under the Red Hood, Batman: Death in the Family) (This is a Batman, a Bruce, who has lost his son, and Clark wanted so badly to be there for Bruce at that point, but Bruce pushed him away and Clark was forced to watch from the outside as his best friend was self destructing. It’s a little hard for him to watch at times, but this is a man who would stand up to Clark and tell him what he was doing wrong, and be there to support him if he truly needed it, even if it wasn’t in the most gentle way. Also most notably, it is these two versions of Bruce that get dessert at Bibbo’s Diner with Clark. (i will push my dessert at bibbos agenda until i die -ketchup)

[tgon]

Ghosts of Fear Street, Fright Christmas | Review

Title: Ghosts of Fear Street #15 – Fright Christmas Author: Stephen Roos (as by R.L. Stine) Cover Artist: John Youssi

INTRODUCTION

The cover artwork got my hopes up. Never before has Silent Night looked so loud loud loud! Unfortunately the plot is less interesting. The ghostwriter must have organized a White Elephant Plot Exchange, because the entire story is lifted from A Christmas Carol. It’s safe to assume R.L. Stine forgot this book exists, too, because he penned his own adaptation of the Dickens classic in 2017 entitled Young Scrooge.

I was fully prepared to skip this book. Bah humbug. But last night I was visited by The Ghost Of Christmas Past. The spectre said unto me, “Fright Christmas had an audiobook adaptation in 1997 starring Kieran Culkin. This wasn’t the most successful Christmas project for the Culkins, but skipping it could be seen as an insult. If they have the power to put a star in Hollywood Boulevard for Macaulay, think about how easily they could put you in the ground!”

Well, I’ve had a sudden change of heart. Let’s give this book a chance! One last toast to has-been ghosts, the review will be soon.

STORY REVIEW

Kenny Frobisher is less of a “peace on earth” guy and more of a “piece of work” guy. When his sister visits Santa in the mall, Kenny spoils the occasion by calling it all fake. He even rips Mall Santa’s beard off! Maybe Kenny is banking on the resale value of coal. Anyways, Kenny wisely dips out after the beard stunt sparks a child riot. He sneaks into a secret control room, pushing past a big sign that says DANGER! KEEP OUT! So maybe Kenny is also banking on the resale value of Darwin Awards.

Kenny decides to flip some random switches, which was quality entertainment in a pre-internet America. This great plan backfires when Kenny locks himself in. Kenny fears that the ghostwriter is copying another story from the 1840s ⁠— until the door mysteriously creaks open. He emerges to discover an abandoned mall. He must have stayed past closing time. Or maybe he timetraveled to the early 2020s.

Santa rises from the shadows, but this fella ain’t holly-jolly. He looks ticked. Truly chilling. If that doesn’t scare you, have you considered SANTA is an anagram for SATAN? Truly chilling. Kenny yanks down on Santa’s beard, but this one doesn’t detach. Uh oh. Santa reprimands Kenny for his naughtiness and warns that the boy will be visited by three spirits. Kenny flees to Dalby’s Department Store, which is a cute bit of continuity, as this store is an important location in the main Fear Street series. Kenny decides it’s a super good time to nap on one of the luxury beds. Yes he’s trapped in a mall and haunted by ghosts, but it’s 8:59 (PM!!) and he’s sleepy, dagnabbit.

Kenny wakes up to the revving of a motorcycle. He meets an intimidating biker named Night Watchman. The guy claims he’s been watching Kenny all the time, but I guess “All Hours Watchman” doesn’t sound cool. This dude shows Kenny a flashback, a day when Kenny bullied some kid named “Tiny Timmy” in front of the whole school. Of course, Kenny enjoys revisiting this memory. To keep his grip on the situation, Night Watchman simply rams Kenny with his bike. Truly an underrated rhetorical strategy.

Eyes snapping open, Kenny finds himself back in the department store. The bed has been torn to shreds. He meets a wintery ghost named Ice Man. This fixes a huge problem in the original Dickens story: the total lack of wrestler-style character names. Ice Man whisks Kenny away to show him how the Frobishers are handling Christmas Eve without their son. Kenny’s sister seems pretty upset, but Mr. Frobisher offers helpful advice such as

“These things happen, honey.”

Think that sounds cold? Turns out, the family is only sad because their dog is lost. They haven’t even noticed Kenny is gone. I guess if you live on Fear Street, you develop an Oregon Trail mindset. Sometimes we have two kids, sometimes we have one kid, oh well what can you do.

Kenny is woken once more, this time by techno lights and crazy music, and he finds himself in an open grave. After all, you can’t spell GRAVE without RAVE. There’s also an unknown figure skulking around above him. Kenny pleas for help, but the figure turns out to be a hooded ghost. The spooky dude points a skeleton-finger at Kenny, and a hoard of ghost kids descend on our protagonist. Oh my God, they killed Kenny!

Back in the mall again, an electrician shakes Kenny awake. The boy fell asleep in the control room. Feeling a sudden change of heart, he buys a gift for his sister. When Kenny gets home, the family dog has indeed gone missing, just like in his dream. Luckily, Tiny Timmy happened to catch the dog and returns it, upgrading him to Regular Timmy. But then Timmy reveals a spooky skeleton-finger, signifying that he was the mysterious ghost from Kenny’s dream. I made a visual aid to convey the terror.

THE VERDICT

If you’d like to create your own adaptation of A Christmas Carol, it might be beneficial to follow this simple set of rules: Don’t.

So concludes our third Biennial Holiday Special. Maybe by 2025, Elon Musk will buy this blog for billions of dollars and replace me with an AI. If you don’t want me replaced by a robot (or maybe you chuckled while reading this entry), feel free to leave a like or drop a message.

BEST QUOTE

“Sorry, Kenny,” Dad said softly. “We were reading A Christmas Carol. I know how you hate it.” “Not anymore, Dad,” I said, […] “I love it! It’s one of my favorite stories now!”

Why? At what point was that experience anything other than traumatizing?

[activate-shadow-of-the-window]

Hermittober Day 23 (Late): Life

-

Tango was pretty sure that he was in shock.

The moment he had heard that box speak, the Basalt King had promptly skedaddled. Or at least tried to, since Lumbar seemed more like a maze than the half-finished tunnels of his own kingdom, or even the fortresses of the Second Dimension. He was thoroughly and hopelessly lost, and now something was trying to talk to him in his own head.

{Tango? Tango, where are you? Are you alright?}

“No! No, I am absolutely not alright! Did you hear that box speak?!? That’s not normal! Nuh-uh, I ain’t going anywhere!”

{Tango, this is Martyn. I’m calling using the Shrieker System. Are you hurt?}

“… no. Not physically, at any rate. Emotionally and mentally, sure, that box scared the pants off me!”

{Okay… good to know. Where are you?}

“I don’t know! I just kinda ran. Uh, the room is mostly empty except for a table with a bunch of books and shattered glass on it. There’s a light in the ceiling, and a vent. I didn’t do anything but open the door and summon a flame. I ran for a good thirty seconds before getting here. I think.”

{Got it. We’re coming to get you. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure Mainframe stays away.}

“… do I want to know who Mainframe is?”

{No.}

“Alrighty then. I’ll stay put and start yelling if something happens. WAIT! How can you hear me?!?”

{You don’t want to know.}

“Okay okay okay okay don’t tell me anything else thank you goodbye.”

As Tango spat out that rambling reaction, he saw something on the table twitch. It wasn’t a book, even though that would be expected, and it wasn’t the glass, thank goodness. It was a silverfish, a tiny one with bits of moss stuck on its spiny carapace.

He waved at it with the hand that wasn’t holding his spark of blue fire. “Hi there, little fella. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a crazy day. Bet your life is pretty simple, eh? Eat stone, sleep, eat stone, sleep, eat stone, reproduce, sleep. I don’t mean to assume, it’s just that sometimes you want what you don’t have, right? I’d love a simple life like your’s right now.”

The silverfish skittered forward a bit, round black eyes staring into the blue flame in Tango’s hand. He’d never seen the little buggers up close before, and he realized that it was kinda cute, in the same way that baby hoglins were cute.

“Do you like my blue light, little guy? I bet you haven’t seen much light in your life, let alone blue light. Just don’t touch it. You will get hurt.”

Suddenly, Tango heard a clattering coming from the vent. He crushed the flame in his hand, and quickly flicked one of his prepped bundles of blaze rods out in preparation for an attack. The clattering continued, becoming more and more hollow until the vent clattered to the floor. Something immediately whooshed out with a sound like strong wind accompanied by a pair of feet landing on the hard stone floor.

In the darkness, Tango couldn’t make out much besides a tall, bulky figure standing in the center of the room. When they spoke, it sounded like two completely different persons speaking with one another.

“It smells like blaze in here. That’s normal, we used a lot of blaze powder. Oh, I suppose that does make sense. So, how do we get out?”

The figure began moving around, from their fumbling movements, Tango could tell they didn’t have his level of night vision. But they were stumbling towards him, bringing with them a smell that made his nose wrinkle and his eyes widen with recognition and disgust.

In a split second, he made his decision, hefting the blaze rods with a flare of blue flames.

“I hope you like soul-fire, you vile, copper-smelling Breeze!”

[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

[kpostedsum]

high | d.m

summary: you find an unhealthy way of coping after draco cheats on you

warnings: drug use (marijuana) angsty¿, cheating, illusions to sex

song: habits - tove lo

a/n: this fic isn’t meant to romanticize drug use in any way. i also know nothing abt weed so LOL and very rushed & not edited

masterlist | taglist

I eat my dinner in my bathtub

Then I go to sexclubs

Watching freaky people gettin' it on

It doesn't make me nervous

If anything I'm restless

Yeah, I've been around and I've seen it all

you had a few minutes left of your charms class which was your last class before the weekend. you wanted nothing more than to get out of here and cuddle up with your boyfriend— who was enjoying his free period right now.

draco was one of the best boyfriends you could ask for, the frequent dates, gifts, and attention— it was more than you could wish for.

“you’re excused. you essays are due at the beginning of next week” snapes monotone voice dragged on as you quickly packed up your things and made your way to the slytherin common room.

I get home, I got the munchies

Binge on all my Twinkies

Throw up in the tub

Then I go to sleep

And I drank up all my money

Days get kinda lonely

entering the slytherin common room your eyes immediately searched for a certain blond boy, yet he was nowhere to be found. you made your way to the boys dorms in hopes of finding him there but you’re quickly interrupted by two familiar voices.

“why hello y/n, marvellous weather we’re having today aren’t we?” theo asked looking towards the ceiling and smiling as if he were outside, blaise blocking your path as he did so.

“i’m not sure what weather you’re talking about since we’re inside but i am okay thank you” you responded with a chuckle, trying to make your way past blaise.

“wait y/n” he stopped you. “can i borrow the astronomy notes? i would ask luna but i can’t find her anywhere” blaise continued.

they both seemed awfully on edge and anxious, you figured it was just quidditch nerves getting to them since there was an upcoming game this week.

“i have yet to finish my astronomy notes, but i did see luna in the great hall if you want her notes. now if you’d excuse me i’d like to see draco” you said trying to push past the two boys who still wouldn’t let you through.

“forget malfoy! let’s do something instead, we’re so much more fun than him, right blaise?” theo said giving blaise a pointed look as he threw his arm around your shoulder.

“right you are nott, let’s go!” blaise continued also throwing his arm around your shoulder and leading you away from the boys dorm.

“what? no, i have plans with draco. now excuse me” you said pushing them both off and heading towards dracos door.

as you get closer to his door you can hear heavy breathing, pants and skin slapping on skin. you’re confused, you figured draco would be taking a nap or running over drills for quidditch practice. the closer you get, the louder the noises become.

“pans, you feel so good”

you recognize that voice anywhere.

You're gone and I gotta stay

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

quickly you turned your head towards blaise and theo who had their heads lowered in shame, refusing to meet your gaze. “is this some kind of sick joke, are you guys pulling a prank or something because this isn’t funny” you said seriously not wanting to believe what you’re hearing from inside of your boyfriends dorm.

“we’re sorry, we tried to convince him not too but he wouldn’t listen” theo muttered silently.

it felt like your world was breaking apart slowly. just not too long ago you were excited to spend a weekend with your boyfriend who you loved so dearly, the same boyfriend who you’ve been dating for years, the same boyfriend who gets jealous about how much time you spend with his mum rather than him.

with shaky fingers you put your hand on the door knob and quickly pushed the door open, already preparing for the worst.

there he was, wrapped up with parkinson in the same bed you two shared not even twenty-four hours ago. her body straddling his naked, just like yours was doing the night before. you stood there frozen, mouth agape— not even knowing what to do with yourself.

“baby, i can explain, just please— y/n please don’t leave” draco said pushing pansy off of him, shuffling on his pants and reaching out towards you.

“dont touch me, malfoy!” you yelled and everyone froze. “you lost the right to touch me the minute you even thought of touching her” you continued sending both him and pansy a glare with tears threatening to slip from your eyes.

“darling please, i can explain—”

“no draco, we’re done just leave me alone, please” your voice cracking at the end as you pushed past blaise and theo rushing towards the girls dormitory.

Spend my days locked in a haze

Trying to forget you babe

I fall back down

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

it’s been days since you last left your room, days since you last saw draco. daphne would come by and check on you but you’d always dismiss her, wanting to be alone. regret is one word to describe how you’ve been feeling— you gave him everything and he threw it away so carelessly for a quick hook up.

you missed waking up against his smooth skin in his embrace, tracing the lines and scars across his porcelain skin as you waited for him to wake up, the way he’d try to kiss you in the morning without brushing his teeth and you wouldn’t let him because of morning breath— but he’d still do it anyways.

you missed him, but he didn’t want you anymore.

maybe it was something you’ve done, you’ve been quite busy with work recently so you haven’t been spending as much time with him as normal. he was probably lonely and trying to seek the attention you lacked to give him.

getting up, you stared at yourself in the mirror picking yourself apart. you were pretty, it was a well known fact around hogwarts, maybe he thought she was prettier. she was the life of the party and always up for some mischief whereas you preferred to do stuff in silence and would rather be with a small group of people. maybe he liked how exciting she was in comparison to you, she probably brought a spark of excitement to his life that you couldn’t.

dreading to feel something you quickly showered and got ready to leave your room hoping to run into a specific set of twins.

Pick up daddies at the playground

How I spend my daytime

Loosen up the frown,

Make them feel alive

I'll make it fast and greasy

I'm on my way to easy

“well what can we do for you today” fred said to you with a cheeky smile plastered across his face.

“do you have any muggle herb left?” you asked in a low voice making sure no one heard you.

“maybe we do, maybe we don’t” george said. “how much are you offering in exchange though” he continued.

“ten galleons for three ounces, is that enough” you said pulling the galleons out of your pockets and placing them in george’s palm.

“it was a pleasure doing business with you” they said in unison as fred placed the tiny baggie in your pocket so no one would see.

once you returned to your dormitory you quickly pulled out the pre-rolled muggle herb, lit it and let yourself forget.

You're gone and I gotta stay

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

Spend my days locked in a haze

Trying to forget you babe

I fall back down

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

you started showing up to class late with red tired eyes, not caring about the looks you got. at this point every one knew what had happened but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

the muggle herb brought you a sense of bliss and freedom, a new feeling you haven’t felt before but something that you now craved.

“are you high right now?” draco said as he sat himself in the seat beside you.

“since when do you care about what i’m doing” you said sharply, not wanting to talk with him.

“love, you don’t smoke. who gave that stuff to you, i’ll kill them—”

“no you won’t.” you said turning towards him. “you won’t do any of that because you don’t own me and i’m not your girlfriend anymore. so mind your business malfoy, i’m sure parkinson’s waiting for you”

the rest of the class you both sat in silence working on potions that draco did most of since you weren’t in the correct mind state and he wasn’t willing to let his mark falter over your slip up.

you find it amazing how even when you’re on drugs he still looks amazing. the way his nose curves perfectly with a slight bump, and the way his hands move with caution as he pours the potion into the waste bucket.

“look, i’m sorry for what happened with pansy. it didn’t mean anything i swear, i don’t know why i did it but i regret it with my life” draco said breaking your thoughts, he looked older than normal and had dark circles underneath his under eyes. you wondered why he looked so distraught when he wasn’t the one who got cheated on.

“a sorry isn’t going to fix this draco” you told him. he knew you were right but he didn’t want to admit it. he hadn’t talked to pansy since the day you walked in on them, the guilt has been eating him up inside. he stayed silent and didn’t bother respond to you, he knew anything he said would have made the situation worst than it already is— but how he wished you were still his sweet y/n.

“now if you excuse me, i have some fun to attend too” you said leaving him alone as you made your way back to your dorm.

Staying in my play pretend

Where the fun, it got no end

Can't go home alone again

Need someone to numb the pain

You're gone and I gotta stay

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

over the last few weeks, you couldn’t remember the last time you were sober. you started skipping classes to smoke and avoiding your friends so they’d stop questioning your habits.

you were forgetting and that’s all that mattered, you didn’t care how it was affecting your health— it made you feel better. sometimes you wished there was another way, another way to forget how he held you at night pressing soft kisses to your skin, another way to forget the way he took pansy the same way he took you. you wonder if he feels as sorry as he looks, he’s the one who cheated so he can’t possibly care that much.

you hear two knocks at your door which quickly break you from your state making you more attentive, cleaning yourself up and opening the door. there stood draco— his eyes red as well, like hes been crying.

“y/n listen, i know what i did was wrong and that i tried to pretend it wasn’t me but please. i didn’t mean too, you mean the world to me. i miss you so much love.” he pleaded with you.

“y’know draco, i miss you too” you admitted. “but i’ve found a way to forget about you, maybe you should do the same”.

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

-

taglist: @mauvea @teenwolfbitches28 @ilygw @nic0lodean @s1ater @henqtic @justreadingficsdontmindme @i-love-scott-mccall @harmqnia @gwlvr @alishahpotter

[powdermelonkeg]

Zora headcanons please?

There's so many kinds of Zora; how about I do them all? :D

River Zora

So, the River Zora were the first kind of Zora we were ever met with in the LoZ series.

Capable of shooting fireballs, this variant of Zora is EXTREMELY territorial and defensive of their domain. And with good reason; their eggs are a rarity--a River Zora might lay only two eggs in their entire lifetime, which can reach up to 800 years. And monsters, especially water-based monsters, tend to be scavengers, meaning that if a Zora isn’t careful, their nest can be raided and the eggs devoured before they have a chance to react.

The River Zora are vibrantly colored, with the ability to puff up to three times their normal size and possessing side-fins to use as flashy warning signs against potential predators. Living in a place like Hyrule means you have to have all kinds of tricks up your sleeve!

But all that flash isn’t just for show; when they’re stressed, their skin releases a toxic substance that can cause paralysis in nearby enemies.

You can see it here in Queen Oren’s fountain, how the water’s gone dark purple (along with the size magnification mentioned previously).

Their mouths contain special glands that secrete a kind of organic napalm. When creating a fireball, they gather some of this substance in their cheeks and ignite it with a spark of electricity, similar to an electric catfish. This ability takes time for them to develop, and fireball accuracy is a point of pride among their soldiers.

Their diet consists of mostly trout, and their domain is hidden in a waterfall beside Death Mountain. However, by BoTW’s time, the River Zora have fled Hyrule for distant Holodrum, where there’s remarkably less threat of extinction.

Zora Warriors

These are actually the result of River Zora adapting to salinity! Also called “Geozards” to differentiate them from their ancestors, these Zora have lost their toxicity and pufferfish-like abilities in exchange for denser muscle mass and near-impenetrable scales. The frill atop their heads is their only biological sex indicator; frill means male, no frill means female, and the sex of a Geozard is determined by the temperature their egg was kept in, like alligators!

They also have an increased capacity for firepower compared to their more docile inland counterparts, an adaptation developed in the presence of more aggressive waterlife out in the open ocean. The napalm they produce is a LOT harder to get off of yourself, so watch out!

Lake Zora

Most famous for their queen, Ruto, Lake Zora are blue-white in coloring and have fins that mimic the patterns clear water would create on the seafloor. Unlike their vibrantly-colored firebreathing cousins, these Zora are stealth hunters, blending in with the water and staying very still before darting out to catch their prey in a split second.

The well-known fondness for jewelry that Zora have started with this subspecies, where earrings, necklaces, and gemstones were first utilized as bait, similar to metallic fishing lures. Since then, the fondness for shiny decoration has only grown, peaking when the Zoroyal family was entrusted with the Spiritual Stone of Water. Since receiving it, the gifting of sapphires between Zora has been a token of engagement, similar to how rings are in our culture.

Early stages of Zora life strongly resemble tadpoles; upon hatching, they’re little more than eyes and a sharklike tail. As they mature, however, the rest of their body develops, tucked into the curve beneath their faces, before eventually emerging into a Zora guppy.

Zora guppies are...clumsy, to say the least. Their bodies haven’t grown quite enough to support their heads yet, so they need neck support at all times. It’s just like human babies! It takes a Lake Zora about three years to get to the point where they can support their own head weight, so during that time, the parents have to be extremely diligent with their baby’s safety.

Bay Zora

The Zora that live in the Great Bay of Termina are almost identical to their Hyrulean counterparts.

Almost.

These Zora have had to adapt both to salt water and the presence of predators larger than them, so on top of the skills the Lake Zora possess, they also have a faster swimming speed, a tolerance to acid, and the ability to create a weak electric field around themselves to ward off potential attackers.

Falls Zora

This subspecies of Zora actually marks an evolutionary transition point between the Lake Zora and the Sea Zora. They still possess muted coloration to blend into the water for stealth attacks, but they’re starting to branch out; sunset-colored fins and bioluminescent spots on their headtails mark the development of several key traits BoTW Zora possess.

It’s also the point where we first see sign of the red and purple color mutations.

But by far the most interesting point of this particular era in Zora history is their cultural development.

This is the point in time where they start decorating their domain with the trademark Zora silver we know them for in BoTW, with intricate lacing designs in semi-see-through walls.

We also see the first use of Zora spears, along with masks worn by soldiers and metallic jewelry, signifying that the Zora have begun to develop the means to forge tools.

This is huge, from a worldbuilding perspective. Aquatic races tend to get locked into a stone-age level of tech, because it’s insanely difficult to forge metals without fire and without cooking yourself. The techniques they use to make these weapons and decorations, though they remain a carefully guarded Zora secret, are the reason they can make grand palaces like we see in BoTW.

This era also marks the appearance of Zora armor; as in, clothing created from Zora scales.

Magical garments for breathing underwater existed before, but the presence of this here means that Zora can both shed and craft their scales into a kind of chainmail mesh. In later years, this kind of garment would become the equivalent of exchanging sapphires, specifically for inter-species relationships in Hyrule.

And, finally:

Sea Zora

These are probably the Zora you all were expecting. I’ve covered the reasoning behind their coloration and physical variation here, so let’s get to the stuff I haven’t quite covered yet, shall we?

The Zora of BoTW are highly adapted to salt-water conditions, capable of breathing in both fresh and seawater. Their scales, however, are thinner due to generations of enjoying a peaceful lifestyle, making them highly susceptible to burns, frostbite, and electrical nerve damage. This makes elemental arrows a huge threat to the Zora population; it’s an ongoing debate in their kingdom on whether or not it should be banned.

A Sea Zora’s lifespan consists of about 20 years of being a guppy, at which point, they develop their “sea legs.” As you’ll notice, this is much longer than the standard infancy of their ancestors; while Lake Zora matured at a similar rate to humans, Sea Zora more closely resemble the lifespans of River Zora, which can lead to generations of Hylians passing by in only one Zora lifetime.

After growing out of their guppy phase, Sea Zora stay at a relatively small size, even into adulthood, until they hit their growthspurts. This final stage of Zora maturity is triggered by environmental factors, such as temperature, abundance of resources, and emotional stability, though some Zora take longer to reach that finicky balance than others. The growth stage takes about two years to finish; Mipha, a hundred years prior to BoTW, was right in the middle of hers, thus making her much smaller than other fully grown Zora at the time.

On a cultural note, Zora from this era participate in neck elongation, like many human cultures in Africa and Asia.

In this practice, coils of metal are wrapped around the neck to give the appearance of it being longer than it actually is. Contrary to popular belief, this doesn’t actually dislocate the neck and vertebrae; instead, it works by pushing the collarbones down and the chin upwards.

We can see this practice on Zora of any age, and all walks of life; it’s even present in the Zora Armor, to a lesser degree.

Notably, though, Royal Zora and Zora in direct service to the Zoroyal family haf elegant frames rather than coils, as a secondary indicator of status.

Luminous stones are popular with these Zora, and it’s believed that this started as a mirror to their developing bioluminescence. And they have a lot of it; unfortunately, however, it’s on a scale humans don’t perceive very well, as to us, the most glow we get is right above Muzu’s eyes.

But for Zora? They see A LOT.

Sidon, for example. We see him like this:

But Zora night vision isn’t as good as ours, so they’d see something more like this instead:

(Not an accurate depiction, a rough estimate done by someone with little art skills)

The spots on his head, the brightly colored edges of his fins, and the luminous stones all stand out, letting Zora identify each other in murky waters easily.

Sea Zora eyes possess special cells in them specifically for detecting luminescence. These disappear in strong light:

But are visible in darker settings, like rainy Zora’s Domain, in the form of tiny dots on the outer edge of the iris.

These cells work by catching miniscule amounts of light and color and reflecting them, causing weak dots to become much more pronounced, at the cost of their night vision overall.

Hope this answered your questions about the Zora!

[thefanficmonster]

All The Colors

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Colorblindness, Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: The colors are not always seen but rather felt. Just like Y/N feels the colors through their best friend and boyfriend Corpse. That’s how they realize that what they can’t see is the most beautiful and genuine feeling in the world. The feeling of knowing something and someone so deeply.

Requested by my dear friend Lulu, who you might have known as greenieofshield. Unfortunately she’ll never get to read this fic and I’ll never forgive myself for not putting it out sooner but I’ll also never forgive the universe for being so cruel as to take her away so early. She was one of the best people I’ve ever met, always so full of optimism, always there to brighten up my day and make me smile. Always so strong and brave, never falling victim to the hate she received despite not being deserving of it. The world lost an angel the day she died and I as well as so many other people will forever miss her.

Love you and miss you with my whole soul and hear, Lulu. Hope they’re treating you right in heaven ❤

For what it’s worth, Y/N has never asked people to describe the colors to them. In their eyes that seemed like the equivalent of poorly patching up a wound: they could hear thousands upon thousands of descriptions of each color and still wouldn’t be able to imagine it. The descriptions would only make that worse to them. So to avoid feeling even more like they’re missing out they never asked.

However, that doesn’t mean they haven’t developed their own way to ‘visualize’ and imagine colors throughout the years. They’ve tried loads of different methods, few of which stuck around and not for long either. That is exactly why they frequently used to tell their friends: “You can’t paint me a rainbow with black and white and shades of grey and expect me not to feel like I’m missing out on something. Paint me the gloomy sky on a rainy day and only then we’ll be even cause you’re seeing the same greys I am.”

Little did they know how drastically their logic was about to change in the following years.

Speaking of said following years - they met Corpse who became one of their best friends in practically no time. And within just a few months of that friendship’s blossoming, a romance sparked. A romance their friends would jokingly refer to as ‘romance of a lifetime’. Maybe it was said jokingly but Lord knows they weren’t wrong in saying so because the two were completely head over heels for one another -s till are to this day - and never shied away from showing it.

Y/N and Corpse met through Rae who Y/N was staying with while on a little vacation to Los Angeles. To be even more specific here, the two met through a game of Among Us, the game responsible for many wonderful friendships since its release.

“Guys, guys, guys.“ Y/N said after sparking up a bickering session for falsely accusing ‘blue‘ of faking a task in Navigation during the final round for the day, “Here’s a little rule of thumb for whenever we play together again: don’t trust me if I accuse a color instead of a name.“ It’s safe to say that statement rose a few eyebrows in the Discord call, the confusion serving as amusement to them before they explained themself, “Oh, why that is? Hm, I don’t know, maybe cause I’m colorblind.”

Rae who was in on the scheme the whole time and was struggling to hold in her laughter finally snapped while the rest of the players were left processing the information that had been dropped on them.

“But you practically kicked our ass every single round?!“ Corpse said, amazement and confusion in his tone.

“Expect the unexpected from this schemer, take it from someone who’s known them for a decade now.“ Rae said, winking at her friend from across the room. Not failing to notice the blush on their cheeks while doing so though.

“Corpse, are you calling me a good liar?“ They poked a stick at him teasingly, desperately avoiding Rae’s gaze which widened the second she realized why her friend was so flustered by Corpse’s remark.

“Practically a con artist.“ He replied to them with a laugh, earning one from them in return.

And so they practically conned him into falling in love with them with their quick wit, sarcasm and cuteness. If someone is to ask Corpse if he expected to fall for Y/N, he’d probably say yes.

“They were like a magnet the moment they entered the lobby and started talking.“ He said once on a live stream in response to a question he received in the chat regarding Y/N, “It wasn’t hard at all, falling for them. What took me a while was realizing it. While I was referring to them as ‘best friend’ all my friends were rolling their eyes and going ‘Sure, bud.’ Just took me a bit to realize why.”

Luckily, it didn’t take him too long to grasp what his heart was actually screaming at him. Good thing they came to terms with it so soon too, otherwise they would’ve driven their friends insane.

Anyway, enough about what happened and what could’ve happened under one circumstance or another, what matters is the ‘here and now’ of their relationship. And trust me when I say it has never been better and it keeps getting better every day.

The beauty of what those two have is in the tiny every day things that they do for each other, the good morning texts even though the other person in probably just in the kitchen making breakfast while the other cannot find it in them to get out of bed; or it’s laced within the calls between them when neither of them are home or at least one of them is out and about, busy with a task they’ve probably been putting off for far too long. Don’t get me wrong though, the romantic gestures aren’t rare either. Random gifts are exchanged by them on regular intervals but one consistent and super romantic gesture that repeats a few times every year (of the two years they’ve been dating) is Corpse giving Y/N a bouquet of flowers.

A detail Y/N couldn’t help but take notice of was the fact that the bouquet was always made up of the same flowers with only small changes to the arrangement of them and maybe some tiny ones added too. Unfortunately, they aren’t artificial so they couldn’t have kept them thought they wish they could’ve. That being said, it goes without saying that those flowers mean the world to Y/N, the gesture actually - they know flowers are a common gift to give but anything they receive from Corpse is so special and makes them feel like the only person who’s ever received such a gift.

And so they got curious, they had to ask. They had to ask the question they never thought they’d actively ask considering their view of the topic. But they still did.

“Hey Corpse.“ Y/N spoke up out of the blue, breaking the silence that had fallen over them while they watched the movie they were only partially interested in given how exhausted they both were from devoting themselves to their respective tasks and responsibilities throughout the last few days.

Corpse hummed in response, the arm wrapped around their waist doing a little motion as if encouraging them to continue, his gaze immediately traveling down to his partner.

“What color are the flowers?“ They asked, gazing at the bouquet - a gift they had received from him for their birthday a few days prior - in the vase on the dining table.

They waited a few seconds but when they didn’t hear nor feel any sort of response from him they couldn’t help but look up at him. Upon doing so, they saw his small smile as his eyes too remained on the bouquet. “They’re black and white.“ He replied eventually, “Black roses and white daffodils.“ His gaze wandered away from the vase and down to meet theirs, “I don’t want you to think I’m seeing them in their ‘full beauty’ while you only see them in black and white. You are seeing them in their full beauty and not missing out on anything. They are absolutely beautiful black and white as they are.“

As a response to his answer, Y/N couldn’t suppress the growing smile on their face no matter how hard they tried. So they didn’t try at all, they let the smile lighten up their face before speaking up: “You’re a wonder, Corpse.” They said, pushing themself as upright as they could to be able to kiss his cheek. “However, you’re wrong.” They say when they pull away, smirking up at his confused expression, “My world was black and white until you came into it. You’re all the colors, Corpse. Your love’s red, joy’s yellow, sadness blue, chaos green. Love red. You’re all the colors and out of all the people that have tried to describe to me how they look, you have managed to do that just perfectly without even trying.”

Little did they know that’s exactly what he thinks of them - their world is black and white because all the colors live within them. Because they are all the colors.

And maybe they both are, seeing as how they came into each other’s lives exactly like the rainbow after the pouring rain.

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[shimmershae]

Halfway There (a Walking Dead ficlet, Caryl).

A little bit late but here’s day 3′s offering.  

Season 11 AU.  Kind of.  Carol and Daryl haven’t seen much of each other since they arrived at the Commonwealth.  Daryl’s part of Mercer’s security force and no, they don’t wear the ridiculous storm trooper suits in this.  Carol’s been doing her own thing.  They cross paths at one of the CW’s many frivolous events.  

Some adult language.  A bit of angst.  

“Ever been lonely in a crowded room?”  

 That voice, her voice?  After weeks of not hearing its soft, familiar cadence, it snakes past Daryl’s lowered defenses.  Burrows deep beneath his ribs and wraps around his fractured heart like the last embrace they shared.  Before he fucked things up by not keeping a tighter rein on his insecurities.  His anger.  Before he chased her back into the darkness of her brittle shell.  

 “Nice suit, Pookie.  You clean up well.”

 There’s a gentle air of teasing that briefly eclipses her strained tone when she acknowledges his uncharacteristic attire.  It vanishes like mist when his silence persists, giving him a perverse thrill of pleasure.

 One tiny, sharp intake of breath and she matches his reticence.  

 Stands apart from him the way she used to when grief and a river used to divide them, and Daryl feels his heart squeeze painfully.  Because this is his doing.  She trusted him and he attacked her very nature.  Carol’s a runner.  Always has been.  Like a graceful deer wary of a hunter, it’s what she’s long been conditioned to do to survive, and he? He unfairly shamed her for it.  For protecting herself.  

 The Commonwealth orchestra strikes up a cheerful tune and Governor Milton’s most devout patrons spin in whimsical circles, carefree and utterly oblivious to the dangers outside the safety of their walls.    

 It’s a mockery of the most insulting order to those they’ve loved and lost, one Carol is unable to let pass without comment (Fools), and for the first time?  Daryl spares her a sideways glance.  Anything more hurts too goddamn much.  Nothing good can be gained from losing himself again in her tumultuous blue gaze.  Besides. He’s on the clock.  Doing his best to be the good, obedient soldier that gets rewarded around these parts.  The kind of provider that pulls himself and the kids that are feeling more and more like his own out of the kind of poverty he thought the end of the whole fucking world had vanquished.  He wants to agree with her.  Instead, he gruffly dispels any more talk that might land them both in hot water.  “Judith.  RJ.  They like it here.”  

 “They do? That’s good.”  

 The soft flicker of a smile touches her lips but it never quite reaches her eyes and all at once, Daryl is paralyzed with a profound sense of homesickness.  Not for Alexandria.  Or Hilltop.  Oceanside or the Georgia woods.  But for her. He’s been so off-center, being at odds with her. Felt so unmoored, learning how to deal with her absence from his day-to-day life.  Having her within arm’s reach again?  It’s almost too much and yet it’s still not enough.  It can never be enough, but he’s worthy only of loving her from a distance.  He chews his lip.  Nods before he turns his head to dutifully scan the room once again.  

 “Daryl?”

 His shoulders tense and his breath catches halfway between hope and despair.  

 Ever brave, she echoes the words he spoke to her a lifetime ago.  “I don’t like not seeing you.  I just wanted you to know that.”  A soft rustle of red fabric and silver curls and she turns to go.

 Daryl recovers his voice just in time.  “Carol. Wait.”  

 She faces him again.  “Yeah?”

 She’s half fairy goddess, half fierce warrior, and he thinks, maybe.  If they meet each other in the middle, that future he promised her?  Might someday come to be.  “You don’t have to be lonely.  We don’t have to be.”        

 “Lunch?  At the diner?  My treat.”

 “Pfft.”  

 “We can go dutch.”  

A hopeful light sparks in her beautiful eyes and something inside Daryl unknots.  The terrible ache he’s been carrying around since that fateful day in the cabin starts to lessen by degrees.  To fade.  “It’s a date.”

[starlight-loki]

Precautionary Surveillance (Loki x Reader)

Or, That Time You and Loki Became Friends

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: none :)

A/N: this is platonic (and gender neutral! :D )

As this is my first imagine, I kind of just wanted to establish how the reader first meets Loki, but I’ve got plenty more fluff in the works! ;)

also this takes place post-Ragnarok, but Infinity War doesn’t exist here, shHHHH

Despite the long list of risks and expectations that came with living with the Avengers in their compound, you never thought that babysitting Loki would be included. And yet, a mere two weeks after having moved into the compound, Tony sheepishly approached you with the news.

He didn’t word-for-word call it ‘babysitting’ of course, but you knew it was definitely implied. 

“Think of it as... precautionary surveillance.” Tony had explained to you that morning as he packed a small backpack, supposedly containing enough supplies to last for a week-long mission. “Or if that’s too much, just be normal roommates. But check in on him every few hours. Make sure he’s not destroying anything. And don’t let him go out. Or to my lab. Or Bruce’s. Or the roof-”

“Okay, I get it Tony,” you rolled your eyes as you heaved out a sigh. “You want me to babysit Loki.” 

Tony shrugged, and patted your shoulder empathetically before zipping up his backpack. “Your words, kid. Not mine. Like I said, it’s just precautionary surveillance, we’ll be back before you know it.” 

“I don’t understand why you can’t just bring him along with you!” You protested, throwing your hands up in the air. “His fighting skills and abilities would be really useful for your mission, you know that right?”

You were fine with the fact that Tony and Steve weren’t confident enough in your fighting abilities to bring you along on missions just yet -- frankly, you were completely happy staying behind and burying your nose in a book. But now Tony wanted you to babysit Loki, going so far as asking you to log any ‘suspicious activity’ from the god. You thought the entire thing was ridiculous.

“You know why, Y/N.” Tony began sternly, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and starting towards the quinjet hangar. He was walking briskly, and you scowled as you had to practically run after him. “The New York Incident? The two-hundred or so times he’s betrayed Thor? That time he stuck his dad in an old folks home here and just paraded around Asgard in disguise for two years?”

“New York was nearly ten years ago!” You protested. “Look at him now, all he does is putter around the compound in sweatpants because you won’t let him out-”

Tony sighed loudly, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Look, I know you’re new here and you mean well, but we don’t trust him Y/N. Thor dragged him here because Asgard’s gone and there’s nowhere else for them to go, but Loki is not one of us. It’s going to be a damn long time before any of us think anything different of him.”

You glowered at Tony, fighting the tiny glow of anger that sparked in your heart when you heard him talk about Loki like that. 

You had stolen glances at Loki last week when he thought no one else was looking, and you knew he was far from the dysfunctional maniac who tried to take over New York all those years ago. Sure, the dysfunctional part may still remain, but he was far from a maniac -- you could see that in his features when he sat on the couch alone that day, flipping through a small worn book. 

He looked... lost. Empty almost, as if any possibility of a joyful life had been stripped from him. It hurt your heart to see someone sit with their own melancholy the way Loki did. The fact that no one else in the Compound trusted him -- evident from the fact that you were being put on babysitting duty this instant -- didn’t make things any better. 

“Take care of yourself, kid.” Tony said, pulling you in for a fairly awkward one-armed hug. “Keep an eye on Loki, but don’t do anything stupid.”

You frowned. “What does that mean?” 

“Just... keep your distance from him.” 

Tony’s words brought the image of Loki sitting alone in sadness back to the front of your mind, and you decided right then and there that you were going to do exactly the opposite of what Tony was suggesting. 

The first day felt like an eternity. Loki remained in his room with the door shut, and with no one else to chat with and pass the time, time seemed to crawl at an eerily slow pace. 

You made pasta for dinner. You figured the sound of pots, pans, and kitchen utensils clanging every now and then as you cooked would summon the lonely Asgardian out of his room to eat at the very least, and you couldn’t help the little sting of disappointment that appeared when you finished your meal as alone as you had been earlier. 

After placing your own bowl in the sink, you grabbed Loki’s portion you had set aside and padded down the hall to his room. You tried to ignore the slight tremble in your hand as you knocked on his door. 

“Loki?” You asked gently. “You there?”

You were greeted with a faint shuffling noise, but otherwise there was nothing but silence. 

“I made you dinner. I haven’t seen you all day, you must be hungry... um... I mean, you don’t have to eat of course if you don’t want to, but I’ll just... I’ll leave this here at your door if you want it. No pressure.” 

You felt fire rush to your cheeks as you cursed yourself silently for rambling, and carefully set the bowl of pasta on the floor. 

“If you want anything,” you added quickly in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper. “More food, tea, some company... I’m in the other room.” 

You stood frozen at Loki’s door for a moment, waiting for any sort of response. Earning nothing but more silence, you nodded to yourself before turning on your heel and heading back for the kitchen. 

You looked back over your shoulder before you rounded the corner at the end of the hall, and the pasta bowl was gone. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. 

The second and third day passed much like the first. If it weren’t for the fact that Loki was constantly on your mind, it would’ve felt like you had the entire place to yourself. You would have enjoyed the quiet, but there was a part of you that couldn’t stop worrying about Loki. 

After the god failed to leave his room once again, you brought dinner to his door which was hastily accompanied by another short little babble of an invitation to join you in the living room if he wished. Just like day one, you were greeted with silence and a meal that vanished out of the hall just before you turned the corner. 

On the fourth day, you couldn’t get Loki out of your head no matter how hard you tried. Was he lonely? Bored? Did he sleep the entire day? Did he even sleep at all? The rooms in the Compound were just about the same: spacious, yet minimal in decoration. Everyone got a TV and a small bookshelf in the corner, but that was about it. Judging by the fact that Tony and the rest of the Avengers weren’t allowing Loki to leave the Compound, you figured he probably didn’t have much for entertainment. 

Before you could convince yourself otherwise, you dashed off to your beloved little bookstore in the city. You ransacked the shelves for anything you felt Loki would’ve liked, as well as books you adored and would’ve wholeheartedly recommended to anyone else. If Loki was going to spend all day in his room, he deserved to have new books to keep him company, at the very least. 

Two hours later you returned home, your shoulder aching from the countless books that were weighing you down in the best way, and to your surprise you found Loki with his back to you in the kitchen. 

Was he... doing the dishes for you? 

You dropped your tote bag of books to the ground in surprise, and Loki flinched almost imperceptibly at the dull thud that echoed throughout the open space of the Compound. 

“Hi,” You managed breathlessly as the god turned and looked at you with wide eyes for the briefest second. You blinked, and just like that Loki had regained his cool composure. “You’ve finally come out of your room.”

Loki opened his mouth to reply, his eyes scanning the room as he searched for an excuse. After a moment of silence, he sighed. 

“Thank you for the meals. I appreciate it.” 

You took off your coat and hung it on the chair as you approached him. Your heart sank ever so slightly as you caught Loki take the smallest step back. 

“Of course, I mean... we all gotta eat right?” You laughed quietly and looked away as you ran a hand through your hair. “You don’t have to clean up, I can do that.” 

“It was the least I could do in return.” 

The silence that grew between the two of you seemed to amplify with every passing second. Loki nodded, almost out of resignation, and began to walk back to his room without a word. 

Now was your chance, if you wanted to make him feel welcome like you had hoped to. 

“Wait!” Your voice came out more as a squeak and you tried your best to ignore the fire that rose to your cheeks. “I, uh, I got these for you.” 

As you bent down to retrieve your fallen bag of books, you heard quiet careful steps as Loki approached you cautiously. He kept his distance, but leaned a little closer to you as you began laying all the books out on the table for him to see. 

“I picked out a few books I’ve read and love dearly. I figured you could give them a try. And... I, uh, saw you reading Shakespeare last week, so I thought you might like these two.” You gestured to the novels closest to him. “They’re  Ancient Greek tragedies.”

You glanced at Loki, and noticed how he picked up Oedipus Rex and began flipping through the pages carefully, as if the book were to vanish from his hands at any moment. 

“I’ve never read this one before,” Loki mused quietly. Your heart skipped a beat as his steady gaze moved to meet your eyes. “When would you like me to return these to you?”

You blinked in surprise. “They’re for you to keep.” You smiled. “I bought them for you.” 

You watched as gratitude, then confusion, then what almost looked shame flash across Loki’s features. He almost seem to clutch the book tighter in his grip.

“...Why?”

You pulled out the chair that you were leaning against and sat down with a sigh as you looked up at Loki. 

“I don’t like how everyone’s been treating you.” You admitted quietly.

“So this is out of pity?” Loki asked cooly, nodding at the books on the table with narrowed eyes.

 “No!” You exclaimed, shaking your head rapidly. “No, Loki, that wasn’t my intention at all. I mean, I’ve only been here two weeks and I could see immediately that everyone keeps their distance from you. You’re not allowed on missions-”

“Neither are you.” Loki cut in. You dismissed him with a wave of your hand. 

“Yeah, but I’m the weakest link at the moment. I don’t count.” You replied quickly, trying your best to ignore the intrigue on Loki’s face as he gazed at you. “I saw you last week, reading your book. You looked so lonely. I thought maybe you just wanted some space, but I’ve noticed how the others treat you. Tony and everyone else, they leave you out of everything! They don’t try to include you in conversations at dinner, you wear the same two pairs of clothes everyday because no one’s bothered to get you any decent clothes besides sweatpants. Hell, Tony kept me off this mission to babysit you and it makes me so mad! You’re an adult! You deserve your own freedom, Loki!”

You slammed your hand down on the table in frustration, and winced as your words replayed in your head. You definitely went overboard this time. You should’ve just given Loki the books and left.

You were certain Loki was going to retreat back to his room as he moved away from you and around the table, but to your surprise, he sat down in the chair across from you, his hands clasped carefully together.

“Perhaps Stark is right, this is what I deserve.” He said quietly, breaking the silence that resided between the two of you. “I haven’t exactly been... welcoming to anyone.”

You shook your head. “You lost Asgard, your family... Thor brought you here with the intention of this being your new home. The least everyone could is treat you like a person, not a hostage. This isn’t a prison. You deserve so much more than that.” 

“They don’t want me around.” Loki said simply. 

“I do.” You held his gaze unwaveringly, and reached out to place your hand gently over his. To your surprise, he didn’t pull away. “I want you around. You matter to me.” 

Loki sighed, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief second as he took in your words. 

“Thank you.” He spoke slowly. “Your words -- and your actions -- mean more than anything Stark or anyone else has done in the time I’ve been here.”

You smiled in response, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before pushing his books towards him. 

“You’ve got plenty of things to do while you’re in your room now.” You grinned nodding towards the books on the table. Anyone else would’ve missed it, but you caught Loki return your smirk for a split second. 

“I think I would prefer to read my books out here... with company.” 

The following day was nothing like the others. To your surprise, Loki greeted you with a small smile from his spot on the couch as you trudged bleary-eyed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

“You look tired.” He remarked quietly as you began searching the cupboards for something to eat. You managed a shrug.

“I don’t sleep that great most nights.” You admitted. You heard Loki get up from the couch, setting his book down on the coffee table gently before approaching you. He still kept some distance -- the kitchen counter did a good job of separating the two of you -- but he leaned in, almost grateful to be in the presence of someone who truly saw him. 

“Me neither.” Loki chuckled. “Thor sleeps like the dead, but I rarely sleep well. That’s how my love for books began, actually.”  

“Me too!” You exclaimed excitedly. “I’d stay up reading till 1 or 2 AM some nights as a kid. I’d have to use a flashlight and hide under the covers so I wouldn’t wake anyone up.”

That earned a genuine laugh from Loki, whose smile suddenly began to look like sunshine in your eyes. 

“I used magic to see in the dark, but hiding under the covers was the only way I could read at night without waking Thor up.”

“You shared a room with Thor?” 

Loki nodded, scoffing a little. “My mother thought it would help reinforce our bond as brothers. A lot of good that did.”

You leaned in towards him, your posture mirroring his as you rested your arms against the kitchen counter. 

“Thor still loves you.” You said quietly, a small smile touching your lips for a brief moment. Loki rolled his eyes.

“Sure he does.”

“No, really. He wouldn’t have brought you here to live with him if he didn’t. You guys got here before me of course, but I’m sure he had to pull a lot of strings to get Tony to agree to have you live in the Compound.” 

There was that silence again, like the day before, settling down gently between the two of you. You lowered your gaze to your hands. 

“Sorry. I meddle too much. I should stop.” 

This time, it was Loki who placed his hands over yours gently. 

“No,” he replied softly. “You speak your mind, I admire that. It shows you have strength.” 

“I don’t always feel strong.” You admitted quietly. 

“Only the foolish admit their own strength.” Loki whispered.

“...Does that mean Tony’s a fool?”

“Your words, not mine.”

A laugh bubbled up out of you at Loki’s words, and as your eyes met his, you noticed the loneliness you had seen before was gone. 

In their place was the warmth of a thousand suns. 

The two of you stood there, hands intertwined almost as if to keep the other afloat. Loki’s hands made yours seem small, but his were warm and soft and surprisingly gentle.

You closed you eyes, taking as much of this moment in as you could.

“I wish they’d let you outside.” You sighed quietly. “There’s so many shops and restaurants I think you’d like. You’d love Central Park, too.”

Loki frowned. “When is everyone due back?”

“In two days. Why?” 

You got a smirk in response. “Let’s go now.”

You let out a surprised laugh at Loki’s suggestion. It thrilled you to see this side of him.

“We can’t! Tony’s got cameras around the building, he’ll see us if we leave.”

Butterflies filled your insides for a brief moment as Loki suddenly winked at you. He raised his hand, which had begun to glow with a green hue, before snapping his fingers. Green sparks flashed briefly from the windows as he did so. 

“I believe Stark will be needing to replace his cameras once everyone returns. Where do you suggest we go first?” 

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Day 8: Lost

Undeserved

Warnings: (Hand) Gore, captivity, alcohol mention, language

This is part of a series. If you haven't, I suggest starting at Day 1.

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Damien stared at the shard in his fingers, at his blood, staining it. It was surreal that he couldn’t place it, couldn’t remember where it came from. Had he ever made something from glass in a dark blue shade such as this? It was too large to belong to a creature, too thick to belong to a bauble, too flat to belong to a lamp or candle holder. It almost looked like a part of a bottle, but he didn’t make bottles.

He hated bottles. The colorful ones, the ones containing wine and spirits. And yet he held a piece of one, still smelling of wine. A blue bottle. 

Like the one Valadan had been holding. 

It all came crashing down on him. His brother had found him, had been here — and he had lost him again. Probably for good this time. He wouldn’t live long enough to make amends. By the Seven, why had he threatened to kill him? He could never as much as lay a single finger on his baby brother.

It was an all too familiar ache. Valadan, making him explode with something he said or did. Him, losing his temper and lashing out like the fucking asshole he was. But every time he gathered his courage to apologize, he failed. Then those painfully familiar purple eyes were staring him down, or Valadan interrupted his first sentence with an annoyed scowl, or just walked away. All that should have been said would remain unsaid, the hurt still festering in their hearts. After a while they’d start to talk to each other again, manage to live together again, almost peacefully. Until the next thing would escalate, rip open the cracks between them, widening them. Perhaps those cracks had been too deep already to ever be mended again. He surely wouldn’t have the time to try anymore. 

Damien let go of the glass shard, hugging the waterskin instead. His head hurt. He wasn’t sure if it was from the bruises around his left eye, or from the tears he tried to hold back. With how little water he had, he really couldn’t afford to waste any more of it on crying. Perhaps he could concentrate on something else, until this pain tearing his chest apart would subside.

There were voices, not too far away, but too quiet for him to understand what they were saying. One of them was familiar, though, made his heart beat faster. His brother was still here, hadn’t left yet. Perhaps he could still put this right, could apologize. It would do him no good, wouldn’t save him, but perhaps he could die without the knowledge that truly everyone he had ever known despised him.

Valadan.

He tried to speak, but all that left his lips was a dry croak. The waterskin was still resting on his lap, now soaked with wine. For a moment he considered opening it, taking a sip to make speaking easier, but that would take too long. He couldn’t wait. 

“Val…”

He coughed, cutting off the barely audible name. Trying to catch his breath, he doubled over, squeezing his hand. The pain made his vision swim and black spots dance in front of his eyes. Fuck, he had to… had to call him… before it was… it was already too late… wasn’t it?

Footsteps and voices, closer now, but not next to him. Damien tried to focus, a tiny spark of hope in his chest.

“You should put him into morlit shackles.” It was Valadan’s voice, and yet it didn’t sound like him. It was cold and cruel and so full of disgust. “He’s a chaos mage. His domain isn’t only mind tricks, but also teleportation.” 

The pain those few words caused him almost managed to surprise Damien. Everyone knew about his mind tricks, about the horrible things he had used them for. Few people knew about his other talents. Valadan truly wanted to make sure he wouldn’t escape. Wanted to see him dead, because that was what awaited him at the end of this. He knew he deserved his hate. It still hurt.

Fuck, it wasn’t even like he had really planned to escape that way. With the pain clouding his thoughts and the thirst making him all dizzy, he was too weak to even consider using his magic. A misplaced teleport could literally tear him apart. Perhaps he should have risked it. If only he had realized that they would take this chance away from him, too.

“Thanks. Anything else we should know?”

There was a long pause. Damien barely dared to breathe, wishing so much his brother would speak again. Tell them to give him some water, or send a healer, to at least pretend he’d care.

Please. I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you. I love you. Please help me. Please, I don’t want to die.

“No. Good luck.”

Then he was gone. At least Damien believed that the fading footsteps belonged to Valadan, because it surely wasn’t him, roughly grabbing his left arm. Damien screamed. He tried to pull away, but he didn’t have the strength for it, or anywhere to go. Something terribly cold was clasped around his wrist, burning on his skin. Fuck, fuck, he hated that stuff, the touch alone made his heart race.

Then it skipped a beat as the same hands grabbed his right arm.

“No. No, don’t!”

Damien’s pleas turned into a terrified wail as his arm was ripped from his chest, dragged between the bars. He didn’t have the breath to scream as rough fingers touched his torn hand. The movement alone made it feel like his fingers — or what was left of them — were falling off. He wanted to pull away, but he couldn’t pull away. The image of how the flesh would slip off his bones when he pulled too hard made him almost black out; unfortunately only almost.

Then they put the second shackle on, squeezing it tightly around his swollen wrist. It dug deep into already painful skin, breaking it as the lock snapped closed with a click. Damien screamed. The coldness of the magic-suppressing metal was like fire burning directly into his bones. He screamed and screamed, barely realizing that they had let go of his arm. 

Several minutes later, when his screams had died down to desperate sobs, he managed to pull his arm back. He pressed it against his chest, curled up around it, as if that could do anything to protect it. He was shivering again. It didn’t stop, even as the sun rose above his cage. Perhaps it was the shock from his injury, being handled like that, or the fear of death that had come crawling back. In the end, it didn’t matter. Valadan was gone, and with him he had lost his last chance of trying to fix the only relationship that had ever been worth it.

Tagging: @villainsvictim​ @whump-in-the-moonlight​ @dont-touch-my-soup​