#mob!tom holland x oc

[mrs-hollandstan]

You & mob Tom fell out over you not wanting to move in with him or being part of his mafia crew

I changed this a lillll bit to fit one of my fave tropes of leaving when y/n is pregnant and Tom doesn’t know sooooo I hope you still enjoy hehe

You tried your best to pretend you didn't see him but he demanded all attention. Especially with that gaze directed towards the little girl in your arms. You'd seen Harrison around recently and you just knew that your baby girl looked just like her father and that he'd reappear, demanding you finish the conversation you refused to have nearly three years ago, settling instead, for walking out and never looking back. He'd never been fine with the decision, but now he was upset about the decision, seeing as your shared little girl was here and he'd known nothing about her. 

You'd only told him you didn't want to move in and that you didn't enjoy his career. He'd just shrugged it off, but what hurt was when you'd collected your things and disappeared in the night, blocking his number and moving out of town. But he'd found you anyways. He approaches, your eyes hooded as you stare at him, hoisting the three year old higher on your hip. He licks his lips, 

"So… when were you gonna tell me?" 

"I wasn't. And that right hand man of yours had no business doing it either." You spit. He hums, 

"Right… because it's totally acceptable to keep my daughter from me." The urge to fight him, tell him she's not his is strong, but you ignore it. You look to Evelyn, 

"You're staying with me." You scoff, 

"Yeah. I'll pass." He shoots daggers,

"Would you like me to take full custody Y/N?" He threatens. You swallow as he turns to you, staring down into your eyes, "Give me a reason to take my daughter from you." He growls. The whimper you release, at least, isn't loud enough for him to hear. He grips your arm, dragging you after him while you cradle your daughter to your hip. He practically shoves you into his car, a car seat being slid in before he climbs in beside you. He gestures to it, 

"Teach me how to use it." You don't necessarily do as you're told, you just buckle her into it, glancing up when she's settled. His eyes linger on her for a moment before they flick up to you ans then ahead at the road. You buckle yourself in, sitting quietly as his driver drives you back to the mansion you escaped from years ago. You sigh as you stare up at the dismal house, quickly unbuckling Ev from her carseat the second the car is parked. Tom moves around the car, pressing a hand to your lower back, leading you towards the front door. He gestures up the stairs once you're inside, 

"New stuff in the guest bedroom for the both of you. If you need anything, let me know." 

"Yeah, extra bedsheets and a basket." You murmur. He frowns, 

"Yeah… I'd love to see your daughter from a third-story window." He grumbles back. He turns on his heel and heads for the kitchen while you head upstairs. You inspect the guest bedroom, smiling as Evie immediately gasps and goes for the drawing table in the corner. It's easy to lose time when you're watching her create things like she always does, and before you know it, Tom comes into the room, glancing down at the little girl in the corner, 

"Look at that… didn't need the basket after all." You roll your eyes as he sits beside you, shrugging his suit jacket off. He sighs, 

"She's beautiful Y/N." He murmurs, leaning his elbows on his knees. You nod, 

"I know. She looks just like you and you've always been beautiful." He smiles,

"And yet I can't seem to keep you around." You glare at him, 

"And yet here I am being held hostage." He gestures to the door,

"I didn't lock you in. You could've strung your sheets together and made a run for it into the forest. But yet here you are, watching her have the time of her life." Glancing back at Evelyn, you chew the inside of your lip, 

"Yeah… I always seem to do that." There's a moment of silence before he speaks again, 

"I could've helped you." You shake your head, 

"I was not subjecting her to the same fate I had." You mutter. He frowns, 

"What's that supposed to mean? You let me get you pregnant. I couldn't have been that bad." 

"It wasn't you Tom, it's the fucking job. It would have killed me to have her used against us so your goddamn enemies could've gotten to you." You tell him. He frowns, 

"So… you don't hate me…" You shake your head, 

"No." He scoffs,

"You still fucking love me." 

"That doesn't matter anymore-"

"Of course it matters! I spent all this time thinking you hated me. Ans then Harrison finds out you have this little girl and I was heartbroken. That," he gestures to Evelyn, so much vulnerability in his eyes, "That's my little girl. I don't even know how she became this person because you left me." He has tears in his eyes now as you stare up at him. You swallow, 

"I can't have her used against me-" 

"I can give you a detail. Protection 24/7. I just… I hated feeling like the one person I was supposed to trust was double crossing me. I thought you hated me. Please… please, don't take her from me again. You think I liked not having you around? I fucking loved you." He explains. You blink up at him, 

"I'm scared." 

"You don't have to be. Trust me." He tells you. Glancing at Evelyn, you swallow, 

"I just don't wanna lose her." He takes your hands, 

"I… have you both." Finding his eyes, you sigh after a moment and nod, 

"Fine… but the second something happens to her, that's it. I'm done." He nods,

"You're not gonna have to worry. Anyone that touches either of you… dead on the spot." He tells you. You sigh, 

"And I don't wanna stay in this house. I've always hated this house." You admit. He nods, 

"Done." Moving in, he drags you in, his lips covering yours in a searing kiss. He drags you into his lap, stroking your hair back, 

"Fuck I missed you." He grumbles." You smile, staring down at him. He swallows, 

"What'd you name her?" Glancing over your shoulder, you smile,

"Evelyn Nicole." You admit. He smiles, 

"My mum will be… you've just inflated my mum's ego so hard." You giggle, 

"She's the best part of you." He shrugs, 

"She was… that little girl over there is the new best part." You stroke curls from his forehead, 

"This is true. Hence the name. Passing it from one to the other." He smiles, 

"She deserves the world." 

"And you know what… her father can give it to her." He nods, 

"And he intends to do so." You smile down at him, "starting now." He practically dumps you onto the couch, moving towards your daughter. When he crumbles onto the floor next to her, crossing his legs beneath him, you remember why you've loved him for so long. 

[t-lostinworlds]

t-lostinworlds' commissions

STATUS: OPEN

↳ hi! as some of you might know, i'm on my broke college girl era and i will need all the help i can get to pay for tuition and everything else. so i thought, why not give commissions a shot? so here i am!

if you're interested, then keep on reading!

WHERE to ask for a commission

DM me on here! my messages are open to everyone so it should be easily accessible.

KO-FI | linked in my bio. everything is already set up there so all you have to do is pick & choose.

Send me an email at:

HOW to pay

through ko-fi or p*yp*l (please dm me for it bc tumblr acts up when it's linked sometimes)

DM me if there are other methods you’re comfortable with and we’ll figure it out!

DETAILS, INSTRUCTIONS, TERMS, and PRICES can be found HERE or on this tumblr page

STUFF I OFFER

WRITING

character x reader — open to doing a Character x OC but with an additional charge since it's going to take longer for me to familiarize the OC that you will provide.

second person POV by Default — open to doing a third person POV if that's something you prefer. I won't do First Person.

current characters I write for include: bucky barnes, miguel o'hara, steve harrington & peter parker

RATES WILL DEPEND ON LENGTH:

Blurbs (500-1000 words)

Short One-Shots (2,500-3,500 words)

Long One-Shots (5,000-10,000 plus words)

EXCLUSIVE WORKS | ONLY AVAILABLE ON MY KO-FI SHOP ↳ my writing that won't likely be posted...ever. so when i say exclusive, i really mean it.

Scene from a One-Shot

will include scenes from: a nathan drake one shot, revisiting is sweeter, a tom holland boxing AU, and a tom holland frat au

A Chapter from an Unfinished Series

chapters from my Tom Holland Mob/Mafia AU — there are only 7 parts in total that are fully completed. the rest are rought draft that i'm willing to share privately for free if anyone simply want to know what happens next.

GIFS & GRAPHICS

2-Set Gif — two (2) gifs of any scene/character(s) of your choosing

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↳ again, more details can be found on the google doc or on my ko-fi pages that are linked below:

↳ if there are any further questions, please don’t hesitate to message me! thank you so much for your support! <3

↳ also, i just want to say that, i'm still going to be writing and posting for free on here when i do get the time. but as of now, i really need the extra income. BUT there's absolutely no pressure to commission whatsoever. even a simple reblog will do!

[wimcycles-aj]

·˚ ༘₊·About Me·˚ ༘₊·

Hello! My name is Anixton but you can call me Anix or Wims/Wimcycles.

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On this specific accounts I will be writing Small Stories, Headcanons, Scenarios and Etc.

If you want actual Stories you can go to my Wattpad which is in my Link tree (Link in Bio)

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• Q & A - Open

• Requests - Open

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Fandoms I write for

Transformers

Transformers Prime

Transformers Bayverse

Transformers Animated

Transformers Robots In Disguise

Transformers Earth Spark

Transformers War for Cybertron

Marvel

Spectacular Spiderman (haven't seen in a while)

Ultimate Spiderman

Across the Spiderverse

The amazing spiderman (Andrew Garfield)

Spiderman 1-3 (Toby Maguire)

Homecoming // Far from home (Tom Holland)

infinity war

Civil war

Endgame

Guardian of fhe Galaxy

Deadpool

Anime

Tokyo Revengers

naruto

Mob psycho

Demon Slayer

Jujutsu Kaisen

DC

Justice League unlimited

Young Justice

Justice League action

Teen Titans

Teen tians go

Titans

The Batman

Batman the Animated series

The new batman adventures

Batman the killing Joke

The Dark Knight

Joker (Movie)

Extra 🧍🏽

Ninjago

TMNT 2012

ROTMNT

House of Wax

Halloween

Texas chainsaw massacre

Scream (1 through 6)

Total Drama island

Psycho

Bates motel

Star wars

The Mandalorian

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What I Will/Won't Write

What I WILL Write:

Yandere

Angst

Su!c!de/Depression

Fluff

Platonic ships

Romantic ships

LGBTQ+

Character x Character

Character x Reader

Character x Oc

Mental illnesses

Comforting

Any gender is welcome<3

Insecurity

Crossovers!

What I WON'T write

Lot's of gore

Incest

Fetishes

Suggestive content of minors

S/A or R@pe (It's a triggering topic for me and many others.)

Zoophilia

Minor x Adult (Pedophilia. If it's platonic fine)

HUGE Age gaps with MINORS

What I MIGHT write:

Suggestive content (depends on the character)

kinks (Depends.)

Matchups (I'm still learning about those)

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Extra

Oneshots I will write up to 900-1'000 words sometimes more if I have extra ideas (You can ask for a 2nd part of a oneshot if you like it) , Short stories can be up to 1'000-3'000 words with 3-4 parts.

Please don't rush me sometimes I take a while to upload because I don't really have a schedule and I'm usually busy due to stuff at home nothing to serious✧*。٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*。

If you have any questions don't be scared to ask! I don't mind answering!!

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[wordsaremybestfriends]

Oops: Chapter 1

Hey there! I’m back from the dead and ready to put out another story for y’all! This one is going to be a Mob!Tom AU bc honestly I can’t stop reading all the great content on this site about him... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

[PHOTOS DO NOT BELONG TO ME, but i arranged them and stuff so...]

SUMMARY: Bellamy and her friends have a bit of a history sneaking into parties when they aren’t invited. A night where they crash their biggest event to date, Bellamy finds herself in a spot of trouble that catches Tom’s eyes. With Bellamy trying to remain anonymous in the party, and Tom trying to find a way to keep pleasure and work separate, the two find themselves in more excitement and accidents than either ever imagined. 

TW: alcohol, sexual assault, cursing

If anyone at this party knew that Bellamy was barefoot right now, she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to stay. Granted, she was a party crasher and had no real invite, so being thrown out of the party could happen anytime, but she figured being barefoot at a black tie event was almost as bad.

To be fair, she hadn’t meant to lose her shoes. She’d been in the backseat of the cab that was taking her and James to the front doors of this gala, where security was more numerous than party guests. For the ride, she’d slipped off the shoes to try and find a bit of comfort in the cool May air, but when they finally stopped, she saw the grand entrance of the exclusive venue she would only have dreams of entering. So what if she was a bit starstruck? She lost a pair of shoes, not a human being. There were worse things she could do.

Bellamy lost quite a bit more than just her shoes once she walked through the giant double doors of the ornately decorated ballroom of the lush Garden of Geneva just outside of London. Outside, she was Bellamy Bennett, a broke college graduate that lived paycheck to paycheck with her best friend in a rundown apartment. The girl who carried her camera around daily and made a living as a professional photographer for the highest bidder was forgotten as Bellamy passed over the golden threshold of the elegant venue. She was Elizabeth Lovelace, an heiress from Portugal who liked to spend her days in gilded ballrooms, dancing the night away. Elizabeth, a mysterious and captivating woman that had ideas about the world and society that she occasionally shared with someone who found her interesting enough to start a conversation with her. Elizabeth, who worried only when her champagne glass was empty and left when her feet began to grow tired of dancing. She was the polar opposite of someone like Bellamy, who could barely fathom leaving her precious laptop for an evening to indulge in the art of sneaking into high profile parties whenever the opportunity came about.

This was the fifth party she’d snuck into, and easily one of the most high profile events she’d attended. Instead of the typical cocktail dress and five minute makeover she’d swipe onto her face, she wore a custom ballgown, one that put each of the other dresses in the room to shame. Her friend Jenna, an up and coming designer, had almost peed herself at the opportunity to turn Bellamy into a princess for the evening. She worked nonstop for almost a week, styling the dress in her bedroom and away from prying eyes until it was absolutely and positively finished. What she had emerged with was a baby blue and golden off the shoulder piece of artwork. The poofy ball gown was covered with lace that Jenna had painstakingly sewed into the dress, and seven different skirts of tulle to make it puff out magnificently from her hips. At Jenna’s hand, Bellamy had been turned into a fairytale princess for the night, with elegance and beauty to spare.

Which is definitely not what she was going for when she was trying to sneak in a high profile party like this one.

James, one of her friends she’d snuck in with that evening, had his fingers intertwined with Bellamy’s tight enough to cut off the circulation in them. He was the mastermind behind crashing this party, but now that he was actually on the dance floor, amidst the other rich and intimidating guests, he felt as if he could shit himself.

“This was insane.” He muttered under his breath as he courted Bellamy across the ballroom. “I honestly didn’t think we’d make it this far. I thought we’d be kicked out first thing-”

“Lighten up, kid!” Their other friend, Kenny, says as he appears beside the two with a new flute of champagne in his fingertips. His suit was impeccably pristine, despite having to slip through the servant’s entrance in the back of the gardens. “We’re here, we’re queer, and we’re drinking something other than beer. That’s enough of a reason to celebrate, right?”

The three giggled to one another quietly as they clinked their champagne flutes together and sipped on them. All that needed to happen now was for Jenna to find her way into the party as well, and stick to Bellamy’s side as they relaxed and played pretend for yet another night.

“I’m going to go check on Jenna, since she should be coming in anytime.” Delicately, James untangled his fingers from Bellamy’s, downing the rest of his champagne in one gulp.

“And I’m going to go ask that hot piece of ass if he wants to dance,” Kenny said as he pointed to a particularly attractive man whose biceps made his sleeves look as if they were about to burst. “See you ladies later, yeah?”

“If anything happens, the rendevous is a few blocks away, on 7th and Maple.” Bellamy piped up as she raised her champagne as a farewell to her two friends.

Soon enough, she was left alone amidst the strangers of the party, like a perfect statue on the edge of the room. Her eyes traced the room lazily as she watched people move about one another, socializing and scheming their way through the evening. No one paid much attention to her, other than the few ladies who scowled at how beautiful her dress was and the amount of attention she was surely gathering from the men in the room.

One of her simplest desires was to remain like a fly on the wall wherever she went. She could know much more about someone if she took a few steps away from them, and just watched their actions instead of listen to the facade most put forth. Bellamy loved the authenticity she learned from people around her when they weren’t paying attention.

Like now. Across the ballroom, Bellamy spots a younger man amongst a dozen older men. He smiles and laughs, but the corners of his oak eyes don’t crinkle like they would if he was actually happy. It’s clear that he has a position in the group, and isn’t some straggler that tries to join in with the others. His suit is well fitted to his body, accentuating his muscular body and straight back. Whatever youth and innocence he might exude is completely glossed over by the fact that his presence is one that expresses the notion that he is powerful.

Which is all well and dandy until Bellamy notices the fact that her stare is returned with a sinful smirk that cuts straight to her core.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

She quickly turns to hide the growing blush that rises to her cheeks with a few rapid heartbeats. Her skirt dances around her still-bare feet as she struggles to find a reason to move from her position on the wall. James and Kenny are nowhere in sight, and neither is Jenna. Close by is the bathroom, where only a handful of people are standing around, all either entertained by their phones or a glass of half-empty champagne. If she walks quickly enough, she could make it to the bathroom before the man has a chance to break away from the group. She’d have to be careful, of course, with the sheer volume of her gown, but she could potentially make it.

Up ahead, waiters and waitresses start to file out of the kitchens with h’ors de veurs, and even if Bellamy would be excited to eat some fancy shit like gold, she isn’t too pleased to see the path to safety blocked. She can’t spot the oak-colored eyes around her, nor the familiar expressions of her friends, as she loses herself to the crowd.

Until a hand snakes around her stiff waist, and pulls her tightly against the chest of someone behind her.

“Well hello there, pretty lady…” A booze-filled voice breathes against her exposed neck. Their hand goes to secure themselves against the lower half of Bellamy’s stomach, forcing her in place. “What’s yer name, doll?”

Bellamy jams her elbow into the divet of their chest, but the person barely budges. She spins, albeit slightly, to find a man, face tinged with red, towering over her. His fingers curl into the tulle of her dress, threatening to stretch and destroy the stitching that Jenna slaved over.

“Um, it’s none of your business?” She tells him with a stern tone as she struggles against his drunken grip. “Get your hands off of me!”

She struggles for another moment as he breathes out a laugh against her neck. He downs another drink of vodka before grazing his nose against the shell of her ear.

“Got a date here, miss?” He chuckles out, not caring that his grip is slowly growing tighter and tighter against her waist as she digs her fingernails into the fleshy meet of his palm. “Betcha I could getcha goin’ better than they can-”

“Mr. Tiller.”

The voice is british and not necessarily deep, but definitely dark and dangerous. A man stands before her, one with oak colored eyes that have turned dark now, and are clouded over with a deep intensity that makes the man behind Bellamy freeze. He untangles his grip from her with just a mere look at the man before the two, words falling from his lips like a prayer to an unforgiving god.

“H-Holland! I didn’t r-realize s-she was your date-”

“She is not,” The man replies coldly. “But she is certainly not yours.”

Bellamy turns to catch a glimpse of the man’s face clouding over with confusion and anxiety. She can’t stop her hands rising to grasp her elbows and hold her body still from shaking, trying to banish the scent of vodka from her mind.

“I-I didn’t know-”

“Someone with a track record of yours shouldn’t be so careless,” The man she’d seen earlier drawls as he raises a glass of whiskey to his lips to sip gently. “I doubt the public would be pleased to know about the people who have found their way to your bedroom, now would they?”

Mr. Tiller gulps as the blood begins to rush out of his face. “N-No, they would n-not, sir.”

Holland, as the man had said earlier, wasn’t pleased with the man before him. The tension was thick enough to choke Bellamy as she felt the gaze of other guests starting to catch her from the minor suprise much to her dismay.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Bryan.” The cold man tells him sternly with a gaze made of pure fire. “Promises break just as easily as they are made.”

With a final nod, and a curt apology to Bellamy, the sobered up man begins to fade deeper into the crowd, a few men in suits keeping a watchful eye on him. She almost doesn’t want him to leave, just so she wouldn’t have to be alone with the stranger that could make a grown man cower like a preteen in a horror movie.

Beside her, the man raises his whiskey glass once more. He downs a gulp before handing it backward, where a well-dressed man grabs it eagerly and starts to walk off towards the bar. He smiles as Bellamy, and any ounce of intensity that was present only moments before has now melted away to make room for the curiousity from before.

And damn, the curiousity is almost as attractive as the man looks right now.

“Sorry about that,” He says gently. He presses a hand into the pocket of his slacks and looks down at Bellamy, almost bashful. “He’s a handful, really.”

“S-Some men need babysitters,” Bellamy says with a small shrug. “Or at least a lesson in common sense.”

He smiles at her a bit brighter. “Do they cover gazing at strangers from afar as well?”

Bellamy’s face goes bright pink. “I-I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize I was staring! People watching, it’s a h-hobby of mine-”

“You stalk people for a hobby?” He says playfully with a glimmer of mischief in the corner of his eye.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, of course not. It’s just… Just interesting.”

Bellamy pauses long enough to stare up at the man who looks on in wonder at her.

“Interesting how?” He asks.

The young woman looks across the room with a shrug. “I-I don’t know. People are more authentic when they don’t know they’re being watched. They let down guards that they keep up for strangers.”

He nods at her, following her gaze about the bustling ballroom. She knows she has no hopes of finding her friends now in this mess of people, but losing herself in the fray is somewhat peaceful to her.

“And what did you learn from me?” He asked again. He spoke softly, as if he was saying it was fine I didn’t answer him. Without saying, he seemed to understand how out of place I felt.

Secretly, Bellamy hoped he felt the same way as she did.

“Power,” She tells him. “You know you’re powerful. So does everyone around you. Some are frightened by you, but you have the kind of presence that demands respect.”

She watches him from the corner of her eyes,nodding thoughtfully down at her as she continues.

“But, it’s not enough. You don’t feel happy. You just keep searching for something that will make you feel content.”

Bellamy turns back to him, dress brushing against him as she ntoices his eyes were already on her. He’d been watching her the entire time, never faltering as he listened with as much attention as he could stand.  

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He says, offering a hand out to her to shake. “Miss...?”

“Bellamy,” She replies, ignoring the clear dread that fills her when she throws her alter ego away for the moment. What’s the harm? I’ll never see this man again in my life.  “And you are?”

“Tom, darling. Tom Holland.”

His rough hand meets hers, the knuckles broken and scarred from what must be years of fighting or working in construction. They’re oddly soft against hers, a thick gold band wrapped around his pointer finger that has the soft engravement of a family crest she didn’t recognize, an ‘H’ in the center of it. She doesn’t have to wonder whether or not it’s real gold, or whether or not it’s an expensive family heirloom. With a man that wears a suit like the one before her, she’s sure there’s not a thing on him that’s fake.

“Tom!”

A man with a trimmed beard calls to him from across the ballroom. He releases the arm of a man who is twice Tom’s size, wearing a pristine military uniform that could bring a girl to her knees. Bellamy lets her hand slip from Tom’s as the man grows closer, offering a sinister smile at the man beside her.

“Tony,” Tom replies with gritted teeth. Bellamy can see the flicker of his clenched fist beside her, the vein popping out across the back of his hand. “I thought my brothers had already spoke to you.”

The other man, Tony, claps his hand across Tom’s back with a smirk, rubbing his shoulders with a strong grasp. “I told them I’d handle our business together. Wanted to make sure I could see you while we spoke.”

Business? What kind of business?

“I’m sure we could speak about this another time-”

“And look at you, sweetheart!” Tony booms, catching the attention of more partygoers. Some begin to gather around the group, curious to watch the interaction between the two men who obviously don’t seem to mesh well together. “What did Holland here have to do to get you on his hip?”

“Tony-”

“Haven’t seen you before,” He says, releasing Tom’s shoulders to reach forward and extend his hand towards Bellamy. “Tony Stark. Stark Enterprises. Now, did he buy you for tonight, or did the kid finally find someone to reel him in?”

Bellamy almost chokes on her own spit. The genius philanthropist that is in the headlines of science newspapers every other week is standing right in front of her. Sure, he thinks that she’s a prostitute, or some kind of call girl, but the sheer moment is one that she won’t forget.

Tom swats the man’s hand away gently, taking a short step forward to try and shut Tony out from their moment they’d been sharing previously. “Stark. Leave her alone.”

“What, I can’t take a moment to talk to someone?” Tony says with a devilish smirk. “It’s a party, Holland, lighten up.”

Bellamy can’t hide the shake in her finger as she gazes about the ballroom and spots more than a few eyes on her. Even the security guards are staring at her, curious as to who exactly she is. If Tom lets her name slip out, one that isn’t Elizabeth, she’d be toast.

A searing glare rises to Tom’s eyes as he stares holes into Tony’s head. He doesn’t notice, or at least, he doesn’t care, as he places a firm hand on Bellamy’s shoulder.

Before he can even get out a word, she slaps his wrist with a quick flick of her hand, watching him draw back. He looks at her, appalled that someone would have the guts to actually try and tell the great Tony Stark no.

(To be fair, Bellamy didn’t think she’d have the guts to do it either.)

“Don’t touch me.” She speaks in a stiff tone as Tony straightens his spine. “I’d appreciate it if you left me alone now, sir.”

Audible gasps rise through the room, but Bellamy can barely hear them in her thundering heartbeat. She watches the man with a glare as her nerves dance around her skin. Whatever ounces of (liquid) courage she has left are quickly disappearing with the look of hatred she feels from Tony Stark, the celebrity, right now.

“Feisty.” He nods curtly. “Guess we’ll talk a bit later, Holland.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Tom tells him as Tony walks away, scowling as he fades into the crowd.

[macadoodlewrites]

The Devil Doesn’t Bargain - Prologue (Peter Parker Mob AU)

Summary: Peter Parker is well on his way to taking over his adoptive father’s business – but with new threats emerging, Peter and Tony Stark decide that a deal between rivals needs to be brokered. A marriage proposal between enemies brings Hallie straight into the arms of Peter, and it won’t take her long to realise that escape will not be easy.

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, dub-con behaviour, torture, smut, swearing

Ships: Peter Parker x OC

Main Masterlist

The Devil Doesn’t Bargain Masterlist

Word Count: 1.2k

Being woken up by a banging on his door was not how Peter Parker wanted to start his Saturday morning; it wasn’t how he wanted to start any morning. Perhaps if the knocking had come from a woman - preferably naked - or someone holding a wad of cash for him, then he may have been less angry. But as he knew that the only people with access to the house were Ned Leeds, Harry Osborn or MJ Watson, he felt perfectly justified in yelling, “What the fuck do you want?”

It was Harry knocking. “Get your ass up, Tony wants you.”

“Well Tony can go fuck himself and come and see me if he wants me.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Pete,” Harry hollered back. “Just check your damn phone.”

Peter could hear Harry’s footsteps echoing in the hallway as he walked away, probably back to his own bedroom with MJ. If Tony had contacted Harry, it must be important - Tony was the leader of the Stark Mob, one of the most feared gangs in Northern America, and Peter was being groomed to take over the empire. He already had a name for himself as it was - a name that struck fear when mentioned - but he wanted Tony’s title.

Which meant for now, he answered Tony’s calls and messages when required.

Not that Peter didn’t respect Tony - quite the opposite. His parents and Uncle had died when he was ten, and since that day twelve years ago, Tony had inserted himself into his life as a surrogate father, and helped his Aunt May out with tuition, contacts, and practically raised him alongside her. May had been killed two years ago, and since then, Tony had adopted Peter only months before his twenty-first birthday, securing Peter’s place in his dynasty. 

He turned over, reaching across his king-sized bed for his phone. Four missed calls from Tony, and even one from Pepper. There was a text above all of the calls. 

Meet me at base. Now.

Within an hour, Peter was dressed in his usual attire - white dress shirt, black blazer, black trousers, an extremely overpriced watch, and cufflinks with his initials etched into them - and walking into the Stark base. No one bothered him as he went by, he was only given the occasional nod from some of the higher-ups. He didn’t return them. This was business, and his image as the cold, unapproachable, son of the boss was something that he had carefully crafted and wanted to keep. 

Tony’s office was to the back of the base, and Peter knocked as a courtesy before walking in. Tony was sat behind his large black granite desk in his cream leather chair , a stack of files in front of him. There was a large glass of brandy in his hand, and his hair was mussed-up, as if he had been running a hand through it. He barely glanced up as Peter walked in. 

“Sit.”

Peter walked towards the side table next to the cream leather sofa, poured himself a glass of brandy from the glass tumbler, and then took a seat in front of Tony’s desk. 

“It’s nine in the morning, Tony. Little early to be drinking?”

Tony placed his own glass down on his desk and stared Peter down, his eyes tired behind his glasses. “I could say the same to you.”

Peter raised his glass in a mock-cheers. “Careful there, you almost sound like my father.” 

“I’m the closest thing you’ve got to one, kid,” replied Tony, but there was affection underlying his tone. “I have a job for you - a long term one. And you’ll need the boys and their skills to help you.” Peter, Harry and Ned were the perfect team, and Tony knew it. 

“Alright. Why the urgency?”

Peter watched as Tony downed the amber liquid in his glass and took in his appearance. Asides from his tired eyes and rumpled hair, his shirt was creased, the top button undone, and his tie was loose. This was not Tony Stark, leader of the most successful mob in Northern America, the commanding billionaire that the public feared. No, this was the rare Tony that only his family - including Peter - saw. 

“My house was broken into last night,” Tony said, and stood up to get himself another drink. Years of keeping control of his emotions was the only thing that stopped Peter from dropping his drink. “They nearly made it to mine and Pepper’s bedroom. Both Pepper and Morgan are fine, and in one of our other houses. I fired fifteen men this morning for incompetency and have had to check over every one of our cameras and security systems. We caught the men who broke in and they’re currently in interrogation.” Peter couldn’t help but snort. Interrogation meant that the intruders were dead men walking.

“How did they find your address? It’s not on any of our records,” Peter replied, leaning forwards. “The same as mine.”

“It looks like we may have a mole,” Tony explained, his glass nearly full. “But that’s not what concerns me. It’s the who.”

“And who were they?”

“Whittingham men. That was all of the information that we could find on them. They swallowed pills as soon as they were put into the interrogation room, so I have no idea if they were there to harm Pepper, kidnap my daughter, or kill me, but it won’t happen again.”

Gears were turning in Peter’s head. There weren’t many families that would dare put themselves in the same category as the Starks, but the Whittingham’s were one of them. Dominic Whittingham, the leader of their organisation had been locked in a rivalry with Tony for the better part of a decade. They were influential and powerful - clearly more powerful than Peter had estimated as they’d somehow broken into Tony’s house.

“What’s the job?” Peter asked. 

For the first time since entering the office, Tony smiled. He sipped from his drink and placed himself back at the desk, then slid three files over to Peter. 

He opened them. One was the file on Dominic Whittingham - Peter had read through it many times. Know thy enemy, and all that. Dominic was known for his wealth, his charitable contributions to society, and presented himself as a good man. To anyone on the flip side, in the depths of illegal activity as Peter and Tony were, Dominic was as crooked as they came.

The next was on Aiden Whittingham, the heir to the family legacy. He was essentially Peter’s twin, on the other side of the game, the one groomed to take over eventually. Peter had also read through this file many times.

And the final one was on the daughter. Halston Whittingham. 

He knew this file well. It was much smaller than her father’s and brother’s. As far as anyone was aware, she had no dealings in the family business, no hand in any illegal activity. She was a socialite, she attended events for charities, cut ribbons at ceremonies, appeared in magazine covers for her style and family name, and had a reputation as innocent as her father’s was blackened. 

Peter had also done his own separate research on her before, pitched ideas to Tony...

“Tony,” Peter started, staring down at the picture attached to the file. A pretty blonde, smiling widely into the camera. “Why am I looking at her file? What is the job?”

Tony leaned forwards; hands clasped as he leaned on his desk. “It involves Miss Whittingham, Peter...”

NEXT PART

Let me know if you would like to be tagged for updates!

[jeyramarie]

masterlist 💛

hello guys!!welcome to my blog, if you wanna be tagged in anything and absolutely everything i write, don’t be afraid to ask and if you have a request ask away too. I’ll do my best to answer quickly and post them. 

let’s run away\

people i write for:

OBX

- cast

- characters

Tom Holland

-mob! au

-celebrity! reader

Florence Pugh

-characters

Euphoria

-Fezco

🦋 happy reading everyone 🦋

Fics

{More like a kook (JJ x OC)

part 1~part 2~part 3~part 4~part 5~part 6~part 7~part 8~part 9~part 10 ~part 11~part 12~part 13~part 14 ~part 15~part 16~part 17~part 18 ~part 19~part 20~

{More like a pogue (JJ x OC)

part 1~part 2~ part 3~ part 4~ part 5~ part 6~

{Good Life (pogues x oc)

writing it with @halsmultibitch

prologue ~ pilot ~ the lucky compass ~ the forbidden zone~ spy games~ midsummers~ parcel 9~ part 2~ dead calm~ the runway~ the bell tower~ the phantom~ season 2(coming soon)

{Mr. & Mrs. Holland (Mob!Tom Holland x Mob!reader)

prologue~ part 1~ part 2~ part 3~ part 4~ part 5~ part 6~ part 7~ part 8~ part 9~ part 10~

{The recruit (Yelena Belova x Reader)

part 1~ part 2~ part 3~ part 4~ part 5~ part 6~ part 7~ part 8~ part 9~ part 10~

{The princess and the debutant (Florence Pugh x Reader) (Bridgerton AU)

part 1~ part 2~ part 3~ part 4~ part 5~ part 6~ part 7~ part 8~ part 9~ part 10~ 

{You and me? (Alice Chambers x Reader)

Part 1~ Part 2~ Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~ Part 6~ Part 7~ Part 8~ Part 9~ Part 10~

Imagines

{JJ x reader

shark attack

love yourself first

kook friends, pogue crush

keeping you company

the pogue ballerina

stood up

bonfire

{Kiara Carrera x carrera! reader

bahamas

why is it a big deal? 

more coming after season 2

{Pogues x reader

sky fall

boat ride

awkward silence

{Tom Holland x reader

spain

part 2 (coming soon) 

the pink hoodie 

25th birthday (insta post)

afternoon with the grandparents

lucky golf day

daddy issues 

monaco

cleaning reality

vincent van gogh exhibition

{Florence Pugh x reader

crushing on you~ part 2~ part 3~ part 4~

new piercing, new tattoo

friends into lovers (smut)

hungry eyes~ part 2~ part 3~ part 4~ part 5~

the concert

is this good for the party? (smut)

ibiza (smut)~ part 2~

harper’s bazaar 

bellybutton piercing

spotted 

Paris Fashion Week 

Buzzcut

{Yelena Belova x reader

My world

Scar stories

A note

Hidden talent

The shot she shouldn't take

{Amy March x reader

Drawings~ part 2~ part 3~

{Charmian “Charlie” Ross x reader

the girl with the rings 

{Alice Chambers x reader

Next door neighbor 

{Fezco x reader

new years chaos

don’t touch my girl~ part 2~ part 3~ part 4~ part 5~ part 6~ part 7~ part 8~

[greenorangevioletgrass]

red right hand (mob!Harry x oc) 3/3

"Staring at the ceiling / two weeks and I'll be home / carry the feelings / through Paris, all through Rome / and I keep thinking back to the time under the canyon moon / I'm going, oh, I'm going home."

series masterlist | main masterlist | ko-fi

pairing: mob!Harry Holland x Bel (spy!ofc)

summary: the tables have turned. Harry fights one final battle for his fresh start, and Bel waits.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: so much yearning, fluff, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, brief violence

notes: this is it y'all! this is the end and im emosh! thank you so much for sticking through this story. i hope you had as much fun reading it as i did writing it 💕

[read part 2 here]

***

It takes 3 minutes to get Harry to the hospital, 4 hours of surgery to patch him up, and another 5 hours for him to come to. And frankly, feels longer than the 6 years they spent apart.

Every second feels like getting pushed closer and closer to the cliff’s edge, and Bel feels like the living room is closing in on her. She’d put down her phone so she can look up apartments in Butt Fuck, Nowhere in peace like an absolute moron. The next thing she knows, her phone lights up with 41 new messages-- ‘Harry Holland’ and ‘shot’ and ‘Highgate Hospital’ barely pass by in a blur.

For a brief night, her house finally felt like home. She could picture slow nights and dancing in the kitchen and coffees in bed. But now it feels like some random safe house in some random city that she’d been assigned to.

She has to get out.

The hospital canteen is depressing and her scalp is sweating under her hat, but the harsh white interior keeps her grounded and alert. And as her tea goes stale, she hacks into the hospital system and just stares and stares at her screen until she gets an update.

Holland, Harry: surgery completed.

Transferred to Suite 1207.

Conscious.

Bel channels all the nervous energy into careful precision, from the way she gets up from her seat to the way she slips out of her baggy sweats and snapbacks into a sleek well-fitted suit, marching up to the 12th floor with unwavering conviction.

She spells out her name with every rap of her knuckle against the door, and a burly guard answers the door.

“Let her in,” he commands from the inside. He sounds… exhausted, and her heart breaks a little.

The man stares her down, but makes way for her. She barely registers the Ruger peeking out from his hip. Her attention is entirely taken by the man giving the order from the hospital bed. It’s only been a few hours since she saw him leave --bubbly and bounding about in her kitchen, kissing her goodbye like it’s an ordinary day for an ordinary couple.

And now he’s lying limp and pale and drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Give us a moment, will you?” Harry tells the guard and he nods, ducks out wordlessly. “Bel.”

She wastes no time to rush over, taking the seat by his bed and his hand in hers. “I suppose our escape plan will have to wait until your recovery, eh?” she smiles wryly.

“More or less.”

There’s a weight to his words, and Bel wants oh so badly to ignore it. God, she just wants to stroke his hair and comfort him, but her stupid self can’t help but ask, “So is it more or less?”

He locks his fingers between hers, only his thumb moving freely against her skin. "I have to do this one last time. They're not gonna stop until we finish them."

"Who are they, anyway?"

"The Five Families in New York --and no. Don't--" he knows what she’s about to say even before she thinks it, and it terrifies him to death to let her in on his little shit show.

"You know I can help you, right?" she tries to argue, calm and even, although the tightness in her voice betrays her.

"I can't risk it. Nobody knows you're with me, and I want it to stay that way. I can't have that-- I won't."

"Kid, I can look after myself--"

"Bel,” he cuts her off. Final. Resolute. “Please. I’m asking you to trust me. I’m gonna finish this, once and for all, and then I’ll come back to you. I just… I need you to hang tight for me.”

She wonders if it’s this hard on him when she gave him the five-year warning long ago. The uncertainty, the powerlessness, the crippling fear of losing one another.

But she knows that. And she knows there’s nothing else to do but wait. She’s not a hero or a martyr. This isn’t the kind of story where she could swoop in and save the day; the last thing she wants is to put Harry in harm’s way. So she simply says, "Okay. Just... finish it quick, yeah?"

"Wait for me?"

"Any day, kid," she assured him with a kiss to the top of his head.

***

She does wait. Patiently and painfully, as weeks turn into months and months turn into a year. Before she knows it, a year becomes two.

For Harry, each day he spends without her drags on-- and he spends every single day that way since then. He knows he’s being watched, and he knows better than to put Bel in the picture. This time, he’s the one going in and out of radar fighting the bad guys. How the tables have turned.

He does keep tabs on her, though. She retired from MI6 after his company’s case is closed, on the grounds that “desk jobs give her a permanent migraine.” Her colleagues laughed at that, she told him. And he loves hearing her laugh-- dulcet and warm. Quiet. Comforting over the crackling white noise of his burner phone.

“Are you there?” she breaks the silence.

“I’m here, yeah.” he takes a deep, heavy breath. “Got everything settled?”

He could hear her smile. “Pretty much. You’re gonna love it.”

“Just a few more hours now…” his words hang in the air, and he tries to pick the mood back up. “Until you tell me where the hell we’re going.”

Or until I find out whether or not you make it out alive, she pushes the thought of her head. “Any minute now, kid.”

His tear sneaks up on him as much as that little word does. Her 'any day' is now 'any minute.' The hours are running out, and as much as they're looking forward to it, the final moment terrifies them still.

Because when it comes down to it, he only ever has one minute. A soldier's minute, where everything happens at once. There's no revenge, no secret lover back home before. No sweet escape and happy ending after.

There's only himself, the infamous mob leader John Gotti and a gun in his hand. Even his brothers seem to fade away into the background in his mind. The hustle and bustle of the New York nightlife below them sound so far away.

There's only Harry, his gun, and the man who ordered his execution and kept him from his lover.

"It's over. You think we've been hiding from you all this time?" Harry seethes, charging forward until the barrel of his gun presses on Gotti's clammy forehead. "Think again, you old fuck."

"Well, these little boys just handed your ass over to Frank Cali, which you're at a losing war with. So you either die with Cali or with us. Take your pick." Harry cocks his gun and he can feel Gotti's insides churn.

Gotti, a stocky Italian-American man in his late 60's, is unraveling under the pressure. But of course, he wouldn't show that so easily. There's still that one last show of bravado. "You little boys are nothing but playing pretend," he scoffs condescendingly.

"Fuck you," the old man all but spits at him.

Harry blinks. "Fair enough," and pulls the trigger.

And then his ears go ringing and his face smattered with blood.

Eventually he notices Harrison and Tuwaine's expression of shock, and Tom… disapproving but not surprised. He simply orders the body to be taken away and the Cali clan to be contacted. Clean and clinical.

Harry insists on driving all the way to the airport. He needs something to focus on. The red ghost of blood on his hand is still stark against his pale skin and the comings and goings of the street lights distract him from that. And on the jet to Hamburg, he checks the contract for Frank Cali over and over, until Harrison gives him some Xanax and tells him to call it a day.

At least he's able to get some sleep then.

He calls Bel as soon as he lands, and she picks up even before the first ring ends.

"Kid?" she answers-- her voice small and worried and hopeful at the same time.

"It's done," he simply says. "I'll see you in an hour?"

She lets out a sigh of relief. "Yeah. Okay."

"I'll... be seeing you."

Bel braces herself to say it back without bursting into tears. This will be the last time they utter it in longing. After this, no more.

An hour couldn't come fast enough, and she ends up just driving aimlessly, stopping for coffee and gas, and even then she arrives at the hangar early. She couldn't wait to stop all this waiting, past lives be damned. The TARDIS blue door she left behind in London didn’t even cross her mind; her home was never a house.

Her home is a feeling.

A person.

Bel parks on the edge of the private hangar just as the boys disembark from the jet. Tuwaine and Harrison walk right towards their black SUV. Harry stands on the threshold while Tom gives him a firm hug before making his way down the steps. It's a very brief, very intimate moment and she almost feels like intruding for witnessing that.

But Tom clocks her-- or rather, her car- and knocks on her window with a knowing look.

"So I was right," he says in lieu of a greeting, "It was Harry."

"And I was right," she counters, "You were in love."

He catches Bel's eye on the wedding band adorning his ring finger and smiles, almost to himself.

"You know what? If you weren't a shady criminal mastermind, I think I would've liked you, Tom."

He’s quick to retort, "And if you hadn't fucked my company over and ruined my kid brother there, we would've gotten on."

They share a laugh, light and easy, and they can almost recall how friendly they used to be. Not intimately close, but enough common ground for a budding friendship there.

But the laughter dies down and Tom turns serious. Bel swears he could see the wary in his eyes. "Hey, uh… take care of him, will you?"

She doesn’t need to answer; he knows she will. But it still doesn’t make up for the ache in the pit of his guts. He is losing a brother, after all.

“Hey,” she snaps him out of his reverie. “You can always come down to visit-- just make sure you don’t bring any trouble with you, yeah?”

And as Tom walks away with a smile and drives off into the foggy dawn, Harry walks over-- his suit replaced with jeans and black hoodie, a duffel bag slung on his shoulder. He opens the passenger door and slides in, pulling her into his arms.

She holds him so tight for as long as he holds her. In her smothering, he finds comfort. Her lavender shampoo and her warm clothes and just her familiar scent soothes the copper and smoke in his nose. Her arms around him feel like an extension of his body. A protective armor, of sorts, padding him from the sharp air he’s been submerged in.

Harry feels her soft lips on his cheek, and his mouth seeks the very same touch. Her kiss seems to unlock the ache he’d been putting away: the stinging in his throat, the sobs threatening to rip out… He tears his lips away as the tears come streaming down.

“Are you okay?” Bel runs her fingers through her hair.

“Yeah, I’m just…” he sniffles, wiping his eye with his sleeve. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Me, too,” he cups her face.

The invisible red returns and Harry finds his right hand trembling again. He pulls away and tries to cover it with his left, but all he thinks about is staining his palm and smearing the blood on Bel's face. She catches sight of that, and he meets her concerned gaze.

"Thought I'd grown out of it," he muses, like he's disappointed in himself. "Guess not."

Far be it from Bel to judge. She knows that pulling the trigger doesn’t feel as easy as it looks. Instead, she places a comforting hand over his clasped fist. "It never got easier for me either. Every time I needed to do that, I-- I wouldn't sleep for days."

"I'm just so... tired," he leans back against the headrest. "Can we go home now?"

He sounds like a child, and yet he looks like the last two years aged him ten times over. It breaks her into bits. So she sits up and starts the car with a fond smile,

“Of course.”

***

Bel is thankful for a lot of things in that moment; she’s thankful that Harry made it in one piece, that they made it through the end-- ten agonizing years since they first met. That he landed in Hamburg, so the drive isn’t too long…

She spends nearly the entire journey going on about the places she considered for the two of them. She adores New York, but following Harry’s altercation with the Five Families, that city is not an option anymore. He wanted a little cabin in the middle of nowhere-- and she would love that, if she weren’t so inherently extroverted.

They needed somewhere peaceful enough, but not so quiet that it would drive her stir-crazy. Someplace they could live a normal life-- to work and study and go on dates without anyone batting an eye…

Harry looks back and forth between the winding morning roads and the girl next to her, and he couldn’t quite believe that everything she said wasn’t some distant daydream anymore. Their home, their new life. They’re on their way there and they will arrive soon.

Any minute now.

“Welcome to Holland, Harry Holland,” Bel announces as they enter the city of Gröningen.

The birthmark on the corner of his lips is pulled into a half smile. “It’s Frost, actually.”

“Hm?”

“I’m legally Harry Frost now.” he motions at his brand-new passport in his pocket. “It was my mother’s name.”

“I like it,” she decides. “Harry and Bel Frost. Has a nice ring to it.”

He hums in agreement. It does have a nice ring to it, but pauses a moment when he realizes what that entails. “Are you proposing?”

“I’m… entertaining the idea,” she shrugs all nonchalant, although he doesn’t miss the nervous shift in her posture.

“Bel, we’ve waited ten years to be together. Do you seriously think a marriage proposal would be a dealbreaker?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t wanna be tied down by this nutcase.”

“Please. I would love to be tied up and down by you. Any day.”

“Easy there, tiger. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she chuckles, although his last words echo in her mind. She just had to make sure. “Any day?”

“Any day,” he reassures her, his hand squeezing hers on the gear stick, and he imagines what they would look like with wedding bands on their ring fingers. He wonders if he should get her an engagement ring, or if it works differently, given the circumstances.

She eventually pulls up to a quiet street lined with red-brick Renaissance canal houses, bicycles and birch trees scattered along the sidewalks. It’s charming and bay-windowed and lush with the median strip that stretches along in front of it. It reminded him of Bel’s apartment in New York, where she took him after she wreaked havoc on his house. Funny how the tables have turned.

“Help me with the boxes?” she asks as she turns off the car engine.

Clothes, Documents, and Trinkets. The very essences of them packed up in just three boxes. Bel takes the first box and takes it to the door marked ‘15’, balancing it on one arm and knee as she unlocks the key. Harry slings his duffel bag across his shoulders and piles up the other boxes, shutting the boot closed.

He doesn't know what to expect from the house itself. There's a white couch with light blue throw pillows and a box of TV set uninstalled on top of the coffee table. The house winds down to a kitchen/dining room area adorned with more moving boxes labeled Dinnerware and Pots & Pans and the likes. The walls along the stairs are bare from pictures and paintings, although Harry can already see what they’re gonna put up.

It doesn’t look like a home-- not yet, but they’re gonna make it so.

“You can put your photos up right here,” she breaks the silence as they climb up the stairs. “I like the ones you took in Nairobi. And Seoul.”

“And the ones I’m gonna take here.” his stomach flips at the thought of taking pictures of her by the canal, lying around in the park, by the Christmas tree in the living room, or in the confines of their bedroom...

Bel’s voice gently coaxes him out of his reverie. “Here we are.”

Harry follows her lead and puts down the boxes on the floor. The bedroom is light and airy; the morning light streaming through sheer curtains upon the warm bed. The lavender throw pillows add a pop color to the white sheets, slightly askew from being slept on. He can imagine her twisted in the bedsheets, and he can’t wait to be entangled with her for the rest of time.

“Do you like it?” she seizes his trim waist, kissing his shoulder from behind. “We can always… redecorate.”

“Don’t be absurd, I love it.” he all but tuts at her as he turns around. He gazes deep into her eyes, soft as he says, “Thank you.”

She knows he means more than that. Thank you, for coming back. For fighting for him, and for sitting out when she needs to. For waiting. For her patience and her stubbornness. Her everything.

And he knows she knows that, too. He doesn’t need her to say anything else. He’s more than happy to see her gaze back and utter her promise once again.

“Any day, kid.”

The simplest phrase, the shortest of nicknames, and yet it sounds lovelier than any love song he’s ever heard.

Bel laughs, and Harry stands corrected. “I can’t even call you ‘kid’ anymore. You’ve got grey hairs now.” her hand flies to the side of his head, right where she stitched him up that one time.

He rolls his eyes at her, although the fond smile doesn’t leave his features. He kisses her, still beaming at this beautiful, impossible girl standing before him. A whole decade after she turned his life upside down, and she somehow managed to piece everything together until it makes sense.

And it all makes sense now. This home, this moment, this… feeling.

She kisses him back in earnest. Returning his kiss with every bit the same kind of elation, smiles clashing together and all.

They fall into bed, soft and unhurried, seemingly happy to just drink in each other’s lips in each other’s embrace indefinitely. Taking all the sweet time that’s been robbed off of them all this time. There’s nowhere else they need to be. Not anymore.

There will be this, and there will always be.

The clothes eventually come off and the kisses grow more heated and spill over to every inch of their skin. But still they don’t rush. Bel savors the feel of his pulsing neck on her lips, his rising and falling chest marked with her teeth. Harry rubs off the fatal sin from his hands on her bare body, replacing it with handfuls of her curves.

She ventures down his torso, grazing a thick line of scar on the right of his navel, and her breath hitches.

He sits up to kiss her again, trying to keep her from the wariness that threatens to loom ahead. But he winces, the pain sears underneath that very scar, and she feels herself slipping out of this gentle ecstasy.

"Harry--"

"It stings every now and again, but I’m okay, Bel.” his voice comes out so gentle, and his hand on the back of her neck even more so.

She looks up at him and realizes how different everything is now. There's no more toughing it out, no more countdowns. Just two people who have finally reached the finish line.

Harry kisses her again. Harder this time. Like he's got something to prove. Like he's got something to plead. His hand guides hers towards the bulge straining against his stomach.

It feels like second nature to touch him there. Every ridge and curve of his cock feels familiar, and she uses it to her advantage. She wets her hand and strokes his hard length, soft and firm at the same time.

“Fuck…” Harry's eyes flutter closed as she closes her fist around him, hips bucking into her.

Bel watches his hand traversing down her body, putting them where they belong; between her legs, drenched in her arousal. They sit there holding and fondling each other, readying themselves for what’s to come.

She sinks down on his cock in one swift motion. Her cheeks hollow as she cleans his long fingers of her juices, neck bared and branded with kisses, hips rocking against his. Her stretch marks are like waves ebbing and flowing. It’s truly a sight to behold and Harry wishes he could immortalize the moment forever.

But that old pleasant body ache nags him, and they pick up the pace until they can’t anymore. She falters into his arms and grinds lazily against him, taking him deeper and deeper and squeezing him in. His mouth hungry on her tits make her clench, and the infinities he draws on her clit make a cacophony of cries in their little room.

And as she closes in on him, squeezing and convulsing around his cock, Harry finds himself surrendering to his orgasm. Painting her inner walls with his sweet release.

And then there's just silence.

His heartbeat. Her breath. His fingers down her spine. Her eyes, counting the freckles on his nose.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…” he looks at her like she holds the entire world, and kisses her ever so softly on her forehead. “I’m home.”

💞💞💞

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You are at the wrong place at the wrong time.  

Word count: 1,7k

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London. 

Warnings:  This story will contain themes such as kidnapping, murders, violence and smut. Also a lot of swearing. Also mentions of injuries. Also alcohol, smoking and mentions of drugs.  this is a +18 story

A/N: This is a relationship that I wouldn't recommend in real life. Also, the Firm was the name of the Kray twins gang. I was just too lazy to come up with a name of my own.  

THIS IS PART I

1961 – London

Tom curses the cold weather as he pulls his coat tighter around him with numb fingers. He curses the chilly London night and the long walk from Charing Cross station too. And, while he’s at it, he curses his split lip and broken rib as well. Fuck it, he curses the entire world and everybody in it tonight.        

He especially curses fucking Harrison.        

Harrison who didn’t show up for duty tonight - in failing to do so not only risking the wrath of their leader, a certain Mr. Fabien Towner, but also risking putting Tom in danger by forcing him to handle the situation all on his own. Fucking dick. Tom guesses his old friend had gotten caught up with whichever girl had taken his fancy for the day; forgetting all he should know of duty, and forcing Tom to single handedly go in to collect from the mug who owed the Firm ten grand.        

It had not gone down easily, and Tom had taken his fair share of hits to the head. He now had a swollen cheek, a split lip, a broken rib and a big envelope of cash safely hidden underneath his coat. 

He inhales the icy cold air and upon exhaling he watches as it rises to the sky like thick pearly smoke.       

Little snowflakes start to slowly drift down from the sky, lighting up the dark night; painting the pavement white.

Further up the road he sees two young women stepping out of a building. They’re giggling, clearly intoxicated, and clutching on to one another for support, making their way down the stairs and into the waiting cab. He sees them both clearly in the light from the street’s only functioning lamp; as they’re standing just under it. The girl nearest to him is wearing fine silk and furs in powdery pink and white, her hair done up professionally and roughed cheeks and painted lips. Even from this distance he recognises her.        

It’s you.    

Even through the dark, snowy London night he sees it clear as day. Even though he hasn’t seen you since you were both teenagers; when he abruptly had to leave school, he recognises you immediately, and suddenly he feels like he is a sixteen-year-old child again; wishing for a miracle, as if he’s stretching out his hand beyond its reach. Sure, your face and hair is all made up and you’re no longer wearing a school uniform. But it’s you alright. There’s still a sweetness about you, in your silk and your fur and with your sugar-pink lips. You still feel impossibly out of reach. A thin layer of snow covers the cobbled street, like powdered sugar, and you’re leaving a trace of foot prints in it.       

A vision strikes him, of his hand, slowly pulling the pink slip of a dress up your thigh as you clutch onto his shoulders. He wants to find out what’s softer to his touch; the silk or your skin. He watches as you and your friend make it into the cab, and then he watches as it drives off into the night.        

And he remembers.        

Remember how at fifteen, just days before he first met Fabien; in a time before he knew anything about how to fight with his fists or fire a gun or about the Firm.       

He’d been chased by his school yard tormentor, Jamie Easom, and his fellow bullies. Trying to get away and to safety he had rushed into the girls’ bathroom without second thought. You had stood there, in front of the mirror; fixing your hair (and maybe it’s reconstruction after the fact, but he swears you wore a halo of light upon your head). He had stared at you with big eyes, like a deer in headlines, looking at the girl he’d been mesmerized with for years. You’d immediately caught on and in a gentle voice told him to hide in one of the bathroom stalls. Then you had walked out of the bathroom. Through the door he’d heard you speaking to Jamie. Heard Jamie asking if you’d seen him and heard your lie as you told the meanest kid in school no, he’s not here. Then he’d heard Jamie asking you out for the millionth time and, to his satisfaction, he heard you turning him down - yet again.        

A few days after that Tom had met Fabien for the first time, a chance meeting that could have ended very differently. Luckily, the leader of London's most notorious gang had been impressed with him, and well, that was the beginning of the end of his school days. Fabian had given him a very different kind of education. He had trained him in an underground gym with a boxer, who taught Tom all he there was to know about fighting back.       

Fabien himself had taken Tom to the Hungry Lion, the home of the Firm, and taught Tom how to drink Irish whiskey without wincing as it burned down his throat and how to smoke cigarettes, deep drags, without coughing; how to dress like a man. And most importantly, he taught Tom how to negotiate, how to think five steps ahead of everybody else.     

Fabien had sat him down and taught him not only the rules of chess, but how to win every game. No matter the opponent.    

Not long after he had joined the Firm a particularly gruesome fight in the school yard between himself and Jamie had taken place. Jamie had ended up in the hospital and Tom, well, he had been thrown out of school.    

Since that day he was a full-time employee in the Firm.        

He’d met Haz in an underground boxing ring. He’d been one hell of an opponent in a dirty fight that ended in victory for Tom, (though Haz always claims that the victory had more to do with the fact that Tom had made him burst out in laughter at one point and then, when Haz was off guard, tackled him to the ground). Fabien had been impressed with the blonde. Now Tom and Harrison were as good as brothers.

Eventually Tom’s actual brothers had joined them as well and they were now what Fabian referred to as “the younger generation” of the Firm.      

As chance would have it just two years after Tom had been kicked out of school a certain Jamie Easom had joined the Firm as well. Cocky and arrogant as ever he’d been recruited by Fabien’s right hand, Eoghan Shelley, who’d seen Jamie in a pub brawl and been impressed by the young man’s knack for senseless violence.       

As Fabien had told Tom in confidence during one whiskey fueled meeting; Jamie was someone who you hired to fight, but whom you didn’t trust to think. Jamie was part of the muscle of the machine; not the brain behind it.        

Jamie knew the instructions – harm, threaten, kill.

He never knew the reasons behind them - (money, pride, knowledge).       

Jamie never stopped to question motive. He got an order and he followed it through. He didn’t question why Fabien would want a business to, quite literally, burn down to the ground, or why a man needed to be taken out. He never questioned, either out loud or to himself, why Fabien would want that. Nor did he consider the victims point of view; their motives or reasons.       

He got an order and he followed it through. He was a dog on a tight leash. So, the instructions were clear and simply. (bark, attack, kill).       

Tom, on the other hand Fabien trusted to think on his own. Trusted that Tom had the brain to know what was necessary to do in any given situation. He also knew that Tom had the guts to carry it out, no matter the instruction.    

There were those, certain malicious tongues, speaking in hushed voices behind closed doors; who thought that old Fabien Towner put too much trust in the youngster. Had gone a bit soft on him. That there were those, older and more experienced, that deserved Fabien’s trust.       

The fact was that Tom wore the word protégée like second skin. It clung to him like a varsity jacket does to a young star scorer. Like it belonged to him, as if he was born for it.  

The new hope.      

And the fact was that Fabien cast a mighty big shadow and no one, especially not those with wagging tongues, dared stepping out of it. For Fabien kept all his little soldiers in check and that very much included the new hope.      

Finally he arrives at his destination and he steps into the Hungry Lion. Inside the pub it’s warm and loud, barking laughter coming from the men drinking pints big as their heads, and singing can be heard coming  from a group of people huddled up in the corner booth. The scent of smoke and beer fills the air. It’s warm and dirty and home. It makes a sharp contrast to the chilly, quiet London night outside.        

He walks over to his regular booth, orders Sam to get him a whiskey and sits down opposite of Harry. Sam hurries off to the bar and Harry takes one long look at Tom’s wounded face.      

“Getting slow in your old age, huh?”      

“Fuck off” is all Tom can be bothered to answer, too exhausted and done with this day. “’s Fabien here yet?”       

Harry shakes his head and looks away from his brother's bruised face. “Not yet” he says in the end and puts out his cigarette. Then, “where’s Hazza?”   

Tom sighs and fishes up his own package of Lucky Strike cigarettes. Placing one between his lips he lights up and inhales deeply. Leaning back in his seat he exhales in a sigh before responding. “Fuck who knows” he says, just as Sam comes back with his drink. He hands it to Tom, who greedily takes a sip of the amber liquid before sitting down next beside his twin.       

“What you mean?” Harry questions, brows furrowed. “Wasn’t he with you collecting?”      

“Nope” Tom answers, trying to keep his anger under wraps. “Didn’t show up. Reckon he’s cock deep in some bird some-“ but before he can finish Haz stumbles into the pub. His left white sleeve is sticky wet with blood and he’s clutching onto his shoulder. His face is pale and sweaty, and he looks around the room, clearly searching for someone; but before he can find the right man he stumbles and falls to the ground; where he stays. Passed out.       

For a few devastatingly long moments silence fills the old pub as they all look at Harrison’s left shoulder.       

It has a bullet wound.

***

Taglist:   @londonmademedoit  @isthataladybag   @ceexreverse  @daygiowvibe @averyfosterthoughts @applenter @viwihere @youcompletemess

[fallingforyou123]

You Will Never Be A God-Une

Warnings: Slight language, implied smut, alight angst

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Here is the official part one! Hope you'll like it, reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!

Series Masterpost

The sheets hung loosely around her frame, the only thing keeping her from being exposed to the cold air. The stranger laid beside her in a dazed out state, chest rising ever so slowly. A small cloud of smoke engulfed the both of them, a bad habit Stevi had picked up from an ex of hers.

“Those will kill you one day.”

“No more than sleeping with strangers will.”

“Touche.”

Stevi moved to get dressed, keeping quiet to avoid another conversation. Leaving was always bad, but leaving when there was still so much to be said was the worst. She couldn’t quite place it, but there was a feeling, something small sitting in her gut. It worried her, she’d never felt like this with a stranger. So safe and comfortable.

“Stay. Just till the morning, I’ll have my driver take you home.” Came the voice from the other side of the bed.

“No, definitely no. I have rules, no names, no staying. I can’t”

“What a lonely life you must live, to disconnect so much from those around you.”

Stevi looked at him, truly looked at him. He looked so much different than the man she met a couple hours ago. His perfectly gelled hair was nothing more than a brown mess atop his head, his eyes were clouded with a sleepy haze, and his suit had been replaced by a very thin sheet. He looked like someone she could see herself falling for back in university, she had to remind herself that this was a man with a lot of money, someone she’d probably dig up dirt on for an article.

She shook her head, she needed to leave.

After she finished dressing, she grabbed her bag from the front room and slipped out the door. Checking her phone she saw a couple missed calls from Brooke and an enthusiastic ‘be safe!’ text from Poppy. She quickly both, ensuring them that she was not dead in a ditch somewhere, before ordering an uber and hoping in the elevator.

***

The rest of the weekend had gone by in a blur. She’d spent all of Saturday nursing her hangover with ice cream and old reruns of Golden Girls in bed. Then Sunday was brunch with the girls at a little cafe where she was forced to share every detail of the events that unfolded Friday night, only leaving out how weird she had felt in the strangers' company. And then all too soon she was getting ready for a week of meetings and interviews.

Walking into the office, Stevi was greeted by her boss informing her that her 11am was now Stevi’s and ‘oh, look, he’s early.’ She mentally groaned, there was not enough caffeine in the world to make this worth it. Don’t get her wrong, Stevi loved her job, but god did she hate her boss. She was flakey, and whenever anything didn’t appeal to her, she’d simply give it to Stevi with barely any notice. There were far too many nights that she had to stay late because she was given a column to write only hours before it was due.

With a heavy sigh, she walks into the conference room, hoping that this won’t last long. “Good morning, my name is Stevi, I’ll be doing the interview today since Diane couldn’t be here.”

“Rule one.”

She whips her head up towards the man, “What?”

It’s in that moment that she realizes who this is, the man from Friday night. And coincidentally, Tom Holland. She should’ve known the other night who he was, his name and face had been plastered on the bulletin board for weeks, one of their most anticipated interviews this year. Tom was not only a pretty face, but the youngest CEO to be running an international company in decades. His father had started Holland and Co. Publishing almost 30 years ago, and only a few months ago he handed it over to Tom.

“I said, rule one darling. You’ve broken it.” She’d forgotten how lovely that voice was, remembering how captivating it was to have him whispering in her ear.

“I heard what you said, Mr. Holland.”

“Call me Tom, you’ve more than earned that privilege.”

“This is my place of work, not some stupid nightclub, I keep things professional here.”

Neither of them take their eyes off the other, a silent war taking place between the two of them.

“Well, if you’re such a professional, stop looking at me like you’re wanting to fuck me.”

A small gasp leaves Stevi. She stands up to leave, gathering her things, and looks at him with venom in her eyes, “Mr. Holland, I’m afraid that this interview is over, if you would please talk to the receptionist she will reschedule you in with someone other than me.”

A small look of shock crosses Tom’s face before he too stands, reaching out to grab Stevi’s arm, “Wait, I'm sorry. Sit down, I’ll be civil.”

Reluctantly, she does. Placing her notebooks in front of her and pulling out the recorder. Before she begins she gives Tom a warning look, “One word, one single word out of line, and this is over.” To which he nods and sits back, hands folded in his lap, looking like a true business man.

***

The rest of the interview goes by smoothly, only a couple of suggestive looks being thrown her way before he bites his tongue. Stevi’s never been more relieved to finish something in her life, the tension between the two becoming almost unbearable as the interview went on. “Okay, I think that’s all we need for the article, a draft will be sent to your assistant to go over before we publish it in next week's business column.”

Stevi stands quickly, ready to put everything behind her and spend the rest of her day hiding in her office. Before she can leave, a hand is wrapped around her arm once again, and body right behind her. “Let me take you to dinner, darling. A reward for being good.”

The voice in her ear sends a shiver down her spine, and for a second she debates it, “Tom, I can’t. I don’t mix business with pleasure, this is already a conflict of interest.”

“More of those damn rules. Live a little, let your guard down for once.” He looks at her with pleading eyes, something that makes him look more like his true age. That feeling sneaks its way back into again, and for a moment, while she stares into his eyes, nothing else exists. Just the two of them and a world of possibilities.

“If I say yes, this stays between us. The people we are here, and the people we are then are not the same. My job may not seem dangerous to you, but it could be very bad for me if someone gets the wrong idea.”

Tom nods, he knows all too well what she means. “Tonight at 7, meet me at The Garden on 22nd, I’ll make the reservation.”

She agrees, lets him put his number in her phone, and gives Tom one last smile before heading down the hall to her office.

She jumps when she sees someone sitting at her desk, “James, what are you doing here?”

“What, can’t check in on my favourite captain?”

“Not without a secret agenda, and last I checked, I have nothing to report to you, I’m off duty.” Stevi walks towards him, pushing his legs off of her desk.

“Ah, sweetheart, you’re never off duty. Not when you’re talking to men like that.” James points out the door, to where Tom can be seen talking to the receptionist.

“That is none of your business, James.”

“I want details, everything you can find out about him, on my desk by Friday, you know what’ll happen if it’s not. Have a good day Stevi.” And with that, James walks out of the room, leaving a chill hanging in the air.

Stevi suddenly can’t breathe, the four walls surrounding her feeling like a cage. She quickly grabs her things and walks to Dianes’ office, telling her there’s a family emergency and she’ll work on the article at home. Within minutes she’s scrambling to get into her car, dialing Poppys’ number, needing someone to calm her down.

She spends the rest of the day on Poppys’ couch trying to recover from her near mental breakdown. This life was never something she wanted, she’d been dragged into it by her ex. After he failed to complete a simple task, he was killed in their apartment, and she was responsible for finishing it out. But it’s never that simple, one task turned into two, and then four, and now she was too far in to be able to leave.

All too soon, it was 6:30 and she was leaving for her date with Tom. She’d left Poppys an hour ago, promising her that there was nothing to worry about, it had just been a bad day. She drove in silence, not wanting to focus on anything but the road. She got to the restaurant right on time, quickly being seated in one of the private rooms. She’d been here once before with her parents when she first moved to the city. They’d taken her out to celebrate and they’d spent the night drinking fancy wine and eating more food than they could’ve ever imagined.

Lost in her memories, she didn’t realise how much time had passed since she’d arrived. Checking her phone she saw that it was now quarter past, and no sign of Tom. She tries texting him, thinking maybe he’d gotten off of work late. By 7:30 she starts to panic, she’s 2 glasses of wine in and still no sign of him. To no avail, she calls him, worry turning into anger when it goes straight to voicemail.

It’s almost 8 when the waiter informs her that Tom has called, he won’t be making it, but to order whatever she likes and he’ll pay for it.

And so she sits there, wine glass in hand, wishing she’d never even met Tom.

[stiles-o-dylan24]

∞ Fluff     Ω Angst    ✤Smut  ➳ Join Taglist

▻Tom Holland◅

Frost Me Cafe || Mob!Tom au ∞ Ω[4.8k]

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My Hoodie ∞ wip coming soon

You’re My Home ∞ Ω FFHrewrite wip coming soon

[ifandomalot]

Sitting on mob Tom's lab all the time in public is a mood

A/N: here's a little scenerio with a sassy reader

Tom was obviously growing annoyed as his hands started to ball into a fist, thumbing the table in a pattern. "So he didn't give you the money so you you just let him go?"

Tom was dressed in his best suit, tailed perfectly to fit every round of muscles and lean of his body. He was whispering with a clenched jaw with his men close. The Gala was no place for this business but somehow it still ended up as so. He was the guest of honor tonight, seeing he donated 500,000 dollars to the charity.

Tom's arm comes around the man, hand gripping his shoulder a little too tight but to anyone else it would look like two friends greeting each other. "What kind of business do I run?"

"sir, I -."

"I asked what kind of business do I run."

The man looked down, obviously frightened. "Money first, no matter the cost."

"now go get me my fucking money." Tom didn't notice his fiance as she stepped closer, hearing every word he spoke and frowned deeply. He promised this wouldn't happen tonight.

"sweetheart." He greets softly, mostly because her gaze was enough to make him know he was in trouble. "You look beautiful, gorgeous. The most beautiful woman in the world."

"save it Tommy. You promised." He groans loudly, pulling her closer with his arms, bringing lips to her ear and whispering. "If these idiots would do their job there wouldn't have been a problem. I'm sorry darling."

Suddenly music began to play, Tom took her hand softly guiding her to the table but not pulling her chair out, instead patting his lap. Despite her attitude, she took her usual spot as Tom's left hand began rubbing the small of her back which was exposed from the dress. The tip of his nose trails up her jaw, laying a soft kiss where the jaw connects to the temple. "You do look like an angel."

"you can't sweet talk your way out of this one Thomas." She puts a sweet smile as she waves at the people who pass welcoming them both.

"I hate when you call me that." He mumbles lowly, thumb still rubbing the softness of her back, soaking in the warmth. "I'm sorry angel, I know I promised. No more tonight. Just me and you baby."

"I've heard that one before." Tom rolls his eyes, but rests his head against her shoulder not before laying a kiss there. "I promise."

"we saw how that worked out last time."

"here." He pulls the phone from his pocket, turning it off and holding it for her to take. She gladly does, locking it in her clutch. "I super promise."

"Hmmmm." She giggles softly, "That's new but I'll take it."

His thumb stops, now taking his whole hand to the softness of her back pushing her closer to him. "Now give me a kiss."

"yes Tommy." He smiles at the name, the one he should be called and closes the gap between them. That's until the ringing of guns pierce the air and whizzing of bullets come only inches from the both of them and Tom is pulling her into him. Using his body to shield her as he pulls them down under the table.

[wordsaremybestfriends]

a new story??

soooooo friends I have written a new story and it is about my one true love, Tom Holland. The trend of Mob!Tom Holland has tOTALLY stolen my entire attention and i can’t do anything else but read a billion stories about it. (BY THE WAY, @thewiseandfree and @hollandroos have written GREAT stories about mob!Tom, and I totally recommend checking them out!!!) 

Anyways, I wrote a bit of a blurb last night with OC X Mob!Tom, and I’ll be posting it soon, if you want to look out for it! It will be called ‘Oops’, and let’s just say that my OC in it is a queen and i love her. Keep an eye out for it later tonight! 

:)

[tpwkholland]

Woman Like Me - Mob!Tom x Reader

A/N: Hi! I used to have a fanfic account here but I deactivated about a year ago. I forget my last username (lol oops) but I will be reposting work I once published (and new stuff too) on this account! I hope y’all enjoy :)

WC: 2050

Warnings: drinking, violence, blood, kissing

I always say what I'm feeling

You walked into the smoke-filled bar, the chain of your purse dangling off of your bare shoulders. Wearing a tight black dress and chunky heels, you looked like the most confident girl in the room. Honestly, that was the biggest lie. On your way here, you were shaking with palms covered in sweat. Before entering through the small bar door, you took some deep breaths, your heart going one million miles an hour. Slowly hanging your coat up on the back of your chair, you sat down on the barstool, flagging down the bartender and ordering whiskey, neat. 

Tonight was all an act. In actuality, you were a shy mess who only ordered sugary margaritas but tonight you were an actress. Playing the role of a seductress, with one goal; figuring out which man would take you home. Yes, you knew that you were in danger. Hell, who wasn’t in a room full of mobsters? It was an unspoken fact that this bar was primarily used for mobsters making deals and letting loose. The thought of a man with power, enough to kill, turned you on even more. 

Grabbing your glass, you downed the whiskey in one gulp. You slightly winced as the amber liquid traveled down your throat. Taking out your rouge lipstick, you reapplied the crimson pigment across your soft lips. You had a goal tonight, there was no way you weren't going to score. 

I was born without a zip on my mouth

Sometimes I don't even mean it

Finally feeling the alcohol flowing through your veins, you noticed the entire room go silent as a group of tall, handsome men walk through the doors. Everyone moves out of their way to the red velvet in the center of the room, clearing it of people. Four of those strange men made their way to the corners of the bar, keeping their eyes on the one man who sat down. He was obviously fit, his jaw sharp as the blade thrown next to him on a table. The all-black suit made him look godly, running his hands through his brown gelled curls, taking a sip of his martini. 

That’s him, you thought. He was the one you wanted. No one else, only him. Fiddling with the hem of your dress, you attempted to order another glass. Before you could open your mouth, two shots were slid in front of you. Raising your eyebrows at the bartender, he shrugged. “This is from that guy over there.” Pointing at the mysterious stranger, you gave him a quick smile and turned back around. 

He wants me? He’s going to come to me.

Reaching into your small Louis Vuitton, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through Twitter. Before downing your second shot, you felt a tap on your shoulder. To your excitement. It was him, the sexy beast standing in front of you. Raising your eyebrows indicating him to speak, the stranger coughed, smirking at you. 

“Enjoying the drinks, love?” His foreign accent took you by surprise, subconsciously scanning his figure. Simply glancing at him, he spoke again. “I’m Tom, by the way, sit with me?” 

This was a question you weren't expecting. The slight imprint of a gun was sticking out along with multiple mysterious men sitting around the couch. Reminding yourself of the pepper spray and blade in your purse, you quietly accepted his offer, his large hand on the small of your back. 

Oh, babe, this was just the beginning.

It takes a little while to figure me out I like my coffee with two sugars in it

Today was a big day, Tom’s 22nd birthday. The curly-haired boy was still asleep as you snuck out of bed, sneaking to the kitchen to make him breakfast. Thankfully, Tom sent his maids and security guards away from his penthouse for today, knowing the two of you would do some sinful things. 

Growing up, your mom baked you a cake for breakfast. Everyone who you told about this little tradition, looked at you like you were crazy. You had a sweet tooth, and today you were going to get something more than cake for dessert. Taking out all the bowls from the stained wooden cabinets, you began measuring and pouring out ingredients into each bowl. While you were scanning the fridge for eggs, a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Blushing, you felt Tom rest his head upon your shoulder, he slowly kissed your exposed neck. You reminded yourself of the task at hand, you gently shoved Tom away and went back to cracking eggs. “Have anything to say, babe?” Suggestively wiggling his eyebrows, Tom leaned up against the fridge. 

Strutting over to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him, fingers entailed in his silky curls. “Happy birthday baby,” you murmured in between kisses. 

Breaking the kiss, you looked deep into Tom’s eyes. The light hit his eyes so perfectly, honey colored specks hidden behind his luscious lashes. The timer of the oven snapped you out of your daze, ripping you from Tom and sliding the cake pan into the oven. 

Shaking your head, you urged Tom to return to bed “Go back to bed, you worked all day for the past two weeks.” 

Tom pouted, creasing his forehead, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

“C’mon, this princess needs his beauty sleep.” 

Shooting you a joking glare, Tom shuffled back to his bedroom. Within an hour, you brought a creamy iced chocolate cake to Tom who was watching the news. Three candles lit upon the cake, you held it in front of Tommy’s face and began singing for him.

Letting out a light chuckle, Tom opened his mouth, “Cake for breakfast? Isn’t a little too early for this, love?” Rolling your eyes, you reassured him. “My mom did this for me every birthday, now it's your turn.” After your last breath, Tom harshly blew out the candles, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek. Setting the cake on his nightstand, Tom gently pushed you down onto the mattress. His shirtless form was above you, making you begin to clench your thighs. Tom began pressing open mouthed kisses down your stomach, till his head hung over your core. “The cake is amazing love, but it's time for my treat.” 

High heels and my jewelry dripping Drink and I get all fired up (hey, hey, hey)

You picked up a small eyeshadow brush, dipping the soft bristles into a light white pigment. Studying your form in the mirror, you smiled. Glowing in a silk pink robe, your makeup was almost complete and your hair looked stunning. Swept to the side and gently braided you looked perfect. Tom had an important business dinner tonight, and as his good luck charm, you attended. Adding the final touches to your makeup, you slipped into a long, form-fitting red dress paired with nude Louis Vuitton's gifted to you by Tom. Smiling at a guard waiting out of your bedroom, you made your way down the stairs to the parlor. Tom was deep in conversation with his best friend, Harrison. Tom flashed a bright smile once he noticed you, jaw drop. Tonight, you looked ravishing. 

“My, my what do we have here, kitten?”

Pulling him into a passionate kiss, Tom got handsy and began playing with the zipper of your dress. Across the room, Harrison coughed, looking uncomfortable. “Sorry mate, I have to give (Y/n) a gift.”

Rolling his eyes, Harrison said, “Alright, but he quick yeah? And keep it down.”

“It’s not that kind of gift you div! Get your head out of the gutter.”

Shaking his head, Haz grabbed his gun sitting upon your coffee table, sliding it into his pocket and walking outside.

Tom grabbed your hand, leading you to one of the guest rooms. “Close your eyes, babydoll.” Trusting him, you shut your eyes, suddenly feeling cold metal resting upon your collarbone. Peeking open your eyes and glancing in the mirror, your jaw dropped. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and rubies sparkled in the light, making you look more radiant. “Tommy, I love it, thank you.” 

Smiling at you, he kissed behind your neck, murmuring sweet nothings. A knock at the door, made Tom stick his head up, instantly grabbing the gun in his jacket. Another one of Tom’s men stuck his head through the doorway, alerting the two of you the limousine was ready. Grabbing your hand, Tom led you out of the penthouse, pinching your ass before sliding into the vehicle. 

You looked good tonight, and everyone knew it.

I made a few mistakes, I regret it nightly I broke a couple hearts that I wear on my sleeve

You sprinted out of the office building, vomit erupting from your throat onto the rainy concrete. Holy shit. Everything that happened in the past ten minutes was a blur. Tom was standing, handsome as ever, holding a gun to a man’s head.

Boom.

Gunshots erupted, within seconds, Tom’s victim was covered in blood and laying on the ground. With no reaction, Tom set his gun down and ordered his men to get rid of the body. The body, like this, wasn't a human. Fuck, you knew this was wrong. You never saw Tom hurt anyone, besides punching the obnoxious men hitting on you or screaming at his men. But not kill, not with a gun. You knew what Tom did for a living, but it wasn't really real unless you saw it. At that moment, everything has changed. Slapping your hand across your mouth, you let out a shriek and headed for the exits.

You didn't mean to see this. Your intentions were pure, salads and croissants you brought so Tom and you could have lunch together. Harrison said he was busy in a meeting, but he always stops meetings for you. But this wasn't a meeting. As you screamed, Harrison remembered what Tom was actually doing, and flew out of his office to Tom’s. 

“Fucking shit, fucking hell Haz! You let her see this?” Tom’s voice yelled louder and more stern than ever before, leaving Harrison speechless. Tom noticed the side door close, and he headed in the direction. His heart broke when he saw you sitting out in the downpour, surrounded by vomit and tears. Hearing footsteps behind you, you looked up and saw Tom running towards you. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling you during your sobs. Everything was too much right now, the only person you wanted at the moment was your Tommy. 

“It was s-so scary, you scared me.” Sobbing into Tom’s shoulder, he hugged you tighter than ever before. 

“I know princess, I know. I'm so sorry, never again, yeah? Never again”

Still I wonder, could you fall for a woman like me (a woman)

Tom’s leg was bouncing under the wooden table, rattling the dishes. Raising an eyebrow, “Are you okay Tommy?” 

He nodded yes, taking a gulp of his red wine. Tonight was your fifth anniversary of dating, and by the end of tonight, he hoped you would officially be his fiancé. Shrugging it off, you continued to eat your salad. The dinner was silent on Tom’s part, you were rambling about your sister opening up her bakery. Suddenly, Tom stood up and made his way over to you. Without warning, he got down on one knee, “(Y/n), I’ve been in love with you ever since that night where you wore that black dress I like. I don't think I’d ever be able to love without you, see the world differently. God, you’re the definition of a woman, something no one can buy. Love, will you please marry me?” 

One hand holding Tom’s while the other was covering your mouth, eyes shiny with tears. Not being able to get a word out, you nodded your head furiously, letting out choked sobs and “Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes!” 

Sliding the large diamond onto your finger, Tom picked you up and swung you around, pulling in for a passionate kiss. His rough voice echoed in your ear, “You and me baby, forever.”

Every night, Tom thanked God for a woman like you.

____________________________

hahaha I hope this wasn’t too bad; I wrote this last year 

[greenorangevioletgrass]

red right hand (mob!harry x oc) 2/3

"we could meet again someday / somewhere far away from here / we never learn, we've been here before / why are we always stuck and running from the bullets?"

series masterlist | main masterlist | ko-fi

pairing: mob!Harry Holland x spy!OFC

summary: in desperate times, Bel makes an unlikely alliance. Will she and Harry get out this time?

word count: 2.8k

warnings: so much yearning, fluff, a little angst, smut, light d/s, softdom!oc, softsub!harry, oral (m), mention of subspace, mention of injury

notes: we have a guest appearance! woohoo! the story's coming to a close, but not without a last hurrah lol. hope you enjoy it!

[read part 1 here]

***

When Bel takes a managerial position at the headquarters, nobody bats an eye. She’d been in the field for over a decade and she’d served on some of the most arduous missions among her peers. They figured it’s about time. Her colleagues teased her about having a man (or a woman) to come home to as the main reason she’s staying; she simply smiles and jokes,

“As if I’d have the time.”

And all excuses aside, she doesn’t. She spends a day leading a counter-surveillance task force, undoing the mess of a breach the Holland & Co had cost them. It’s much less exciting than being on the field, but it allows her to be close to the case-- or rather, the people who are working on it. Not too close to draw attention, but close enough to gain insider information.

Like the fact that every single key player in the mob went down, except for their leader, Thomas Holland, who’s been running around scot-free as usual. And that he was the one who tipped off the MI6 himself.

It doesn’t make any sense. To make matters worse, there’s not much she can do about it. She's sitting on a lot of gold, but as a former field agent who’d handled their case, it would look awfully suspicious for her to meddle again. But the charges are pretty clear-cut and they could very likely get the life sentence.

There’s no way she’s gonna let that happen.

So here she is, taking a huge risk on her career and her life, sneaking into the heavily guarded penthouse of Tom Holland in the dead of the night. They certainly amped up the security details since she’d pulled this kind of operation on Harry years ago, but she certainly gained new tricks up her sleeve, too, since then.

It doesn’t take much for her to gain access to his building’s blueprints and security scheme --more of an idle snooping in between her real work, really. From there, she simply takes up a ‘last minute replacement’ as a housekeeper to get to the top floor --weaving her way just out of surveillance cameras as she sheds her disguise. One by one, piece by piece, heading straight to the master suite.

She finds him sipping scotch neat with his feet propped on his coffee table, his couch facing the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city he’d taken over at such a young age. He’s older now, more composed. Maybe more jaded. He still looks as dignified as ever, even with his suit jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. His platinum Rolex glints softly under the warm yellowish lamp.

He looks up, the surprise barely visible in his features, and he simply sits back on his chair. Studying the woman before him from head to toe.

“Bel. I hardly recognized you.” Tom smiles smoothly, eyeing her all-black outfit and short dark hair. “Been a while. Is this a business or social call?"

"It's hardly savory to conduct business in the bedroom, isn't it?" she tuts almost teasingly.

"Isn't that what you do?"

"Touché." Bel nods; it stings, but not at all surprising. "Although I've hung up the boots now. Moved up to the headquarters."

"Congratulations to you," he quips, raising his glass in her direction.

"Drink?”

She shakes her head. “I won’t be long.”

“Ah. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’m just checking in to see how you are.” she leans her arm against the floor-length window before him. “After all, your brothers are all… indisposed right now.”

“And why would that be any of your concern?”

Bel ignores the question and just stares out across the river and the lights, riding out her train of thought. “It’s been what, eight months? You’re not just gonna let them rot in jail, are you?"

Tom doesn’t budge. In fact, he sounds rather bored-- like he’s been through this multiple times. "Just so you know, MI6 is not authorized to question me without a warrant--

“I’m not here on behalf of MI6,” she cuts him off, sharp but even. "I just had to see it for myself. Never pegged you for a traitor." a ghost of a smile breaks out from the corner of her lips, finally making eye contact with the infamous mob leader… and keeping it.

He stares her down right back, pulling an equally icy smile. “Well, isn’t that rich, coming from you.”

“I was never on your side,” she corrects him, her face and tone placid as ever. Bel reaches into her back pocket, not missing how Tom reflexively reaches the back of his couch. She takes out a plain white envelope and tosses it across his coffee table. “But this time, I can be.”

Tom stops its dragging motion with his index finger. “What’s this?”

“Leverage.”

“Is that right?”

“You have my word.”

“What’s that word worth now, eh?”

Bel bites back the inside of her cheek in amusement. Harry had said the same thing to her many years ago, and it made her wonder whether he takes after Harry or the other way around.

“Come on, Tommy. You know there’s nothing quite like honor among thieves,” she smirks in teasing, “Or are you above it all now?”

He crosses his arms and leans back, considering his options.

“I've been thinking about how strange this all is. What drove you, Thomas Holland, to throw your family to the dogs? You have all the money and power you could ever want. What is it?”

They stare at each other for the longest, just sizing each other up. She all but meets her match-- just as cunning, just as calculating. Just as desperate to win, to escape.

In putting up the facade.

And in that moment Bel sees it break through the cracks-- she’s not even sure she saw it at first. The striking similarity with his younger brother. At first she thought it was simply their physical features; the curls unruly after a long day, the tight line of his lips when he's deep in thought, the same bone structure as the shadow covers part of his face...

But she sees it in his eyes. A split second of vulnerability. The kind that she sees in her own reflection.

“There’s only one thing that can blind a man as smart as you, Tommy.” the realization dawns almost solemnly to her. “Love.”

He neither confirms nor denies, he just… hums. Letting her think she has the upper hand while he pieces it all together. She'd read him like a book, but in doing so, she showed her cards, too. And he realizes that the two of them are not so different, after all. She’s taking all of this risk to go behind MI6’s back, and for what? There’s no plausible reason for her to do that, unless--

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?” he guesses, watching for any minute change in her expression. There’s none, but he presses anyway. “You came in for your mission but you fell in love with him for real.”

The breath in Bel’s throat nearly hitches, but she wills herself to stay calm. She wills every muscle in her body to stay as they are. “Love is for children. I owe him a debt."

“Aren’t we just children in the end, Bel? Same antics, same petty games. Just a much bigger playground.”

They sit there in silence, in stillness, in the shadows. In an unspoken bond over loss and loneliness. It’s a fleeting moment, but for two people who always feel like they’re on the run, it feels like a whole night’s worth of solace.

Bel eventually gets up from her seat, seeing herself out. She stops by the door and says, “I hope you make the right decision.”

Tom finishes his scotch as soon as the doors close, letting the warmth burn his chest, and the choice sink in. His mind goes through all the possibilities-- all the risks and opportunities- as he reads Bel’s document, even though he already knows the answer he’s rooting for.

***

It takes three weeks, two days, and eighteen hours for Harry and his brothers to be released and placed on house arrest. Another four arduous months of trials until the charges are dropped and they are able to reach another agreement with the British government. Through it all, Bel and Harry lived on the same side of town, merely a couple of miles away from each other, and never saw each other once.

So when he’s officially declared a free man, Harry barely sets foot in his house before he runs all the way to Bel’s home. He hardly gets his arms into his coat sleeves as he dashes through the rain. The pouring water wakes him up, ensuring him that he’s not daydreaming --he does that a lot in captivity. He takes in the bleak autumn air in deep draws, the sharp sting of cold feels comforting somehow. And every step just propels him closer and closer to where he needs to be.

Bel had sent him an address just days after he returned home. There was no knowing how long the trials would last, but they wanted to keep their hopes up. They needed to-- it was the only thing that kept them going. For Bel, it made her sleep easier knowing Harry knows where to find her this time. Meanwhile Harry… well, he spent his restless nights memorizing his way to her door.

He reaches the house at the end of the lane, passing through doors of red and black and white. Blue like the TARDIS, she once said. His boots splash into a puddle for the millionth time and he only feels the dampness on his shin as he runs up the steps to her door. He barely puts his knuckles against the wood when it magically opens.

And there she is, ethereal as ever and always, on the other side of the door. Two years after they’d last seen each other. More than a year overdue. Life seems to be so hell-bent on keeping them apart, but not even two most powerful nations and a whole mob could succeed. For the first time in a very long time, Harry feels victorious.

“Bel,” he breathes out as he rushes over. He wraps his arms around her and kisses her like he’d been deprived of it.

In all honesty, he really was.

Her cold, rough palms meet his cheeks, stroking so gently. It’s the first semblance of warmth he’d ever had for so long. All he wants to do is to just hold onto it for as long as he humanly can. The soft stroke of her hand, the familiar scent of her shampoo, the perfect fit of her body against his. The quiet comfort that’s understood, given and received without a word.

And he swears it’s raining inside her house.

“Hey, kid,” she smiles as she pulls away wiping his eyes, and he realizes that the droplets from his hair had melded together with their tears. “Missed me?”

“Of course. Didn’t you?”

A sob escapes her this time. “Yeah, you can say that.”

He chases her kiss again, craving that quietude in their union once more. Reunions are usually emotionally, physically charged affairs, but this time it’s different. He’d been strung up so tight, that the moment she fills up his senses, everything else just dissolves into nothingness.

There’s just her lips, breathing life into every part of him that she touches.

His drenched coat is soon discarded on the floor and his white shirt unbuttoned, thanks to Bel’s restless fingers. She revels in the taste of his sweat and the mist and the way he just gives in to every kiss. Every lick, every bite.

She doesn’t miss how he bucks his hips forward when she works at his belt, pushing his trousers and boxers at once. His hard cock springs against his stomach, and they let out a soft sigh in unison-- Bel for an appetite reawakened, and Harry for a frenzy finally sedated.

Her tongue wets his balls to his shaft, tracing the tight veins along the side, all the way to his leaking tip. She looks up at him as she spreads his precum all over and watches his eyes fight to stay open. To stay on her. She doesn’t even need to say anything; she just smiles in approval and ravishes all of him with her mouth.

“Bel…”

He utters it like he just can’t get enough, and it’s like music to her ears. She never had a shortage of men and women moaning her name in earnest (even though it’s not even her real name sometimes), but none of them ever came close. All she ever wanted is this man with the red hair and the button nose and the quick wits and the perfect cock that’s so weak for her.

She takes him so deep inside her throat, he thought he was gonna black out. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, desperate to cling onto something as he feels himself drifting in and out of himself. His surroundings. All he feels is her; her lips, her tongue, her breath.

It takes him everything to say, “No, wait. Bel, I’m gonna come--”

But instead, she lets go of him for a moment to respond with, “Good. I want you to.”

He spills into her mouth in an exhilarating wave of pleasure. His eyes roll back into his skull, but he can feel her sucking and swallowing every drop of his cum. His knees turn to mush and he slides down to the floor, head resting against the wall. She kisses him like the sweetest thing in the world, and the salty taste of his release from her mouth makes him dizzy.

“Harry?” she calls him quietly, soothingly, nose colliding with his. “Come back to me.”

He chases her mouth feverishly. “Mm. Missed you.”

“Missed you, too, kid.” she smiles warmly. “Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes before you catch a cold, yeah?”

Harry takes her hand, heavy and floating at the same time, and lets her draw him a bath. Make him dinner. Take him to bed, where they would reunite again and again until they’re satisfied-- even though they never are. He licks his own cum from her pussy until she’s writhing into his mouth, and they do it all over again. Or she just keeps his cock sheathed inside her, cum running down their thighs, as they relish in the stillness of each other until desire takes over once more.

And in between, they would talk. About her charming little house, the mundane hobbies they’d taken up in the prolonged absence of each other. Nothing about prison. Nothing about MI6. Nothing about that side of their life. They just want to pretend that they're Harry and Bel, two ordinary people who happen to have been apart.

At least, for as long as time will allow.

“I’m gonna talk to Tom today,” he pipes up over his tea the next morning, “Tell him I’m leaving.”

Bel pauses. “Think he’d take it well?”

“He has to. He owes me that much, at least.”

She doesn’t say anything else. It’s hard to tread something so brutal after living in a moment of ignorant bliss.

“I can lay low for a few months, while you finish whatever you have with work.”

“It won’t be long,” she reassures him almost immediately, like she couldn't wait to say it.

Harry seems slightly surprised, in a good way. “They won’t get suspicious?”

“People resign after a national security crisis more often than you think," she shrugs, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

Breakfast goes by in an idle lull of domesticity. A quiet lull on a Saturday morning with clinks of cutleries and rustles of light rain outside. Playing house for the last time, before they get to do it for real.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours, yeah?" Harry says as he puts his coat on.

"See you in a bit." she grins, cheery and genuine, and pecks him on the lips before she sees him out, walking down her quiet street.

And as difficult as it feels to leave behind the life and the people he’s always known, Harry walks with a spring in his steps, retracing his steps the day before, knowing he’ll return to start the long-awaited life with his lover very soon. Take the scenic route around the globe to find their new home. Maybe somewhere in the countryside, or by the beach, or stay anonymous in another busy city… the possibilities are endless.

He doesn’t think much of it when a man in a black coat bumps into him on the street. In lieu of an apology, though, he whispers, “The Five Families in New York sends their regards, Harry Holland.”

Harry reaches for his gun, but even his quick reflexes can’t beat a ready pull of the trigger. The gunshot is muffled at point-blank range, although the pain rips a splitting burn all over his body and his nerves feel like they're screaming bloody murder. He falls to the ground unconscious just a block away from Tom’s home.

From freedom.

******

tagging lovely people who might be interested? hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned for the finale! 💖

@tommysparker  @allmyspideys  @peterbenjiparker @unicorn-princess-1999  @miraclesoflove  @spideyspeaches  @calltothewild  @more-like-reyna @fallinfortom​ @hollanderfangirl  @terrifictomholland  @ethereal-beauty-p @darlingspidey​ @annathesillyfriend  @angel-holland  @fallinfortom  @kiwi-bitchez  @kelieah  @shipping-not-sailing  @hotforharrison  @chrisosterfield  @hxrryhxlland  @unsaidholland  @multiholland  @princessofguineapigs @duskholland @marvelouspeterparker @t-o-m-hollands @rebekkah4766 @galaxystern08 @the-panwitch @sovereignparker @geminiparkers @keenmarvellover @holland-styles @hazardosterfield @mischiefmanaged011 @parker-hollandx @slytherin-chaser @dummiesshort @marvelhoesworld @theliterarymess @siriuslyslyslytherin @lmaotshollandd @rosee-eemma

[itsspideyparker]

So...I have this book

It's a book of random writing prompts and I thought I could share what I come up with on my page.

Cuz it's my page and I can do whatever the hell I want!

A/N: It turned out okay and I didn't expect it to turn into a Mob!Tom Holland fanfic but ya know...that boy has my heart. 

Pairing : Mob!Tom x OC 

Rated : mild?

Warnings : cursing, fluff?, my first real-ass post (sooo mistakes?) 

So anywoo, here is the first one :

I knew I would regret the question the moment the words were out of my mouth, but I couldn't take it back now. Why did I have to ask

if he loved me? Of course he didn't. In his eyes, I was, and would always be, this girl who he was stuck with because of some stupid agreement our parents came up with. I would always be the girl he didn’t asked for and he would always be the guy who got stuck. 

Sure, recently it felt like something changed in that dynamic or something evolved between us. Surely that kiss meant something right? Then again, he was everything, and I was no one. He was Tom Holland, heir to a fucking Mafia, feared by almost everyone, untouchable, and who was I? 

An exchange. 

The prize after a fucked up deal made by my father. Father who chose the coward's way out instead of owning up to his mistakes. Father who chose money over his own fucking daughter. Father who gave me up like nothing. Like a dog you don’t want to take care of anymore.

So here I was, my fifth month stuck in the Holland Manor, feeling like Belle in Beauty and the Beast; only the Beast was an actual person who could end me at any given point. One mistake and that was it. It took an entire month before I came out of the room they had set up for me, another to start fully talking to them.

Another to start having feelings for Tom.

Of course I knew about the whole Stockholm Syndrom thing and, believe me when I say that I hated him for a full on two months and gave him a piece of my mind once or twice. But then it shifted from hate to curiosity. I wondered about that man who looked both terrifying and beautiful at the same time. And so, during an entire month, we talked and got to know one another.

I learned he loved his family more than anything. I learned he preferred dogs over cats. His favorite color was blue. He loved reading. 

He thought I was beautiful.

Then the kiss happened, bringing my heart with it. 

But, surely, he didn’t love me, because I was there by accident. I was only there because of my father. Surely, he didn’t want me as much as I wanted him. Surely, he didn’t think about me everyday just as I did.

That’s why what came out of his mouth shocked me to my core.

‘‘Yeah, I do.’‘ he spoke, locking his eyes on mine.

Fear left my bones and was replaced by the loud beating of my heart and a soft flutter of butterflies in my stomac. Did he just-

‘‘You what?’‘ I mumbled, my voice muffled by the beating of my own heart. 

He took a step, his face softening as he placed both of his hands on my cheeks, wiping away tears I didn’t know were falling. 

‘‘I love you.’‘ He whispered before crashing his lips on mine.

Surely, he didn’t love me.

[hollandsosterfield-blog]

I loved fluffy mob!tom with his son and daughter!! What about tom reading a lullaby to his daughter and then having a cigar with his son??

Tom walked up the stairs of your mansion, your two years old daughter in his arms, her winnie the pooh teddy bear close to her chest, her head resting on his shoulder while her tiny arms were wrapped around his neck.

He went into her room and putted her in her bed before covering her body with her Frozen blanket, he sat on the edge of her bed and stroked her head.

“can you sing me a lullaby?” she asked, hiding half of her face under her cover.

Tom laughed and started singing her one of her favorite lullaby called ‘three little bird’ while stroking her head. After finishing singing it, he kissed her forehead and stood up, “goodnight my princess,”

“goodnight daddy,” she said, blowing a kiss for him. Tom pretented to catch it and putting it in his pocket which made giggle your daughter.

After turning on her night light and closing her door, he went into his office where your son was already there, smoking a cigar on the balcony.

He joined him on the balcony and took the cigar your son handed him.

“She’s sleeping?” He asked his father, blowing out a puff.

“Yes,” Tom said, starting to smoke his cigar.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking behind Tom, seeing his little sister walking towards their dad.

Tom followed his eyes, turning around and seeing his little girl, tilting her head, smiling at him, “What are you doing here?” He asked in disbelief, putting his cigar on a table that were nearby him.

“I wanted another lullaby.” She said, shaking her arms from right to left. “And also a hug.” She raised her arms so that he could take her in his.

Tom sighed, “You know I can’t resist you.” He took her in his arms and she looked at her big brother who was grinning the whole time.

Earlier in the week, she told him that when their father would left her room, she would immediately left her bed and would follow him. Although she was really tired and it took her all her strength, she was trying to stay awake to spend a few more minutes with him.

She said to her brother, “You work with daddy and you can see him all day, but I can’t work with him too, so I have to find solutions.”

Your son laughed, seeing his little sister wink at him as Tom came out of his office and headed back towards her room again, unaware that it would not be the last time she would come to see him right after he thought she was sleeping.