#they cut cause they knew i would first thing romance house

[damnfeelings09]

VALENTINE'S DAY COUNTDOWN

First date - Shadow the Hedghog

Pairing: Shadow the hedghog x female reader Tags: fluff, comfort, awkward crush. Word count: 750. Prompt: you and Shadow have been friends for a while, and although he has a massive crush on you and is dying to have you as more than a friend he's not willing to take that step (secretly he's very insecure okay) after a little encouragement from Sonic he asked you out he never imagined how it would end. Notes: First valentine's day prompt and what better way to start it than with my eternal love Shadow. I'm love/romance depraved so these promts will be fluff in its cheesiest and purest form (like melting chocolate in a super sweet cotton candy ice cream with a Cherry on top kind of sickeningly sweet) This time I'll try a different style so let me know if you like it.

Shadow wasn't afraid of anything. He was the ultimate lifeform after all, then… why did his pulse quicken every time he was near you? Why did he feel his palms get wet each time you smiled at him? Why did his fight or flight response activated every time you were there?

Shadow wasn't afraid of anything. But maybe, maybe he was afraid of what he felt for you, afraid that he would become addicted to the feeling of you caressing his cheek, afraid that he couldn't go on without seeing the sparkle in your eyes every day, afraid of getting used to the warmth of your hand on his, afraid that if he said a word of what he felt he would lose you, because let's be honest, who could love a monster like him?

He was unsure, and every time that happened he went to Rouge, however the bat was not at home, so he went to his second best worst option. Sonic

Sonic with his usual cocky grin as Shadow explained the situation. Sonic, the same Sonic that he punched every chance he got just to release some stress and because he enjoyed it, the same Sonic that screwed up time and time again running away from Amy was the one that Shadow had decided to approach for romantic advice.

“Just don't think too much about it Shads” Sonic had said ”She likes you, trust me”

“Easier said than done”

“Well, it's either that or you'll be stuck with ' what could’ve been' forever.”

Honestly, Sonic hadn't been much help, but at least he had planted the seed of doubt in Shadow. What would be the worst that could happen if he kept his feelings to himself? You would probably find someone, that someone would take your hand, receive your caresses, taste your lips and you would forget about him, leaving him aside, alone, unloved.

No. Shadow wouldn't let that happen, the little bit of love he got from you was too addictive and he wasn't about to let anyone else have it. He had made up his mind and although the chances of you feeling the same were low they still weren't 0. He still had no idea how he managed to do it, well maybe he had a little idea. He knew he had walked you home, he knew he had said a few embarrassing things as you walked together making you laugh, what he didn't know was where he had gotten the courage to ask you out when you were about to enter your house.

“See you tomorrow Shadow,” you said waving goodbye to him.

“Wait” he said almost in a whisper. You turned, shaking your head to the side “I... ah...” he scratched his head.

“Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to... I wanted to ask you out.”

“Sure! You know I love going out with you Shadow”

“As... in a date”

“Oh...” oh? What did that mean, it wasn't the yes he was expecting but it wasn't a denial either, it was as if he had surprised you, as if you didn't imagine he could have feelings for-

“I'd love to” you cut off his thought bringing him back to earth. The smile on your face showed shyness but the pink blush on your cheeks and the loud thumping of your heart confirmed to Shadow that his feelings were reciprocated. “I... I'd like you for a while, just didn't know of you might... like me too” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear meeting your gaze with Shadow's causing him to blush. If this were a cartoon his eyes would have turned into hearts and little blue birds would fly around his head.

“I've been feeling like this for a while too, just...”

“It’s okay” you smiled “I'll see you tomorrow for our date” you walked up to him and deposited a kiss on his cheek, waving your fingers in a goodbye motion and closing the door behind you. Little did he know that you slid down the door frame, hand on your heart triyng to stop the rush in your body.

Shadow stood outside your door, his hand holding the very spot where your lips had touched his cheek trying to capture the warmth of your touch, his stomach felt funny as if something was churning inside him just remembering your kiss. It was then that he realized that maybe allowing himself to be happy wasn't such a bad thing.

[arvandus]

The Beauty of Broken Things

Barbatos x GN!Reader

Content warnings: SFW; reader with (vague) mental health issues; Reader has self-deprecating thoughts and low self-esteem; hurt/comfort; lots of dialogue; romance; first kiss (cuz I'm a sap 💚)

Author's Note: Not me coming out of hiatus to drop this at 1:20am on a weekday. ANYWAY.... I was going through it a month or so ago and this was very therapeutic and self-indulgent to write. Hopefully you'll find some comfort in it as well. 💚

You creep into the RAD greenhouse under the cover of the Devildom darkness.  The warm yellow lights, usually on to allow students to observe and take notes,  are turned off for the evening, causing the devildom flora to transform from something familiar to something alien, branches reaching like arms and long, pointed leaves stretched out like grasping fingers.

But despite the sinister threat of danger that is interlaced in the native plant life, it still feels comforting.  The gnarled limbs and black leaves feel more protective than threatening, arching over your head to provide a canopy of privacy in the quiet, uninhabited space.

Usually the greenhouse is a bustle of student activity, with botany classes often perusing the aisles with their notebooks and art students lingering with their sketchbooks.  But classes had long since ended, the busy chaos of academia ushered away by the sinking of the large Devildom moon, bringing with it night within night.

You need this.  You need the silence, the privacy, the darkness.  The House of Lamentation doesn’t offer it.  The Demon Lord’s castle is also not an option as you don’t want to impose purely for the sake of self-isolation.

No, this is perfect.  It is safe, safer than losing yourself in the real forests that press against the outskirts of the Devildom.  It is a place for hiding, a place for becoming invisible.  It is a place that makes you feel small, from the tightly clustered plants around you to the vast starry sky that slowly rotates high beyond the confines of the glass ceiling.  You could almost pretend you’re a bug, an insect, or some other small life form who’s only purpose is to exist in the here and now, moment to moment. 

Maybe then you could find peace in your mind; maybe that voice of sickness and lies that whispered louder than any demon would fall silent.

Not all days were this bad.  But the added stress, the fatigue.... you knew it was only a matter of time before you found yourself dangerously close to that pitch black rock bottom. You felt it encroaching, a shadow teasing the edges of your mind, and you knew... you knew you had to find somewhere to gather yourself, to work through it without interruption or curious eyes.

This helps.  A place of quiet, of privacy, of nature, even if the nature isn’t your own.  In its own alien way, it’s perfect.

Perfect, but also lonely. You both love and hate it, glad to be unnoticed for once but vulnerable against the rare isolation.  Rare, but not unfamiliar.  You sit with it; let it soak into your bones.  Like putting on old shoes that still fit, worn soles perfectly conformed to your feet, your mind eases into accepting that familiar ache, a feeling not often experienced anymore, but still deeply rooted in old memories and dreams.  The old loneliness hollows you out, slows the blood rushing through your veins as your mind eventually quiets to a low hum of white noise.  It brings its own twisted kind of peace; not the healthy kind that heals and rejuvenates, but the broken kind that separates you from yourself, an act of cutting rather than mending.

If you could turn to stone in this moment, you would.

But not even this will last forever, your quiet reverie interrupted by the sound of the door to the greenhouse opening and closing.  The sound of the click and the creak of the hinge is startling against the endless quiet, and it makes you jolt.  You fight the irrational urge to hide within the surrounding shrubbery, as if such an act would truly hide you at all, and instead curl in on yourself with arms and legs crossed on the stone bench where you sit.

Whoever it is, is as silent as a ghost; you hear no footsteps, nor sounds of breath.  Whoever it is does not speak, so you know instantly it is not any of the brothers or even Diavolo.  But you feel their presence, and you know they feel yours.  There is an awareness in the air that wasn’t present before, the atmosphere going from one of empty quiet, to buzzing consciousness.

A moment later, a familiar pair of polished black shoes come into your field of view, attached to a familiar set of legs that stand formally in a way that only a royal butler could accomplish.

You look up and your eyes meet Barbatos, who stares down at you with a calm, curious expression and a slight tilt of his head.  He’s still dressed in his RAD uniform, but his white gloves are removed, likely tucked into the interior chest pocket of his tailcoat.

“MC,” he says gently.  “I did not expect you to be here. You do know that the RAD campus is closed, yes?”

“I know,” you reply. 

Even so, you make no motion to move, your body still curled within itself protectively.  It isn’t so much to protect against him, but to hold onto that feeling of smallness that helps to separate you from the ache in your chest and the cacophony of your mind. 

“Why are you here?” you ask.

“Some of the flora require care after school hours, so I tend to them prior to locking up for the evening.”

“Ah.” Your sour mood strips you of your warmth, your words fading away as you retreat back into yourself.

Barbatos stares at you for a moment longer, before gesturing to the bench. “May I?”

You return his stare with your own before moving over just enough to make room for him.  The bench is small, comfortable for one, a slight squeeze for two, but he sits nonetheless, seemingly unbothered.  The proximity of him is a brand and a blessing, the heat of him surprisingly comforting while your heart thuds harder in your chest.  You’re rarely ever this close to him, any prior instances of physical contact occurring out of necessity rather than choice.

You both sit in silence for a long time.  You aren’t sure if he is expecting an explanation from you, but you couldn’t give one even if you wanted to, the struggles within yourself too tangled to fully unravel, especially with how weathered you feel.

Finally, after a few minutes, he is the one to break the silence, the smooth richness of his voice breaking the quiet that sits like a bridge between you.

“I often find the Devildom flora more beautiful in the dark.”

It is an olive branch, and you take it, a small smile curling the corners of your lips.

“Me too,” you reply.  “It feels more natural this way. When the lights are on, it feels like we’re trying to force the plants and flowers to be something they’re not.”

Barbatos stares at you for a long, quiet moment before returning his gaze ahead of him.  “Indeed. Things are more beautiful when they are allowed to be themselves.”

A sentiment you share, and yet it isn’t one you can extend to yourself, and it cuts you.

“I wish that were always true...” you mutter.

It’s a thought whispered past private lips, and you regret them instantly when his keen, green eyes, nearly black in the darkness, flick back to you.

“Why would it not be?” he asks.

You shift uncomfortably and swallow the lump that suddenly manifests where your voice is supposed to be.

“I don’t know...” you finally mutter evasively.

You feel his eyes lingering on you, and it feels as if he can read the dark thoughts that live there, shadow where sunlight should be.  But if he can read your mind, he doesn’t say so, and he doesn’t pry further.

Instead, Barbatos does something that you do not expect.  His hand covers yours, untangling your fingers from your tightly clasped palms that sit in your lap.  His touch is warm, warmer than you thought it’d be, and you can’t help but wonder how different his body really is from yours when it feels so human.

You watch as Barbatos twines his fingers with yours, a simple but shockingly intimate action.  It’s surprisingly comforting, fulfilling a longing within you that you didn’t even realize you carried so heavily until just now; an anchor of companionship, unwavering in its simplicity, gentle in its unassuming nature.  There’s a lack of expectation in Barbatos’s touch, a quiet acceptance of the here and now, of the you of this moment, rather than the ‘you’ that you always present to others, or the ‘you’ that others expect of you.

It makes something within you surrender.  It forces the dissociation from your mind, pulling you instantly back into reality, into your body. Barbatos’s tenderness, given freely without price, carves a space for itself within your chest, and it hurts, the sudden sharpness of vulnerability an open wound.  That vulnerability is unfamiliar, raw, terrifying. It calls forth your fears, makes the voices of wrongness sing louder than ever, listing all of the ways you are undeserving of this moment.  And you’re angry, angry at their presence, and their ability to ruin even this for you, to taint something peaceful and beautiful with something so ugly.

The tears finally come, blurring your vision and spilling over silently onto your cheeks.  More come immediately after, and you sniff, your nose starting to run as you wipe at your face.  A handkerchief appears within your view, and you take it, your heart too shy and embarrassed to look at Barbatos properly or even offer him a mumbled thank you.  But he shows no discomfort or disdain for your tears or lack of manners. Instead, he sits quietly with you, waiting patiently as he holds your hand securely within his own, his thumb rubbing soothing strokes on the soft skin between your thumb and index finger.

Quietly you cry, and quietly he waits.  Each second longer that you cry is a confession of your imperfection, your brokenness, and each second longer that Barbatos stays by your side is an acceptance, a forgiveness.  And so, without even speaking to one another, the very act of this shared moment provides a cleansing of your heart that you’d never felt before.  Each drop of salty water is a purge, a release.  There’s an amusing irony to it; an exorcism of sorts in a place where God isn’t welcome, supported by a creature who’s existence came from darkness.

The catharsis brings release, and the release brings fatigue.  The rigidness of your spine gives way to something more pliable, and you lean your head against his shoulder as you continue to weep, albeit gentler now that the worst of it has passed.  Barbatos lets you, his thumb barely missing a beat in its strokes against your hand.  He makes no effort to increase his physical reassurance; no arm around your shoulder, no leaning of his head against the crown of yours.  You’re grateful for it, not quite ready to be touched so completely.  Maybe soon... after all, the thought does entice you... but not yet. Not when your heart is still raw and tender.

No, this is perfect. It’s just enough.

Finally, the floodwaters of your heart recede, and you wipe away the last traces of wetness from your cheeks with his silk handkerchief. It’s damp with tears and snot now, and you know you’ll have to wash it before returning it to him.  You fiddle with it with your free hand, your thumb tracing along the cursive B that is sewn into its corner with dark thread, the color muted to black in the dark.

Your hands are still intertwined with each other, your head still resting against his shoulder, and you’re grateful for it as you find the courage to finally speak, your eyes still trained on that cursive B.

Your voice is quiet, hushed by hesitancy.  “Barbatos...I have a question...”

“Hm?”

“When I die, and my soul leaves my body.... does.... does that mean that the mental illness won’t be there anymore?  Does that part get left behind?”

“Ah,” Barbatos says softly, his voice rich with understanding. “I see.”

You sit up, although his hand still holds yours; after all, you haven’t pulled away yet.  But your eyes... your eyes are downcast, the shame of your breakdown too heavy regardless of Barbatos’s tenderness.

Now that you’ve finally confessed your fear it becomes easier to speak, and the words come more freely.  “I’m just... I’m tired of being this way.  Feeling this way, thinking this way.  It’s always there, like this big, lurking monster that I can’t escape from. Except it’s a part of me. I don’t know who I am without it. And I’m—” tears choke your words, but you force yourself to continue even as your eyes once again brim and sting.  “I’m just so afraid that it’ll never go away. Even when I die, and my soul is separated from this broken fucking body—”

A long, slender finger covers your lips, halting your impending tirade of self-loathing.  It forces you to finally look at him, and you’re surprised to see how deep the concern goes within his dark gaze.

“Shh,” he says.  “Don’t say such things.  It does the richness of all that you are a disservice.”

His words stun you into silence, and you stare at him wide-eyed.  He holds your gaze for a moment longer before taking the handkerchief from your clenched fist.  You start to protest, embarrassed at the state of it, but he ignores your concerns and uses a relatively clean spot to wipe away your new tears.

You fall silent as he cares for you, and in that silence, he begins to speak.

“You humans so often like to label and categorize things, an attempt at making sense of the world around you when you’re forever doomed to know so little. Lines of comparison drawn on a beach, not realizing that in the end, it’s all made of sand.”

You frown. “I don’t understand.”

“What you’re speaking of is a sickness of the mind, correct?”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it...”

Barbatos takes your palm in his hand and turns it face up.  “I’ve heard you humans often use the term ‘mind, body, and soul’ as if they are all separate.  Back when I spent time in the human realm, humans treated the soul as synonymous with the heart and the mind as synonymous with the brain, both housed within the body.”  With his finger, he draws one large circle, and within it, places two dots vertically spaced from each other.

You stare at your palm as you ponder his words.  “Yes,” you say, “that idea still lingers... sort of...”

 You take his hand in yours, and draw your own circles – a small, a medium, and a large, all inset within each other like a target.

“I think... I see the soul and mind as synonymous of each other, in way, that they depend on each other. Or...”

 You hesitate, your fears surfacing again as you stare at Barbatos’s open palm.

 “I think...” you continue slowly, “I think I’m afraid that they’re the same thing. That the soul only exists because of the mind. If that’s true, then if my mind is broken, then so is my soul, and I’ll be carrying that brokenness with me forever.  It’s like... trying to forge something using a metal riddled with impurities.  The integrity will always be compromised, no matter how beautiful the shape in the end.”

Barbatos’s open hand closes around yours, cradling your fingertips that still rest against his skin. He turns your hand over palm up again.

“Imagine this” – he draws a large circle – “is your body. And this” – he draws a smaller circle within it – “is your mind.”

You wait for the third circle, but it never comes.  You frown.

“Where is the soul?”

“Everywhere,” he says.

Your gaze lifts from your open hand to his eyes.  He smiles back at you in quiet mirth, then drops his gaze back to your hand.  His fingers retrace over the larger circle he’d first drawn into your palm.

“Your soul,” he repeats, “is everywhere.”

Confusion once again surfaces in the contours of your face. Barbatos stares at you for a moment as he searches for the words in a way that you can understand.  His eyes sink deep beneath the surface of you, and it makes you shift beneath his gaze.  After a moment he blinks, his amusement returning.

“Perhaps it is my choice of words that is unclear,” he says. “Allow me to try again.” 

He pokes your forehead with his index finger.  “Your mind is not the same as your soul the way you fear.  It is simply consciousness, self-awareness provided you by your biology,” he explains.

“You mean my brain.”

“Yes.”

“So my mind is just another part of my body.”

“Precisely.  Your body is merely the medium through which you experience this life, whether it’s through your senses, such as sight and touch, or through your consciousness.”

He returns to your hand, his fingers tracing the invisible large circle for a third time.

“Your soul, on the other hand, is a different thing entirely.  It isn’t something that can be contained to one organ within you.  Not your heart, not your brain.  It’s deeper than that, richer,” he says quietly, as if sharing a secret.

His touch travels, his fingertips gliding feather-light across your palm, up your wrist, following the tendons and veins to your forearm where goosebumps begin to awaken across your sensitive skin.

“It’s energy.  It’s life,” he continues. “It’s eternal, and it’s woven into every fiber of your being, a golden thread holding you together like the universe’s most exquisite tapestry.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers curve around your forearm until he holds it within his hand, his thumb rubbing gently against the soft skin where your veins rest beneath. His words enrapture you, his touch enthralls you. If there was ever a moment in your life you could stay trapped in forever, it would be this one.

But the moment is short-lived.  Barbatos’s soothing touch halts mid-motion, his expression turning blank, as if he suddenly remembers himself and realizes the growing intimacy of the exchange.  He withdraws his hand, and it leaves a cold emptiness where his warmth had been.

You ponder his words, but it only leads to more questions.

“My soul is everywhere...” you mutter.  “But Barbatos... if it’s woven into my body, then how...?”

“How does your soul pass on after you die?”

You nod.

Barbatos holds his chin in his fingers thoughtfully.  “You are thinking too literally.  Perhaps it is my own failure to find the right words.  Human speech doesn’t offer enough nuance to fully describe something your kind still struggles to understand.”

He ponders a moment longer, his brow knit together in concentration.  Finally his head lifts and his gaze meets yours.  “Ah.  Perhaps we can describe it as such.  Your body is made of matter, correct? And if you look deep enough, you know that all matter is made up of atoms.  But not even atoms ever completely touch.” He takes your hand in one of his and holds it up, your palm facing him, as he brings his other hand within a hair’s breadth; close enough to feel the heat emanating off of him, but not actually touching.  “There’s a negative space, ever present yet so infinitesimal that you’d never know it’s there.”  His hand finally touches yours, his fingers aligned with yours as he splays them out.  “It is this space that your soul exists, interwoven, encapsulating every atom of what you are.”

You’re staring at your touching hands, wide-eyed now, as you take in what he’s told you.  The scope of it feels nearly too vast to properly comprehend, despite how hard you try.

“It’s all very... complicated...” you mutter as you finally lower your hand back to your lap.

“Hm, is it?” Barbatos replies with a curious tilt of his head.  “Here then, another example, but simpler.  If you were to lose a limb, would it damage your soul?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re separate.”

And finally, it clicks for you. 

Barbatos smiles.  “Precisely.  So, if a lost limb will not damage your soul, then why should a damaged mind?”

The weightlessness of relief begins to spread from the center of your chest, and you release a long, deep breath.

“I see,” you say.  “So when I die...”

“When you die, your soul continues on, transformed, as your body decays.”

The balloon of relief breaks and you do a doubletake.  “...transformed?”

Barbatos nods.  “Yes, by your experiences and choices in this life.”

Once again that despair rears, the dark void opening beneath your feet as you cling to your dwindling hope. You once again wrap your arms around yourself protectively, as if you are the only one who can keep yourself from falling, despite the presence of the demon directly in front of you.

“But... Barbatos,” you protest, “sometimes mental illnesses can cause people to make bad choices.  Wrong choices.  Hurtful choices.  If those can impact the soul, then wouldn’t that mean the soul does get damaged? Or tainted?”

Barbatos falls silent for a long moment, and you avoid looking into his eyes, your gaze downcast.  His hand reaches out and covers your forearm reassuringly, but your arms remain crossed.

“As a demon, I cannot attest to how just the Celestial Realm’s rules are.  I, for one, find them to be rather suffocating and arbitrary, lacking in nuance.  But even I would be shocked if such things weren’t taken into consideration when it is time for a soul to be set upon the scales of judgment.”

Scales of judgment... the idea makes you nauseous.

Barbatos’s touch to your forearm is replaced by both of his hands on your arms just below the shoulders.  You can tell from the way he moves that he is ducking his head lower in an attempt to catch your avoiding eyes, but you keep  yourself hidden lest your tears return.

“MC....” he says softly,  “are you worried that you will be judged unfairly when your time comes?”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice, and when you do it’s thicker, heavy under the weight of emotions.  “Maybe... or maybe I’m worried I’ll be judged fairly.”

“If you do not go to heaven when your time comes, then the Celestial Realm truly is run by fools.”

His words surprise you, and you finally catch his gaze, amusement beneath a raised, sarcastic brow.  Your skin grows hot and you avert your eyes for a different reason, your shoulders lifting slightly in subtle retreat.

“Well,” you continue, “you said yourself that the soul gets transformed during this life.  I’ve made some not-so-great choices, so far.  I’ve done things I regret; hurt people I’ve loved and even people I didn’t.  What if my soul is not as good as I hope?”

Barbatos gives a soft scoff of amusement, his brows pinching up in the center as he stares at you in wry amusement.  “My dear, the very idea that your soul is anything but good is quite literally an impossibility.”

Your tension loosens slightly. “How do you know?”

The corner of one side of his mouth quirks up slightly. “Well, to start, I am a demon. And as one of the oldest demons, I have devoured countless souls across my lifetime.  If anyone is to be an expert on the quality of a soul it would be me.”

Something about the way he talks so simply about his violence, combined with his intimate kindness, makes you feel lightheaded.

It takes an extra heartbeat for you to find enough air in your lungs to speak.  “And, uh...what does a demon such as yourself consider high quality?”

Barbatos stares distantly, and for a moment he feels ancient.  When he speaks, his voice seems almost otherworldly, holding a resonance to it that wasn’t there before.  “It varies from demon to demon.  Some enjoy the flavor of corruption upon a soul, some prefer the sweet, crisp freshness of innocence and purity... but all human souls possess something that ours lack, something that makes us crave.  We’re drawn to it, in the way your human realm plants are drawn to sunlight.” He pauses and shakes his head.  “No, perhaps that analogy is too mild.  It is more how the Devildom’s Succubus’s Kiss lures its victims into its choking vines with the sweet promise of fruit.”

You swallow for a moment, your throat suddenly dry as you stare at your now empty palms where your longing for him sits abandoned.

“You make it sound as if humans are the dangerous ones,” you chide.

A half-hearted attempt at a joke, but Barbatos chuckles nonetheless.

“Yes; perhaps you are.”

You can’t tell in this moment if he’s referring to ‘you’ as in humanity, or ‘you’ as in something far more personal.  It only makes the curiosity sharper, honed on the whetstone of your pining.

“And my soul...” you continue, “what do you sense, Barbatos?”

Dread immediately follows your bold and vulnerable question, fearing what he must inevitably see in you.  Is Barbatos the type to enjoy the flavor of corruption, to find value in broken things?  Or is he more of a purist, always a keen eye for perfection?  You fear you already know the answer as you take in his crisp RAD uniform, his perfectly smooth features.  Your gaze falls downward, an attempt to hide what you’re sure he already knows.

One heartbeat, two.  Then your chin is being tilted up by his thumb and forefinger until your eyes are forced to meet his.  There’s a hint of luminescence in them, the green noticeable now where it wasn’t before, pushing against the dark monotone of night that previously washed his irises in near-black. His eyes are searching, seeking, finding, and you can feel the magic, the power that unravels every defense, every barrier.  Finally, his gaze settles, the green quiets to a deep, sleeping forest of pine in winter.  It’s peaceful; soothing.

If Barbatos’s earlier release of your arm was to provide distance from the growing intimacy between you, then the attempt was in vain.  Because now the affection in his gaze is unmistakable, the deep shadowy green cradling you the way his fingers cradle your chin. It weakens you, makes you feel like putty in his touch.

“You glow,” Barbatos whispers, “like sunlight trapped in ripples. It’s blinding, and yet so beautiful I find it impossible to look away.  I can feel it in you, emanating like heat from a hearth, and it makes me long for a home I’ve never had.”

The hum of his voice makes you shiver, goosebumps forming across your skin.  The adoration in his eyes falters briefly, the lingering green fading to black, giving way to a dark, ancient sorrow.

“I think,” he continues, “it’s a glimpse of what heaven must feel like.  A small piece of divinity passed down to you from your ancestor.”

His fingers release your chin, but the vulnerability remains, if not slightly muted due to the distance imposed by the lack of physical contact.

“I am different from Lucifer and his brothers in that I was never an angel.  I came into existence exactly as I am, and as such I’ve never known divinity.  And yet... despite never knowing it, there is still a strange... hunger for it.  It is a peculiar thing to miss something you’ve never known.”

“You... long for Heaven?” you ask him.

Barbatos tilts his head thoughtfully, his gaze absent somewhere past your shoulder. “Not so much Heaven the place. It’s more so the purity, the grace, to feel that sense of wholeness that the divine offers. It’s why we are drawn to human souls.  Angels, you see, are far too potent. Too much divinity hurts a demon; it can even kill them.  But you... you humans have just enough of both worlds within you to allow us a taste.  It can be rather addictive, especially for younger demons who have not yet had enough millennia to control their hunger.”

His pupils dilate in the dark as he refocuses his gaze.  His eyes meet yours and linger for a moment before slowly drawing down to your parted lips.  “You are a rare case indeed.  More potent in your divinity than the average human, but not enough to hurt.”

You quirk a smile at him.  “Barbatos, are you saying I’m irresistible?”

It is a joke, one you feel comfortable making because of its ridiculousness.  But then he gives you a smile you’ve never seen before that makes your stomach drop and your body awash with heat.  There’s a directness in it, a challenge presented in a wry upward turn of the lips and the glint of teeth in the faint starlight.

“Perhaps,” he says.

You try to brush him off with a scoff and break eye contact, feigning interest in the shape of the black leaves that arch over the both of you in the darkness.

“Now you’re just teasing me,” you mutter.

“Oh? You don’t believe me,” he comments. “Perhaps there is more I can do to convince you then.”

Your heartbeat falters, tripped by hope, and you keep your eyes above and around lest you combust right in front of him. 

“Convince me?” you question.

You’re attempting to feign indifference, to protect yourself from the inevitable rejection you know is coming, because surely he’s not... he doesn’t mean.... he wouldn’t... that look in his eyes earlier... affection yes, but that can mean anything...

Barbatos takes your chin in his fingers and pulls gently until you have nowhere else to look but directly at him. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, into him.  There’s a flicker there, a glow of swirling green, like nebulae trapped within his vastness.

“Indeed,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath upon your parted lips.  You realize he’s closer than you anticipated, closer than ever before.

 Your lightheadedness is returning, and your genuinely afraid you’ll faint, so you force yourself to keep speaking.

“What kind of convincing?” you ask.

He smiles that smile again, the one that turns your insides molten.  “The kind that doesn’t require words, since you seem to doubt them so fervently.” 

His thumb draws gently across your lower lip, his half-lidded gaze transfixed.  “Would you like to be convinced?” he mutters.

You swallow and answer honestly. 

“Yes.”

Barbatos’s eyes return to yours and his lips curl into a soft, genuine smile.  He closes what’s left of the distance, his warm lips capturing yours as his fingers release your chin in favor of gently cupping your jawline.

You close your eyes and reciprocate, your hand resting against his chest.

It’s gentle, soft, and for all of his heavy flirting just a moment ago, it is as unassuming as when he’d first held your hand.  It washes away the last dredges of worry, calms the ever-present unease that always lingers.  The clouds of your mind finally part, even if just for this moment, and for the first time in a long while, you feel feather-light as a peaceful warmth spreads from head to toe to the tips of your fingers.

When your lips part, Barbatos keeps his hand on your cheek and plants a gentle peck to your forehead.

“Now, believe me when I say you are beautiful.  Believe me when I say that you are good.  And most importantly, believe me when I say that I am always here for you.”

Your choked by emotion, your eyes once again burning, but this time for a different reason entirely.

“Even when I’m being sad and pathetic?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly.

Barbatos  puts his forehead against yours as his lips curve into a tender smile.

“Especially then.”

[jaylver]

GORGEOUS — P.SH

PART TWO

SYNOPSIS: Social events bore you, but this time, your mother somehow managed to drag you to one. Thankfully, your mother’s friend’s son was there to keep you company, and God, he was gorgeous.

PAIRINGS: sunghoon x afab!reader

GENRE: strangers to lovers, romance

WARNING(S): mentions of alcohol, profanities

A/N: first hoon fic on here 🫶 hope it wasn't too bad cause i feel like it isn't the best 😭 do give feedbacks !!

masterlist | © jaylver 2023 all rights reserved

You contemplated whether agreeing to your mother’s invite was a good idea or not.

It was a Saturday night, your mother had dragged you out to an event her friend was holding, promising you of a fun night that would be a better option than staying home. She’s wrong by the way. Nevertheless, you said yes to it a little stupidly, not knowing that she had a trick under her sleeve.

The house was impressive to say the least. The garden had a lounge area that you most definitely would escape to later on, the inside was decorated prettily and a variety of food were on display, alcohol included. Upon arriving, there were already some people there. Apparently, it was a small gathering with your mother and her friends who’ve brought their children along as well, thus explaining your mother’s invitation. You weren’t up for socializing, but you were forced to now.

You recognized some of your mother’s friends and their kids, greeting them politely. The moment you’ve gotten the green light to grab food and escape the awkwardness of standing silently next to your mother, you bolted to find the food and expensive alcohol.

You got a plate of food, settling down on the lounge area outside, getting away from the group of people that were around your age almost immediately and effectively. Hey, it’s awkward making new friends, cut some slack! You were texting your friend anxiously, hoping for some company even if it meant virtually, completely unaware of a new presence entering your vicinity.

You looked up from your phone, chewing your bread stick with vigor as you noticed a lanky man taking a seat right in front of you, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone in his hand. You blinked, eyes wandering his face and taking in every detail. He was … gorgeous. The moles adorning his features had you swooning, there was a certain gentleness to him that you could sense. God, you were whipped and he was someone you knew nothing about.

He probably sensed you staring and glanced up, dark brown eyes looking in yours, you felt like you might sink and drown and die. You couldn’t say anything to his face, ’cause look at his face! It was enough to catch you off guard completely.

He smiled wordlessly, nodding courteously at you.

You didn’t know who this man was, but he has already ruined your life, by not being yours.

All you could do was take a big gulp of your wine, hoping the alcohol would somehow calm you down. You were flustered by him, a total stranger that you must talk to before the night ends.

Your plate of food was almost gone, the cup of wine was nearly finished from your copious gulps. You didn't need a mirror to know your face was turning red and you were getting tipsy. It was a good thing you could handle your alcohol.

"You okay there?" The man before you spoke up, his head tilted to the side.

He was talking to you? You. Alcohol wasn't enough to mask your nervousness at this point.

"Yeah," you breathed out, trying to get your shit together.

He simply nodded, a small smile on his lips. "I'm Sunghoon,"

"Auntie Park's son? Park Sunghoon?" You remembered your mother talking about him, how he was a great student and a fantastic figure skater, but also an even better candidate for a boyfriend, which was probably your mother's plan of dragging you here.

"That's me," he grinned. "You're Y/N, right? I think my mum mentioned you before,"

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, but it wasn't entirely shocking either considering your mother mentioned him to you as well … a lot. 'Hoon is a sweetheart' 'Hoon is a handsome guy', Hoon this Hoon that, you couldn't believe you had to wait this long to meet the 'Hoon' your mother wouldn't stop talking about, the one who she also wished you would get with. Now you know why.

"Right," you nodded, feeling lightheaded and you didn't know it was because of him or the alcohol. Maybe both. "I heard you're studying Chemical Engineering,"

"Yes, I am," oh, you love a hot man with brains.

"Heard it's hard to study, and it takes up a lot of your time, do you even manage to bag anyone with the amount of workload?" You wished you could've just straightforwardly asked "do you have a girlfriend" instead of running in a circle.

"You're saying I have no game? Is this how you talk to the people you first meet?" Sunghoon laughed humorously, taking a swig out of his can of beer.

"Only the ones I'm interested in," you grinned slightly, unaware of your confidence rising on its own.

"Oh? To answer your question, nah, I'm … not with anyone currently,"

"Really?"

"You seem shocked,"

"I am. You're too pretty to be not taken,"

"Pretty?"

"You are pretty," you blinked, his gaze unwavering as he stared at you, and you wished you could be next to him instead of having a table in between.

"Nobody has ever said that to me before," he was slightly taken aback, but you could see the sparks in his eyes.

"I'll be the first," you raised your beer can at him, seeing an amused smirk slowly making its way to his face.

"You're pretty too," Sunghoon's eyes swept your figure, his heated gaze made you nearly cower.

"Why thank you,"

"You study law, don't you? My mum said that,"

"Yes, I do. I'm still hanging on somehow,"

"Beauty with brains," he noted, eliciting a chuckle from you.

"You're really cute, Hoonie,"

"You think so?"

You hummed in response, your eyes never leaving his, taking in every feature of his. You needed to get to know this man further, you couldn't just let him go.

"Y/N!" you heard your mother screech for you out of the blue, her figure approaching from a distance. You could see her eyes widening in surprise as she noticed who you were sitting with, a sly grin creeping on.

"Sunghoon!" Your mother greeted him. "Glad to see you two getting along. Sorry to crash, but the others are gathering inside for something and you guys should come by too. There's cake as well, dear,"

"We'd love to be there," Sunghoon replied, a polite smile adorning his face.

"Yeah, totally," you clapped your hands together, internally wishing you could spend more time with him than having to be around people you didn't know.

Sticking to your mother was the better option, listening to some random auntie’s tea as their daughter typed away on their phone. You didn’t know where your future boyfriend and soulmate—sorry, Sunghoon—was, maybe he was with his mother, but you didn’t care, or you tried not to, resorting to playing hard to get instead, talking to everyone but him.

It was hard, his magnetic field was a little too strong, drawing you in whenever he got closer, somehow shifting near to you, eventually joining you and your mother’s small group, but nobody paid his presence any attention, continuing their gossiping. You shot him a small smile, acknowledging him, his side basically pressed against yours.

“Hi,” he whispered, smiling just enough to have his dimples winning you over.

“Hi,” you snorted, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“Wanna ditch?” he suggested, a slight hint of playfulness in his gaze.

“Lead the way,”

His hand brushed against yours, testing the waters before sensing the green light from you and intertwining his hand with yours, making sure to take that as an advantage to pull you closer to his side. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Anywhere is fine,” you said, standing in front of his car now, the house far away. “You drove here?”

“I did, I don’t live with my mum,” he shrugged casually. “Speaking of mums, I already told yours beforehand and got her permission,”

“You planned on taking me out tonight?” you raised an eyebrow at him, a sneaky grin making its way onto your lips.

“I wanted to know you better,” he threw his hands up in defense, caught red handed indeed. “Let’s drive around and I’ll drop you off after?”

“Sounds good.”

Driving around the neighborhood and spilling your hearts out was something you needed in a long time. Sunghoon was a listener, a great one even. He eventually parked his car a few blocks down the road from your house, a short moment of quietness filled the gap between you two, and you were too busy staring at him, a million thoughts filled your head, but the words that left your lips were hard to be stopped when you were tipsy.

“I’m mad,”

Sunghoon looked over at you, curiosity painted on his face. “About what?”

“About you. You’re too gorgeous,”

“I’m mad too,” Sunghoon leaned over, closing in the distance between you and him. “I can’t believe you’re not mine yet,”

You rolled your eyes, a small grin appearing as you poked his cheek. “We can change that … but I’m more of a candlelit dinner first kinda girl,”

“Next Saturday?”

“You have my promise,”

Sunghoon nodded, pleased and victorious, fighting back the urge to break out in a big smile and maintain his cool guy facade. “It’s getting late,”

“It is, I think I should go and you should definitely drive home before it gets too late,” you were quite reluctant to end the night with goodbye, wanting to see more of him despite having a date planned already.

“Wait,” you were about to reach for the handle and step out when Sunghoon stopped you. “I haven’t got your number yet,”

“I wrote it down on a paper and it’s in the cupholder,” you pointed at the place where you'd hidden the tiny paper earlier, knowing he would ask so you just had to be one step ahead. “Goodnight, Hoonie. Text me.” you quickly leaned over and pressed a haste kiss on the corner of his lips, feeling yourself turning red gradually.

Sunghoon broke into the biggest smile, grinning like an idiot with his dimples displayed, a cute one. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

He was so gorgeous it made you experience countless emotions, and his personality was equally pretty, just the perfect cherry on top. Your mother’s plan on getting you two together definitely worked, you were ready to make him yours.

[aliciax3]

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Go On, Leave Me Breathless.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Joe Liebgott x Female Reader (18+)

A note:

I've never had any interest in writing (that was always my sister's thing), but my love for Joe Liebgott combined with my love for music has been causing my mind to get stirred up when I hear songs that I think would be perfect for a Liebgott romance. I've started a few stories, but this is the first one I've actually finished. And I've gone back and forth a lot about sharing it, since I am very inexperienced, and not at all confident. But if you're anything like me, you have a yearning for more Joe. So I figured that it's going to do more good out here in the universe, than sitting in my Samsung Notes. So I hope you enjoy it, and if you don't, please be gentle 🫣 I'll also put the song that inspired it at the end, if anyone is interested.

Warnings: smut, angst?, sexual vocabulary, unprotected sex... 🤷‍♀️ I'm still new to this

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

When you joined the paratroops as a medic, the last thing you were expecting was to find love. But somehow, somewhere, in the middle of the war, you managed to fall for Joe Liebgott. Although you were unsure how much it was really "finding love" when it was one-sided; Joe had never shown any romantic interest in you at all. A couple of times, after a few drinks, he became playful with you but he never made a move. Almost all of the other Easy Company boys had either hit on you, asked you to join them for a drink one-on-one, or asked you to dance at one time or another. But not Liebgott. And even still, you always wanted him to know that you were available, just in case. So aside from accepting a few dance requests here and there, you politely turned everyone down.

However, that changed after a particularly rough day on the line. Everyone decided it was a good night to have a get together, to unwind. You were approached by a man from Dog Company, who asked to escort you to the party. Tired of waiting for Liebgott to ask you, and totally beaten from the day, you gladly accepted; you just needed to have some fun.

You decided to wear your best dress; a silk navy blue with a low cut V-neckline. You couldn't even wear a bra with it, but you didn't care; it was time to let loose for once.

You arrived at the party arm-in-arm with your date, which caught the attention of almost every man in the room. Meanwhile, your eyes scanned the room for Liebgott; he was leaning on the bar with a beer in his hand. Much to your surprise, he actually turned to look at you briefly, but then carried on with sipping his beer.

"Want a drink?" Your date asked.

You turned to him and smiled, "sure."

As you approached the bar, Liebgott was still leaning on the counter. He didn't pay you any mind.

"Hi, Joe," you said.

"Hey," he quietly replied, looking into his beer.

"This is," you began to say to introduce your date when Joe cut you off.

"Whatever." He turned to walk away.

"Why are you being so rude?" You asked.

"Why are you here with him, huh?" Joe asked with an annoyed tone, getting closer to you.

"He asked if he could escort me. Not that it's any of your business," you said, crossing your arms.

Joe scoffed. "And you said yes?"

Your arms still crossed, you gave him a dirty look.

"Well, buddy," Joe said as he slapped your date's shoulder. "Have fun with the company tease," he continued as he spit on the floor beside your date.

As he walked away, you didn't know whether to scream or cry. You were so hurt that without even excusing yourself from your date, you stormed outside after Joe. Luckily, George Luz, the only one that knew your true feelings for Liebgott, was standing close by and stopped your date from going after you.

When you saw Joe enter one of the abandoned houses, you quickly followed and ran in front of him to stop him in his tracks. You shoved his shoulders. "How dare you?!" You yelled.

"What?" He asked, smirking.

"Are you serious right now? How dare you insult me like that?"

"Oh, did I hurt your feelings? Then why don't you run on back to your date? I'm sure he'll be happy to comfort you."

"Ugh! Joseph Liebgott! You are a pain in the ass! I...I wish I never fell in love with you!" You threw your hands up and turned to walk away, but Joe grabbed your hand. You quickly pulled your hand away, and gave him a dirty look. He walked closer to you.

"What did you say?" He asked, looking straight into your eyes. Your eyebrows were scrunched in a scowl, but in your head you were kicking yourself for opening your big mouth.

"Not a thing," you replied.

He began inching towards you, but with every step of his, you took a step backwards. You continued to back away from him until you reached the wall.

Joe leaned one hand on each side of your head on the wall behind you. "What did you say, doll?"

His face was so close to yours, it took everything in you to not look down at his lips. So you didn't reply; you just stared into his eyes with a scowl still on your face, trying to hide any emotion other than anger.

"You're in love with me?" He asked.

Hearing the words come out of his mouth, in his low gravely voice that you loved so much, made your stomach flutter. You couldn't hide behind your scowl anymore as your face softened, and you gently shook your head unconvincingly "no."

He moved his hands to cup your face, and said "so, you wouldn't want me to do this?" He then planted a soft kiss on your lips, and you nearly melted into the floor.

"Or this?" He asked again, followed by a gentle kiss on your neck.

You felt goosebumps cover your body, and your nipples started poking through the silk of your dress.

Joe met your face once more, noticing that your breaths had turned shallow.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked.

His touch made you feel too weak to speak, so instead you slowly shook your head "no" once again, except this time you meant it.

"Then tell me you're in love with me," he said.

You couldn't bring yourself to say it.

"Okay, then I'll stop." He took a step backwards.

"No," you said quickly, as you grabbed his hand. "Joe, I..." Your heart was racing.

"Yes, doll?" He leaned one hand on the wall behind you again.

"I..." You still hesitated.

"Say it, and I'm yours."

Your heart was pounding out of your chest. "Joe...I think I'm in love with you..."

Joe's only response was a smirk, and pressing you back up against the wall once again. You began kissing passionately, exploring each other's mouths with your tongues. Joe ran his right hand down your silky dress and up your inner left thigh, causing goosebumps to cover your body again.

He reached the crotch of your panties, which had been soaked through by your already dripping wet pussy. "Someone's excited." He smirked again.

"Touch me, Joe." You whispered in his ear.

He wasted no time accepting the invitation, as he slipped his hand into your panties and began rubbing your wet clit. You moaned in his ear, causing him to move his hand further south. You gasped as he slipped his fingers into you with ease. He began slowly moving his fingers in and out of you, watching your face for cues to find just the right spot. Once he found it, he steadily increased his pace, listening to your breathing getting faster and faster.

Feeling you approach orgasm, he whispered in your ear. "That's it, baby. Cum for me."

His words pushed you over the edge. You let out a scream of pleasure as you released yourself all over his hand. Your entire body was quivering, and you were trying to catch your breath when he slowly slipped his fingers out of you. You jumped slightly when his hand grazed your sensitive clit.

He brought his hand up to his mouth and licked you off of his fingers. "Mmm. Damn, you taste good."

He then watched you as you slipped your own hand down to your pussy. You traced his lips with your cum covered finger, and then put your fingers to your own mouth to suck the rest off. You then kissed, and licked yourself off of his lips, and finished with a bite on his bottom lip, causing him to groan into your mouth and pick you up. You giggled as you wrapped your legs around his waist, and your arms around his neck, as he carried you to the nearest bedroom.

Once he put you down on the bed, you pulled your dress over your head and tossed it onto the floor, exposing your breasts and erect nipples. Next, you slipped your panties off, while he was standing at the end of the bed simultaneously kicking his boots off and unbuttoning his pants. Before pulling his pants down, he pulled his white tshirt over his head, exposing his dog tags leading down his bare chest. You hadn't taken your eyes off of each other. As he slowly pulled his pants down, and exposed his erect cock, you bit your bottom lip.

"Like what you see?" He asked, smirking.

You smiled and nodded "yes."

He slowly climbed onto the bed, hovering over you. "I think my view is better," he said onto your lips.

When he kissed you, you could barely kiss back through the smile you had on your face.

He ran his hands down your shoulders and to your chest, grabbing a breast in each hand. He took turns giving each nipple attention; sucking, licking, and biting.

You ran your fingers through his hair, and moaned. "I need you, Joe."

Pretending he didn't hear you so that he could make you say it again, he moved back up to your neck. "I'm sorry, what was that?" He started biting and sucking your neck, as you felt his hard cock rubbing against your thigh, making you squirm in excitement beneath him.

You grabbed the back of his head. "Joe." You said desperately.

He looked up at you and gave you a sly smile, "Yeah, doll?"

You pulled him towards you. "Please, Joe." You begged. You needed him more than you had ever needed anybody in your life; you had waited almost a year for this moment, but you didn't think you could wait a second longer.

Joe kissed your lips once before sitting back to stroke his hard cock with one hand, and spread your legs apart with the other. He climbed on top of you, leaning his weight on his left hand while he held his stiff cock in his right. He began teasing you some more by rubbing the tip of his of cock on your clit. You squirmed, which made him chuckle, but also made him finally give in. He guided his cock to your soaking wet entrance, and began slowly entering you. You gasped and moaned as you felt every inch of his bare hard cock rub against your walls.

"Fuck." He said as he bottomed out, closing his eyes and rolling his head back to try to keep composure. "You feel so good, babe."

His dog tags were dangling over you, just slightly grazing the space on your chest between your breasts. You tugged on them lightly to bring him in for a kiss. He began slowly moving his cock in and out of you, and you could no longer focus on kissing him. You let out a quiet "mmm" as you closed your eyes, and bit your lip.

Joe leaned back to get better leverage, and increased his speed a bit. You could hear his dog tags clinking against his chest with every thrust, until he swung them around to his back. As he steadily increased the speed of his thrusts, your moaning grew louder. Keeping his weight leaning on his right hand next to you, he held up your thigh with his left. Thrusting even faster now, your moans turned into words.

"Oh god, Joe..."

"You like that?"

You bit your lip again and nodded "yes."

Discovering that he was hitting the right spot, his thrusts grew faster still until all you could do was scream his name. Feeling your orgasm approaching, and sensing he was also on the edge, you gave him the ok to let go, and breathlessly said, "cum inside me, Joe."

Your words turned him on, and with a few more quick thrusts you both orgasmed together; your walls contracting around his cock as he coated your insides.

He dropped down onto your chest, still inside of you, as you both gasped for air.

"Holy shit," Joe said in between short breaths. "That was fucking incredible. You're incredible." He kissed your lips.

You ran your fingers through his now sweaty hair and smiled. "I waited so long to have you," you said.

"And was I as good as you hoped I would be?" He winked.

You chuckled. "Even better than I hoped."

He nodded and said, "Nice."

You smiled as you rolled your eyes and playfully hit him on the arm for being so smug. He moved to lie down beside you, his arm wrapped around you.

"You know, I never meant to be a tease to the other guys. It's just...you're the only one I ever wanted. I was waiting for you to want me back," you told him.

"I only called you a tease because I was jealous. I've always wanted you, y/n."

"Then why didn't you do anything about it?"

"Doll, almost every guy here is after you all the time. I never thought you'd choose me. But I'm damn glad you did," he said, lightly tapping your nose with his finger.

You smiled, but it quickly vanished when reality hit. "Well now I wish I blurted my feelings out sooner. We've wasted so much time..."

"Y/n, even if we only had right now, I'd still be happy. It's better than never having you at all," Joe replied.

A faint smile returned to your face.

"Besides," Joe continued, "now we can make up for lost time." He smirked as he climbed on top of you again. He began tickling you, and kissing you all over, causing you to giggle uncontrollably until his lips met yours again. You then made love for the second time that night, before falling asleep in each other's arms for the first time, but definitely not the last.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Inspired by:

Lyrics:

"Go on, go on, leave me breathless. Come on (come on)

The daylight's fading slowly, but time with you is standing still. I'm waiting for you only. The slightest touch and I feel weak.

I cannot lie, from you I cannot hide. And I'm losing the will to try. Can't hide it (can't hide it). Can't fight it (can't fight it).

So go on, go on. Come on, leave me breathless. Tempt me, tease me. Until I can't deny this loving feeling. Make me long for your kiss.

Go on (go on), go on (go on). Yeah, come on, yeah

And if there's no tomorrow, and all we have is here and now. I'm happy just to have you. You're all the love I need somehow. It's like a dream, although I'm not asleep. And I never want to wake up. Don't lose it (don't lose it). Don't leave it (don't leave it).

So go on, go on. Come on, leave me breathless. Tempt me, tease me. Until I can't deny this loving feeling. Make me long for your kiss.

Go on, go on. Yeah, come on (come on).

And I can't lie, from you I cannot hide. And I've lost my will to try. Can't hide it (can't hide it). Can't fight it (can't fight it).

So go on (go on), go on (go on). Come on, leave me breathless. Tempt me, tease me. Until I can't deny this loving feeling. Make me long for your kiss.

Go on (go on), go on (go on). Come on, leave me breathless (leave me breathless)..."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

My other Joe Liebgott x Female Reader fics:

☆ "In Dreams"

☆ "A hundred reasons, and counting still."

☆ "I never could forget you."

[bvnnyjo]

elevator | james wilson

pairing: james wilson x fem!reader

warnings: more selfship! it’s all i write basically hehe, forced proximity, reader is referred to w she/her, reader is snippy and wilson is awkward, no romance just awkwardness, reading panics a little cos in small space, wilson comforts her, HAPPY ENDING :D but not romance. house’s shenanigans. not proof read….

word count: 2.1k

it was simple. walk from the morgue to the elevator, get off on the first floor, go to your car. at least it should be that easy. though for some reason this was always the hardest part of your day. it was the time you’re the most likely to see wilson, which made it the hardest.

you checked your phone, the time reading 10:07pm. technically he should be home by now. he usually tried to get all his things done and leave by 7:45pm. at least he used to. you hadn’t spoken to him in ages, not since the night you called him crying. but that was close to a year and a half ago now, maybe even two. you tried not to keep track, you realized after awhile that it caused more harm than good.

regardless, you make your way toward the elevator. first before you can leave you have to stop by house’s office, as he requested an autopsy report on one of the bodies recently brought down (why didn’t he do it himself you would never understand) and requested it be hand delivered, of course. you weren’t sure when you started giving in to his obscene requests and dealing with his sub-par personality again but you had, and unfortunately you weren’t hating it.

in a way it brought a sense of normalcy back. as much as you may hate to admit it.

“house,” you pushed his office door open, a little surprised to still see him here. “here’s the autopsy report you asked for.” you held up the folder and set it down on his desk. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“yep. tomorrow.” house raised his eyebrows and gave a fake smile, “have a good night!” there was something hidden in his tone, but you chose to ignore that for the time being. it didn’t matter now, you were going home. that is what mattered right now.

you turned your back to him, trying not to overthink the way that house was talking. you had known house long enough to know that most of the time he had ulterior motives. rarely did they include you, but you knew better than to think you were safe.

you pushed the elevator button to take you to the main floor, sighing as you heard footsteps behind you. because of course you couldn’t just ride the elevator on your own. the universe just didn’t work that way, not for you.

the elevator doors opened and it wasn’t until you pushed the lobby button that you saw the other person in the elevator.

“wilson,” you nod your head, forcing a smile as a greeting. the elevator ride would be two minutes, max. but god the idea of having to stand here with him for even that long made your stomach churn.

it’s not like it was your first time seeing him in three years. you work in the same building; even if he is on the fifth floor and you’re in the basement there are moments of overlap. catching glimpses of each other in the corner of your eyes or seeing each other in the cafeteria. but it was your frist time being in such close quarters to each other as soon as the doors closed you felt like you were suffocating. it was miserable.

wilson didn’t say anything in response. you didn’t turn to look at him, but you can imagine that he had his brows furrowed trying to figure out what you were doing on the fifth floor and what he could say to you to make things feel less tense. the answer to the second question was nothing.

“it’s late, what are you-” wilson’s sentence was cut off by the shake of the elevator stopping. both of your eyes shot up to the screen that showed what floor you were on, but it just flashed it’s lights at you.

great. of course the elevator decided to get stuck right now, at 10pm, when you were alone with wilson.

“are you serious,” you grumbled, hitting the door with the palm of your hand a few times before repeatedly pressing the lobby button. “of course this would happen. just my luck.” you rested your forehead on the cool metal, trying to calm yourself down. this was fine. everything is fine.

“i’m sure whatever the issue is they’ll have fixed soon.” wilson attempted to comfort you, knowing you already hate elevators as-is. he couldn’t have known that his words were only going to make you feel worse, the very sound of his voice making your stomach churn.

“right.” you nodded, correcting your posture and moving away from the door. the two of you stood in silence for two minutes before you gave in and sat down, putting your head between your knees.

wilson watched you carefully, clearing his throat and beginning to speak as he did so. “so, y/n. how- how have things been?”

“i’d prefer if you call me l/n,” you answer quickly, “things have been fine. i’m fine.” you could see the way he frowned from the corner of your eye when you asked him to call you by your last name. you didn’t want to have conversation, and you didn’t want him to treat you like a friend. because you were coworkers. nothing more, nothing less.

“don’t be that way,” he sighed, leaning against the opposite elevator wall and sinking to the ground. “you’re seriously going to make me call you by your last name?”

“why would you call me anything else?” you ask, tone harsher than intended. why were you being this way? maybe it was a defense mechanism, “you don’t call house greg, and he’s your best friend. i don’t see why you’d call me anything other than l/n. we’re coworkers.”

coworkers. that drew a scoff from wilson, “coworkers? that’s how you want to describe us?” wilson looked away from you for a second before running a hand through his hair. “i guess not talking for close to three years does take us back to square one. you’re right.”

“don’t do that,” you sneer, looking at him to meet his questioning gaze. “don’t say the you’re right thing to me. you only say that when you have something else to say. if you’re thinking something, just say it, wilson.”

wilson looked at you bewildered for a second before laughing, “jeez, you really still know me that well?” he shook his head, “i don’t think time can turn us back into coworkers, is all. i don’t think we’ll ever be back to just that.”

“strangers, then?” you offer, uncharacteristically cold. maybe you’d been spending too much time around dead people to remember how to socialize properly. or worse, too much time with house.

“quit being like that.” he shook his head at you, “just because we haven’t spoke doesn’t erase all our history as friends and…” he fell silent for a second before clearing his throat again. “beside the point, we aren’t strangers or just coworkers and you know that, l/n.”

you wanted to argue with him more, but you didn’t have it in you. not when you felt like the walls were shrinking with every breath you took. “fine.” you didn’t say anything else for a few seconds before speaking up again. “how’s your wife?”

wilson stiffened. bad, then.

“we actually never got married. she decided a few months before the wedding that she couldn’t handle being married to a man who is at work so much.” wilson rolled his eyes, “as if she didn’t have all the time in the world to decide that. had to wait until we were about to get married, right? how are things with your boyfriend?”

“i broke up with him shortly after…” you paused, knowing that the answer was shortly after the phonecall you two shared god knows how long ago. “i told my therapist about him, and she said that i should be with people who make me happy. not miserable. so i broke up with him.”

“i see.” wilson nodded, picking up on the fact that you were keeping part of the information from him. it didn’t matter, though, it wasn’t really his business. aside from the fact that he still cared about you, he had no reason to push for more details. “good for you, then.”

silence overcame the two of you once again, looking at the clock on your phone in hopes that it would somehow make the elevator magically work again.

it didn’t.

“it’s been ten minutes,” you groan, “what is taking them so long? you don’t think we’re like…stuck stuck do you?” you looked over at him, panic filled eyes as the thought sneaks its way into your head.

“why, you have somewhere important to be?” he raised an eyebrow before getting serious. “no, if we were stuck stuck i think cuddy would’ve called one of us by now. probably just an issue with something electrical. we’ll be out of here soon.”

you sigh, resting your cheek on your knee. “i have no one to be other than my bed it’s just…” you wonder if saying this is the right thing, but it seemed there was nothing better to do than to talk to each other. “being around you is hard. i feel like i’m going to explode. i want to explode.” you look at him, the slightly bewildered look making a smile creep up on you. “and making stupid small talk is killing me. it’s hard to be normal around you because i’m not sure what normal should be with us.”

wilson paused for a second. to be honest, he also didn’t know what normal was supposed to be between the two of you. but he wanted you to be comfortable with him. at the very least he wanted to be friends again. “i don’t know either. but we won’t know until we try, right? even if we have to relearn what normal means for us. we can do it. i’m- i’m willing to try. for you.”

“quit looking at me like that,” you roll your eyes a little, almost laughing as he feigns offense. “i suppose, maybe, i’d be willing to try and relearn. for you.”

a smile broke out on wilson’s face as his shoulders dropped, relief clear in his eyes. “things’ll be good. being friends will be good.” he sounded like he was trying to assure both of you (because he was) of the fact.

it seemed on cue that as you two made amends, the elevator started working again. you both sighed happily and stood from your places on the floor, relieved to be out of the metal death trap.

“i’m never getting in another elevator,” you mumbled, dusting any debris off your lab coat as the door opened. “i’ll see you soon, james.” you waved to him, quickly making your way out of the building and to your car. you passed house on the way, silently wondering how long he had been waiting in the lobby for wilson.

“so,” house tapped his cane against the ground as he approached wilson, watching you walk away. “how’d it go in there?”

“you had something to do with the elevator?” wilson wanted to be surprised, but at this point he was so used to house’s antics that he should’ve guessed it from the start. “you are unbelievable. you know she hates small spaces, you could’ve caused her serious issues-”

“but you were there with her. she would’ve been fine.” house rolled his eyes as the two of them started walking, “i was tired of both of you moping around. it was clear neither of you were going to make the effort, so i did it for you.”

wilson looked to his older friend bewildered, “you did something for the better of two other people? and you don’t get anything out of it? jeez, if i didn’t know any better i’d say you were a clone.”

“i am a clone,” house replied quickly, “and i do get something out of it. i get to be done hearing your longing sighs as you watch her walk past, and i get to stop seeing her stupid pouty eyes when she sees you in the cafeteria.” he paused, “do you want to get something to eat?”

“sure, house.” wilson accepted the offer, despite knowing he’d probably be the one to pay. “whatever you say.”

comments, reblogs, nd likes appreciated!!

[rubyreduji]

🧸 Woooo happy anniversary/3k! =D May I ask for a Woozi drabble? I'm thinking something along the lines of the reader being a witch/magic user but she's also a witch/magic user hunter, tracking down those that misuse their power against normal folk. She goes above and beyond to hide this from Woozi but he and a few of the members just so happen to be near during one of her fights. Plot twist: he already knew! Fluffy romance, if you please. I hope this is okay, thanks so much!

— sleepover event now over!! 🧸️

the witches in the woods - ljh

summary: being a witch and a witch hunter is not always the easier, having to keep your two identities separate, but it’s the job you have to do to keep from your crush finding out

tags: fluff, witch & witch-hunter!reader, witch-hunter!jihoon, f!reader wc: 1.7k an: this made me miss watching the owl house lol </3 so some of the powers may be based off that…this is a bit more plot than fluff but i hope you enjoy!

“Pull back! They outpower us!” You hear Seungcheol’s call from your earpiece.

You know if your whole team was here you guys would be able to take them on, but your whole team isn’t here, deciding to split up earlier. The thing is your split up team couldn’t take them, but you can. You tune out Seungcheol’s orders, continuing hot on the trail of the five witches ahead of you.

You can already feel your magic coursing through your veins as you start to gain on them. It’s been so long since you’ve been in a proper fight, always relying on your team rather than your powers, keeping them a secret from anyone else.

It’s not like being a witch is uncommon in this day and age, but when you work a job with the title “Witch Hunter” it’s probably best to keep that part of your identity secret. Though you’re fairly sure that even if your team did find out it wouldn’t change anything, you don’t want to run the risk if you don’t have to. 

That being said, you quite miss using your powers and you can help but let giddiness overtake you as you chase after the other witches. You can hear their snickers of joy, thinking they’ve gotten away, but you’re not going to let that happen.

You raise your hand, feeling your mind and body connect with the woods around you. You focus your energy into the tree branches before you clench your fist and drag it down, causing all of the branches to grow down into a wall, cutting off the path from the witches. Before they even have time to process what just happened, you throw your hand back into the air, raising vines from the ground to wrap around their bodies and suspend them in the air.

“What the- there!” One of them calls, pointing at where you stand a few feet away.

“A witch!” Another shouts.

“Traitor!” The first one yells. “You’re a witch, what are you doing helping the enemy?”

“Enemy?” You spit out. “The only enemy is you guys. No witch should ever misuse their powers yet you guys run around and do nothing but commit crimes. People are getting hurt because of you!”

The man chuckles. “What’s the point of powers if you can’t enjoy them? Who cares if some people get hurt? That adds to the fun!”

You roll your eyes. You don’t know why you’re standing here listening to them. They’re the ones who are on the unfortunate side of this predicament. 

You wrap a vine around their mouths in hopes to shut them up as you reach for the anti-magic cuffs on your belt. You push the vines to the ground, pinning the witches down. You move over to them, snapping the cuffs on the loud-mouthed man who is clearly the leader of them. He curses you out the whole time and you wish you also had tape on you to shut him up.

You’ve clicked the cuff on the second person and are moving to the third when you hear a shout. “Y/N!” It’s Jihoon. 

Jihoon, the one person who absolutely can not find out you’re a witch. Not only due to your eensy weensy crush on him, but also due to the fact that he comes from the longest standing dynasty of witch hunters. 

In a mere second, your concentration is lost, the vines loosening their grips on the witches, allowing the three uncuffed ones to quickly break out of them. Out of the corner of the eye you see a flash from the trees and you recognize the figure as Jihoon.

Shit.

“Y/N, watch out!” You whip around to see a rock hurtling towards your face. You quickly shoot your hand up, stopping the rock and making it crumble into tiny pieces. A flicker of shock passes the attacking witch’s face. 

Jihoon isn’t the only one coming from a long line of powerful people. It’s not common for witches to be able to harness multiple kinds of magic, but you’re a bit special.

Normally if it was just you, you’d be able to wipe all three of the witches out, but you now have to think about Jihoon standing a few feet behind you. You don’t have much time to assess the situation either, with attacks coming at you from three ways. It’s taking all of your energy and focus just to be on defense, let alone offense.

“Y/N!” You can hear Jihoon’s approaching and you quickly create a vine to block him off from the fight.

“Jihoon, stay back! I have it covered.” A fireball shoots past your head right as you say this and you quickly pull your attention back to the fight.

You sweep your arm in one large arc, growing the ground up to trap the witches’ feet. With the few seconds of distress you’ve put them in you regrow the vines around their bodies, trapping their hands to their sides. 

You don’t allow yourself to lose focus this time, carefully placing the handcuffs securely on the final three witches’ wrists. They’re all grumbling as you do so, even one going far as to spit at your feet.

Once all five of them are firmly secured again, you finally withdraw Jihoon’s restraints. You don’t look at him as you hear him call Seungcheol through your communication devices, giving him the update on your positions and the status of the witches.

You busy yourself with getting yourself recomposed until Seungcheol and Vernon run up. “Woah,” Seungcheol mutters, looking at the damage of the woods and the vines wrapped around the witches. “Well, uhm, good work team. Let’s gather up the others and get these guys out of here.”

No one speaks about the elephant in the room as your team regroups and waits for the people from the Witch Hunter’s Association to come and pick the witches up. As soon as Seungcheol releases you all, you quickly book it, heading far away from your team.

“Y/N, wait!” Somehow in just two words, dread fills your body. You want to run away, or even use a spell to disappear, but you know you can’t run away forever. You take a deep breath before turning around to face the one and only Lee Jihoon.

You can’t read the emotion on his face and you can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. Deep down you know that Jihoon won’t do anything to you, but that doesn’t help the way your throat tightens as you stare at him. You’re both still in your hunter gear and you really take in Jihoon. He looks exactly like his father, the man most notorious for locking away the most witches in the history of witch hunters.

The gear looks comfortable on his body, his boots well worn and his pants faded from prolonged use. His gloves and goggles both stick out of his pockets and his belt is well loaded with gear, Jihoon never low in stock.

You open your mouth, like you’re about to say something, but the words don’t come out and you’re glad they don’t because you’re not sure what you even want to say. You close your mouth instead.

“Can we talk?” Jihoon’s voice is soft, like he’s also unsure of his words.

“U-uhm, su-ure,” you say, hating the shakiness in your voice.

“Let’s walk.” Jihoon starts to walk, walking past you as he does. You’re forced to follow, a few steps behind him. “You know, I was never going to go into this field. I was going to be the first in my family to do something that wasn’t witch hunting, yet here I am. Ask me why?”

“…Why?”

“Because I wanted to be better than my dad. Better than the rest of my whole family.” For a second, you wonder if Jihoon is going to kill you right here on the spot. “My job as a witch hunter is to incarcerate every bad witch, and to protect every good witch from dangers coming from their own people, and from my own people.”

Your pace slows down as you listen to Jihoon talk, eventually stopping just so you can stare at him. Jihoon senses you’re not with him anymore and stops as well, turning to face you. His gaze finally meets yours for the first time since in the woods. 

“I’m not mad at you Y/N. I don’t care that you’re a witch, because you’re a good person. You’re my friend, and you’ve proved time and time again where your morals stand. Everyone on the team knows that too, so don’t be afraid. Not to mention you’re a valuable asset to us, we’d be fools to let you go over something as trivial as something you can’t change about yourself.”

Your body is flooded with relief. Your heart lightens at Jihoon’s words.

“I- thank you,” you say, tears brimming in your eyes.

Jihoon walks closer to you, so you’re face to face. “I may have…also known,” he admits.

You go slack jawed. “How?!”

Jihoon chuckles at you. “When you come from a long line of witch hunters you learn to pick up on things, and it’s not like your own lineage is too secretive. I may have also caught you using your powers one day.”

You groan, causing Jihoon to laugh again.

“I don’t know why I was so worried,” you murmur. “I know you and the guys on the team aren’t like that…but-”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad that we’re good.”

“Yeah…good,” you mutter. You and Jihoon stand there in silence for a moment and you wonder if this is your cue to part ways. You’re about to walk away from Jihoon when he stops you.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Actually I uh…if you wouldn’t mind, would you perhaps tell me more about witches? Maybe over dinner one night?”

You raise an eyebrow at Jihoon. “Was that an attempt…to ask me out?”

You try to hide your giddiness at the idea, choosing to tease him instead.

You watch as Jihoon’s ears turn red. “I- maybe. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be focused on the witch thing. You’re so much more than that. So Y/N, will you please do me the honors of letting me take you out for dinner, on a date? And we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

You grin at Jihoon, wide and bright. “I would love to. And don’t worry, I’ll give you all the details about being a witch. Maybe you’ll even get to meet my parents.”

Jihoon turns even redder, and you’re not sure if it’s from the notion of him meeting your parents, or him coming in contact with some of the most powerful witches of the century. Either way, you’re sure that dating Jihoon is going to be nothing but fun.

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[iocity]

Teaser Chapter: A Voyage to the Sunset, pt. 1

ASL ‘MERICA AU

Note: Surprise!! I actually did not plan on releasing this so soon, but I got to excited about it. Hopefully it’ll be enjoyable! I’ll be making one of these for each of the boys! No romance just platonic/familial.

Word Count: 1,678

CW: Implied physical abuse, broken bones, bullying

masterlist!

Luffy has known from a young age that he is very different from other people. Although he lives with Grandpa Garp (who he lovingly nicknamed GeeGee), a beloved and respected old man in his town, his kindergarten and first grade classmates would always make sure to let him know how different he was. His usually blank face, his disinterest in most things (including school), the way he lit up when talking about certain topics. All of it, he noticed, was taboo.

Although he could tell there was something fundamentally different about him, he never assumed it was wrong, even when the bullying started. He knew it wasn't his fault that they jeered at him, called him names, and smushed all the bugs he was interested in. That didn't stop him from crying about it. Everyday he would come home, tears in his eyes as he detailed his struggles to fit in to Garp.

This isn't unfamiliar to Garp or the man he struggles to call his son. It's nothing new, for them at least, to be different. He got over it, so he assumed Luffy would too.

Unfortunately, Luffy can't tough it out too well. He was starting to feel his abnormality. The way his teachers looked at him as he fails every class but excels at beetle anatomy and edible foods, the shock and slight curiosity in their eyes as he opens up his notebook to show his drawings; all of it made it so glaringly obvious that he was an outcast. He wasn't good at drawing at all, but his wide eyed toothy grin distracted the teachers from that fact, proud of his knowledgeability with bugs but desperate to have him pay attention. So, as the weeks go by, charm was replaced by disappointment, and disappointment by office visits and skipped recesses. A delinquent in the making.

He finally tried, in second grade, to become friends with his bullies. He followed them around as they threw pebbles at him, grinning at them and pretending he can’t feel their dislike. He let them poke, prod, and push at him until he was hurting, because he would rather hurt than be all alone. He acted more normal, trying to tame his ever present energy so he would be liked. Garp noticed how injured he would come home every day, his gaze steeling because he knows how to raise soldiers and not children. The house was silent those days.

One day, Garp gets a call from the school, the familiar sound of Luffy's sobbing flooding the phone as they alert him that Luffy has been hurt again, and he has refused to tell them who did it. The seriousness sinks in when instead of getting directions to the school, he was getting directions to the hospital. All Garp could do on the drive over was obsess over how he failed again. He wondered when the crack happened in his family; he wondered if he was the one who caused it. His hands went white on the wheel as he pulled into the parking lot, his anxiety turned into anger and anger forced into control as he steels himself to face the grandson that he failed.

Luffy had claimed to break his arm by jumping off the swing. Garp calls bullshit, he knows his grandson is virtually indestructible. His head sags into his hands as he listens to the sniffles of his grandson who just won't harden up. It dawns on Garp, all at once, that he isn't cut out for this. He isn't cut out for anything but the battlefield. He wasn't even cut out for his own son, and Luffy isn't cut out for a sergeant and not a father figure. So, the day Luffy is discharged, he returns home to packed bags and GeeGee claims to take him on a road trip (which he believes with wide eyes and a smile). They pack up in Garp's old pickup truck, the engine sputtering to life after a few tugs at the keys in the transmission, the car ride silent and awkward. Luffy knows something is wrong, and for the first time, he is certain it's him; he knows it in the way that his grandfather's hands grip the wheel a little harder than usual, in how the trees outside don't speed by the window and instead crawl at a snail's pace. He wonders for a moment if he is broken and needs fixing before deciding to stop, instead wanting to memorize the shape of the trees as they pass. Cedar Elm, Southern Magnolia, Desert Willow, he lists, until half of the trees are unrecognizable, and it excites him to be able to know them. He lays his hand on the window, the cast stopping him from fidgeting too much as his thoughts run from him, and he lets them, freely.

Garp watches his grandson from the corner of his eyes, his whitened knuckles regaining their color as he witnesses the pure wonder in his grandson that Garp seemed to have lost over the years. The thought that he isn't cut out for this crosses his mind again, his lips pursing as a familiar softness blooms in him. He resents the vulnerability it brings. He wasn't prepared for this little boy who feels so deeply, a little boy who shouldn't be his to take care of. Luffy turns to him, smiling in his seat as he points out the window with an exclamation, and Garp's facade of cement and brick cracks; his eyes soften, a hand going to rest on Luffy's head.

"It's not that you're a bad kid. Never has been." The words crack when they leave his mouth. Luffy looks up at him with wide brown eyes, his smile melting into a flat face before his eyes settle onto the window in front of him.

"I can't raise a kid like you, Luffy. Couldn't raise your father, can't raise you. I just ain't fit for it." He says, his eyebrows furrowing as he watches the road go by, every sign a step closer to leaving his grandson. His little boy.

"Why not?" Luffy asks, his loud voice ringing in the car as his hand picks at his frayed shorts.

"I just... ain't cut out for fatherhood. I couldn't make you or your damn daddy harden up like a man ought to. You've got to, to live well. And I would say your daddy is livin' everythin' but well.

It hangs in the air for a moment, echoing in both of their minds before Luffy nods slowly, returning to looking out of his side window. The silence returns, and it weighs on Garp's heart, guilt running through him as the urge to turn around gnaws at his resolve.

"If I had been normal, do ya think you'da been fit for it?" Luffy's voice asks, smaller this time. Garp shifts his eyes to the back of his head quickly, before they return.

"Maybe," he says, pursing his lips tightly afterwards. Luffy slowly nods again, his hand softly gripping the cast enveloping his other arm. He pauses for a moment, frowning because he dislikes thinking too deeply, but it seems he has no choice.

"Alright."

Garp's chest heaves with a deep sigh, his hand leaves Luffy's head to pull at his beard, the silence returning to make him question his decision.

"I don't think l'd like bein' like you much when I get old," Luffy's tone is even; there's no bite to be found his words. It's a simple fact.

"I'd rather stay me."

Garp looks at him, puzzled by the child beside him. He puts another hand to his wheel, before shifting it to grip his knee, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. Luffy eyes him while he howls with laughter, before joining, because something must have been funny if his Geegee was laughing. The car slows to a stop on the side of the road as Garp wipes his tears, his hand clapping onto Luffy's back so hard that Luffy thinks his eyes might just roll out of his head.

"I reckon you'll learn!" He exclaims, and Luffy realizes after a few moments that he is being mocked. The realization seeps into him like poison; it picks at his bones and eats at his heart. His own grandfather is throwing rocks at him, he is squishing the bugs he likes, and he is breaking his arm. His hands tighten into fists, his arm aching.

"I'll be damned if I do. I'd rather die." Luffy's gaze has steeled on his grandfather, his brows furrowing in anger because how dare his own grandfather insult his dream?

"Watch your tone boy," Garp responds lowly, his tone and resolve matching Luffy's as he grits his teeth, "You've no idea what l've been through to keep you safe and fed. I raised you whether I liked it or not. You've got not a clue in the world how many people in your family had to toughen up just like you."

"That's got nothin' to do with me." Luffy tells him simply; his tone is as flat and even before, but this time Garp is raising a hand. A threat of violence and a promise that any backtalk will be met with force. Luffy's mouth shuts as he crosses his arms as best he can, tears brimming in his eyes as the car starts driving again, the trees in the window passing so quickly that Luffy could no longer make out their shapes or names. He settles further into his seat, the air in the car boiling with unspoken rage. After a long while, his eyes focus and refocus on the sinking sun through the front window sleepily, and he wonders if the place that his grandfather is taking him is waiting there for him. He thinks he’d quite like that, living right under the sun. He keeps thinking, imagining their destination, until slowly but surely his eyes fall closed, and he drifts softly into a dream that is his and his alone.

Tags :p: @porschethemermaid

[llovelyclouds]

notes on gideon (the first)

here's all the relevant info on gideon the first i took note of during my tlt reread, in one place!

(you can find the rest of the posts related to this project here!)

GIDEON THE FIRST

titles:

Third saint to ascend, first gen, founded the second, the saint of duty

notes from gideon the ninth:

G1deon & Pyrrha's room in Canaan house includes a drawing of a chimaera that Gideon describes as "familiar" (the imaging & response construct) and a picture on the wall of John and his pals (presumably) with everyone's faces scribbled out with a thick black marker. Also guns (gtn. pg. 205)

notes from harrow the ninth:

the saint of duty (htn. pg. 177)

most likely really freaked out the first time he saw an RB (htn. pg. 173)

Doesn't respond to pain? (htn. pg. 188)

Made a pact with an authority John has no control over (Alecto???? Pyrrha???) that he would protect John from all dangers (htn. pg. 194)

“The Saint of Duty was a thanergy void. The Saint of Duty was the ultimate nemesis of a bone adept.” (htn. pg. 225)

“The closest thing to interest [Gideon] ever showed in anybody was in Pyrrha, and in the criminals he hunted. [...] When he kicked that Edenite commander out an airlock, it was like seeing a man on his wedding day. Not exactly romance though… Harrow, over ten thousand years I’ve known that man, and he is legendarily unamourous. I have watched six other Lyctors carry out a myriad’s worth of inadvisable love affairs with one another, because it is a very long time to be alone, but never him. He was unassailable.” -John (htn. Pg. 228). 

Is described by Augustine as getting really specific obsessions, has stopped listening to anyone, and has caused Augustine a lot of trouble in the last 40 years (htn. pg. 268)\

Pyrrha was ten years older than Augustine, so pre-resurrection G1deon was besties with a cop probably at least 20 years older than him ?? (htn. pg. 278)

John says that G1deon doesn’t talk about her (alecto), but Augustine and Mercy still feel guilty about what happened (htn. pg. 345)

"Don't know why Gideon was always so obsessed with [Wake]... he never cared about beauty, and she was repellent to talk to." - Mercymorn (htn. pg. 409)

Mattaius Nonius fought G1deon, and seems to owe Pyrrha a debt (htn. pg. 455)

I think John at least had some idea about G1deons memory loss/what was up with his and Pyrrha's lyctorhood based on how Pyrrha (pretending to be G1deon) says she didn't know anything about the affair with Wake (htn. pg. 473)

notes from nona the ninth:

"'I'd need my necromancer to teach Camilla.' 'Why?' 'Because you need teaching to be an asset, and Cam wants teaching to be a killer.'"- Pyrrha and Palamades (ntn. pg. 28)

Knew John since they were kids (ntn. pg. 74)

"No, I don't blame you man… He was always looking for things to throw himself on." -Pyrrha, talking about G1deon to Varun (??) (ntn. pg. 116) 

The parallel to Gideon's death… i'm sooo normal. 

Was an engineer pre-resurrection (ntn. pg. 129)

“P- volunteered to go with him, but G- said he wouldn’t arm it if P- was in range. P- went off at him, but it was one of those times where he held his ground against her. I remember. She called him a stupid kid. [...] I took G- downstairs and I got him to face the wall, and I took his arm off. [...] He didn’t feel any pain, and I grew him a new one then and there. Bit of a gamble, but I was sure I could do that by then. I wanted his arm… his material. He didn’t even ask me to explain. That was the kind of guy he was. He and I had grown up on the same street. I’d spotted him for mince pies all the time as kids, so stands to reason he let me cut off his arm and carried a nuke for me. [...] Should still be around here. The arm, I mean. I stuffed it in the morgue so nobody would find it. I've got plans for that arm.” (ntn. pg. 399)

“He was immovable. That was why I wanted him in: G- only listened to two people in his fucking life.” (ntn. Pg. 402)

Died from John reaching out to stop his heart (ntn. Pg. 407)

“I liked you. He liked you-  Gideon liked you. my necromancer and I always liked you… and hey, what's like except a love that hasn't been invited indoors?” - Pyrrha, to Nona (ntn. pg. 461)

[anotherbluesunday]

✨Fic Update: In Technicolor—Ch.3: Remember to Wear Sunscreen Pt.I (Wynn)✨

Looking up as the house lights came down and the stage lights glowed bright in entrancing pulsing beams of indigo and violet--they flashed in broken chorus until hitting brighter then landing square on the positions the band members would soon occupy. And they did. One by one. Each came out to a roaring applause as the energy from the opening set carried over into the next. First was Reggie. Of course. Next was the drummer--Wichita, the only one whose name I knew apart from Reggie. Pixie sized but mad stylish, she looked like the beautiful love child of 90's LA street style and melancholic romance gothic with her baby hairs laid down in swirls, black braids that hit her hips, dark eyes outlined in sapphire blue, and baggy oversized black jeans with a cropped netted top and a zip-up hoodie that looked like it'd gone through a woodchipper.

The things I would do to have her look. To have her persona.

Next out was one of her brothers. Tall with long curls and eyes as dark as her but skin tanned to a deep bronze, he strutted out with a confident grin. Stripped off his flannel to tie it around his waist knowing it'd get a reaction from the girls in the crowd that liked long haired boys in tight white tee's. Slinging his guitar strap over his head, I watched as the brother--who hadn't taken center stage--turned to look at the stage entrance-exit as the final member emerged.

The songwriter. The other brother.

Tall and curly haired like the other but with his red dyed mop cut short, you could tell he wasn't used to this. That he wanted to be just a bit smaller; to shrink away. It was easy to tell that he liked hanging in the back away from the center of the stage. Away from the attention and scrutiny. And there was something so human about that that I couldn't help but relate to it. That anxious look in his dark Bambi eyes that were cartoonishly large. The way he fidgeted with his guitar, looked down at the strings as he mimicked the placement, then looked backup not knowing what to say.

Lips bowing open with words failing, his gaze shifted. Danced around the crowd looking for something--anything--to ground him.

I did the same thing through my first year of cheer. Wanted to throw up through every halftime performance and I bet the other brother was feeling that same sense of nausea. The same panic. The same isolation despite being surrounded by people who were there for you--people who supported you.

Gaze landing on me lurking in my corner, he stared at me for a long second and I did the same. Watched the tension leave his jaw when I smiled and he smiled back, the gesture causing his cheeks to dimple in a way that made him look even younger and more charming. All of the siblings--the ones I assumed to be related--were pretty easy on the eyes. But the one at the front had a boyishness to him that hit different than the cool stoicism from the sister and the peacock-esque flamboyance of the first brother.

Was this really the same guy from the music video?

.

.

.

As I said in the other moodboard post for Chapter 2, this chapter was already released prior to this moodboard (last night actually) but I wanted to share this teaser with you all even though it’s not much of a teaser since the chapter’s already out. lol. But yeah, enjoy and I hope you like the story.

And don’t forget to comment on Ao3 or leave kudos to let your writers know you liked the story even if it’s just a little. Your engagement with us makes all the difference. Honestly, it does and more so than you know.

.

.

.

[zorbik-guligan]

I think i mightve had a bungle stuffy when i was younger but i can relate to the sleeping bag thing

Story time cause im bored and feeling nostalgic

Back when i was like 12 or so i made friends with this one girl and being 12 i hadn't even hit puberty yet but i knew about romance and stuff to a degree as did she but neither of us really cared for it either way she was the only friend who actually lived decently close to me so we would hang out after school and it definitely was just friends but there were a few times when it felt awkward the first was during a sleep over when she got scared of the dark and decided to just steal my bed essentially i was to tired to really care plus i had just recently gotten over my own fear of the dark so i wasn't trying to stay up but when i woke up she had done that tiger knee thing you do with pillows except i was the pillow and we were facing each other so waking up felt kinda awkward for a moment after that tho it was just a normal day the next time stuff felt weird was we both were chilling in the lunch room and it was the day after Christmas break so only 1 of my friends were back and they were off just messing around but me and my friend got different lunches as usual and in the middle of my lunch enjoying lasagna she decided to just reach over with her fork and steal a bite and than proceeded to do that thumb thing where she wiped off some sauce from my face and both of us just kinda stopped for a sec as if something was weird which made it weird the funniest part is that the entire school year neither of us hit puberty but plenty of other people were and others were starting to date meanwhile nobody ever bothered to ask either of us because they were apparently shipping us together we did play house alot but that was still just platonic tho it got awkward a few times so yeah sometimes your just chilling with a friend doing stuff platonicly and suddenly stuff feels awkward and like sure they're hot but do i actually want to date and the answer was usually just confusion so i just ignored and kept moving i didn't get romance until i was like 14 i didn't feel lust until like 13 or 12 and there is a clear difference between the 2 im fairly certain had i not moved after that school year i might have actually felt something other than confusion nowadays i can indeed feel romance which is nice and lust but it gets kinda funny when me and the boys are doing something and one of us is like hey thats gay and we all suddenly remember were not straight and i swear you could cut the tension after that

They’re just friends.

I’m sure some very desperate person could make suggestive remarks over a very friendly situation, but I of course rise above such nonsense.

I wonder if the sleeping bags open at the sides.

Stop that. If a couple of pals ignore there being an entire cabin to sleep in, and prefer to get a close as possible, who are we to imagine there’s any ulterior motive?

It’s almost as if, having spent the day playing house, they want to see what it’s like to get into bed together, and intend giving that impression to the viewer.

Now then, none of that.

I wonder if this is a typical day’s events for them.

…

I don’t know about you, but I never pictured Jessie as a hairnet-and-voluminous-pink-nightgown kind of girl.

She wears more clothes to bed than she does in the day.

It reminds me of Bungle from Rainbow.

You don’t know who that is, do you?

Well you’re going to learn.

Day Jessie Night Jessie

Day Bungle Night Bungle

I bet you didn’t think the post was going to end like that.

[dalleyan]

Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Adventures of Theodred, Son of Eomer, ch 16 posted, 6-17-23)

Theodred's adventures as he travels with Freahelm, trying to find a direction for his life.  (Adventure, Drama, Angst, Romance, Family, Humor) (19 chapter story)

 Chapter 16  -  (begins July, 45 IV)

Theodred flung himself onto the couch and slouched sullenly down, saying, “I hope your daughter was sorely punished for her misbehavior at supper last night!”

“Oh, you do, do you!” Morwen snorted.

Theodred eyed her with a scowl.  “Of course. She was quite rude to Esgalmir with her comments.  Surely you agree she should be punished, Morwen.”

Morwen cast a disapproving eye at him over her knitting, and replied reprovingly, “So now you do not find it amusing.  When she embarrasses me, and Caranhir roars with laughter, you think it is the most delightful thing in the world and so very charming.  You encourage her and praise her and, between the two of you, you do everything to teach her ill manners.  Now that it has caused you some discomfort and ill ease, you wish her reprimanded. How convenient.”

For several long moments, Theodred stared at his sister in disbelief.  Then, glaring at his brother-in-law, he exclaimed, “What have you done to my sweet, genteel sister?  She was never like this before you married her!  And she would never have turned a blind eye to such ill-mannered behavior before, even if I did deserve it!”

Caranhir chuckled and shrugged, then observed, “Children are very honest, Theodred.  Mirlas was not trying to be rude.  My behavior was more unacceptable than hers because I knew better. We have chastized her, and tried to help her understand why she should not ask such things, but other than not allowing her to eat with us, there is no way to entirely avoid such questions until she is old enough to better comprehend what should not be said. Surely Esgalmir can appreciate that and not take offense.  If she cannot, you should be grateful Mirlas frightened her away for you!”

Morwen set aside her knitting and fixed her gaze on her brother.  “More to the point, Theodred, Mirlas did not just pull that question out of the air.  Do you imagine she thinks you might marry any woman who dines in our home when you happen to also be there?  Give her more credit than that!  She sensed something between you, just as the rest of us do.  Esgalmir is special to you, whether you have acknowledged it to yourself or not.  I knew it before I ever came here.  It is in every line of your letters when you mention her.  Do you truly believe my first day in Minas Tirith I was so desperately in need of writing paper that I hurried off to a stationery store?  Or was I perhaps desperately curious to meet this woman whom my brother could not write a letter without mentioning with great fondness?”

Theodred shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unnerved by his sister’s observations, and the fact that Caranhir clearly shared her views.  Defensively, he explained, “She has been a good friend to me.  What is wrong with that?  It does not mean that I intend to marry the woman.”

Morwen raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and it was evident that his argument fell short of the mark in convincing her.  Irritatedly, he rose and glowered at the both of them.  “I am not looking for a wife just now, thank you!  Perhaps when I do, I will consider Esgalmir, but I will not be pushed into it.  After the mess I made of things with Kata, I am not anxious to–”  He cut himself off; then, fighting for control, turned on his heel and hurried out of the house.

Tears filled Morwen’s eyes. “He has my stubbornness.  Let us hope he does not hurt himself as much as I did before he allows himself to be happy.” 

Silently Caranhir moved over behind his wife, leaning down to press a kiss to her head.  “He will come around.  Give him time.  The pain is still fresh in his mind, and he does not want to repeat his mistakes, that is all.  But, eventually, his heart will not let him deny the truth.”

 continue reading on AO3:

              https://archiveofourown.org/works/46771651/chapters/120883060

[tojisbbg]

✭ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ✭

❝i just wanna see you shine ‘cause i know you are a stargirl.❞

♡ shinichiro sano ♡

pt.1, pt. 2 

a/n: this is my first time writing on tumblr so i decided to write about shinichiro first cuz finding fluff/smut about him is so rare. i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts in the comments. <3

➢ content: childhood friends, fluff, romance, friends to lovers, shinichiro is whipped for y/n, smut, not checked for grammatical errors.                                  

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶  ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶     ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“what’s wrong?” you asked the driver, watching the man grunting in frustration as he kept on trying to churn the ignition key to get your car started again, but the car refused to budge. 

“not too sure, ma’am. it was working perfectly fine this morning when you sent me out to pick up your luggages. maybe the cables aren’t working too well or something. sorry, i’ll try to fix the car up as soon as possible.” he slightly stuttered, getting a bit nervous as he thought that you’d be like one of those cruel bosses that fire employees for things that they’re not responsible for. 

“hey, don’t get so worked up, it’s okay. i think i have a solution.” you grinned, making your driver look at you with pure confusion. 

“you know how to fix cars?” the look on his face was priceless, as he stared at you dumbfounded. 

“no, but i know someone who does. i’m gonna uber there, meanwhile, you stay here and have the car towed at this location. i’ll see you then.” you suggested, making your driver shrug as he went along with your plan. 

you arrived in tokyo early this morning, not even having the time to get some sleep at your own house. 

well, new house, to you at least. you brought your parents a huge place a few months back, which wasn’t too far away from where you lived before. but, it’s been about five years since you’ve last stepped your foot back in japan. 

you’ve been studying in the states, getting cast in for movies and tv shows during your rookie years, which surprisingly shot you straight into fame. you’ve been quite busy with your acting career, not even having the time to tend your own needs, such as making time to focus on your mental and physical health. 

you’ve shed off a couple pounds, probably a little more than just baby fat. either way, you were happy and satisfied with the way you looked before and now. after all, a certain someone would always remind you of how gorgeous you’d always look in his eyes. 

you felt really guilty for losing connection with all of your friends and families, barely even having the time to speak with your own parents. which is why you were happy that you were back home. hopefully, everyone would cut you some slack. 

your uber finally came to a stop, politely announcing that you’ve arrived to your destination. you grabbed your purse and thanked the uber driver as you got out of the car. you looked in front of you, the huge shop that had many motorcyles lined up, glistening from the bright lighting from inside as you beaked from the glass windows. 

s.s motorcycle shop.

unknowingly, your lips curled upwards into a smile. happy was an underestimating term to describe how you were feeling right now. you just felt so proud of shinichiro for being able to make his dream come into reality. you always knew that he could make it, and you weren’t wrong. 

he’s just too fucking amazing.

for some reason, your knees felt heavy and your heart pounded inside your chest from anxiety. you felt it a little difficult to breathe, turning away as you tried to decide whether you should step in or not. 

would he still remember you? is he mad at you for not calling him for thanksgiving or on christmas? what about mikey, will he ever forgive you for not calling to wish him a happy birthday? 

the question that bothered you the most was, what if shin had a girlfriend? were you too late?

the mere thought of that made your eyes water, as you quickly tried to shoo it away, not wanting to ruin the eyeliner that took you ages to perfect. 

fuck it. 

you breathed out before pushing the glass door, hearing a small chime of little bells on top of your head, indicating that someone came. 

“inupi! could you take that for me?” you heard someone in the back yell, immediately recognizing who owned the voice. to your surprise, his voice didn’t change much, aside from getting an octave deeper. 

“yeah, i gotchu, shin!” the other person responded, to which you soon saw a fairly tall man walking towards your direction from the back. he was in an all blue jumpsuit, wiping his greasy hands on the rag as he inched closer. 

he had shoulder-length blonde hair, a huge scar covering the upper left side of his face. 

“welcome to s.s motorcycle shop, what can i help you with?” he asked, offering you a small smile. 

“uh, can i talk to shinichiro?” you fiddled with the rings on your fingers, getting a bit awkward from the conversation. the guy thinned his lips, shaking his head. 

“sorry, he’s a little busy right now. but, i got him covered at the moment. so, what seems to be the problem? flat tire? oil change? engine leaks?” this inupi guy tried to insist you on allowing him to help you with your services. 

“i don’t think shin’s gonna mind sparing a few minutes of his time to catch up with his childhood best friend.” you bluntly responded, catching him off guard as inui looked at you with a face of slight disbelief. 

“huh?” he blurted out.

“oh, by the way, i’m y/n. the tow company is bringing my car here in a bit. my driver should be there too, so just give him my name. thanks, inupi.” you patted his shoulder before walking off to head towards the back of the shop, leaving poor inui confused and flustered. 

you turned the corner and saw a small room where a beautiful lavender colored motorcycle was currently being worked on. you leaned on the doorway, watching shinichiro tighten some screws with a wrench as his back was turned towards you, him being completely unaware of your presence. the surrounding ground was littered with different tools. 

“you think you could squeeze in some time to look at my car for me, sano?” you asked, a smirk dancing on your lips as you saw shinichiro’s movements coming to a halt. his head turned to look at you, his eyes widening to the size of two full moons. 

“what the fu.. y/n?!” he frantically yelled, dropping the wrench out of his hand as he quickly got up, rushing over to you as he caged you in a hug. you chuckled in his embrace, feeling his arms tightening around your waist as he dug his face in the crook of your neck, as if he was afraid that you’d run away from him again. 

the familiar smell of gasoline and other vehicle parts filled your nose, a strange form of comfort to say the least. you remember the days in your middle school and high school days where you’d spent the evenings in front of shin’s garage as he fixed his grandpa’s car or mikey’s old worn-out moped while your deftones playlist was on shuffle in the background. 

“i missed you so much, y/n.” his voice came out as a muffled croak, as you soon felt something wet on your shoulders. shinichiro sniffled, a little embarrassed to pull away and have you see him crying to you like a baby when he was supposed to be a grown man. 

but, he couldn’t help it. 

he still remembers as clear as day, waiting for you in front of your house patiently so that you both could walk to school together as per usual. he had big plans for that day, wanting to try out the new noodle place that opened up down the block. after some time had passed, he realized that it was pretty unusual of you to be this late. 

so, he went up to your door and knocked. your mother soon opened it and saw the boy look at her with a concerned face, quickly asking if you were okay. she tried to explain the situation as calmly as possible, not wanting to hurt him as she knew how close you both were. 

the woman saw how his face dropped, eyes becoming glossy as he tried to avoid making eye contact. your mother felt bad for him, but she tried to reassure him that you’d be calling him soon and that your return would also be soon as well. she told him to come over for dinner that night with the rest of his family. 

shinichiro walked to school alone that day, for the first time ever. the days where you couldn’t make it to school would be if you were sick, to which shin would miss school as well in order to nurse you back to health. so, walking alone to school felt weird and wrong, but it was something that he would get used to as many years passed by.

to shinichiro’s dismay, he never got a phone call or text from you. he tried many times to reach out to you, leaving so many voicemails and emails to your business and private numbers and emails. he even tried to contact your manager, to which she told him that he should hear back from you shortly. but of course, with the sea of emails and voicemails from directors and fans, shin’s methods of trying to get a hold of you would go down in the drain. 

“i missed you too, shin. i’m so sorry for not calling.” your voice broke, eyes stinging with tears as you felt him crying a little harder in your arms. you stroked the back of his head, mumbling so many ‘sorry’s’ to him. 

he suddenly pulled away, looking down at you with a pretty smile. he was still as handsome as ever, even if he was just wearing a simple white t-shirt and black jeans. shinichiro wiped away his tears before cupping your face between his warm calloused palms, a pout forming on your lips as he squished your cheeks slightly. 

“i can’t believe my stargirl is back. woahh, look at that gorgeous face that i missed looking at every day. damn, y/n. i missed it all so much. those pretty doey eyes staring at me while fixed a tire or something, this cute little nose, squishy cheeks and your cute litle lips. fuck, i really missed you, y/n.” he breathed out, leaning forwards to place a loving kiss on your cheeks, a small tint of pink now painting them. 

“you’re still smooth with your words, sano. you’re making me feel like i’m in high school all over again.” you giggled, ruffling his hair as he chuckled. 

“hey, tell you what. i’ll leave the shop early today so that we could have dinner together with mikey and emma. mikey will most likely have a stroke, but i can’t blame him, he missed you so much for the past five years. in the meantime, i’ll have your car fixed up by tomorrow morning.” shinichiro smiled, looking at you with the most gentle eyes known to mankind. it set your soul on fire, to have a man look at you with such love and adoration. it was like you never left, he never changed, always being as generous as he could. 

“sounds like a plan, i’ll see you at dinner then.” you excitedly beamed, going on your tippy-toes to press a soft kiss on his cheek. he stood there, awe struck as he looked at you with hearts in his eyes. 

you waved him goodbye before leaving the small room as you walked to the front of the shop. you pulled the glass doors to exit the shop, seeing your car parked on the side, you driver attentively watching the blonde who was examining the condition of your car’s engine. 

“miss y/n!” your driver called out. inupi now redirected his attention to you as you walked closer to them. 

“thanks for getting my car here, you could go home for today.” you dismissed the driver as he thanked you before leaving. 

“you famous around here or something, miss y/n?” inupi asked, slightly mocking you which you found to be quite amusing. 

“uhm, something like that. i’m an actress.” you replied, seeing him cock an eyebrow. 

“that’s pretty cool, never knew shin had famous people on his friends list.” he mumbled to himself, trying to connect some of the cables that were latched onto your engine. 

“i’m not as famous as angelina jolie or something. still pretty much a rookie, so i have a long way to go.” you added on, trying to not come off as an arogant person.

“i see, well, i’ll be sure to search you up later on and watch some of your movies for sure.” inupi chirped, making you laugh as you both waved each other goodbye before you went your own separate way. 

...

the clock struck eight in the evening and you just finished spraying on some perfume. it was a simple dinner at the sano’s, just like the olden times, so you decided to keep it simple and casual with a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. 

you made sure to grab the three gift bags that you prepared with care all evening, your room now a huge mess from how messily you rummaged through your luggage to pull out these presents. 

“y/n, give this to shin for me, please.” your mom gave you a foil pan that you knew was filled with her famous tirimisu. 

“will do, ma’am. i’ll see you later, mom.” you said, opening the door before closing it behind you, deciding to walk to shin’s house since it was two short blocks away. 

you arrived shortly, ringing the doorbell as you waited for a couple of seconds. the wooden door opened, revealing your best friend who was in a very cheezy apron. 

“y/n! i just finished setting the table, come in.” he scooted to the side, giving you space to get inside. there was a particular smell in the sano residence that made you feel at home, the scent of comfort and memories. 

not a single thing has changed about how his house looks like, it’s exactly the way it looked like five years ago on the night where you last had dinner with them. 

“i brought tirimisu, my mom made it.” you informed him as you walked into the kitchen, nearly bumping into his back. 

“really? damn, how did she know that i’ve been craving for her tirimisu recently.” shin chuckled, taking the foil pan from your hands to put it in the fridge. 

“where’s mikey and emma?” you looked around, eyes scanning the living room but the both of them are nowhere to be found. 

“emma’s at hina’s house and mikey is at one of his toman meetings. but, i called them both a few minutes ago, they’re on their way.” he answered while reaching his hands back to untie the knot of the apron. you saw his eyebrow furrow as he ‘tsked’ in annoyance, he accidentally pulled the wrong string and tightened the knot. you saw him struggling, going behind him to offer your help. 

“here, let me help.” your hands brushed against his, a small electrical current running between the brief touch, as you soft fingers began to untie the knot. 

for absolute no reason at all, this strong urge to hug the man in front of you overwhelmed you. you couldn’t register nor process why.

was it because he smelled like home? how his touches bandaged all the wounds littered on your body? his voice like some kind of drug to calm down your nerves? 

without thinking twice, you closed the distance between both of your bodies. you wrapped your arms tightly against his waist, snuggling against the muscular clothed surface of your back as you breathed him in. 

shinichiro froze on the spot, not knowing how to react at all. it’s been five years, and it felt like time was going a little too slow for him. all those days where he stayed awake late at night, thinking about how you were doing and why you didn’t talk to him in any form of communication. 

for the longest, he thought that maybe you forgot about him. shinichiro wasn’t a hard man to read, in fact, he was like an open-book to be honest. there’s no way that you could miss the flirty comments, or how his cheeks and the tips of his ears would go red when he got flustered, how he dressed extra nice when you both would go out to eat after school and even much smaller actions. 

making sure to have you walk on the sidewalk where you weren’t near the road, holding your hand while crossing and looking both ways for you when you were too busy reading the upcoming play’s script, making sure to remind you to eat and drink water, and just to breathe and relax. 

you were just a little too slow to realize. 

shinichiro remembered breaking his own heart with the mere thought of you getting into a relationship with another man. of course, he would support you and cheer you on no matter what. but, it would be hard to always give you a bittersweet smile and pretend that everything was okay. 

he saw the way you helped him raise his siblings, envisioning a life where the two of you would date, get married and start a family. whenever he had a bad day, dreaming about that would instantly make him smile. 

he only wished that it was reality. 

“i’ll never leave you again shin, i’m so sorry for not calling or texting. when i came back to japan and saw you for the first time in five years, i felt like a piece of me was finally restored. god, i can’t explain to you how much i missed you and how much i yearned for you. you’re home for me, shin.” your voice came out a muffles as your embrace tightened a little with each word, not wanting to ever let go of him. 

“i’m so happy you didn’t forget me, y/n. i was so scared to lose you, holding onto the little bits of hope left inside my heart and mind that one day you’d come back and surprise me in my shop. but back then, it was only a scenario that i would think of before going to sleep.” shinichiro turned around, stroking your hair before leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. 

the little moment you both share would soon be interrupted as a series of doorbells rang. 

“it’s them! you could hide in my room, y/n. go, go, go!” he exclaimed, pushing you towards the stairs in a hurry. he waited for your footsteps to reach all the way to the top, hearing the sound of his door closing before heading to open the door. 

“what took you so long, shin? i thought i was gonna die from hunger.” mikey complained the second his older brother opened the door, quickly entering the house as he kicked his shoes off. 

“this little brat made me wait ten minutes in front of that hina girl’s house because of some silly fashion show they were having in her room.” grandpa sano mumbled under his breath as he followed in after mikey. 

“any complaints from you, emma?” shinichiro chuckled, but the blonde simply shook her head. 

“i’m not overdramatical like them, i had a pretty good day. what about you, shin?” she asked as she was the last one to come inside, shinichiro locking the door behind as emma sat on the couch to open her shoes. 

“that’s good to hear. my day was pretty okay, a little busy at the shop.” he smiled, bending down to help unbuckle her heels. 

in the span of just a few minutes, all three of the sanos that just arrived home freshened up and were ready to dine in together to the freshly home-cooked meal prepared by the elder sano sibling. 

you crept up behind a wall, seeing all of them slowly being seated, mikey being the one faced away from you. 

“if only y/n was here then you wouldn’t have been so lonely all the time, big bro. she needs to come back soon, i still miss her. she probably forgot about us.” mikey sadly said, lowering his gaze towards his food as he suddenly felt a loss of his appetite when he glanced at the empty space between him and shinichiro where you would sit during meals. 

your heart shattered to pieces when hearing his words, no longer being able to hide away. you tip-toed towards him, your presence catching emma and grandpa sano’s attention as they both looked at you with wide eyes. 

emma was nearly ready to scream but you quickly place a finger on your lips to signal her to not make a sound. 

“what’s the matter? you seem like you saw a ghost, emma.” mikey laughed. 

you covered his eyes, the pair of chopsticks in his hands dropping as he tried to take your hands off of his face. 

“the hell?! emma, is this one of your stupid friends from school again?? listen here, i’m not hanging out with you after school alright!” the blonde said through gritted teeth, making you bite back a laugh. 

you slowly release you hand as you craned down you face to meet his eyes. 

“not even me, ‘jiro?” you said and he stared at you blankly. 

“i think i’m going nuts.” mikey stammered out. you gave him a warm smile before pulling him into your chest. 

it took him a minute to finally realize that it was really you. 

“y/n? OH MY GOD, Y/N!!” he screamed on the top of his lungs, nearly popping your ear drums before pulling you into a hug that made it difficult to breathe. 

“you grew up so much, little sano. oh my, look at your hair!!” you squealed while ruffling the long blonde locks, the boy in your arms sobbing as he refused to let you go. 

“i missed you so much, y/n. you big fat jerk, how dare you not call us!! i waited every birthday for you to wish me, trying to predict a lucky day that would come where you would return.” mikey hiccuped as you rubbed your hand on his back, trying to soothe him as you apologized.

shinichiro looked at you lovingly, his eyes sparkling at how tenderly you treated his siblings. the way you gently caressed mikey’s hair while patting emma’s back as she sobbed into you chest. 

you were perfect. 

you’ll always be his stargirl, shining brightly even through his darkest times. 

he never realized how madly in love he was with you, not until you were thousands of miles away. shinichiro still sometimes felt that feeling of his heart sinking at the thought of you never coming back. 

but you did and he never wanted to let you go again. 

[fanfichubcircuit]

2003!Leonardo Dating/Romance HCs

(Heads up some of these are 18+)

I love this motherfucker so much let’s get into it

- Wants to train with you and if you already know martial arts to any extent he is so happy you have no idea. Martial arts isn’t just about fighting especially to Leo, but if you did fight by his side? !!! Boy would die for a ride or die he needs that in his life. He has dreams about making out with you on a dramatic battlefield. Never gonna actually happen though you two would get stabbed.

- Is so used to serving others getting him to not try to do everything in the relationship is difficult. But he also loves just doing acts of service. You just have to make him let you return the favor. It’s a balancing act that gets better with time.

-Speaking of he’s a service top in bed through and through so getting him to let you give him pleasure and focus solely on him is going to require an honest conversation and after that and an enthusiastic yes, ropes, headphones, and a blindfold so he can just focus on the moment. (He’s a switch sub leaning I will die on that hill)

- Arguments would be so rare. Leo wouldn’t date someone he didn’t agree with in important ways and respected a bunch. He believes in communication and talking things out. However, if you love this man and he loves you you’re both dramatic and will have extremely rare but huge blowouts about each others safety.

- Please let him have iced matcha lattes at your house. Splinter doesn’t believe in iced tea and Leo is queer he needs his iced drinks on occasion okay? (Listen this man is fruity in every version he is strongly bisexual and will love you in a poetic queer way no matter your gender)

- Loves spending time with you and getting a little goofy! With a romantic partner he can cut back in ways he can’t at home. He is a dork and date nights might lead to wacky adventures but he deserves to go on them and you’re gonna have fun.

- He’s autistic (I can and will elaborate if prompted) so the both of you can just talk about your passions together. He just wants to hear you talk about what you love and is more than willing to give it a try.

-If you have an event of any kind? He’s there. He’s present. He’s either hiding in the rafters or he’s in disguise. He can’t stand the texture of clothes but he’d do it a thousand times for you.

-Definitely writes you love letters leaves them on your windowsill. He’ll put a pretty rock or small trinket on top so it doesn’t blow away cause he learned from his first attempt.

-He can’t cook but he is great at chopping. So let him in the kitchen! Let him cook with you. Even if you just give him prep work. If you work with him really hard you can get him to be able to make soup and breakfast, but that’s it. (It’s for his own good if he knew how to cook he’d just try to do it for you every time my guy needs to chill).

-You’re sick? Period? Recovering from a meltdown? He is taking care of you and honestly liking it so much. He loves caring for the people in his life and making you feel better makes him feel like he’s meant for more than just violence.

-Part of the relationship balance is just the two of you getting each other to take breaks and stop beating yourself up. Leo doesn’t become one of your favorites unless you’re a perfectionist (I see you!)

-His flirting is so corny but he pulls it off. Lots of “Hey Gorgeous. Going somewhere?” With that voice he does for one liners and stuff.

-If you use your height against him in flirting (guy is 5’2” smol king) you will MELT him. Dance with him and lead and he’ll just want to go home to be with you that instant.

-Honestly doesn’t mind you pulling him around by his hand or grabbing him around his waist to direct him somewhere. As long as you’re not rough or rude he really digs it. He trusts you and likes when you’re assertive because it shows you’re comfortable with him. He doesn’t have to be a leader to you you’re both partners.

-He’s a huge simp your honor.

[katoska]

Yeah that's what I meant by "the eventual understanding that he'll leave if she asks". I wanna see more fake banishments, and I want him to honor them despite not having to, after he pulls whatever attention-grabbing stuff he thinks is impressive/romantic. That church scene altered my brain chemistry and I need to see more wooing, dammit. She spent 30mins with him in both movies altogether so far, tops. I want at least a few "newspaper" (the kind that reports on bigfoot) headlines about an uptick of hauntings in Connecticut and which expert medium to call if you have snakes and vermin manifesting in your house or see the local stripey cryptid whom no one can quite agree on what he looks like, as a shortcut to tell the audience that our mains are building a relationship, even if it's half-adversarial and a little bit under false pretenses, as we'll later find out. And ofc I'd also like to see at least one such encounter between the two, and that she's having fun "defeating" him. Whatever the bigger plot may be, if we wanna get to a both-sided romantic wedding, or at least a both-sided romance, they need to spend more time together. Also, as you said, she needs to realise that he can make himself be seen by several living people, but he only cares about being seen by her.

I'm pretty sure writers can't acknowledge reading fanworks at all so they can't be accused of plagiarism. Which imo is dumb. I sure af wouldn't complain, and I wouldn't throw theories out if I didn't see hints in canon in the first place. We got mention of Trade, we got Loopholes to cut a Deceased's time short, and we got consummate Dealmaker Betelguise doing something nice for apparently free. For Lydia's ex, at that. The dots are all there and they aren't mine, I'm just connecting them and extrapolating a very little.

Yeah, movie 1 had a(n almost) wedding. Movie 2 had 3 weddings (well, 1 wedding and two almost weddings). Betelgeuse x Delores, Rory x Lydia, and Betelgeuse x Lydia. If they wanna make a pattern, next movie might actually have be set in Vegas lol.

Personally, I'd be happy enough if Betelgeuse joined the family as their mostly-helpful ghost whom Lydia is sort-of dating but she doesn't wanna put a label on it (abandonment issues + got burned too often). Though they are obviously still very committed, albeit him more obviously so than her, and obviously endgame.

Wrt the curse. The name thing still seems to somewhat apply. He could hear Delia call him and came on the second mention of his name, voluntarily. Idk if that's part of the same curse that keeps him out of the living world unless called and which marriage could fix (cause divorce apparently didn't), or just a generic ghost thing though. I obviously want to believe it's the latter. Maybe they all can feel when someone's calling out to them, or maybe Betel himself just happens to be very psychically gifted. No one said you have to be anywhere near the model fo Betel to hear you call him, after all (Lydia should have tried it in Jeremy's room rather than go all the way back home). He managed to keep a connection to Astrid after she said his name twice, too. At least, I think that's how he knew about Dostoyevsky. Seems more perk than curse, tbh.

And now I'm imagining Lydia "banishing" Betelgeuse so often in front of witnesses that his name becomes too well-known in the living world, like Bloody Mary. He'd hate that because it'd be annoying, and his annoyance would be both entirely his own fault and ironic considering his desperation to be called on in movie 1, and it could be what forces him to out himself as free bc it's either that or having to do at least two shows per night ("I won't do it. I won't"). Would fit in with the probable title of movie 3, too, right? And it would be good if he were forced to ask Lydia for help for once. Like giving him her last name helping him to very publicly demonstrate that he might come when called, but won't leave upon hearing the magic words anymore, not even if they come out of involuntarily-famous-medium Lydia Deetz's mouth, so people better think twice. Cause he'll only leave once he's done with you or if Lydia (or Astrid) asks him too. And those two have better things to do than rescue idiots who are trying to summon poltergeists for funsies. Which means that anytime Lydia does show up afterwards to watch deal with B's antics, it'll be of her own free will, maybe to consume a nice candlelit dinner cooked in some possessed idiot's (very nice, cause I'm sure Betelgeuse would only pick the best locations for a date haunting) kitchen. Which means if he starts possessing some Elvis impersonators in Vegas, she could take that as the invitation/proposal that it would be intended as, rather than a hostage situation. Cause she can't actually force him to get out of the Elvis guy, or to get an actual priest instead of the Elvis guy (Elvis can stay as witness though). But she knows he will, if she asks.

Betelgeuse and marriage theory

A Beetlejuice head-canon/theory I have (warning, it's somewhat "Beauty & The Beast" coded 🌹🥀).

Having died poisoned on his wedding night, Betelgeuse's soul is bound by the ritual of marriage.

We already know he will be able to reenter the mortal world if he marries a living person (due to the rules of the afterlife and whatnot), but here's where my head-canon starts:

Bound to the ritual of marriage, if he marries someone he loves, who truly love him back, dead or alive, his soul will be freed and he will be able to pass on to the great beyond next to his beloved (once his beloved passes away as well, assuming she happens to be currently alive *hint hint*). This person has to wear Delores' ring and accept and love Betelgeuse as is. She has to fall in love with his soul. Only loving him truly, wearing the ring, and sealing the deal with a kiss will release him, and that way, in the end, both his soul and his beloved's (it has got to be Lydia, please) can move on peacefully into the great beyond and exist without curses or attachments.

Totally a fantasy in my head because there's no way something like this would happen in canon much to the sadness of my little heart lol, but I thought I'd share it with you all. And who knows, maybe if there's a third movie they will explore what it is about Betelgeuse's character that is so attached to the concept of marriage. Because, listen, maybe the ritual where a ghost marries a living person and can materialize in the living world is something that is bound to the rules of the afterlife, and detailed in the Manual for the Recently Deceased, but the symbols and ritual of marriage is something intrinsic to the character of Betelgeuse itself.

He died on his wedding night, for starters. He was tricked by Delores and fell for her immediately. One could argue he fell quickly because she is so gorgeous and no doubt manipulated him into believing she loved him, and that's definitely part of it, but also, (and I have no doubt about this one), he believed her and fell for her immediately because Betelgeuse wants to be loved. He's a romantic underneath it all, and he wants to love and be loved. He might have been desiring it for a long time, failing to find love throughout his life until he met Delores.

He may exude self-confidence (maybe even to a delulu extent lol) and present himself in this very raunchy way, but inside, I'm sure he desires a genuine love; he wants to love someone and be loved truly. And he died, murdered by his bride on the night of his wedding. Betelgeuse was murdered on the night that should have been the happiest of his life, and his desire for love and a wedding stayed with him beyond the grave, now stained with blood and betrayal and a curse that can only be broken, in my head-canon/theory, by marrying someone who truly loves him, whom he truly loves.

Marriage is definitely a very important theme in Beetlejuice, so it'd be interesting if there's something more underneath it, which could be explored in the next movie if we are so lucky to get it.

[duskholland]

Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

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

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

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

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom slows down the car.

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

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

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

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

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

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

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

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

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

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

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

“Step away from the door.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They reach the gym.

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

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

“Holland. Time to go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

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

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

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, lovie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The visit is over far too soon.

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, man.”

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

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

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

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

The prison guards don’t agree.

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

It’s still worth it.

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

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

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N? Where are you?”

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

“In here, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When was this?” he whispers.

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

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

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

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

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

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

“I really don’t,” you agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The air between you shifts.

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

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

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

“What have you got planned?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

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

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

“Please do.”

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

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

“Say please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

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

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

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

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

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

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

[house-of-slayterr]

Zsasz Family Incorrect Quotes:

@keffirinne @jason-todds-bitch @flaysthings @howl-fantasies @animegoddexx

Maggie: You have to apologize to Y/N

Victor: Fine.

Victor: ‘Unfuck you’ or whatever.

Victor : Are you laughing at that video of Basil and Y/N fighting?

Maggie : No.

Maggie : I'm laughing at the comments.

Maggie : I’m gonna die alone.

Basil: Maggie , you’re not gonna die alone.

Maggie : Jim , was my safety net, okay? They got married and now I have to get a snake.

Victor : Uh-huh. Why is that?

Maggie : If I’m gonna be an old lonely person, I’m gonna need a thing, you know? A hook. Like that guy in the subway who eats his own face.

Maggie : So I figured I’ll be “Crazy Lady With A Snake”, you know? Crazy snake lady.

Maggie : Then I’ll get more snakes, call them my babies. Kids won’t walk past my place, they will run! RUN AWAY FROM CRAZY SNAKE LADY!

Why is this one accurate 👀

Basil: I'm bored.

Victor : Wanna commit first degree murder?

Basil: Sure!

Maggie , hearing them: No- Stop, don't do that! Put that knife down! Put Oswald down!!

Y/N : Who wants to go out of the country on a road trip?

Basil: Yea, I could drink legally!

Victor : I could hang out with the boys!

Maggie : I could hide from the consequences of my actions.

Victor : Why is Maggie crying on the floor?

Basil: They took one of those 'what person are you?' quizzes.

Victor : And?

Basil: They got Y/N .

Literally screaming, I can imagine the offended look of Y/N face and the smirk on Victors.

Maggie : We need to distract these guys.

Basil: Leave it to me.

Basil: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss.

V & Victor : *immediately begin arguing*

Ahhh yes, father daughter bonding.

V: Basil has no idea I’m high.

Basil: You’re high?

V: Oh, I’m sorry.

V, leaning over to Maggie : Basil has no idea I’m high.

Maggie , excitedly: Heeyy!!

V: Hey, someone's excited.

Basil, deadpan: Yeah, and it's making me sick.

Maggie : So, are you two friends?

Basil: Yes.

Harvey : No.

Poor Basil doesn’t know how to make friends 😭

Harvey : What makes you think it's okay to watch Hannibal given its subject matter?

Maggie: Sometimes, I watch television shows for entertainment purposes.

Basil: Because I condone murder and cannibalism.

Not me just projecting another special interest onto my character. 

 Maggie : Victor is okay.

Basil: They're okay? They said they were going to break my legs! And don't tell me they didn't mean it, okay?! 'Cause they gave me the mackerel eyes, they meant it!

Maggie : Basil, Victor threatened me. They threaten Y/N every day. They probably threatened Jim before breakfast this morning. It's what they do. Grow a pair.

*Everyone is giving advice to Maggie *

Jim : It's okay to ask for help.

Y/N : You're not a burden.

Victor : Murder is okay.

Basil: Your feelings matter.

Maggie : What are you writing?

Selena : The government wants to know what kind of weapons we have in the house. I'm letting them know it's private information.

V, looking over Selena 's shoulder: This just says 'fuck around and find out' in calligraphy.

Selena : V! What did I tell you about lying?

V, looking down: ...That it only works on Maggie.

Basil : Isn't it weird that people kill mosquitoes just because they're annoying?

V: Damn, if people did that to each other, Selena would've killed me years ago.

*Selena is telling a story*

V: Wow, Selena, this story has everything! Action! Adventure! Romance!

Basil : Romance?

V: I have a crush on them.

She would totally say this 🥺

Maggie : Basil , I am questioning your sanity...

Jim : I never questioned it, I knew their sanity was missing from the start.

Jim : Basil , gather the others. We need to have another Maggie -is-doing-something-stupid-again-and-we-have-to-stop-them-before-they-hurt-someone convention.

Home girl really needs to stop running head first into danger, I swear!

Maggie : We've got to find a way to cut down our expenses. What can we live without?

Basil : Jim , probably.

His petty ass would 😂

V: Happy birthday Y/N! I'm your gift!

Y/N, whispering to Victor : Did you get the receipt, or do I have to keep them?

And the step mom of the year award goes to…

Y/N: All in all, a 100% successful trip.

Victor : But we lost V.

Y/N: All in all, a 100% successful trip!

Victor : V, what do you have?

V: A KNIFE!

Victor : Okay, have fu-

Y/N: NO!

Y/N: What is it called when you kill a friend?

Basil: Homicide.

Maggie: Murder.

Victor : Homiecide.

Basil: Oh god, they texted you ‘hi.’’ punctuation only means one thing, Maggie. They're mad at you.

Maggie: No, it's Y/N. They're just being gramatically correct!

*meanwhile*

Y/N: And then I used a period so they'd know that I'm mad at them.

Victor : A period doesn't say 'I'm mad', it says 'you're dead to me'.

Y/N: I stand by my choice.

V: How do you connect with a fictional character?

Y/N: What?

Victor : What?

Basil: What?

Maggie: *pulls up a 500 slide presentation* I'm glad you asked.

Maggie : You three, explain right now!

Y/N : It was Victor .

Basil : It was Victor .

V: It was Victor .

Victor :

Victor : …fuck.

Maggie : You’re a loose cannon, Y/N .

Y/N : No, I’m not. I’m a cannon, maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me?

V: I think you play by your own rules.

Basil : No way, they think rules were made to be broken.

Maggie : Those are all attributes of a loose cannon.

Y/N : No, I’m just a reckless renegade. Victor is a loose cannon.

Victor : *smashes a chair* Aah! You shut your trap, Y/N !

Basil : I’d say Victor ’s more of a cop on the edge with nothing to lose. That’s an entirely different thing.

V: Now I’m just confused. Is Y/N a loose cannon or not?

Maggie : All right, put on a pot of coffee. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this.

Y/N : *groans*

Victor : Aw, man.

Victor : Hey, Y/N, what do you think it would be like if we had kids?

Y/N: What would it be like? Inconvenient, mostly.

Victor : No, I mean, what would they be like, the kids? You ever think about it?

Y/N: Can't really say I have.

Victor : You know, for someone as eccentric as yourself, you can be boring as fuck sometimes.

Y/N: Sorry, Victor . For what it's worth, I'm picturing them now. A boy and a girl. Two perfect little freaks of nature raised by people who've clearly got no business bringin' up anybody.

Where’s the lie?

Victor : I think you're still suffering the effects of your party last night.

Maggie: All I drank was Redbull!

Victor : How many?

Maggie: Eighteen.

Maggie: Hello Victor , made anyone cry today?

Victor : Sadly, no. But it’s only 4:30.

Kidnapper: We have your child

Y/N: I don’t have a child?

Kidnapper: Then who just asked for warm milk and made us cut the crusts off their sandwich?

Y/N: Oh god, you have Maggie

Maggie: Y/N, I screwed up, big time.

Y/N: Maggie, given your daily life experiences, you’re gonna have to be more specific.

Basil : What are you drinking?

Maggie: Vodka.

Basil : Straight?

Maggie: No, gay. Why?

Maggie: *fast-forwards all the way through the movie*

Basil : You can't just skip to the happy ending!

Maggie: I don't have time for their problems.

V: Hold on, I can explain!

Maggie: Really? Can you now?

V: I can if you give me a minute to think of a convincing lie.

Maggie: I'm going the fight the next person who insults V.

V: I hate myself.

Maggie: Alright, square up.

Harvey : Maggie, is that legal?

Maggie: When there's no cops around, anything's legal!

Harvey: *glares in cop*

Maggie, entering the room: *Sees Jim and leaves*

Jim , watching Maggie leave: There’s my monthly dose of Maggie…

Fucking accurate!

Basil : Y/N taught me to think before I act.

Basil : ...So if I smack the shit out of you, rest assured that I thought about it and am confident in my decision.

Victor : Go big or go home!

Y/N : Please, for once in your life just go home. I'm begging you. Go. Home.

Victor : I'm going big!

Y/N , grinning: I have a knife!

Victor : Put it down, Y/N .

Y/N : Make me! *sprints away*

Y/N : Did you like the food I made?

V: No, not really.

Y/N : But I put my heart and soul into it!

V: No wonder it tastes so cold and dead.

Basil: Are you mad?

Y/N : No.

Basil: So sharpening your knives at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

Y/N : Why are you drinking?

Harvey: I drink when I'm depressed.

Y/N : But you're always drinking?

Harvey: *smug grin*

V : I am in charge of this disaster!

Selena : I have a name, you know.

An: Yes I added Jim and Selena, there part of the ‘family’ through association. I don’t have to explain why uncle Harvey is here.