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duskholland · 3 years

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Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

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

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

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

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom slows down the car.

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

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

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

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

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

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

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

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

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

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

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

“Step away from the door.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They reach the gym.

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

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

“Holland. Time to go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

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

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

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, lovie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The visit is over far too soon.

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, man.”

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

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

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

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

The prison guards don’t agree.

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

It’s still worth it.

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

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

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N? Where are you?”

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

“In here, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When was this?” he whispers.

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

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

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

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

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

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

“I really don’t,” you agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The air between you shifts.

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

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

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

“What have you got planned?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

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

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

“Please do.”

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

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

“Say please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

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

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

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

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

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

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

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

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marlahey · 2 years

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under the same roof part five: just couldn’t wait

a harry styles rpf part five of six ratings/warnings: teeth rotting fluff, a collection of small firsts, some of my personal favourite scenes notes: hello again! we’re combatting extreme stress and anxiety with productivity! I’ve applied for a new job to deal with hating my current one, made so much progress on skyward sword, and gotten over strep and the flu since you last saw me. it’s a lot, but so am I, lol.

• sunday, january 13th, 2019. 10:05 am •

“Nice place,” Harry calls to you from the kitchen. You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you.

Your place is essentially a two hundred square foot studio with a loveseat, wall desk, kitchenette, and a bare, open archway that leads to a room scarcely large enough to fit your queen bed. You have no full bath, no real living room, and no hallway; the flat kind of just starts right when you walk in. “Thanks,” you deadpan, hoisting your suitcase onto your bed before doubling back to the kitchen. “It’s just a shame all my plants are dead now.” You hear the sound of the fridge door shutting as you walk up to Harry. He’d insisted on bringing up a few containers of food and helping you with your bags, but it had sounded like an excuse to you. You’re certain you’ve never had someone so tall in your apartment before. Perhaps it’s just that your ceilings are lower than his, but Harry seems to dwarf every mundane marker of your life–– your shoes, your books, envelopes from the bank. It’s almost as though your life hadn’t been fundamentally altered in the past week, that your clutter and half-empty dish soap and creaky floorboards had just been waiting for you to return from an errand. But instead, your poor plants and the fine layer of dust –– and Harry, still standing there like he belongs –– are just a reminder that you can never just go back to whatever you had before. The corner of his mouth quirks up against his dimple as you reach for the strap of your duffle bag around his shoulder. He nods to the massive canvas above your bookcase. “I like that painting.” “India did it.” He crosses his arms, leaning back against your kitchen sink to take in the ornate petals, twisting branches, and shapeless streams of color. “She’s talented.” You join him, leaning on the countertop and stroking his arm. “Thanks for helping me carry everything, and for the leftovers. You really didn’t have to do all that.” “I know. Wanted to… Are you excited for Brighton?” “So excited,” you affirm. Harry tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You straighten his glasses for him. “What about you? Are you excited to get Sylvia again?” “Definitely.” “And you have her for two weeks now? Or… ” “Nah. I offered, but I think Annie wants to save her weeks up for later like a bloody punch card. Think I’m probably gonna have to take her for quite a while when they go on their honeymoon eventually.” “I see,” you chuckle. “When do you need to head out?” Harry glances at the time on his phone before stuffing it back into his pocket and pulling you into his chest. “Little over an hour,” he murmurs. You smile against each other’s mouths in a drowsy kiss. Harry’s arms snake around your waist; you stand between his knees and stay like that for a minute, kissing in your kitchen with a ray of sunlight warming the backs of your legs. You take a step backward after a beat, and tug Harry along by his arm. He almost trips over your tiny dining table. He bends down to kiss you again, but you push him onto the loveseat. (If you thought his size made him seem out of place before, he’s making your furniture look like it belongs in a dollhouse now.) Harry just smiles up at you as though he’s happy to be led anywhere. “I just…” you begin, uncertain. “I want to feel something that isn’t… ” You shrug a little helplessly, waving a hand at the walls of your home. “I want to feel good here, again.” Harry doesn’t say anything, but then he nods. He reaches forward, hooking his fingertips around the back of your knee to pull you onto the couch with him. It feels less like a fall and more like being drawn in by a magnet. “I think,” Harry breathes against your neck, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss into the divot just below your ear, “I can help with that.” • tuesday, january 15th, 2019, 11:48pm • The wind bites at your face as you careen down the sidewalk without shutting the door of the cab behind you. A wild laugh rips through your chest. The pavement is harsh beneath your bare feet but you stretch your arms out like an airplane with a shoe in each hand because you’re safe and nothing hurts and if you have any responsibilities right now, you can’t recall a single one of them. India is calling your name, telling you to slow down through laughter. Your smile only grows.

“You’ve passed it, babe!” she yells. “It’s this one!” You whirl around; India is down the block, frantically pointing to a colorful triple-decker tucked into the line of identical houses like two mirrors facing one another. You scrunch your nose, trying to remember the photographs from the Airbnb website. Was it that one? “You sure?” you yell back to her. India nods, exaggerated, before doubling over with laughter. “Positive.” You stumble up the steps of the front porch together, losing it over absolutely nothing. She fumbles the keys. “Hurry, India.” You hop from foot to foot to stay warm, clad in nothing but an enormous sherpa jacket and the shortest dress you own to shield you from the cold. “Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee!” The front door swings open and the two of you both try to shove past each other around peals of laughter, taking the stairs by two in a scramble to reach the bathroom first. You know that you should try to be quieter for the neighbours, but the chances of that are fading by the minute. You’re the first to reach the toilet, but you’re pretty sure India had let you win. She bangs on the door the entire time you’re in there regardless. “I’m gonna piss myself!” she threatens from the hall. No part of you wants to see if she’s bluffing, so you quickly finish washing your hands before unlocking the door. Your best friend would have plowed right through you to the toilet, had you not zipped past her first, snatching your purse from the hallway floor on your way to the bedroom. The muted floral duvet bears a slight resemblance to the one from the Bates Motel but since it doesn’t seem to have any suspicious stains, you pounce onto the mattress and fish your cell phone out of your bag. You’ll get the spins sooner rather than later if you don’t sit upright, so you crawl up the bed until you’re propped up against the headboard, scrolling through your contact list until you find the one you’d been searching for. Your ears are icy from the chilled night air as you press your cell phone against your cheek, smiling a bit wickedly as it rings. You nestle into the soft lining of your jacket and it occurs to you too late that you have no idea what time it is “Hi.” Somehow Harry is laughing already as he answers.

“Hi… it’s me.” You hiccup. “I know, love.” “What’s so funny?” you demand. He’s still laughing.“You.” “You’re only saying that because I’m drunk.” “Absolutely why I said that.” You smile, then collapse on the pillows, leaning a cold cheek against your hand. “I jus’ wanted to hear your voice.” His laughter catches like it got stuck in his chest. You hear his breath through the phone in the long pause before he speaks.“You’re sweet. How’s Brighton?” “Good… Kinda cold.” “S’ what you get for going on holiday to the beach in January.” You roll to the side and hug an arm around your waist. “Shhh… ” “What did you get up to today then?” “We went to the pier, and the Lanes. Hit the shops. I bought a dress and some earrings, and… yeah. We had dinner at the Salt Room.” “Oh yeah? What’d you have?” “Surf and turf.” “Sounds good.” “Mhm. Now we just got back from the Bar Broadway after some celebrating.” You hiccup. “Have you ever been there?” You’ll never tire of hearing Harry laugh “I have actually… How much did you celebrate?”

“Like, several rounds.” You ignore any lingering embarrassment over your slurred words in favour of letting yourself indulge in the slow, rounded melody of Harry’s voice. “Excellent… I’m really glad to hear you’ve been able to enjoy yourself.” “Thank you.” “You deserve it.” “Yeah,” you agree, sighing against the pillow and smiling to nobody. “How was your day?” “Very good. Sylvia and I FaceTimed with my mum for a while after dinner. We made mini pizzas from scratch—it was a fuckin’ mess. Then watched Shawn the Sheep. I sang a little to put her to bed… Now you’ve caught me going over a few exhibition proposals for the gallery, I’m afraid.” “Sorry, I’m probably distracting you.” Harry pauses. “S’not any different than usual.” “Is that a bad thing?” “Definitely not.” You allow for too much time to pass, listening to each other breathe through the phone. He speaks up again when you don’t. “Still there?” “I miss you,” you hum, almost inaudibly. Even though you’re several negronis in and haven’t seen him in a few days, you still can’t tell if the admission was warranted. “Miss you too.” His voice is soft. You haven’t been indoors long enough to justify feeling this warm all over. “Where are you right now?” “In the living room. On the couch.” “With a cuppa?” Harry snorts. “Obviously.” “What are you wearing?” You almost cut him off, surprising yourself. Just when you’re convinced that you’d taken it too far, Harry chuckles on the other end of the line. “I’m, um… I’ve got a tee shirt on, joggers,” he replies slowly. You’ve barely pictured it before he adds a hint more seriously, “black briefs.” Your lips part incrementally around an exhale. Another pause washes over the conversation like a tide. He speaks up again, though his voice has dropped a decibel. “What are you wearing?” His tone sobers you a little as you glance down to your bare legs. “A lot less than you.” Harry’s clipped sigh is audible through the phone. You wonder if his eyes are closed as well, and if he’s getting carried away thinking about you the same way you are about him. “Friday night was nice,” you comment. “It was… Thinking about it right now, actually.” “So am I,” you admit. “When can I see you again?” “When I get back.” “When’s that?” His voice is taut, as though he’s overcompensating his frustration with an effort to sound polite. “This Saturday, so…” You count on your fingers. “Four days from now.” Harry offers you a dry, poignant laugh. “S’ ages.” “I know. I’m not feeling very patient… ” You bite your lip, leaning on the intoxicated side of your brain for courage. “I might have to take care of myself later.” You had slept with him once—did you have the license to say something like that? Would you have to text him tomorrow morning to apologize for your loose lips? “Was half considering taking care of myself right now, actually.” Your mouth goes dry. He begins again, slowly. “How would you feel about that?” You swallow roughly, struggling to process this information. Harry wants to touch himself while he talks to you. You can practically see him alone on the couch in his living room, laptop tossed to the side, one hand slipped beneath the waistband of his sweatpants moving slowly, the other holding his phone to his ear, cheeks rosy and eyes hooded behind his glasses. Are you about to have phone sex? Is that what’s happening right now? “Love?” You’ve short circuited too long. “I’m—yes. I’d feel good,” you blurt, scared that you’d lost the moment in your flounder for the right response. “I’d feel good if you… took, um–” “Care of myself?” he finishes for you, like he’s trying not to laugh. You nod, mildly humiliated, before you remember he can’t see you. “Yes.” “Okay then.” You shiver as his breathing changes in the stretch of silence, almost imperceptibly. “Is it nice?” you ask. Harry hums in confirmation. “You should keep talking.” “I wish I could… ” you trail off. “Tell me.” “I wish—” “Who are you talking to?” Your head whips around with the sound of India’s voice. She’s crouching in the doorway, rifling through her suitcase with a bag of toiletries and some pajamas in hand. Instead of responding, you simply prop yourself up on the bed and try not to look too much like you’ve been caught red-handed. A beat passes. You really should have answered her—gin tends to make you wear your heart on your sleeve. Her eyebrows slowly raise. “Who you talking to?” India repeats, in an utterly different lilt.

You hiccup. “Nobody.” Your best friend hurtles into motion, bounding across the room. You squeal and leap from the bed. India probably knows that wrestling your phone from your hand while you’ve both had a lot to drink is a bad idea, so she settles for grabbing the first pillow within reach and slinging it at your head. You duck—but only just—then hear your name, tinny and faint through your phone, and remember that Harry is still on the line. “Hi,” you gasp into your cell. “Sorry.” He sounds far too amused. “Should I call back?” “No no, it’s fine. I’m sorry, I should probably be getting to bed anyway… ” you reply, dodging another blow from the pillow. “But um—” You wave frantically at India for a moment of respite. “Can I call you tomorrow?” “No problem,” he laughs. “Looking forward to it.” “Me too. Night Harry,” you say around a giggle. India is still making eyes at you. “Goodnight love.” • saturday, january 26, 2019. 7:00 pm • “Just a sec!” you call, springing up from your vanity to answer the knock at your door. After adjusting the hem of your sweater, you glance at the small face of the slim, golden watch hung around your wrist. He’s right on the hour. With a hand on the doorknob, you rub your lips together to even out their shiny coat of red one last time and twist a stray piece of hair back into your updo before pulling the door open, and when you do, the world seems to stop for a beat.

Your eyes travel from Harry’s polished black boots to his pressed trousers, up the length of his dark overcoat that hangs open, and get stuck on the way that the buttons of his white dress shirt catch the light. You skim over the small bunch of snapdragons he’s clutching before finally meeting his gaze, but when he looks down at you with the beginning of a smile, your Hello gets caught on your tongue. You told yourself you weren’t going to choke, but for a minute you stand there in your doorway in silence, both politely trying to conceal that you’re beaming at each other. “Hi,” he says finally, taking you in as if for the very first time. “Hi.” “These are for you.” Harry holds out the pale blush flowers wrapped in brown paper. You brace the weight of the door with one hand to take them. “Oh thank you! That’s so thoughtful.” He begins to lean in for your cheek so you lay your hand on his shoulder just as it occurs to you to invite him inside. “Come on—” An orange blur streaks past your feet; Harry’s eyes go wide as he pulls back, attempting to block the doorway, but Chowder has already seen the gap of freedom between his legs. “Chowder!” You press the flowers back into Harry’s arms, squeezing past him before sprinting down the hall to wrangle your cat. “Sorry.” You return a little breathlessly. “He does this all the time.” Inside, Harry closes the door behind you and Chowder leaps from your arms back to the floor, scampering to your bedroom. “The flowers are lovely. I’m, um… I’m about ready to go—give me a minute to find a vase.” Do you even own a vase? “Sure,” he chuckles. “No rush.” You ransack your kitchen for anything that might do the trick and find a pitcher covered in flamingos wearing sunglasses; it’s only ever been used for blended margaritas but it’s all you have. So you unabashedly fill it with water, unwrap the flowers, and angle the makeshift centerpiece nicely on your tiny dining table. “I love them,” you affirm, smiling at him over your shoulder. Harry waits for you by the front door with his hands in his pockets, only softly chuckling at the spectacle. Your cheeks warm. “Okay, let me just… ” you trail off, zipping back to your bedroom to pin your second earring in. “You look beautiful,” he says, for once, not smiling. Your lips purse to the side to conceal your delight. “Thank you… You look fantastic, Harry.” He’s already pulling you in for a side hug and the peck that he missed greeting you with earlier. He’s shaved, and his skin feels smooth against yours. You place your hand gingerly on his jaw as he seals the kiss to your cheek. “Thanks,” he whispers by your ear, a little playfully, before kissing you again in the same spot. “Ready to go?” He raises his eyebrows at you, stepping away to place a hand on the doorknob. “Where’s the cat?” You huff a laugh. “We should be fine. He only makes a break for it if someone knocks first.” Harry holds the door for you as you wrap a scarf around your neck. “After you.” The usual mundanity of your walk to the tube station has vanished with Harry at your side. Your breath puffs out into the cold when you breathe, the wind nips at your cheeks, and you both have to hike your shoulders up a little to stay warm. The two of you share a small laugh upon stealing a glance over at each other tucked into your scarves. It’s refreshing to spend time with him somewhere besides the lift or his apartment—Harry had become so anchored to those places in your memory. Some part of you expected him to look different, somehow, but perhaps it’s you that’s different now. You’re finally free to admire him openly the way you want to, and you could certainly get used to that feeling. Harry had chosen the restaurant and you’d heard of it, but never been yourself. In fact, you’d only been to the Little Venice neighborhood by Regents Canal once or twice in all the years you’ve lived here. India had informed you that the restaurant was built into a charming, narrow ferryboat, and during dinner, it actually floats along through the Maida Hill tunnel, past Regents Park to Primrose Hill and Camden before returning to the starting point in the Paddington Arm of the canal. As you approach, you find yourself taking a small breath in upon seeing it for yourself—the vessel is painted a glossy, electric blue with orange and cream old-fashioned serif writing on the side: ABOARD THE PRINCE REGENT.Circular brass boat windows dot the exterior. On the starboard side facing the street, the slatted light of a cinema sign hoists the words, CANAL ST. LONDON SHELL CO into the air… It’s straight out of a Wes Anderson film, you swear. Harry smiles down at you over his shoulder; you quickly close your gaping mouth. “Does this work for you?” “I’m going to eat so much that I sink the boat and everyone with it.” “S’a good way to go… Here, watch your step.” Harry takes your hand as you hop from the concrete onto the Prince Regent, helping to steady you on the moving floor below. “Hello! Welcome aboard,” the hostess greets. “Hi.” Harry nods, glancing at you. “We have a reservation for two under Styles.” Your heart skips a beat at those words, and you have to look away as to suppress your smile. The hostess runs a fingertip down her clipboard before crossing out one of the names on the list. “For our eight o’clock dinner cruise” “That’s the one.” “Right this way.” You’re lead to a small, wooden table for two tucked into a corner of the dining room by the window, passing a comprehensive wine bar on your way. From the upper deck, you can see straight down to the Paddington Basin. The open deck on the bow of the ship is decorated with charming string lights and a long boxwood garland. You’ll have to go check it out at some point tonight, but frost gathers visibly around the edges of the windows of the Prince Regent and it makes you thankful to be indoors for now. There’s still ten minutes to spare before the cruise is meant to start, but it appears that you and Harry were some of the last passengers to arrive. He helps you shrug out of your jacket from behind as the warmth of the cabin seeps into your cheeks. A moment passes as the two of you settle into your seats, exchanging a somewhat ladened look. There is a cautious lift to the corner of his mouth. “Well,” Harry begins, once both of you have been still for a minute. “This is… new.” “It’s nice. I don’t know that I’d say that it’s new though.” “How’d you mean?” “I think… ” You play with a corner of your napkin. “I guess, to me, this doesn’t really feel that much like a first date.” There’s a faint crease between Harry’s brows when you look up at him. “It feels like we’ve done this before.”

“Ah,” he nods. “We’ve shared a few meals, I s’pose that’s fair… ” Harry pauses to push his glasses up his nose, frowning at the tablecloth. “Would you have wanted to do this differently?” “No, no,” you start to reach across the table for his hand but think better of it. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The light of the candle flickers between you, illuminating Harry’s face in gold as you pass under the Maida Hill tunnel and the room grows dim. You float through Lisson grove during appetizers, and he points out the London Zoo across from Primrose Hill. You’re lingering over the last of your gnocchi when the conversation drifts naturally back to Sylvia. “It’s really nice,” you say, “that you’re so close.” Harry’s eyes go thoughtful. “Did I ever tell you I had a stepdad?”

The past tense doesn’t escape your notice, so you just shake your head. “Robin. Great man. He passed away last year.” “Oh, I’m sorry Harry.” He shrugs, smiling with that sort of polite acceptance. Harry looks older, somehow, for just a second in the dim candlelight. Worldweary. “Thank you. I mean, his health hadn’t been great for a while so it was almost better than something unexpected, but with Sylvia gettin’ older and remembering things more I wish they’d have gotten to know each other better. Like my youthful blunder could’ve worked out a bit better.” “What do you mean?” “Oh, you know...” He sips his wine. “We had her so young, so you’d think there’d be more of a window for her and Robin to connect and love each other. I’d been looking forward to it, those memories.”

You’d never thought of parenthood like that before and your heart is both warmed and a little broken. Harry asks about your grandparents and suddenly you’re lost in a conversation about your hometown, high school, and family. With Harry’s rapid fire of questions, you can’t even remember the last time you talked so much about yourself. It makes you wonder if he’d been holding back before. Harry’s eyes flash to your mouth every now and then, lingering there longer and longer every time you speak. He’s now wearing a delicate smirk, and you suspect he’s beginning to notice the effects of the wine as well. Feeling bold, you cross your legs so that the top of your foot grazes the inside of Harry’s calf beneath the table, and keep it there. He licks his lips once, his gaze darting to the window as the smile on his face spreads slowly. Too soon, the Prince Regent is turning around at Camden Market and doubling back to Little Venice where you’d started. After deciding to skip dessert together, Harry glances over your shoulder and asks if you’d like to take your glasses of wine out to the small deck at the front of the boat; you nod quickly, sliding into your coat.

“How’re you feeling about the trial and everything?” You stay tucked in his arms and say nothing until Harry finally meets your eyes. “That’s not for a long, long time. The man is in custody—that’s all that matters… The custodial sentence for stalking is over a year. I have a lot of evidence in my favor. And after the court date, I’ll never have to see his face again.” You believe your words, but you can tell Harry is more skeptical; you give him a smile that you hope is convincing, and eventually he sighs, scrunching his nose. A laugh bubbles up from your stomach. “What’s that face for?” Harry shrugs. “Just wish you didn’t have to go through all that.” “I feel that way too sometimes, but the prospect of holding him accountable… the thought that I could help protect the women after me who he would have done this to is too important. You know? And besides, if things hadn’t happened exactly the way they did, maybe we wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t that be kind of a shame?” “I s’pose.” You stare intently at one of the buttons on his jacket until you’re ready to speak. “I’m having a really nice time, Harry.” “So am I.” As you rest your head on his chest, Harry lifts his hand to stroke over the hair at the nape of your neck. You laugh once. “Is this how you imagined our first date would go? When you wanted to ask me out on the lift, back when you didn’t know my name?” Harry snorts. “Definitely not.” The boat rocks below you and Harry’s hold on you tightens for an instant. “Well, I don’t know, Harry. I guess I had thought about you, too, y’know before everything that happened with the police, and staying at yours… ” “Thought about me how?” “You know what I mean.” “Please say it.” You sigh a little. You’d said those words when the tables had been turned on this exact conversation. “I, um… I guess my impression of you from just seeing each other in the lift everyday… You seemed like a very kind and respectful person and you—y’know… You’re obviously very handsome. I mean, that part didn’t take me long to notice.” He just smiles. ** On the walk to the tube station, Harry looks over at you and offers his elbow, keeping his hands in his pockets. You hook your hand around the bend of his arm, but after a minute, slide it down into his overcoat. Harry is smiling as you try to maneuver around each other, figuring out the best way for your fingers to fit together. You stay beside one another like that, holding hands in his pocket the entire tube ride back to North Clapham, and even in the quiet walk back to your building. He doesn’t break the clasp of your fingers until you’re stood beside each other in the lift alone as Harry reaches to press the eighth-floor button. You frown at him. “What are you doing?” He mirrors your perplexed frown. “Walking you home, of course.” You burst out in a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Oh my god. No you are not.” But after a moment’s hesitation, you bite your lip, then walk over to determinedly push the sixth-floor button on the keypad. “Why don’t you, um… why don’t you walk me to yours instead?” Harry’s eyes go a little wide, before a grin creeps slowly across his face like he’s trying to ease you into it. “Alright then.” Your lips are parted suddenly. Harry’s eyes are asking if he can kiss you so you close yours, and feel his mouth landing warm on yours moments later. It’s nice; the two of you are really beginning to learn how the other likes to be kissed, and every time you do this, you notice it’s gotten better and better. Without too much discussion you fall into bed, an unhurried undressing into a spare t-shirt and boxer shorts. The lack of expectation makes your chest warm. It’s quiet between you for a minute but eventually the rounded tortoiseshell frames in Harry’s hand catching your eye. You take them from his limp hold, and try them on. “Wow. You are blind.” “Don’t make fun.” Harry lifts his head to look at you and snorts. “You look ridiculous.” There’s a book on his nightstand so you pick it up and inspect the cover. Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. You notice that a lot of the pages are dog-eared, but the words on the one that you randomly flip to are completely out of focus. “Love this book…” Harry comments, then reaches up to take it from you, sifting through a few pages. “Have you read it before?” You shake your head so he goes on. “You should borrow it. Last time I picked it up I was actually thinking you’d really like it.” “Really? What makes you say that?” “Well you’ve always got a different book on the lift. And s’ just really meditative and vivid and interesting, like, easy to get hooked on. Plus Tokyo in the sixties is kinda neat to read about… ” He’s engrossed in a chapter, so he doesn’t notice that you’re a little taken back by the idea of Harry thinking about you while you’re not around, noticing things that remind him of you, and remembering things that he thinks you would like. He chuckles and plucks his glasses off your face before putting them on himself. “Can I read you this one bit?” You nod quickly. Harry clears his throat. “I really like you, Midori. A lot.” “How much is a lot?” “Like a spring bear,” I said. “A spring bear?” Midori looked up again. “What’s that all about? A spring bear.” “You’re walking through a field all by yourself one day in spring, and this sweet little bear cub with velvet fur and shiny little eyes comes walking along. And he says to you, ‘Hi, there, little lady. Want to tumble with me?’ So you and the bear cub spend the whole day in each other’s arms, tumbling down this clover-covered hill. Nice, huh?” “Yeah. Really nice.” “That’s how much I like you.” There’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there when he had started reading. You want to make a joke and ask Harry if he likes you like a spring bear but the words are trapped on your tongue and you think better of it. He turns his head to meet your gaze and hands the book back to you. “Take it.” “Thank you… I’ll have to tell you what I think when I finish it.” Harry’s eyes light up and he’s taking his glasses off again to lean in, pressing the words, “please do,” against your lips. • saturday, february 9th, 2019, 2:22 pm • “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Sylvia and Harry… Happy birthday to you!” The flash of a camera illuminates Sylvia’s face as her cheeks puff out in front of her block candle, shaped like the number three, until the flame goes out in a whoosh. You cheer along with the parents and children alike, huddled in Annie and AJ’s dining room. Harry is sat at the end of the table in a cone hat with his daughter in his lap, holding her sides as she leans over to blow on the lingering trail of smoke. He pulls her into his chest before peppering kisses all over her forehead and cheek as she squirms from his hold. Annie tries to snap a few more photos as AJ hurries to collect the cake, knife, and server, disappearing into the kitchen before returning a minute later wielding several plates with a slice on each. Someone turns the stereo on again once the cake and ice cream is passed out. There’s only three other little ones here besides Sylvia and one of them is Poppy, the daughter of the woman named Bridget who lives on the first floor and watches over Sylvia while Harry is at work. The other two are children of family friends. Someone is bouncing an infant on their hip. There’s blue frosting and sprinkles all over Sylvia’s face and arms up to her elbows. One of the children starts to cry. The whole scene is another interesting little peek into parenthood for you. Harry catches your eyes from across the room with a smile, and a vaguely resigned eye roll which you return with a wink. You hadn’t seen much of him this afternoon; he’d been too busy entertaining the guests and the children, tidying up the mess of leftover wrapping paper, orchestrating pin the tail on the donkey, and recovering from when Sylvia whacked him in the groin with the piñata stick by accident. All of the moms—and admittedly one of the dads—are practically salivating over him and you’ve have to stifle your laughter all afternoon because of it. AJ appears at your side with a light hand on your shoulder as you’re watching Harry pass Sylvia off to Annie before slipping off to the kitchen. “Would you like a piece?” “Sure,” you chuckle, taking the plate from her before raking your fork through the frosting. You’d gotten a corner slice with most of Big Bird’s stocky orange leg. “It’s very festive.” “Isn’t it?” AJ takes a bite from her own plate, covering her mouth before speaking again. “Shawn the Sheep seems to be her latest obsession, but it’s outlasted rocketships and firetrucks so I guess we’ll see… ” she trails off before elbowing your side gently. “A few of the adults are sticking around after bedtime for some drinks and I’m sure Harry would love if you joined. I’ve just made a fresh batch of sangria.” “Ooh… I’d love to.” “Perfect.” The two of you eat beside each other awhile, watching the party from the corner of the room. You lick the sugar off your lips, hesitating for a moment before venturing onto a topic you’ve been meaning to bring up. “I’ll admit, I was a little anxious for Harry to tell you and Annie that he and I have been, um… sort of seeing each other, I guess.” AJ gives you an inquisitive look over your slices of cake, so you go on with a shrug. “I mean, I was kind of a captive in his apartment for a week in crisis and now we’re like… dating. It’s a little odd.” AJ begins to laugh, so hard that she has to squeeze her eyes shut and bring a hand to her chest, and you can’t help but crack a smile yourself. “I’m serious!” you defend. “Oh,” she sighs, eventually. “We’ve known about you long before any of that happened.” Your head jerks back a little in disbelief. “What?” AJ nods slowly, the incredulous look on her face probably rivaling yours. “He texted us on New Year’s Eve to tell us he’d kissed you in the lift.” Your eyes widen as she speaks around another bite. “You think Annie and I haven’t been hearing about the gorgeous young woman who rides the lift with him since last year?” “You’re kidding me!” It comes out as a harsh whisper. “I’m not.” She shakes her head. “He told us when you sewed the loose eye back on her toy. For a while he couldn’t figure you out. It was sweet. I reckon Annie picked up on the fact that Harry fancied you before he even did.” “Oh my god,” you breathe. At that moment, Harry reappears from the kitchen, glancing over at you. You’re shaking your head at him but he’s simply smiling in oblivion. His lips move silently around the word “alright?” You give him a thumbs up before slipping into laughter again with AJ, and Harry’s expression morphs into one of suspicion. He sidesteps to Annie, placing a hand on her shoulder. Sylvia swats her father away as he pinches her cheek, doting her with his eyes. “And just so you know… ” AJ turns to you with a fading smile, gesturing between Sylvia and you, “there are exactly two people in the world I have ever seen him look at like that.” • friday, may 17th, 2019. 4:31pm • You roll your shoulders back and let your hair loose from the tight knot atop your head as you emerge from the lecture hall—you’ve just written your first midterm of the season. It’s arguably your most rigorous course at the moment, so you’re glad to have it out of the way. Your hand flits to your eyes to block the light of day as you fish your phone from your bag to text India that you finished early, but a frown settles on your brow. You have three missed calls from Harry. “Hi, love.” He picks up on the first ring; you pinch your phone between your shoulder and cheek as you dig around for your Oyster card. “Hey, is everything okay?” “Yeah, s’alright.” Harry’s words are rushed, overlapping each other even more than usual. “I was actually wondering if you could—wait! Your exam. How’d it go?” You melt into a small smile. “I feel good about it. I revised more than I needed to, honestly.” “Can’t say I’m surprised. We’ll have to celebrate later.” Your eyes flash to the ground in your walk to Euston station as your cheeks warm just a hint. “I hope so.” “I was actually wondering if I could ask a favor of you.” “Yeah, what do you need?” “I’m in a bit of a pinch at the gallery and I need to stay later than I expected to wrap some things up here and um… I won’t be home for at least another hour, so I can’t pick up Sylvia from Bridget’s on time—and Bridget, like, cannot stay past five today because her son’s in a school performance. Annie and AJ also can’t get out of work—I tried them already. So, do you think… I mean, Sylvia knows you and she just needs someone to entertain her for a little while ‘til I’m off. Shouldn’t be long.” “Oh.” Your heart jumps a little. “Are… are you—do you mind?” “No of course not! Does, um… Does Bridget know I exist?” Harry laughs once. “I’ve mentioned somethin’ like you, yeah. I’ll ring her now and let her know you’re coming instead.” “Okay, sure. Do I have to pay her? Or… ” “No, no, you don’t have to worry about that. We do a monthly invoice. Just bring Sylvia upstairs and give her, like, four Maltesers—tell her Daddy’s gonna be home soon. I’ll speak with her on the phone if she likes.” You nod. “Okay, I can do that.” “You mean it? You don’t mind?” “Of course I don’t mind.” Harry makes some sort of strangled noise of rejoice and relief all at once; you chuckle on your end of the phone. “Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver… I owe you one. ” “You know, I’m gonna hold you to that… ” You hope the suggestive lilt of your voice conveys how exactly you’d like Harry to repay you. Harry’s voice is lower and a little husky when he speaks again, after a pause. “I’m at work, love.” “I’ll see you tonight,” you bid through a laugh. “See you.” On the tube, your knee bounces all the way to the Clapham North stop; the prospect of watching over Sylvia exhilarates you unexpectedly. In your head, you go over how you’ll greet her. You fondly call her smile to memory and imagine her shuffling up to you for a shy hug. Spending alone time with Harry’s daughter was never a fantasy you’d spent much time dwelling on, but now that the opportunity lays before you, you’re overcome with an anxious hope that it goes well. You hurry to catch the walk lights on every street corner, trotting through traffic and pedestrians before making a beeline through the lobby doors over to the lift. Your phone buzzes from inside of your jacket. Harry Styles. 4:59 PM. Bridget’s flat is 1D, just knock lightly in case anyone’s still napping. Thanks again. x You. 4:59 PM. Will do. Bridget’s flat is easy enough to find on the first floor, and you can tell from where you stand in the hallway that there’s certainly no napping going on inside. The sound of children’s laughter seeps through the door and your first knock goes unanswered for a minute. You try again and hear footsteps. “Hello!” You’re greeted by a tall woman with long red hair and freckles as she reaches out for a handshake. You introduce yourself but she seems to already know who you are. “I’m Bridget. Lovely to meet you… Harry’s mentioned he was seeing someone, but it’s nice to finally see you in person!” “I’ve heard wonderful things about you, too.” A smile spreads naturally on your face as she shakes your hand with vigor. “Come in, please! I’m just on my way out, actually, I’ve got to run to make my son’s play. I would stay longer but he’s the lead so I can’t miss the opening number.” “Of course, that’s very exciting.” Children’s laughter and the patter of tiny footsteps echo throughout the flat as you step into the entryway. “The children are around here somewhere. I’m not sure if Harry’s told you but I have a daughter about Sylvia’s age and I watch them while he and my husband are at work.” “That works out nicely.” “It does, doesn’t it?” Bridget grins at you, shrugging into her trench coat. “Poppy! Sylvia! Come and get your things, darlings, we haven’t got all day.” “Daddy!” You recognize Sylvia’s voice as two little girls come speeding around the corner. She skids to a stop at the sight of you; her face falls and you try not to take it personally. You recognize Poppy from Sylvia’s birthday party, and she seems unphased by the presence of a stranger in her doorway. She is a tiny thing with platinum blonde hair and stormy grey eyes. It doesn’t occur to you that you’ve never seen Sylvia in a dress until you’re looking at another toddler stood beside her in a green checkered one. Harry’s child, on the other hand, looks a little less put together; dirt is smudged by her hairline and across one of her rosy round cheeks, and the knees of her tights are charcoal black. Bridget helps Poppy into a Nordic sweater before turning to face Sylvia. “Sylvia, darling,” she starts gently. “Do you remember how I told you that Daddy’s friend was going to pick you up, but that he was going to meet you at home later?” Sylvia’s curls bounce as she nods. Her big, hazel brown eyes flash you up and down, a bit removed. “Hi, Sylvia.” You wave your fingers at her, and notice the dimples sink into her cheeks the way Harry’s do when he’s fighting laughter. She smiles, twisting her big toe into the ground. It’s small, but it’s a victory. “Her wellies and knapsack are there.” Bridget nods to a familiar backpack with the initials, S.S. on the straps, along with a pair of green frog rain boots by the door, covered in mud. You crouch down to collect them and feel the tiniest ounce of pressure on your shoulder. In surprise, you turn your head to find that Sylvia has walked over and is holding onto you for balance with a foot nonchalantly in the air. You’re quick to tuck her feet into the frog boots before helping her into the world’s smallest puffer jacket, then hesitate; you frown, gingerly taking Sylvia’s hands in yours and flipping them over. Even when spread flat, her fingertips don’t quite reach to the edges of your palm. Her teeny fingernails have black beneath them, and her warm, golden skin is covered in a sheen of dust. “Sorry about that.” You glance over to the sound of Bridget’s voice as you rise to a stand. “We made a trip to the zoo today. Sylvia tends to get a little adventurous.” “I see,” you chuckle. “Well, I’m afraid we must be off, now.” Bridget is brushing past you to the door with Poppy on her hip. You move out of her way and grab Sylvia’s backpack off the floor before heading down the hall with everyone. Poppy makes faces at Sylvia and the pair laugh in secret as you all wait for the lift. “I hope your son does well tonight.” “Thank you! I’m sure he’ll be fine… he’s a ham, a bit like this one.” Bridget nods down to Sylvia with warmth in her smile as you all pile on after the ding. The lift stops at the ground floor and you say your goodbyes as Poppy and Bridget step out into the lobby. It’s suddenly very quiet between you and Sylvia as the doors slide shut. You press the sixth-floor button, then jump a little when you feel a tiny hand wrap around your index finger, glancing to the reflection of the lift doors to find that Sylvia is clinging on to you mid-yawn, completely unaffected. Warmth floods your chest as you smile tightly and try to remain collected. Sylvia holds your hand all the way to the door of Harry’s flat. The two of you still haven’t exchanged a word besides hi. Harry had never asked you to return his spare key after your week together, and you’ve sort of made it a habit of keeping it on your person. It’s difficult wiggling it into the deadbolt and twisting the doorknob with one hand but you desperately don’t want to let go of Sylvia. Inside, she kicks off her boots and blinks up at you. You swallow, dropping your school bag on the chest table, then quickly jog over to the nursery to hang up Sylvia’s backpack, gasping as you pivot to head back to the entryway—she had followed right behind you and you almost trip over her outside of her room. You laugh with a hand to your chest before kneeling to meet her at eye level. “Sylvia, do you want something to eat?” She smiles at her feet, crossing her arms and twisting her body before nodding her head. You rise and walk a little slower to the kitchen with Sylvia at your heels. The Maltesers are kept on the top shelf of the goodies cabinet; you nab the box and pour four into your hand as instructed. She’s recently graduated from using a high chair, so you hand her the treat in a small, plastic dinosaur-shaped bowl, thinking she’d lead you to the dining table. Instead, she pops the first malt ball into her mouth right away, seemingly content with sitting on the kitchen floor. You join her and don’t question it. Sylvia scoots backward on the tiles to the cabinet opposite you with her legs crisscrossed. You mirror her position, leaning back against the fridge. She stares at you in fascination, crunching softly. Her mouth moves like his. The apples of her cheeks push up against her eyes in the corners like his. Her chin and cheeks carry her expressions like his do. It’s an eerie sort of déjà vu, sitting across from her, eating a meal in the kitchen without a table. You feel like you know her a little better simply because you’ve grown familiar with many of her father’s expressive tells, which she shares. You hoist yourself up to your feet and fill a sippy cup with water, placing it lightly on the floor next to her. She sets aside the empty dinosaur bowl and drinks from the bottle with both hands. When that’s gone too, she belches softly and wipes her mouth with her sleeve. The two of you sit in silence… This isn’t exactly going as well as you’d anticipated. “Do you want to speak to Daddy? On the phone?” you offer. “He’s coming home soon, I promise.” She looks to be contemplating this for a moment, but eventually shakes her head. “Okay… ” you begin cautiously, eyeing the streak of dried mud on her forehead. “Would you like to take a bath?” Sylvia’s eyes twinkle as a grin spreads across her face. She nods, and relief washes over you. You cannot help but mirror her smile as you lead her to the bathroom, perching on the rim of the tub and rolling up your sleeves to run the faucet. All of Sylvia’s toys have returned to their rightful place in the shower, and you take a moment while the water is rising to shoot a quick text to Harry. You. 5:21 PM. Got her. She’s filthy so I’m running a bath. Harry Styles. 5:22 PM. Christ, of course she is… Thanks. Harry Styles. 5:25 PM. Can’t wait to “owe” you later. x The message sends a chill down your spine. It’s suspiciously quiet behind you, and you turn around to find Sylvia with her arms raised straight above her head, watching you with a confused frown. “Right, of course.” You turn to face her, shaking your head at yourself as you help her out of her shirt. After you triple check to make sure the temperature is just right, Sylvia hops in with a splash when she’s ready and flashes you a characteristically mischievous smile. She immediately goes for the water wheel and starts talking to herself, lining the ducks on the rim of the tub in groups. From what you gather, the ducks all take turns riding in the plastic boat over to the water wheel to play. Each duck family has two moms and one dad. For a minute you lean your cheek in your hand with an elbow resting over the edge of the tub as you let her play, but after a while, when you notice that the dirt on her forehead hasn’t budged, you fix your posture and gently pull her toward you. “Come here, sweetheart, let’s get you clean.” You use a big, plastic cup to pour water over her as you sponge at the mud on her face. One by one, you scrub her tiny fingernails with soap until they’re spotless, which takes longer than you would have imagined. Sylvia tilts her head back and squeezes her eyes shut tightly as you to soak her dark curls, then pump some baby shampoo into your hand. It’s maternal and intimate and strangely healing to take care of a child like this. How many years has it been since you babysat for that couple down the block from where you grew up? You can’t remember. But this… tenderly smoothing your hands over this little girl’s hair—being actually, personally invested in making sure she’s clean and safe and happy—feels eons away from getting paid to read a few bedtime stories to kids whose names have slipped your memory by now. There’s a lot you would do for Harry, but there’s a lot you would do for his daughter, too. Your hands freeze in place on top of her head as the sound of your name in Sylvia’s mouth stuns you. Up until this point, you frankly weren’t sure if she could say it. You look down at her; her eyes are curious and gazing up at you. “How come you and Daddy spend so much time together?” The air leaves your lungs. After a brief pause, you will your fingertips to keep moving in circles on her head. “Your Daddy and I… are friends,” you begin steadily. “Kind of like Bert and Ernie.” “Oh you’re in love?” she asks. Again, remarkably blunt and unaffected. “No, no, no, honey. Um… ” Perhaps Bert and Ernie weren’t the best anecdote to explain a platonic relationship to a toddler with gay parents. You fill the cup again and pour water over her hair while untangling her curls with your fingers. She leans back into your hand. “Daddy and I care about each other… and spending time together makes us both very happy.” It’s quiet for a long, long while as you listen to the small waves slosh against the walls of the tub. You haven’t settled on what you’d said to her. There’s something more. And even though she’s three, and she isn’t going to remember, you will remember, and you know suddenly that you have to get the words out. “And I want you to know, Sylvia, that you’re also special and important to me. I care about you very, very much.” She says nothing more on the subject and neither do you. “The water’s getting a bit chilly. How about we hop out and play some music in the kitchen while we wait for Daddy? Would you like that?” “Okay.” Sylvia all but leaps over your shoulder out of the tub, bringing a tidal wave of water with her. You’re half afraid she’ll slip but she lands on the bathmat with agility and waits for you by the towels. You sit on the toilet to help dry her off before blanketing her in the soft yellow terry cloth of her bathrobe. “Quack, quack.” You wink at her, adjusting the big orange bill above her head and earning a giggle that doubles her over. Just as you’re about to stand, Sylvia leans toward you with her arms outstretched. You’re confused for a moment and briefly think she might want you to lift her, but instead, she hooks her arms around your neck for a hug. “Oh, thank you,” you say around a laugh, rubbing her back over the soft towel. Her hair is still wet and presses a damp spot into the shoulder of your shirt. She drops her arms and quickly turns away from you to the door, turning the handle on her tiptoes and slipping into the hallway on her own. You hear her scream, “Daddy!” followed by the sound of quick, tiny footsteps. You frown, checking to confirm that you had no new messages on your phone before stepping out into the hall. Sure enough, Harry is there in the kitchen with Sylvia scooped up in his arms, wearing a plaid red and white suit, and soft white dress shirt. Produce, a packet of rice, and a slow cooker are laid out on the counter, but the stereo isn’t turned on. “Hi.” You smile at him but it comes out like a question. “Hi.” His voice is quiet and something is off about the way he’s looking at you, yielding and wistful and unbelievably fond. You can feel the confusion painted on your face. “I didn’t hear you come in.” “Haven’t been here long.” Harry shifts Sylvia to his other hip, smiling at you softly. “Didn’t wanna interrupt bath time.” “Ah. How was work?” You lean against a wall in the hallway. “It was good, yeah,” he says. His eyes take you in, almost timidly from behind his glasses, and his voice maintains a strange air of sentimentality… Whatever it was, you could ask him about it some other time. “Well I should get going.” You rub your eyes in a half stretch. “I’m exhausted after today.” Harry’s shoulders visibly drop. “I can’t interest you in dinner?” “I’m alright, thanks,” you smile, heading for the entryway to sling your school bag around your shoulder. “I need to clean out the fridge and go to bed on the early side tonight.” “Alright. Thank you again for today… I still get to owe you later, yeah?” Harry quirks an eyebrow; you laugh once. “Always,” you call over your shoulder with your hand on the doorknob. “Say bye bye, Sylvia!” His voice immediately switches to the high tone he uses only with her. “Bye bye!” Sylvia waves at you. “Bye!” you respond, ecstatic that this is the first time she hasn’t been too shy to actually say something when Harry had asked her to. In the lift, the doors don’t even get the chance to ding on the eighth floor before your phone vibrates with an incoming text from Harry. Harry Styles. 6:11 PM. So which one of us is Bert? • saturday, july 21, 2019, 12:51 pm • When you return from your three week homecoming in New York, Harry’s waiting for you in Gatwick’s arrivals hall. It takes concentrated effort not to run sailing into his arms like some fictional nearly lost lover. You settle for a kiss that leaves you a little dizzy and a breathless, “I told you you didn’t have to come get me!” He just shrugs, taking your suitcase handle before you can object and wrapping his arm around your waist. “Wanted to. Just couldn’t wait.” I love you. You’ve been thinking it for weeks now. But every time it nearly comes out of your mouth, you find yourself reeling it back. Is it too much? Is it too soon? Harry steers you towards the National Rail trains headed back to London. There’s something so relieving about just tapping your contactless card to pass through the gate. As much as you missed your family and friends stateside, London is home now too, more than you ever realised before. The platform announces a mere three minute wait. You couldn’t have timed it better. “I know it’s probably dumb to say after sitting on a plane for five hours, but my legs are killing me.” Harry laughs lightly as you haul yourselves onto the train. “M just glad I’ve never had to queue up in that international border control. I can’t believe it took you almost two hours.” “Yeah yeah, rub it in British boy.” He just snorts and turns to kiss the side of your head, like a sympathy. Clapham Junction is the second stop on this route, but it’s a full thirty minutes away. The train is packed to the brim so you can only lean wearily into Harry as you stand there and sway, trying not to fall over all the luggage. You grab an Uber from the Junction. It’s just short enough of a trip that you can’t doze off, and you’re barely inside before Harry’s pressing you up against the closed door of your flat. Your backpack slides off your shoulder and hits the floor with a thump. “Don’t--” you start shakily, and Harry lifts his lips from the curve of your shoulder. “Don’t let me sleep too much, okay? Otherwise the jetlag’s gonna mess me up for a week.” He laughs a little like he’s trying not to. “Oh trust me love,” he says, sliding down your body to kneel between your legs. His warm hands anchor your hips; a delicious shiver zips up your spine. “I don’t plan on it.” ** Okay so seven thirty in the morning isn’t exactly a lie in, as Harry calls it, but it’s better than wasting the day away. You pry yourself from his grip and tiptoe out to your forgotten suitcase and bag. The floor creaks as Harry comes out looking for you soon after. “You’re unpackin’ now?” “If I don’t do it now, this suitcase is gonna sit here for two weeks.” You’re half-expecting that he’ll try to pull you back to bed, but Harry just folds himself down onto the floor, hooking his chin over your shoulder. His fingers slide greedily beneath your too-big t-shirt, chasing the warmth of your skin. “What’s a...Reese’s?” Harry squints in the low light and you laugh, plucking the candy from his hand. “Like a chocolate peanut butter thing. I promised AJ I’d bring her some back.” From under your raincoat you unearth a small stack of books, their golden spines shimmering a little, and a familiar, grinning red face. “Wait.” Harry slides around you, reaching into your suitcase to pull out Elmo. He looks so much smaller in Harry’s grip, comically soft against the square edges of the signet ring against his belly. “Isn’t this–” “Elmo!” You grin to match your childhood companion. “My mom made me go through a bunch of boxes of stuff while I was home and I thought Sylvia might enjoy–oh, wait!” Harry’s jaw has gone a little slack. He doesn’t move as you jump to your feet and dig into the pocket of your coat, pulling out a napkin with a triumphant flourish. “What’s this?” Harry asks as you hand it to him. “I was on the plane and thinking about what AJ said at Sylvia’s birthday about her different interests, you know how kids are, getting obsessed with different things for months at a time? I figured if she likes Sesame Street she might like a bunch of the things I used to watch.” “Arthur, the Magic School Bus, Clifford the Big Red Dog, the Bearenstein Bears, Bear in the Big Blue House.” Harry’s lips twitch around a smile like he doesn’t want to offend you. “Sounds like we should take her to the zoo, love.” “Oh my god, Zoboomafoo!” “Gesundheit.” “No, Harry–” You struggle around a laugh– “I mean yes, let’s please take her to the zoo. But Zoboomafoo was this show my siblings and I were totally obsessed with. These two brothers are wildlife experts and friends with this lemur from Madagascar and–” “I love you.” Your nostalgia stops abruptly. Harry looks a little silly with Elmo in one hand and a napkin full of scribbles in the other, but he’s staring up at you with a kind of amazement that leaves you feeling oddly bare and vulnerable. “What?” It comes out like a whisper. Harry blinks owlishly, as though he’s taken aback by his own admission. He drops what he’s holding and pulls you back down to the floor. It feels like you float there. Harry’s eyes are dark and serious when he brushes the hair falling out of your lopsided ponytail away from your face. He says it again. “I love you.” You have no idea what your face is doing because alarm creeps into his expression. “You don’t have to say any–” “I love you too.” You can hardly get the words out before you're practically pushing Harry over in your haste to get your lips on his. “God, I love you too.” He smiles widely against your mouth. “Glad we agree.” You don’t finish unpacking. You don’t go back to sleep, either.

#harry styles rpf #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #mine: fic #utsr redux #thank you guys so much for your renewed and continued support it means so much

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scarofthewind · 3 years

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Touch at Midnight || Vampire!Brahms x Reader

A/N: This took so long, I am sure half of you forgot about this mini series I did. I’m sorry this took forever, I was just trying to make it perfect as well as work on requests too. I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: NSFW, R18+, breast worship, blood kink, biting, oral (m receiving), dom!brahms, rough sex, no prep, reader is under mind control so consensual/non-consensual, mentions of masturbation, plenty foul/dirty talk, creampie

word count: 2.01k Tip Jar (every bit helps!)

Mini Series Masterlist

There was a time in your life that you thought you’d live past eighty and get to watch your children, grand-children and even great-grand-children, grow up. There was a time that you believed in the world being a decent place and that you would make your mark on it one day. Now, you realized just how delusional it all sounded. Now, you knelt before a man you thought you knew, thought you would grow old with, thought you would love forever, your life dangling before you with nothing to spare.

When you had met Brahms, you never thought anything of him; just that he was a strange man who liked to keep to himself. You’d applied for a job to work under him; to cook, clean and care for him, as though he couldn’t do it himself. During the first few months of your duties, things were tense with you being new and Brahms really trying to understand what kind of woman you were. However, as the months went on into years, you slowly became drawn to the man, often times thinking of him from dusk until dawn.

Your mistake really.

See, you had no clue that he was a monster; something only silly children believed in. He was soft and gentle before you’d found out- another mistake on your part. Now he stared down at you with dark eyes that were once directed towards you with such kindness and joy that you almost fell for it; you did fall for it the more you realize. You fell for a man with no remorse for taking a human life, a man that could kill you with just one movement, a man that you didn’t know. Those thoughts alone nearly killed you.

You’d been sitting on the floor in front of his chair he had in the corner of the library, the moon peeking through the window curtains and casting a small amount of light towards his feet. His eyes were the only thing you could see on his face here in the dark; red with an anger so hot you had to pray he’d have mercy on you. You don’t know how long you’d been like this, unable to move as he stared down at you without moving an inch. The hair on your skin rose when he finally spoke, slow but sharp, “You had to be nosey, didn’t you?” Your lips trembled as you contemplated speaking. “I truly had no intention of ever hurting you; you did your work around the house wonderfully. Dare I say that you were the best at it?”

Your heart hammered in your chest at the confirmation of other caretakers before you, all of which were most likely dead. They probably got too comfortable too and went looking around in places that were off limits for a reason. Like his bedroom; where you remember finding a trunk full of blood bags from the hospital down the road. “Please,” you whimpered, watching him blink before shaking his head, silencing you.

“I’ve spent years in that pretty little head of yours, listening to everything. I know all of your secrets, (Y/N).” You sucked in a breath as he leaned forward in his chair, hovering over your face with a look that only made you want to cower even more. “I’m honored to know how fond you were of me, truthfully I am. I’d grown fond of you as well, but,” he clicked his tongue, reaching out and grabbing your jaw roughly, ignoring your whimpers of pain. “You know too much.”

“Please, I won’t tell anyone I swear! Just let me go and I’ll leave tow-” you were cut off by a sharp laugh; Brahms’ eyes wild and manic.

“Leave? No, no, no, you’re never leaving me.” His eyes were intense, red as the flames of hell and staring into your own without so much as blinking. “Here are your options; be my personal blood bank until you die, which is usually a couple of weeks, or, prove to me that you’re worth keeping alive. Of course, both require you to stay here with me,” Brahms touched your cheek gently with his other hand, moving some hair from your eyes.

“You know I care about you, don’t you (Y/N)? Don’t you want to stay with me?” His words had an effect on your mind that made it hard to think. The world seemed to slow, as if you’d been drugged, but you knew that it was just the power he had, manipulating your mind to believe that whatever he said was true. You could feel tears fall from your eyes as you stared into his condemning ones, a soft hush falling from his lips as he wiped the tears away.

It was wrong for you to say yes, you knew it even though you couldn’t stop it. Yet, some dark part inside of you almost wished he would keep you this way; brain being manipulated by whatever he wanted for the rest of your days. At least that way, you could imagine everything being right; you could day dream on the thoughts he forced inside your head. One’s where you end up with him, one’s where your happy.

One’s where he loved you just as much as you loved him.

This isn’t love, you thought as you made yourself sit up enough to press your lips against his.

This isn’t what I wanted, you told yourself when he spread his legs in the chair and you unzipped his pants.

This wasn’t how I was supposed to live, you cried as his fingers moved through your hair, guiding your mouth up and down his cock.

All you could do was prove to him that your life meant more than just being used as food. The buck of his hips every time you swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock made your eyes sting, the length making it hard to take all of it in your mouth. “You look so pretty like this,” Brahms gasped as he felt you take more of his member in your mouth, his eyes scanning your face and his mind going a mile a minute. He knew everything you were thinking as he pushed more ideas into your head, his control on you something he wished he’d never have to do.

A lulling tug of tiredness waved in the back of his head, knowing that he hadn’t gotten to eat tonight because of the unfortunate incident of you finding his real food supply in his room. Of course, fresh blood always tasted so much better than the crap he had in bags. Brahms felt himself grow bored of watching you try to make him come, you jaw surely was hurting by now. Roughly grabbing your hair, he pulled you off his cock before standing up and pulling you up with him. You barely could get a word out as he turned you facing the front of the shiny, black piano, bending you down to where your front half was pressed against the cool surface.

He wasted no time in ripping your clothes off of you, throwing them around the room and spreading your legs for his wandering eyes to see. A low growl made your cunt clench as he watched your juices build at your entrance where he drug the tip of his cock across. Brahms gave you no warning before sinking inside you to the base, the air practically taken from your lungs as he began moving immediately, your tight walls getting him off perfectly. “Do you know how many nights I wanted to do this?” He asked as he thrusted his hips roughly, the tip of his cock ramming against your cervix with no signs of easing up. “I’ve watched you, my innocent, precious (Y/N). Your fingers stuffing this filthy whole of yours as you squirm in bed, trying to cum.”

You can feel your walls tighten around his length at his words, your hands trying to grip the flat surface of the piano from the force he was jostling you around with. Your breasts bounced wildly, his hands coming up from your hips to find purchase there. His fingers pinched your nipples, twisting them and pulling until you were soaking his cock in your juices. “Did you know I was watching you touch yourself? I bet you did; you liked it didn’t you? Having someone else watch you fuck yourself until your tired...hmm?”

“N-No,” you groan, trying to reason with yourself, but the impending orgasm you felt building making it all the harder to. Quickly, Brahms moved you to where you were facing him, your back fully pressed against the piano as he fucked into you at an in-human pace. You couldn’t help the sounds that were coming out of your mouth, urging him to continue.

“I know what’s in your mind, my love. I’ve seen you think of me while you squirt all over the sheets,” you tremble at his words as his thumb barely grazes your clit. His mouth moving to your breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth and nibbling on it before teasing it with his tongue. With one sharp sting, he sinks his teeth into your breast, a short cry coming from your lips as he eases his hip movements while lapping at the blood pooling from the wounds. “If only you could see in my mind too. Then you could see just how man nights I’ve fucked my fist to the thoughts of this.” He chuckled to himself, licking his lips that were stained crimson. Pulling his head back, he stared down at you with something you didn’t recognize.

The feeling was good though. Something positive out of the emotional negative you’d been put through. Brahms nearly stilled when you reached up and touched his face, his eyes watching yours for any signs of you trying to get away; all he found was sincerity. Running your fingers through his curly hair, you pressed his head down to yours where he kissed you without another word. From there, the sex was as beautiful as the day you first met him. Then, there had been sun, now there was the moon shining down on both of you. When he had first shaken your hand is was cold but now as he held yours, pinned above your head, it was all warm.

His teeth managed to find your neck, biting there and feeding a couple of times but other than there, his lips never left yours which were swollen from the heatedness of the kiss. You moaned into his mouth when his fingers circled your clit, your thighs shaking from the intensity of the orgasm that proceeded to wash through you. Brahms made sure to hold you close, swallowing your gasps and cries of pleasure as he eased you through your orgasm. His cock twitched inside you a few more times before he finally came, deep inside you with no regrets. Everything was quiet for a minute, your lips molding against his and the soft pants leaving them was the only sound left.

When he finally pulled away, you could see the glowing red of his eyes fade, returning to their normal hazel color and looking down at you with the kindness you had once known. His hands moved the hair out of your face and wiped away any tears that still fell, his fingers gentle against your skin. This may have been a different man to you now, but he was still the Brahms you’d fallen in love with years ago.

That was enough to make you stay.

#🏵.original work #😈.smut #horror imagines #horror x reader #au #Slashers #slasher x reader #slasher imagines #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire #brahms x reader #brahms: the boy 2 #brahms heelshire x reader

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maddiwrites · 3 years

Text

Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Pogues x reader, eventually JJ x reader.

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister.

Note: Hey guys! Thank you so much for the support of my last couple of fics. All your messages have been so kind and so sweet! I’ve made a rewrite of the show with a new character that eventually falls in love with her best friend. I’m gonna be posting a new chapter three times a week. Let me know what you guys think!

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: None

Chapter 2

"That's what, a three-story fall to the deck?" John B tip toes across the middle of the roof as he sips out of the can of beer in his hand.

I lean to my right, pressing against JJ's shoulder as we sit on a construction slack used to hold construction workers as they work on the siding of the home. Scaffolding, I think it's called. I narrow my eyes at my brother, counting down the seconds until he falls.

"I give you about a one-in-three chance of survival," Pope jokes from the deck below us.

John B shrugs. He licks his finger and holds it up in the air as if he's feeling which way the wind is blowing. "Hm. Should I do it?"

"Yeah, jump." Pope holds up a power drill and points it at John B like it's a gun. "I'll shoot you on the way down."

"You'll shoot me?"

"Yep." Pope closes one eye and pretends to shoot it. "Pow!"

I roll my eyes and look forward again, letting the beer slip down my throat like a refreshing glass of water. The warm North Carolina air presses soothingly against my freshly tan skin and I bask in the sunlight. Its days like these that I like the most. Days where none of my best friends have work, we're drinking causally, and joking with one another. Even if it's on a construction site in the middle of Figure Eight. But the idea of getting caught just gives me an adrenaline rush.

"They're gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers," Kie says as she walks out of the unfinished house.

"Of course. Why wouldn't they?" JJ says next to me with a shrug like it's not the craziest thing that a Kook would own.

"This used to be a turtle habitat, but who cares about the turtles, I guess."

"I can't have cold towels."

Kie looks up at John B, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand. "Can you please not kill yourself?"

"Don't spill the beer. I'm not giving you another one," JJ says.

As if on cue, John B's foot slips. Luckily he catches himself, but his beer, however, drops to it's death on the deck below. As John B steadies himself I release the breath I didn't even know I was holding. I take another greedy gulp of my warm beer to steady the nerves in my chest.

"Whoa! Oh, shit," John B curses.

"Of course you did," JJ rolls his eyes playfully. "Smooth."

"A plus, really." I glare up at my brother, feeling his mischievous smirk right back at me.

"Dumbass," Kie mutters under her breath. She looks up at me as if waiting for me to say something, but I only giggle to myself. John B can be clumsy but he's not going to accidentally kill himself.

"Hey!" I hear another voice shout behind us towards the street and front of the house. A voice that doesn't belong to any of my friends or my brother.

"Hey, uh, security's here," Pope says.

Immediately knowing what that means, I jump to my feet with the help of JJ right after he slugs the rest of his beer. A delirious grin dances along my lips as I hop down to the main deck.

"Let's wrap it up!"

"Boys are early today."

"Humpty Dumpty, let's roll!"

My legs take off after my friends through the house. Adrenaline rushes through my veins and straight to my head like a power high. I can't even feel my legs as they jump over wooden slacks and construction tools. The high from running from the police is better than any drug JJ can get his hands on, even the good stuff.

"Gary is that you?" JJ plays along before accidentally running into him, making him slip on his feet before running the other way. I grab his wrist and pull him closer to me to catch up. "Gary, good to see you man!"

I laugh as my feet land on the freshly cut grass in the front yard. "You're asking for it."

"JJ!" The obese cop chases after us, recognizing my best friend's face instantly. I'm not surprised, not even a little bit. JJ had his fair share of run-ins with the law.

"They're going out front!" I hear another cop shout. I can barley hear through the wind rushing through my ears.

We run into a tall white painted fence that blocks us from our car, better known as the Twinkie. Hopping fences is something I've learned to become better at after doing it so many times. However, I can't say the same about Pope. He's always struggled.

I swing my legs over the fence and land with a small 'oomf.' I look over my shoulder for my slow-poke friend and see him falling over the fence, landing on his side. I laugh as I pick him up by the shoulders.

JJ is waiting for us, clapping his hands like a coach on the sidelines at a football game because his players aren't running fast enough. But there's a smile on his face. "Get up, Pope, fatso's coming!"

"Hey!" The guard shouts behind me. He's halfway up the other side of the fence, but he doesn't have the strength to pull himself over completely. "Come here you little pricks!"

I hear the familiar honk coming from the van John B and I learned to drive in. My brother and Kie are waiting for us in the front seats of the Volkswagen van that would look better in the 70s than the 2020's but I love it. It fits our friend group perfectly. Plus I'd choose this car over any fancy Mercedes Tourons usually drive. The only time I've ever been in one of them is when I snuck off with a golf player from Georgia after a boneyard party. It was luxurious of course, but nothing like the Twinkie.

"Bus is leaving!" John B says as we get closer.

"Come on!" Kie yells at us from the passenger seat, banging the flat of her palm against the door.

I dive through the back first, landing on my elbows and rolling over. Pope and JJ follow less than a second later.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Gary calls after us as John B steps on the gas.

JJ leans out of the sliding side door that's still wide open. I lay on my back watching him as I try to catch my breath. His smile is contagious. For a boy who's been through hell and back, he smiles a lot, and I love every second of it.

He holds out his beer can as if he's offering it to the cop who's still trying to catch us...if he can catch up to it. "Check out Gary, gunnin' for a raise. Come on, Gary!"

"Wait. Slow down. Hey! You little pricks! Hey!"

"You're gonna give him a heart attack!" Kie tries to scold him but she can't fight the smile on her lips either as she watches from the side rearview mirror.

"You're so close! You can do it. There you go. They don't pay you enough bro."

"JJ, stop. Stop!" Kie says through her laughter.

I love Kie. She always tries to keep the peace between her friends and the world itself. Always the girl who raises money for charities that protect this Earth and save animals and solve world hunger. She's going to change the world someday. Her and Pope. Maybe if they can tolerate each other, they'll do it side by side.

JJ slumps back into the van with a toothy grin. He sits next to me and pulls me up so I'm sitting up straight. He dangles his arm around my shoulder and I lean further into his side. If I could choose one position to be in for the rest of my life it would be this one.

But I'd never admit that.

"Oh, come on. That sort of initiative is just begging to be punished," JJ says.

I hum in response and lean back into the seat behind me and stare out the window. A view of passing vibrant green leaves takes over the window as John B drives. The scene comforts me. Summer is my favorite season. No school. Just work and friends and the Outer Banks. Paradise on Earth, some may call it.

It's the sort of place where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island. We're currently driving through Figure Eight, the rich side of the island. Home of the Kooks. So, guess where we don't live.

As John B drives further South, the houses get smaller and smaller, feeling more like home. This is the South side. Or as we like to call it, the Cut. Home of the working class who make a living bussing tables, washing yachts, running charters. The natural habitat of...drumroll, please...the Pogues. That's us. Pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish. Lowest members of the food chain.

I know... a little harsh, don't you think?

So, the downside of the Pogue life is we're ignored and neglected. But the upside of the Pogue life? We're ignored and neglected, which means we do whatever we want, whenever we want.

The second John B parks the car, the boys are gathering all their fishing gear and we set off to our next destination. The marina.

"Nice haul, dude. Look at that!" JJ teases my brother when he reels in what I think is the smallest fish I've ever seen. If it was orange, I would have thought it was my old pet goldfish from when I was six. "Been all bait for, like, three weeks."

John B pulls the fish off his hook and tosses it in JJ's direction. JJ flinches back, knocking into me and almost throwing me into the water below. That was probably my fault, though. I shouldn't be sitting on an open ledge, dangling my legs twenty feet above the water.

"Watch it, idiot!" I smack JJ upside the head after letting go of the death grip I had on his bicep when I was about to fall to my death. Well...I'd probably survive, but it would hurt like hell.

"It's not my fault you chose the most dangerous seat!" JJ retaliates.

Yeah, that's JJ. John B's best friend since the third grade, which subsequently makes him my best friend since the third grade too. He's about as local as they come. Latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who made their living off the water. Second best surfer I know. First being me of course. Mild kleptomaniac and a future tax cheat.

"Yeah, Mar, you should really get down from there," Kie says, walking over to me to help me down. I decide not to put up a fight. If I'm going to break my leg, I'm gonna do it in a surfing accident or something cool, not by falling off the dock.

Kiara. Or Kie as we call her. When not saving turtles or listening to Bob Marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo, she hangs out with us. I'm not really sure why though. She's a rich kid, actually. Her family owns the Wreck, this Outer Banks institution. Total cash down with the tourists and my current job. You know, I'm not really sure how her parents feel about us. But they like me enough to bring them money towards their restaurant. I bring in a lot of regulars. Advertising is kind of my thing. I'm pretty sure all my friends, even my brother, have a thing for her.

Kie hands me a water bottle and lays her legs across my lap. She lies down on the wooden bench and bathes in the sunlight the day still has to offer. Kie is my best friend. Best secret holder known to man, for the most part.

"I think she needs a leash," Pope adds, making me pass him a glare.

"The only thing useful about a leash is how I can strangle you with it," I say.

"Kinky," JJ says and winks at me. "That's my girl."

John B slaps JJ upside the back of his head.

I'm lucky my sunburnt skin is hiding the blush that creeps along my cheeks.

Pope glares at both JJ and I which only makes my growing smirk widen.

Pope...the brains of the operation...finalist for the Lucas T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. And the smartest person I know. Little bit of a weirdo. His father's this legendary character, Heyward. Anything you wanted on the island, Heyward could get for you. Now, I'm not sure Heyward knew what to make of his oddball son, but it didn't matter. He was a Pogue, just like the rest of us.

"Trust me, if a leash was that easy, I would have tried a long time ago," John B mutters with a hint of a smile.

John Booker Routledge. My insufferable twin brother. Pain in my ass. Number one partner in crime. I hate him but I love him. Pretty much like any sibling relationship. We live in an old fish shack on the marsh. The Chateau as my dad use to call it. My dad disappeared at sea nine months ago looking for a shipwreck. I mean seriously, who disappears at sea these days? I miss him a lot. He may have been a little neglectful, but he took care of us the best that he could. My mom, however? She split when I was three. Last I heard she was in Colorado. At least I think it was Colorado. Honestly who knows and who cares.

Since my dad vanished, my Uncle T is supposedly my legal guardian. At the moment, he's in Mississippi, building houses which means it's just me right now, on my own, hangin' out with my brother and my friends.

Three months after my dad went missing, he was officially presumed dead. John B is more of an optimist than I am. He refuses to sign the paper and until he sees a dead body, he's not giving up. I back John B's decision, but I'm more realistic about what happened to my dad. The ocean, although my favorite place to be, is also one of the scariest.

My dad is probably dead and I will never get the closure that I want. So I'm dealing with it the best way I can, although I'm pretty sure everyone is a little worried about me, especially Kie now that John B is starting to follow in my footsteps by exhibiting reckless behavior.

But I'm getting better now. Day by Day. At least I wasn't acting like I did when my dad first left us.

~ ~ ~

I woke up with a slap to my ankle and my head buried deep into my pillow. I groan from the abrupt living alarm clock that's now pacing my room and throwing clothes from my closet at me. It only makes me squeeze my eyes tighter in hopes for at least five more minutes of sleep.

"Seriously, Mar, we need to go. We're late." John B rips my blanket off my body, leaving me exposed in just my pajama boxer shorts and a tank top. The sudden chill sends goosebumps up my arms and legs.

"Go without me." I push myself up on my elbows and grab the clothes he threw at me. I knew meeting the social worker alone wasn't an option. Even if one of us goes to this stupid meeting, it will prove to the social worker that we're not being responsible enough to keep DCS off our backs. As far as they know, Uncle T is still living with us and keeping us safe.

"You have five minutes." John B ignores me and leaves my room, slamming my door shut.

I roll my eyes and tumble out of my soft bed. I slip on my jeans shorts and a white t shirt that I tie in a knot to make it a crop top. Underneath it I have on my plain black bikini, knowing that I will be surfing the second we get home. The News has been reporting a storm for weeks that's suppose to hit tonight. Vicious waves and crazy winds sends a thrill through my body.

We arrive to the social worker's office only two minutes late. I thought that was a sign of responsibility, but the social worker only looks at us with distaste as we sit in the two chairs in front of her desk.

"John, Marleigh, it's come to our attention that you two are unemancipated minors living on your own." Her hair is pulled back into a tight low bun and her glasses are perched on the tip of her nose. Her suit looks way too tight for comfort, like it's squeezing the life out of her.

John B scoffs and leans back into his seat as if we have nothing to worry about, but I know his heart is beating just as wildly as mine. "No....no." The social worker raises one brow in suspicion and glances in my direction to either confirm or deny what John B is saying. John B sees this and answers for me. "No."

I just shrug as a response, which only makes the social worker more weary. She leans into her desk and folds her hands on top of our folders that are piled in the middle. "I need honesty to help you. That's what we want, right?"

"Yeah. I'm being honest."

"Okay, then when is the last time you spoke to your uncle?"

John B looks down at his watch and purses his lips. "Uh...thirty-four minutes ago."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"Two hours and...forty-three minutes ago?"

I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. It's clear on the social worker's face that she's not buying into any of John B's lies.

She sighs and turns to look at me. "We're gonna come out there tomorrow to talk to your uncle. If he's not there, we're gonna move forward with foster care." Foster care. The words make me dig my nails into the wood of the arms of the chair I'm in. The last place I ever wanna be is in foster care. I want to stay here on the island with my brother and our friends. Not with some random family who couldn't care less about us in a place I'm not familiar with. "I want to assure you, we're gonna find you a safe and loving home."

She says it like she's offering us a better life, one that we would want, one that sounds like the better option but it isn't. I ignore the worried look John B sends my way and watch the seconds go by on the clock above the door. We basically have twenty-four hours to find Uncle T or someone to be pretend to be him.

~ ~ ~

The winds begin picking up early in the afternoon, the rain hitting by 5. On my way home from working at the Wreck, I watch people board up the windows of their stores and homes. All John B and I can do is hope that our little shack won't blow away by morning.

Unfortunately for Pope, he's at our house when John B catches me leaving the house with my board. When he tells me to stop, I'm prepared to put up a fight. I've been looking forward to surfing in this storm all day - something I can use to push the DCS lady out of my head and the promise she made that sounded more like a threat.

"You think you were gonna go out without me?" John B smirks and leads the way to the beach.

Pope follows behind us like a lost puppy, basically talking to himself as he tries to convince us that this is a bad idea. We stop at the edge of the beach. It's almost impossible to see the ocean through the wind and the rain.

"Those aren't surfable waves, bro," Pope says, squinting through the rain that splatters our faces wet.

"Says who?" I say, passing him a devious smirk and make a run for it towards the ocean.

I paddle past the choppy waves, letting the water knock me around like a feather in the wind. When I see a decent looking wave to ride, I prop myself up on my feet and stand. I lean into my board. The warmth that's taken over my body outruns the cold water I fall into when the waves crash over me. My body tumbles under the water and my board bumps against me. I try to swim back up to the surface but the current is strong. I don't know where I am and I can't see under the water. My nose burns when water rushes up my nostrils. I squeeze my eyes tight and just swim upwards in hope of reaching air. Maybe this was a bad idea, but the thrill is still keeping me excited.

I finally reach the surface after what feels like years. John B and Pope's screams are dull against the whistling wind. I hop back on my board and give the two guys a thumbs up and a wicked smile. Pope looks like he's about ready to have a heart attack and John B breathes out a sigh of relief as he paddles closer to me.

"You alright?" He asks me.

"Fine," I yell against the wind.

John B nods. He looks like he's about to say something else, but something over my shoulder catches his attention. I turn myself around, intrigued at what's he's seeing other than the water, clouds, and a bunch of rain. Then I see it. A boat that barely looks afloat, so far out that it looks like a speck against the rain.

"We should probably go," I say. I don't want John B's mind to run to what might have happened to Dad out there. Maybe he was caught by a storm like this, maybe his boat went overboard and his body is out there floating with the fishes. I don't know. The last thing I need him to do right now is speculate. Even if the same thoughts are running through my head, John B thinks he's still alive. These thoughts will keep him up all night. He doesn't move, however. "John B let's go."

~ ~ ~

JJ is already laying on the pull out bed in my living room when I get out of the shower. JJ crashes here most days of the week. He'd much rather be here than with his drunk abusive dad. Our friends don't know the extent of how shitty his relationship really is with his dad. But I do. I found out when I was thirteen. JJ snuck through my bedroom window after a tough night with his dad. His face and torso were covered in bruises. It took everything in me not to burst out in tears right then and there. But for some reason, he trusted me of all people with his biggest secret. I cleaned him up and let him sleep in my bed with me. Every once in a while we repeat the process. Sometimes he's not even hurt, he just shows up. And I let him in because I like having him there.

I fall onto the mattress next to him and prop my head up on my hand, leaning on my elbow. I run my fingers through his hair, feeling satisfied and bubbly when he moans in response.

"When did you get here?" I ask him.

"You were in the shower. Don't worry I didn't peak, but I was tempted," He says into his pillow.

I use the same hand I had woven in his hair and punch his shoulder playfully, making him fall on his back. His lips turn up in a grin.

I lay there for a second, looking up at the ceiling. My eyes feel heavy, the events of the day officially taking over my body. I peek an eye over at JJ who's watching me carefully as if I might break under his fingertips.

"What?" I grin to myself, thankful for the darkness so he couldn't see the blush on my cheeks. Again.

"You all right?" He asks, pushing my hair out of my face so he can look straight into my eyes.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

JJ hesitates, like he's trying to pick the right words to say. I watch him closely, studying every mark and crevice on his face. Beautiful and clear like always. Even when it's covered in bruises and blemishes, he's handsome. I could look at him all day.

"You hate storms," He says.

"I can sleep through anything," I tell him. "And I don't hate storms. They make for...eventful surfing days."

His face drops to a more serious one. "You know what I mean."

I do. Storms have never really frightened me. Not really. But ever since my dad disappeared nine months ago, I worried that he would get caught in a storm like this, that by morning there would be a knock on my door from an officer who would tell me that a dead body has washed up on shore and they ID'd him as my father. The image leaves me with nightmares on nights like tonight.

JJ's the only one who knows this.

I don't like talking about it. Like JJ, we have this in common. So instead of telling him I'm fine and him not believing me, I pull the blanket at the edge of the mattress over our bodies and tuck myself into his side, laying my head on his shoulder. A position so intimate for just us "friends." I hope he can't feel my heart pounding beneath my skin, against his side. I let my body soften against his, feeling sleep take over me. I fall into a dreamless sleep next to JJ, hoping that the storm will be gone by the time we wake up.

#jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank fic #jj fic #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #john b routledge #kiara carrera #pope heyward #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank imagines #outer banks rewrite

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years

Text

monster, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: Mafia boss Min Yoongi and his bodyguard Jeon Jungkook punish you for being a smartass. Oh, I guess there’s some plot too. Maybe.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, threesome, unprotected sex [get tested please], creampie); abuse; non-idol!AU - mafiaaboss!AgustD!Yoongi (black-haired Daechwita AU), longhaired!tattooed!Jungkook; mercenary!reader; Jungkook has a praise kink; you have a pain kink (maybe psycho tbh)

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“And?”

He tapped the air with his black card.

“Order anything you like.”

A beat passed in silence. You shut the leather menu you were holding and placed it on the table. You closed your eyes slowly and blinked at him.

“I don’t think this date is going to work out.”

You turned and were about to get up from your chair, only to have a gun pointed right between your eyes. The smile the guard gave you was almost angelic with his full lips.

“Jimin, get that gun out of her face.”

You gave Park Jimin a venomous glare. The sunglasses meant you couldn’t see his eyes even if you wanted to. The private room at the restaurant meant there were no one was watching.

“Shoot it. I honestly don’t care.”

“We both know that’s what you’re really aiming for.”

After a long moment, you turned back around to face him. Him and his scar over his right eye. A fresh reminder every time that you were the one who did that. His brown eyes seemed dead.

“How long do you plan on acting like a bitch?”

He spun the black card against the table. You hated it when he flexed how much money he had and he knew it. He didn’t do it because he was arrogant. He did it because he knew it pissed you off.

“I don’t know, how long do you plan on keeping me?”

He shrugged casually. The card spun and spun like a tiny black tornado. Then it made a sharp snap as he slammed it to the table. His eyes flickered up to you.

“Forever.”

Min Yoongi.

You were supposed to kill him and you got caught. The only time you had ever been caught. In your defense, it wasn’t because you were bad at your job. You almost had him. The scar proved it. At this point, it didn’t matter if you killed him or not. Your original contact was now dead. Min Yoongi owned everyone who as anyone in the city. Blackmail, money, whatever it took. Maybe mafia boss was too cliché of a title for him. You, on the other hand, didn’t care what he did. It wasn’t as if you were some kind of angel either. Min Yoongi was just supposed to be another number to add to the list of people you killed for money.

And, well, there was no meaning to that money now, considering he basically owned the banks.

You were pretty sure there was something wrong with you. Something was a little off. People didn’t become mercenaries out of the goodness of their hearts, after all. Maybe you caught on to killing a little too easily and felt a little too little. Maybe causing chaos was a little too fun. A little bit of an anarchist, perhaps.

Yoongi cocked his head at you, his black hair covering his eyes a little. He had been trying to convince you to work for him all this time, but you didn’t see a point in it. He had nothing to give you. Money? There was nothing to buy and nowhere to go. Fame? Not quite the title you wanted as a mercenary. Power? Fleeting as far as you were concerned. Freedom?

Oh, no, Yoongi wasn’t going to let you have that.

“You can play along or I can have Jungkook play with you. Take your pick.”

You flinched. The only reason Yoongi wasn’t six feet under was because of that little shit who interrupted you. Knocked your aim off, caused you to slash instead of stab. A single second later and you were trapped in his muscular thighs, passing out from a triangle choke and armbar combination. It wasn’t just that you were bested. It was that you were bested so easily and without even being able to fight back.

Fucking little bastard.

Yoongi smirked.

“I could go for a game of Go Fish right now,” you sneered.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Ah, you really want it to be like this, don’t you?” He tipped his head and Jimin stepped out. Panic shot through you like lightning. Aw, shit. Yoongi watched your emotions change in an instant. He hadn’t meant play in the innocent sense, after all.

“It pains me more than it pains you.”

You made a face at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

The door slid open.

“Hey, hyung, what’s up?”

And in Jeon Jungkook sauntered. Black oxfords snapping against the hardwood floor. Black hair long and messy, wearing black slacks, matching black vest, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He didn’t even bother to hide all the tattoos on his right arm. He gave you a cocky smile and looked over to Yoongi for instruction. Suddenly the short black dress Yoongi told you to wear was much too small and much too tight.

Yoongi tapped his fingers against the table.

Out of the two, you definitely preferred Yoongi. Mostly because Yoongi could be satiated.

You inhaled deeply. “I’ll behave.”

Yoongi’s lips curved into a sly smirk. “Begging, are you?”

“I was stating a fact. I don’t beg.”

Wrong answer. But, of course, you said it because you had too much pride to not to be a smartass. Yoongi smiled. His hand stopped moving.

“Are you hungry, Jungkook?”

“What about you, hyung? You haven’t eaten yet,” Jungkook asked inquisitively, hands in his pockets. “I couldn’t eat before you.”

Ugh. They all loved Yoongi like he was some sort of soft animal that needed to be protected. Even Jungkook, who Yoongi let do what he wanted because he was the youngest. You were sure Yoongi had to clean up some messes Jungkook made, which was why he wanted to use you. You were clean in conduct, diverse in methods, and apathetic to the cause. The perfect tool.

The problem was, he couldn’t convince you to do jack shit.

Yoongi took his card and calmly filed it into his wallet. Even though all of his guards were elegantly dressed, Yoongi was in an olive-green jacket, dark green shirt, and grey jeans. Silver accessories. No one could even guess how important he was.

And you? Tight, short, black dress with thin straps. Black heels. No jewelry. Smokey eye makeup and dark red lip. Not quite gaudy hooker, not quite rich wife either. A strange in-between.

Yoongi placed his hand flat on the table. Slowly, he turned It around and curled his fingers toward himself in a beckoning motion.

“Come here.”

You knew he was talking to you. He knew it, you knew it, Jungkook knew it. Jungkook’s dark brown eyes followed Yoongi’s hand, up the length of the table, and then to you. His lips curved into an amused smile. Like a predator to prey. You glared at the two of them. You never listened. You weren’t going to start now.

“You should listen to hyung, you know,” Jungkook purred, taking a step towards you.

“I hear every word he says,” you retort, standing up.

Yoongi tilted his head. Just a few steps and Jungkook kicked your chair aside, pressing his body against you. Hard, unrelenting, hot breath down your neck. You didn’t even look at him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

You narrowed your eyes at Yoongi, facing him as you responded to Jungkook’s words.

“I told you I’m no longer interested in murdering him.”

Yoongi gave you an open-mouthed smirk.

“You regret it now, don’t you?” Yoongi drawled slowly.

One second you were simply standing there. The next you were twisting out of the way as Jungkook tried to pin you against the wall, knee up to defend against Jungkook’s inevitable kick. Jungkook growled, grinning as he dove again. You went low, elbowing him in the thigh to throw off his balance and slam him into the floor. Or would have, if Jungkook wasn’t sturdy enough to simply take it and he drove his shoulder into your chest. You hissed at the contact of shoulder to sternum, already bracing your body as you slid across the floor due to your heels.

You felt a hand grab you by the hair and yank hard, making you hiss in pain as you went down hard on your knees. Fighting Jungkook always took all your concentration. It wouldn’t be that way if he wasn’t such a skilled fighter. Yoongi, however, was an impatient and dishonorable man.

Yoongi held on to your hair and pulled up, dragging you to your feet and slamming you against the table. You let him do it because, well, it was going to become a beating if you continued. Also, Yoongi was more lenient when he thought he was the stronger one. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of you yelping in pain, even if your ribs felt like they were rattling.

“I think I would be worried if you didn’t try to fight for once,” Yoongi grunted, grabbing your upper arms and dragging you up the table. You tried to twist out of his grasp but Jungkook suddenly appeared between your legs and pinned your arms down.

“Ah, hyung, couldn’t you pick someone more… docile?” Jungkook complained with a pout as you panted with exertion.

Yoongi chuckled. “Are you trying to tell me you want her?” There was a dangerous edge in his voice.

“I’m only saying it would be easier for you,” Jungkook muttered, forcing your legs in their spread position as you were perched at the edge of the table. Hs eyes flitted to yours and it was obvious – the second Yoongi released you from his grasp, Jungkook would be ready to pounce.

“Take what you can get,” Yoongi growled. Coldness touched your skin as Yoongi flipped his switchblade out, slicing through the thin straps of the dress. You gritted your teeth as Yoongi’s face appeared in your vision. “I was going to let him eat you out but I’ve decided against it thanks to your antics.”

“Fuck you,” you snarled.

Yoongi shrugged. He pointed to your upper arm, tapping the implant under your skin with his blade.

“You can go in raw, Jungkook. Finally had Hoseok install it.”

Jungkook took his hands off your arms and began to unbutton his pants. “Seokjin-hyung is going to be really mad if we fuck in his restaurant,” he warned.

Yoongi scoffed. “Then I’ll let him have a taste too if he’s feeling upset.”

“This will not make me tame,” you hissed, looking up to him.

Yoongi gave you an almost-bored look. “That’s not what I’m looking for.”

You gasped as Jungkook yanked your dress up, ass hitting the table. Yoongi laid your arms one over the other above your head so he could hold them with one hand. The other laced around your neck, pushing your head up and forcing you to arch your back uncomfortably. Each silver ring cut into your skin painfully and you growled at him, even as Jungkook pulled out his switchblade and tore your panties to ribbons.

Yoongi leaned down, lips against your ear. His tongue slid out, curling around your earlobe. You stiffened, breathing swallow. He knew how to get you wet. He paid attention to detail, gently nibbling at your ear, listening to the change in your breathing as you gave in to him. You were human after all. You had your erogenous zones. You barely registered Jungkook cutting up the length of your dress, exposing your breasts to the cold. Your nipples hardened as Yoongi blew softly against your ear, whispering your name, almost pleadingly. It didn’t matter if he didn’t mean it.

“Don’t you wish it was me between your legs?” he breathed.

You sank your teeth into your lower lip, trying to control yourself. Your hand found his shirt and clutched a fistful of it in response. Yoongi chuckled and straightened, only to see Jungkook watching your pussy in fascination.

“Ah, so disappointing I can’t eat her out,” Jungkook pouted. “Looks so tasty.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Maybe next time, Jungkook.”

You could hear Jungkook’s pants falling to the floor, but you were still staring at Yoongi, holding onto his shirt. Yoongi seemed to notice your gaze and looked down at you with a smirk.

“What’s the matter? Ready to tell me you love me?”

You let go, scowling. “As–fuck!”

Jungkook entered you with one swift thrust, no stretching out, no warning, just hard dick shoved straight in. You gritted your teeth, breaking out of Yoongi’s grip and grabbing Yoongi’s shirt with both hands, struggling to adjust as Jungkook grabbed your hips and began to fuck you without remorse. You had never taken in someone raw before, and certainly not Jungkook’s rough, wild thrusts. Yoongi held you in place calmly by your neck as you struggled to not make a sound, feeling every vein and every thick inch of muscle pumped into you with vigor.

Jungkook, on the other hand, groaned lustfully as he fucked you, eyes closing as he felt your pussy clamp around him, tight and pulsing.

“Oh, fuck, hyung, it feels so good,” Jungkook moaned, throwing his head back, muscles bulging in his dress shirt and vest. His right hand dug into your hip, tattoos flexing with his tanned skin.

“Are you a spoiled boy, Jungkookie?” Yoongi drawled, voice low. He always watched. It didn’t matter who it was. He liked to watch.

“Yes, hyung.” Jungkook liked to be watched. He had a little bit of a praise kink when it came to his hyungs. He loved Yoongi, as they all did. Maybe a little too much. “Thank you, hyung.”

And well, Yoongi was clever. Even through you never told him directly, it was obvious you loved pain in all senses of the word. Delivering it, receiving it, all of it. Giving you the birth control implant was your gift as much as it was his. He could hear it, the strained moans you stubbornly kept in your throat, the wetter and wetter slapping of Jungkook’s hips against your own, watching with interest as Jungkook’s angry red cock thrust into you over and over.

He held your neck, slowly tightening. Your mind was fogging up, forced to feel the painful pleasure of Jungkook repeatedly pounding you into the table, his cock swelling inside you. Black spots danced on the edges of your peripheral vision, clouding your thoughts.

Jungkook bit his lip, digging his nails into your hips as he came with a groan. You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling hot strings of cum shooting into you, filling you up as he pulled out with a hiss, cum dripping out of you.

He was still hard.

Yoongi let go of your neck and pulled out of your grasp. Before you had time to collect yourself, Jungkook was pushing you on top of the table, flipping you over so you were on your hands and knees. Your shredded clothes fluttered to the floor, heels still on as Jungkook climbed onto the table, pants at his ankles. You could hear his cum plop onto the table from your dripping pussy. A loud scrape and you looked up to see Yoongi repositioning the chair so he could witness your face.

He caught your eye but before you could lash out, Jungkook grabbed one arm and pinned it behind your back, shoving his cock into you once more. You gasped sharply, biting your tongue as Jungkook began to fuck you again, slowly rolling his hips into your cum-filled pussy. He moaned, feeling the extra slickness of your walls painted in his orgasm. Yoongi observed with interest, not looking away. Jungkook leaned down, hand snaking between your thighs.

“Don’t you dare,” you growled, more to Yoongi than Jungkook, but both ignored you. You felt Jungkook’s nail scrape against your clit and you stiffened despite not wanting to reveal that he found the right spot. Jungkook chuckled, voice dropping several octaves.

“Scream for me.”

He pinched your clit and you clamped down hard on your tongue, squeezing your eyes shut as you slammed your fist onto the table. He thrust into you, hard, making you see stars. Every muscle tensed as you struggled to keep in your noises, furrowing your brow as Jungkook pinched and flicked your clit, abusing it. You could feel your pussy clenching and throbbing around his cock, unable to control yourself as you came with a muffled scream. Liquid gushed down both of your thighs, the squelching sounds becoming louder. It was obscene.

Yoongi’s trademark open mouthed smirk appeared as Jungkook came once again, driven by your orgasm. You were filled up once again by his cum, gasping at the sensation of so much inside you. And Jungkook still didn’t stop, slowly beginning again, moaning at the sensitivity of his cock from the back-to-back orgasms. He let go of your abused clit and grabbed your hips. The first slap made you hiss, nails digging into your palm. He kept going, smacking your ass in between thrusts to feel your walls tighten.

“Such a spoiled boy doing such a good job,” Yoongi purred. Jungkook whimpered at the compliment, looking up to see Yoongi nodding in satisfaction.

“Are you hard, hyung?” Jungkook whined, voice softening when addressing the older man.

“Mm-hmm,” Yoongi hummed, spreading his legs a little to readjust. Jungkook watched him closely, trying to see his erection through Yoongi’s jeans. The thought made him even harder inside you. You squeezed his cock and he groaned, shoving himself all the way inside you.

“Let me see,” Jungkook pleaded, raking his nails down your back. You grunted in pain and glared at Yoongi.

Yoongi chuckled. “You want to see it that bad, Jungkookie?” He dragged out the younger man’s name, low and teasing.

“Please,” Jungkook moaned, gripping your side so tight you gasped. “Oh, please, hyung.”

Yoongi glanced at you, amused at your silent scowl telling him to give the man what he wanted. He unbuttoned his jeans lazily. Slowly pulling down the zipper, lifting his hips a bit to slide it down enough to reveal his black boxer briefs. They could see it now, the growing erection straining against his underwear.

Jungkook groaned, rolling his hips into you and hitting your deepest spot. You almost moaned, eyes fixated on Yoongi’s crotch. Jungkook did it again, mumbling to Yoongi.

“Please…”

Yoongi palmed himself through his underwear, taking his time. He leaned back, exhaling deeply as he ran his large hand over his clothed erection. Jungkook was whimpering, desperate for more.

“Hyung…”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow and sighed, giving in. He always gave in to the youngest. He pulled down his underwear, letting his hard cock spring free. You felt breathless at the sight. Maybe it was Jungkook’s multiple orgasms getting to your head. But it was always like this. Yoongi always made you wait to see his cock. He knew how to make you blind to your own desperation, growing the hungry desire to see Yoongi’s ringed hand encircle his throbbing, beautiful cock, eyes half-lidded in arousal.

Jungkook moaned again lustfully, his pace increasing again now that he knew that he was the catalyst to making Yoongi hard.

“Harder, Jungkook. Fuck her rougher.”

Jungkook obeyed, slamming his hips into you so hard that the whole table shook despite being solid wood. You choked on air, feeling the cum dripping out of you as Jungkook began to fuck you wildly and with reckless abandon, hitting your most sensitive spots. And Yoongi, in all his audacity, continued to watch, still holding his cock. He noticed your gaze and he stoked himself slowly, making you bite down on your lip to avoid moaning. You shoved your cheek against the cool wood of the table, shuddering as you came, overwhelmed by pain and pleasure.

Jungkook hissed, shooting you full of cum once again. The sensation of being so full intoxicated you and you let out and soft whimper, hoping neither of them heard you. But, of course, Yoongi heard you.

Yoongi purred your name softly. You looked up at him, breathing hard, legs shaking. At this point your makeup was messy and your lips a little smeared, hair messy from fucking. He grinned as you winced, feeling Jungkook pull out of you. Jungkook was still semi-hard, the animal.

“Come here,” Yoongi said once again.

You had snarky comments prepared. You had you retorts all filed away. But the sight of Yoongi holding his hard cock, eyes smokey with lust made you forget all of them. Every muscle hurt from your constant strain of staying silent, refusing to let them hear you cries of pleasure. But your resolve was cracking now, seeing Yoongi’s want. You crawled off the table, ignoring Jungkook who was readjusting himself behind you. There was only Yoongi.

“Hold it in,” Yoongi commanded.

You walked towards him, trying not to hobble in your heels. Even now, you were prideful of how you presented yourself. You clenched your pussy tight, not letting Jungkook’s cum fall as you approached the black-haired man.

Yoongi removed his hand and patted his thigh. Wordlessly, you slid onto his lap, your hand lightly guiding him to your entrance. You placed one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, spying his smug expression out of the corner of your eye.

“Need me that bad, huh?”

“Shut up,” you said hoarsely. Your throat was dry from breathing so hard.

Yoongi chuckled. “I need you too,” he breathed, lips against your cheek.

You sank down on him, eyes rolling back into your head as he filled you up. He was still mostly clothed, the rough denim rubbing against your thighs as you went down. Yoongi moaned in satisfaction, hands trailing up your sides and pressing his thumbs against your nipples. Against your better judgement, a cry left your lips as his cock shoved Jungkook’s cum deeper inside you. You could feel every contour of his cock, every vein pulsating against your walls.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Yoongi drawled, pressing your nipples down and moving them in small circles. It wasn’t enough. You wanted his mouth on them and he knew it. He smirked. Yep, he wasn’t going to do it either.

You rolled your hips onto his cock. He grinned, pinching your nipples tightly and twisting them. A soft mewl reached your ears – you. Oh, fuck. Yoongi smirked triumphantly.

“Use my cock and get yourself off,” he purred. “You deserve it.”

It was all a trick. A ruse to feed your ego and yet you still did as you were told because he knew how to manipulate you, especially after wearing you out with Jungkook. It wasn’t fair, but Yoongi never played by the rules.

You lifted yourself up and sank back down, breathing hard. All your muscles were sore and yet you still found the energy to thrust your hips into Yoongi, squeezing him tight as you rode him. Yoongi pinched and pulled your nipples, fueling your arousal. He smelled so good, some kind of sharp pine, and it was driving you crazy. With a start, you realized the moans you were hearing were you, saying his name breathlessly over and over.

“That’s it,” Yoongi murmured, eyes half-lidded and smirk on his lips. “Cum for me.”

Shit. If you were in your right mind, you could refuse him, but you were so full of Jungkook’s cum with Yoongi’s dick so deep inside you that you could barely see straight. He kept pinching your nipples, flicking them hard as you went down, shocking your system every time. You came with a cry, gripping his shoulders hard as waves of pleasure raked though you, your entire body shuddering.

“Jungkook, hold her up.”

Yoongi removed his hands from your breasts, only to be replaced by strong, calloused ones. One tattooed, one bare. Jungkook held you firmly. You were panting, unable to look away from Yoongi’s eyes. His scar was an angry red. Those dark brown eyes looked at you like you were his queen, and yet it could all be a lie because Yoongi was a master manipulator. His black hair was pushed back, damp with sweat. He smirked at you, baring his teeth. You had a strange urge to kiss him, but you held back.

“Time to fill you up with me,” he whispered, hands settling on your hips.

The first thrust was slow, languid. Not enough. You bit your lip, feeling Jungkook roll your nipples slowly in between his fingers. Yoongi didn’t just want to fuck you. He wanted to drive you crazy. He wanted you to lose your mind. He sank in again, hissing with satisfaction. He made his cock throb inside you, your muscles clenching automatically in response. Jungkook ran his nail over your nipple and you could feel yourself becoming wetter with every passing second. Yoongi’s lips parted, a low, guttural growl clawing its way out of his throat. It was gravelly and deep.

“The implant was a good idea, wasn’t it?”

You gasped as he thrust in particularly deep.

“First time my cum will be mixing with Jungkook’s, deep inside you.”

Against your better judgement, you whimpered at his words. Fuck. Yoongi grinned, cocking an eyebrow.

“You like that, hm? Being pumped to the brim with cum?”

Before you could respond, Jungkook moaned behind you, pinching your nipples hard. You winced as Yoongi increased the pace, rolling his hips into you easily.

“Wonder how much you can take,” Yoongi drawled, eyes boring into yours. “Should I tie you up and let them all fuck you one by one? See how much cum you can keep in that pussy of yours before I fuck it all out of you?”

You hissed, feeling Jungkook grip your breasts and flick your nipples hard.

“Hyung, don’t get my hopes up…”

There was no way that the wet squelching noises between your hips were only your juices. You could smell Jungkook’s cum dripping down Yoongi’s cock.

“Or would you rather only have Jungkook?” Yoongi purred. He didn’t miss your eyes flashing at his suggestion. He chuckled deeply. “I��m always curious how far Jungkookie’s stamina goes.”

Jungkook was losing it behind you, groaning, pinching your nipples and ramming his clothed crotch into your back. He was rock hard, desperate for friction. Yoongi continued to fuck you, pace increasing ever so slowly.

“I want to see you on your knees,” Yoongi sneered, “Face into the ground, ass in the air, cum overflowing out of you and falling to the floor.”

You gasped, jerking forward from the force of Jungkook’s movements, your lips against Yoongi’s ear and his against yours. Harder, rougher. His lips touched your ear, tongue tracing your earlobe.

“And then I’m gonna fuck you,” he murmured, voice low and deep. “Fuck you until you can’t walk or see straight, and then wait for you to recover, only to do it again.”

You moaned into his ear, softly, falling apart to his words and his tongue.

“Yoongi, please…”

That wasn’t Jungkook. That was you, breathlessly begging into Yoongi’s ear, so quietly that Yoongi was sure Jungkook couldn’t hear you.

He waited, pumping his cock in and out of you roughly, smacking your hips together.

“Please fill me up with you.”

Yoongi made sure to chuckle right into your ear before he slammed you down hard onto his hips, shooting hot strings of cum inside, cock twitching mercilessly against your walls. You moaned his name, hands tangled in his black hair, whining as he pumped you full. He always had so much. You suspected he let it build up on purpose.

He pressed his lips against your ear. You could feel his infuriating smirk.

“Mine.”

click here for part ii --

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#jungkook x reader #yoongi x reader #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook smut #min yoongi smut

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ibijau · 3 years

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Counterfeit AU pt6 / On AO3

Meng Yao makes himself useful after losing his job, and discovers something unexpected

Names are funny things, Meng Yao thinks as he stares at the sheet of paper in his hand.

Funny things indeed.

After everything that went down in the Hanshi, it's Beastie that saves Meng Yao from himself.

Left to his own devices, he would have either wallowed in misery, or waste time proving to himself that everything that happened wasn't his fault, the way he knows he's done in other lives. But when he comes home after having his past lives thrown into his face and losing a job he loves, Beastie’s mother corners him just as he puts his key into his lock. Her daughter is on school holiday, she explains, and was supposed to be looked after by a friend with children of a similar age. But one of the children came down with something contagious, so the whole plan fell through, and the poor woman now desperately needs help finding someone to look after her daughter.

She’s not asking for Meng Yao to play the babysitter, but he knows so many people, he has so many connections, maybe he could pull a favour somewhere, help her out again.

“I can take care of her for a few days,” Meng Yao offers without thinking. “I’m jobless as of today.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! What happened?”

“My employer died,” Meng Yao replies, which is close enough to the truth. He doesn’t think Nie Huaisang will continue using his Shanzi alias after this, and they’ll never meet again. He might as well be dead. “I don’t plan on looking for a new job right away, so I can babysit for a while, it’s no big deal.”

She tries to insist that he doesn’t need to be doing that, but quickly agrees after some reassurance that Meng Yao doesn’t mind. She looks so relieved she could cry as she says she’ll drop Beastie in the morning. Meng Yao smiles, certain that his mother would be proud of him for doing what’s right.

Having Beastie around is definitely the best choice he could have made. She’s a good kid, but she’s also high energy and needs to be entertained, which means he doesn’t get to think too much about how much he misses Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen.

They watch movies together, as they’ve always done when he picked her up after school. They go for walks to a nearby park, and once to a museum to look at old armours and swords. He buys Beastie a fake sword, though they agree to keep it at his place, since her mother already despairs that she so strongly favours boy’s toys. In fact, Meng Yao ends up just spoiling that little girl, the way he would have loved someone to do for him when he was her age. He even has Nie Huaisang’s console repaired so she can play on it, instead of selling it as he’d intended.

The video games are a big hit with her. She’s particularly in love with the same game Nie Huaisang spent too many hours on, that weird little terraforming thing which Meng Yao can’t see the appeal of. He liked that it made Nie Huaisang happy. He likes that it also makes Beastie happy, and that she’s very careful not to ruin the work previously put into it, focused instead on maintaining it and planting flowers

“It looks like home,” she explains when Meng Yao asks about that, and lifts the console for him to see.

It doesn’t look like a homely place, he thinks, and more like a military fortress right out of a wuxia drama. But Meng Yao doesn’t get to make that remark, because his phone vibrates, demanding his attention. Beastie, sitting crossed legs on some cushion on the floor, goes back to watering virtual flowers, while Meng Yao checks some news from his bank account. A lump sum has been sent to him, a good deal more than his usual salary, coming from an account registered under a name he doesn’t recognise.

It has been a week since he was fired.

Nie Huaisang kept his promise.

It really is over.

Not that Meng Yao really doubted it. Nie Huaisang has many faults but indecision has never been one, though he’s always been good at pretending otherwise. Once his choice is made he toys with expectations but rarely ever changes his mind.

Rarely, of course, isn’t never. Meng Yao, foolishly, hoped to be one of those few exceptions.

Those new zeroes on his bank account feel like a divorce, and he never even got a honeymoon.

That night, Meng Yao allows himself a few hours to wallow in misery, after Beastie went back to her mother. He is only human, and it does feel good to eat take-away in front of a cheesy romance. The film's hero doesn't get the girl, who was dead all along. Meng Yao cries, even though he's seen that movie before.

By morning, he's in control again, and takes Beastie to the park so she can run around in the sun, and scare pigeons with her sword.

Those holidays are all great fun, until Beastie’s mother reminds them that she has homework to do.

Beastie is a clever kid, there’s no doubt about it, but she doesn’t much like doing her homework, least of all when she feels she could be playing. It takes all of Meng Yao’s negotiation skills to get her to even look at her school books, and he almost resorts to bribery to make her pick up a pencil. But she works hard once she starts, and Meng Yao, wanting to encourage her, sits with her at the kitchen table to update his resume. Beastie will go back to class soon, and inactivity just isn’t in his temper.

When Beastie is done with her work, she gets permission to put on whatever movie she likes while Meng Yao checks what she’s done in case it needs correcting.

But when he picks up the sheet of simple maths she’s expected to give her teacher on monday, all Meng Yao sees is her name.

It’s really funny. He knows her name of course, though he hasn’t heard it in a while. Even her mother took up to calling her Beastie after he nicknamed her that. It just fits her so well, that active little girl who prefers trousers over dresses because they're easier to move in and always wants to play at fighting. She’s a real little monster, and Meng Yao loves her like that. She’s just Beastie.

But according to the homework she’s spent the afternoon on, she’s also Nie Mingjue.

It could just be a coincidence. Names are funny like that, they pop up in unexpected places, they get forgotten and reused. Perhaps in another life, Meng Yao would have just dismissed it as a random incident.

In another life, he wouldn’t have been called Meng Yao.

It’s the first time this happens since that first life they all shared. He’s Meng Yao again, Lan Xichen bears his old name too, and now he’s found a Nie Mingjue, hiding right under his nose. A Nie Mingjue who likes fighting, and claims that her toy sword is actually a sabre, and who always insists a lot on things being fair, even when Meng Yao tries to give her the biggest share of a food she likes.

It can’t be a coincidence.

Meng Yao needs to tell someone.

He needs to tell Nie Huaisang.

He tries, of course, and without surprise his former employer’s number has been terminated. He has the same luck trying to send an email. Nie Huaisang might as well never have existed. Meng Yao feels helpless, torn between tears and laughter. After spending centuries looking for his brother, Nie Huaisang just might have lost his chance due to being so damn dramatic. Serves him right, Meng Yao thinks, still bitter about being discarded so easily, and never getting a chance to see if things might work better in this life.

Bitterness doesn’t last. Meng Yao cares about Nie Huaisang, more than he should if he were a little smarter, and he knows how important finding his brother again would be for him. And if Nie Huaisang can’t be directly contacted, there’s always indirect ways.

It’s not that Meng Yao misses Lan Xichen, he tells himself that night, when Beastie is back with his mother and he starts writing a long text message on his phone. Well, it’s not just that, anyway. He does miss Lan Xichen, sweet and funny and so eager when talking about art. But more importantly, Lan Xichen probably has access to Lan Wangji, who clearly must know how to contact Nie Huaisang.

Texting Lan Xichen is a strategic choice.

The way Meng Yao's heart jumps inside his chest when Lan Xichen immediately replies is… it's strategic too. He's just glad that his plan is working.

How have you been? :)

I could have been worse. I've just realised something and I think it concerns you. I've told you about that kid I babysit, haven't I?

Little Beastie? Is she okay? D:

She's Nie Mingjue.

This time, the answer isn't immediate. Meng Yao stares nervously at his phone, wondering if Lan Xichen thinks he's lying, or planning something. Considering their first life, who could blame him?

But after a few minutes, his phone vibrates again.

Sorry, I dropped my phone and couldn't get it back from under the couch. Are you sure?? (⊙ˍ⊙)

It all fits. You could come meet her if you want. But it's him, I'm sure.

Did you tell Nie Huaisang???

I can't contact him. Are you in touch with Lan Wangji? Maybe he can warn him.

I have his number, I just texted him! I'll keep you updated! It's so wonderful if it's da-ge!! Can I really meet him? ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Her*?

I'll send you my address. If you can come tomorrow, she'll be there.

Are you sure? I don't think da-ge would still want me around. (≧﹏ ≦)

Meng Yao gives that question the consideration it deserves. It's not an unfair worry to have, and he'd be wondering the same if he hadn't known Beastie for so long.

I literally killed him, and he killed me. If she had to hate anyone it'd be me, but we get along great. We're no longer the same people we used to be. It's the same for her.

If you're sure, then I'll come! (❁´w`❁)

Meng Yao is very sure indeed.

So Lan Xichen comes.

It's odd to invite someone to his flat. It's a small place, a bit messy, full of trinkets and DVDs that Meng Yao would never admit to owning, not with the image he wants to create. He's always avoided guests. But having Lan Xichen over is as rewarding as it is terrifying. Lan Xichen brought some charming little cakes, as if he's visiting someone important, and he smiles at the sight of a movie poster on the wall, confessing he watched it so often as a teenager that the tape broke one day.

"It's my favourite too!" Beastie exclaims. "Meng-ge has it, you know! Can we watch it now?"

Normally, Meng Yao would point out that it's a little rude to ask that when they have a guest. But he can see that Lan Xichen is nervous and unsure how to act around Nie Mingjue, and maybe a movie will let them all relax.

In the end, they spend a pleasant afternoon, the three of them. Once Lan Xichen stops worrying that the Nie Mingjue of old will appear and shout at him for getting him killed, he starts chatting with Beastie about her favourite movies, what she's learning in school, what she wants to be when she grows up. She's very happy to answer, and very impressed when he explains he's a teacher, even though she's finding it hard to accept that most of his students are fully adult.

And when Beastie is back with her mother, Lan Xichen lingers for a while, tempted by the offer of Meng Yao's favourite takeaway.

“It’s amazing how much like him she is,” Lan Xichen says as they sit on the sofa to wait for the food to arrive. “It’s the first time he reincarnates, you know. At least, Wangji told me they’d never found any trace of him before.”

Guilt shoots through Meng Yao. It’s his fault if Nie Mingjue’s soul was so fractured it took him this long to be reborn. Or at least, it’s the fault of someone he was, once, which is nearly the same, and yet completely different. Meng Yao has learned from living and dying several times, and he’s lucky enough to live in a kinder world than Jin Guangyao did. It helps.

“She’s also different from him, though,” Lan Xichen continues, moving just a little closer, until they’re almost touching.

“We’ll, for starters she’s a kid,” Meng Yao points out, wondering if he should take the other man’s hand. If this had happened before the Hanshi, he would have, but he’s not sure where they stand now.

“It’s not just that. In that first life, I knew da-ge as a child too and he was…” Lan Xichen sighs and makes a vague hand gesture. “He was a lot. Way too serious sometimes. We all were, I suppose, but him most of all. The Nie tended to grow fast, to compensate for dying young. I’m… I’m glad that he gets to properly be a child this time. That she gets to be a child.”

“The world has changed,” Meng Yao says, finding the courage at last to brush his fingers against Lan Xichen’s. “Things aren’t always easy but they’re… easier, I suppose.”

Lan Xichen’s returns that touch, gentle and careful as always. This, too, is easier now than it was back then. It’s not easy, but there’s less pressure to conform, less demands to be good dutiful sons, and just a little more space to be their own people, to make their own choices.

Maybe in their next life they’ll meet again and it’ll be even easier to be like this. But even now, Meng Yao is ready to take the chances that his past self wouldn’t have dared to dream of. He leans toward Lan Xichen, hoping to kiss him, but a knock on the door interrupts them and he jumps to his feet to go get their food. The delivery man looks at him a little funny, but makes no comment. If Meng Yao is half as red as Lan Xichen, he deserves those odd looks.

Nothing happens again that night. The moment has passed, and after eating, Lan Xichen has to go home because he has engagements the day after that he can’t cancel.

It's not a date that night, no more than any of their previous encounters were.

It's not a date then, but next time, when Lan Xichen invites him to a restaurant, Meng Yao is informed in no unclear terms that this is, in fact, a date. They go see a movie after, and Meng Yao gets to kiss one of the two most handsome men in the world.

Life is good.

Life is really good, and yet Meng Yao wants more.

In spite of their efforts, Lan Xichen and him can't get in touch with Nie Huaisang to inform him that his brother has finally reincarnated. Even Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are getting worried. From what they told Lan Xichen they haven't had any contact with him since the day they picked him up at the Hanshi.

"They say he's done that before," Lan Xichen tells him. "They think he'll return in a decade or two, maybe a little longer. Time is hard for immortals, they lose track easily."

That's all very well for them, but Meng Yao doesn't have a few decades to waste, and neither does Nie Mingjue. They're not immortals. One bad illness, a reckless driver, just tripping in the stairs, and it's all over until they reincarnate again, and Meng Yao is done with missed chances.

If he can't directly get in touch with Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao can make a few discreet calls to former buyers, and advise them to get their purchase asserted again, just in case. He makes sure to only contact people who bought legitimate artworks of course. He wants to make a wave, not get in trouble. If Meng Yao knows Nie Huaisang even half as well as he thinks he does, then even in hiding Nie Huaisang will be checking what’s happening in the world of art collectors, and he’ll hear about some of his buyers suddenly becoming fearful of fakes.

It’s a little mean perhaps, when Nie Huaisang is so proud of his counterfeits, but kindness has never been Meng Yao’s greatest quality.

Besides, it works.

One afternoon, when Meng Yao is alone at home, checking a job offer that he’s probably going to reject because he deserves better, there’s a knock on the door. Meng Yao considers ignoring it, but some of his elderly neighbours have been coming to ask for help with their phones or whatever new fancy blender their kids got them to make life easier. Usually, five minutes of easy work means free homemade food for his next meal, which is always a great deal.

When he opens the door, there’s a very old man waiting in the corridor alright, but free food is probably out of the question.

“Well, I’m here,” Nie Huaisang says. “Whatever is going on, it’d better be important.”

#xisangyao #xiyao #sangyao #xisang #counterfeit au #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes

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toosicktoocare · 3 years

Note

Hello!! Your fics are beautiful. May I please request a Buck and Eddie prompt where Buck is having a terrible day (feeling anxious, sad and insecure) and his boyfriend Eddie is the only one that notices and comforts Buck?

hi, this made me a lil sad.

There’s nothing, Buck thinks, that can truly compare to the newfound anxiety that comes at the mere sight of rushing water. It steals his breath, two cold hands wrapping around his lungs, forcing his heart into slow motion. It takes him back; it always takes him back to the first large, swelling wave, to the bodies floating in the water, to Christopher, who, despite everything, kept a brave face when Buck felt like he was ripping at the seams.

He stares at the young girl barely holding onto the life float that’s thethered to a long rope at the back of a boat. Her screams start to sound like Christopher’s screams, and the river water’s rushing too loudly, too close. He can almost feel it pounding against his eardrums, muffling sound around him, all but the screams for help.

“She’s not too far out. We should be able to prep the life raft in time.”

Bobby’s quiet on Buck’s side, and Buck knows why. A girl her age against a strong current, the product of an afternoon storm? Even if they were able to inflate the life raft and get it onto the water, they’d have to take more time securing it, and that’s time that little girl doesn’t have. As it is, her head’s barely bobbing above water, and he parents, thrown close enough to shore when the boat flipped, are understanably hysterical.

“Start prepping the life raft,” Bobby calls out, and while Eddie and Chimney race back to the truck, with Hen trying to assess the parents, Buck takes a step closer to the riverbank, his eyes never leaving the girl’s struggling frame. He can feel the anxiety begin to swell and loom over him, cold, dark, almost suffocating, and every inch of his being wants to back away, to remain safely planted on dry land. But, when the girl’s head dips below the water and doesn’t resurface, when Bobby’s shouting over his shoulder for the others to hurry the hell up, Buck takes a few steps back, briefly works around how quick he’ll have to swim to get to the girl, and then he runs.

“Wait, no- Buck!”

Buck hits the water in a swan dive, and he’s immediately overwhelmed. Water slaps at his face, burns in his eyes, pushes into his mouth, but his legs are already kicking hard, and he’s forcing his arms through strong, gliding motions, just making it to the life float before the current grabs him. He loops one arm through the float and wraps the other around the girl’s waist, pulling her back above the water. She coughs and sputters, and Buck manages a warm smile despite the cold water all around them.

“Hi, I’m Buck! You okay?”

“Tired,” the girl mutters, and Buck nods knowingly.

He can hear the others shouting at the bank, can hear her parents screaming her name. “Suzie, right? Listen, I’m going to do all the work now, okay? You’ve done a fantastic job, but I’ve got it from here. All I need you to do is hang on to me, okay?”

“Okay, Bucky.”

Buck hears that name from one person only, and just as it comes from Christopher’s small voice, the single use of a silly nickname slips past Buck’s rib cage to tighten around his heart. He whips his gaze around, panicked, to see the life raft already hitting the water and starting toward them, secured by a rope tied to the ladder truck.

It takes roughly a minute to reach them, and the second it’s close enough, Buck’s twisting around and lifting the girl up just enough for Eddie to reach over and grab her. He’s pulled up next, and though he wants to instinctively curl up against Eddie, he swallows back that need for comfort and pulls all his attention toward Suzie instead, answering Eddie’s questions about her condition until the raft’s being pulled back onto the riverbank.

It’s not until Buck’s stepping out of the raft, his feet hitting solid ground, that he can fully breathe again. It comes in more of a rough gasp of air, but it’s enough to release some of the tension sitting heavy on his lungs. He watches as Suzie’s parents rush over, the whole motion going by slow and quiet, and then a jacket’s being draped over his shoulders, and he doesn’t need to look to know it’s Eddie’s turnout coat.

He sags against Eddie, and Eddie’s arm wraps around his waist.

“You okay?”

Buck only nods, and Eddie guides him over to the truck.

***

“All changed?”

Buck turns from his locker, slipping his other arm into his jacket sleeve, still feeling a little cold. He nods, and Bobby’s smile drops in the blink of an eye.

“Good. My office. Now.”

“Bobby,” Eddie tries, abandoning his seat on the bench behind Buck. “Is this really necessary-”

“-I didn’t ask for your opinion, Diaz.”

Bobby turns to leave, and Buck winces as the door slams.

“I’ll go with you,” Eddie starts, frowning. “I mean, I agree that what you did was incredibly stupid, but I don’t know that that girl would have made it if you hadn’t jumped in. Surely Bobby knows this-”

“It’s okay,” Buck interrupts, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Really. I’ll be right back.”

“Buck-”

Buck cranes his neck down slightly to brush a light kiss to Eddie’s lips, lingering just for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” he repeats, his voice no louder than a whisper, and though Eddie’s eyes look like he wants to say more, he gives with a low sigh.

“Fine.”

Buck smiles, giving Eddie’s hand a tight squeeze, but when he turns away, his smile falters, and he keeps his head low as he climbs the stairs and steps into Bobby’s office.

Bobby motions for Buck to have a seat, but Buck keeps himself close to the door, crossing his arms and dropping his back to the wall.

“How many times are we going to have this talk, Buck?”

Buck frowns. “She was drowning, Bobby. What was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for direct orders.”

“She didn’t have time,” Buck argues. “She-”

“-Insubordination.”

Buck pauses, jaw going slack. “What?”

“I’m contemplating writing you up for insubordination.”

“Bobby,” Buck drags out, pushing off the wall and crossing the office until he’s right in front of Bobby’s desk. “I saved her.”

“You didn’t listen.”

“Look, Bobby, it’s not that I wanted to go against your orders. It’s just... She didn’t have time, Bobby. I had to do something.” Buck swallows thickly, staring hard at Bobby’s tight jaw.

“Listen, Buck. A good firefighter follows the captain’s instructions. I need you to obey my orders, okay?” Bobby’s voice is calm; he doesn’t yell, but Buck’s face still falls, and he breathes a small nod.

“Got it, Cap,” he mutters, glancing to the door. When Bobby nods, he slips out quickly, thankful for the alarm ringing overhead because he’s not sure he wants to smile through the sympathetic looks he’s bound to receive.

***

Buck spent the rest of his calls hesitating, going to dive into action but faltering and waiting for Bobby’s orders, and all the while, he couldn’t shake Bobby’s words from his head: a good firefighter.

He declined going out after their shift, assuring everyone he’s fine and just a little tired from his unplanned swim today, and his drive back to his apartment was suffocatingly silent. All he could hear were Bobby’s words: a good firefighter.

He flops down onto his bed and curls into himself on his side. He’s a good firefighter, right? He saves lives everyday, and yes, he knows he can be a little reckless, but every call is a ticking clock, and with each passing second, they could lose a life. So, reckless is necessary, isn’t it? He’s not intentionally disobeying Bobby, he just-

“Buck? You in here?”

Buck doesn’t move when he hears Eddie’s voice, or when he hears the front door close. He draws his knees tighter to his chest, thankful his back is to the stairs.

“Buck?”

Eddie’s voice is a lot closer now, and Buck can hear the concern so loud in his soft tone. The bed dips at Buck’s back, and Buck sighs quietly when Eddie’s hand finds his hip.

“Are you okay?”

Buck hums a non-verbal affirmative, and he rolls his neck until he’s pressing his face into the bed.

“Want to try that again? You’re a really bad liar, even when you aren’t talking.”

Buck stays quiet, and Eddie stands and walks around the bed until he’s kneeling close to Buck’s face.

“Look at me. Please?”

Eddie’s voice is soft but demanding, and Buck slowly rolls his head until he’s facing Eddie. “Hey.”

Eddie’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hi. What’s going on? You’ve been off all day.” There’s a deep-set crease in Eddie’s forehead, and Buck focuses on that because he can’t meet Eddie’s eyes.

“Do you think I’m a good firefighter?”

“What? Yes. Why would you ask that?”

Buck sighs and forces himself into a sitting position, his boots hitting the floor beside Eddie. He hunches forward, dropping his elbows atop his knees.

“Bobby said a good firefighter listens to their captain.”

Eddie frowns and drops down onto the bed beside Buck. “He’s just worried about you. I think he loses a year off his life everytime you throw yourself into danger.” Eddie pauses. “I know I do.”

Buck jerks a heated glare toward Eddie, and he makes to get off the bed, but Eddie yanks tightly at his arm, and he falls back against the bed. In seconds, Eddie’s got him pinned down, his chest flush against Buck’s, and either hand pressed against the bed beside Buck’s head.

“Eddie, I’m not really in the mood-”

“-Yeah, I’m not here for that,” Eddie drags out, voice flat, but just as quickly, it softens. “Do you know what you do every single day, Buck?”

Buck stays quiet, swallowing thickly.

“You save lives. Everday. It’s no ‘them or you’ scenario; it’s always them. Are you reckless? Damn straight. Does it scare the absolute hell out of me? Endlessly. But, at the end of the day, I know it’s our job, and you,” Eddie raises one hand, jabbing lightly at Buck’s chest, “are the best firefighter I know.”

Buck’s eyes sting with tears he blinks back. “Sure that’s not just your bias talking?”

“I know you’re still freaked out by water after the tsunami, and yet, you jumped into that river today to save that girl. That’s what good firefighters do, Buck.”

Buck tries to look away, but Eddie’s fingers wrap around his chin, keeping their eyes locked in place.

“You’re a good firefighter, Evan. I know it. Our team knows it. Bobby knows it. We just don’t want to see you get hurt... again.”

Buck can feel loose tears slipping down his face, small drops clinging to his warm skin, and then Eddie’s dropping his entire body against Buck and tucking his arms under Buck until he’s completely engulfing him, warm and heavy.

“Eddie. I can’t breathe,” Buck tries, and Eddie only squeezes him tighter.

“Tough. I don’t want to see you cry, so you’re stuck like this until you stop.”

Buck breathes out a weak laugh, smiling around his tears when Eddie nuzzles his nose to Buck’s neck. For a moment, all Buck can feel is Eddie’s heartbeat against his chest. He can smell Eddie’s aftershave lingering along his jaw. For a moment, it’s just Eddie, and his tears fade, leaving his cheeks faintly damp.

“Thanks, Eddie.”

“Anytime, “Eddie starts, breath warm against Buck’s neck, “Firefighter Buckley.”

#911 fox #9-1-1 #buddie #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #9-1-1 fox #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #emotional whump #emotional hurt/comfort

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bakugoukatsukiswife · 4 years

Text

Buy Your Love

A/N: So this is me ATTEMPTING to write about having sex with Hawks on a fancy ass yacht.. like everyone is thirsting over right now because of that move ‘365 Days’. Personally, I didn’t like the movie at all but the boat scene had me feeling some way cause I was picturing Hawks the whole time. I really wanted to some good smut with Hawks on a boat and HOPEFULLY I did it justice. Idk I kind of feel like I need a cold shower after this so maybe I did good? ALSO I dropped in some Yagami Yato nicknames she does with Hawks, I couldn’t resist. Anyways, enjoy babes!!

Warnings: Hair pulling, spanking, spitting, name calling, dirty talk. Pure smut. 18+.

Words: 2K

To say that you were dating the number two hero Keigo Tamaki, otherwise known as Hawks, was complicated to determine. He would wine and dine you, take you out for scenic flights at night in Japan, make you feel as if you were the only girl in the world. He was smooth with his words, they flowed off his tongue like honey, sweet and enticing to you while his looks were an added bonus. He knew that he was a charmer, he tried his hardest to make you fall for him in the few months you had known him; but you knew you were nothing special to him, you were just another prize to be won in his eyes.

Of course you were, or else you wouldn’t have been given a magazine article by a concerned coworker talking about Hawks and his new ‘girlfriend’ who had gone on a getaway trip recently. It shouldn’t matter, right? You and Hawks weren’t a thing, it’s not like anything would ever happen between you two anyway.

Work had tired you out, you had just gotten out of the shower and you were about to head to bed when you heard a tapping on your balcony window. You sighed as you opened the curtain, meeting eyes with Hawks as he waved at you before you opened the sliding door, allowing him to step in.

“Hey there, baby bird. How was your day?” Hawks asked as he came toward you, mouth twitching downward slightly when you stepped away a bit.

“Shouldn’t you be with your other lady friend?” You questioned him, daring to look up at his face despite the loud pounding of your heart flooding your ears. Hawks quirked a brow at you, his head tilting slightly as he caught sight of the magazine on your dresser before he let out a slight chuckle.

“You’re really going to believe those trashy articles? The hero agency tasked me with keeping an eye on her cause she was a witness in an important case. That’s all that was,” Hawks said, rubbing at his face and you felt guilt encase your heart since you could tell he was being honest. Your heart started to pick up the pace when Hawks’ wings brushed against your back and you realized just how close Hawks really was when he leaned down, his golden-brown eyes serious.

“Besides, there’s no one else I want. You should know this by now, songbird.” Hawks said, the nickname he gave you sending shivers through you. He gently ran his knuckles across your cheek, chuckling. “It’s cute when you’re jealous though,” Hawks said and you bristled at his accusation.

“I’m not jealous! Why would I be jealous?” You asked, crossing your arms as you looked away from Keigo. All he responded with was a chuckle before pulling you closer to him with his wings, making color rise to your face.

“Want to come with me somewhere fun?” Hawks asked, a playful tone to his voice and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Where?” You asked and Hawks tsked.

“Yes or no?” He asked, his eyes hopeful and you sighed.

“Yes,” You answered, and Hawks pulled you close to him before taking off into the night. You clutched tightly to him as he headed towards the ocean and you could see a very big, luxurious yacht on the water. You looked up to look at Hawks and noticed that he had a smirk on his face but before you could say anything to him, he landed perfectly on the deck of the boat.

“Keigo… what is this? This isn’t your yacht is it?” You asked Hawks as he set you down and he feigned a look of hurt as he touched his chest.

“Hey I know I joke, but I make bank too, you know. I am the number two hero.” Hawks said as he watched you walk around the deck, taking in the massive boat. You turned to look back at him and he smiled. “Look, I know you’ve been stressed with work and stuff lately so I thought we could have a small vacation getaway on the ocean. I bought you some clothes and swimsuits so you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing,” Hawks admitted as a blush rose to his cheeks at the way you looked at him with the biggest smile on your face.

“Oh? So this is the fun you were talking about?” You questioned as you came closer to him, eyebrow raised in question.

“Of course, I wanted you to have a stress free week.” Hawks answered simply and you let out an exhale of breath.

“Alright, give me the grand tour then.” You said, and Hawks happily accepted. He showed you the massive den, that had fully leather sofas and chairs with a flat screen TV, the jacuzzi on the front deck as well the bar that occupied the deck too. There were too many rooms to count by the end of it, and Hawks led you to the master bedroom that was fit for a king. Which you guess in Hawks’ case, he kind of was one.

“So this is where you’ll be sleeping,” Hawks said, and you felt your heart clench at the notice he gave you of you both not sleeping in the same room. Yes, you and Hawks had a complex relationship, but you hadn’t slept with him or anything like that yet. It’s not like you were inexperienced or anything, you just didn’t understand why he wanted you of all people. What was so special about you? You felt your legs hit the bed and you fell back, snapping out of your gaze when you realized that Keigo was now hovering above you, his hands on either side of your head as he looked down at you with a small smirk.

“Now, now baby bird… I thought this was supposed to be a stress free week, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Hawks asked and you felt your breath catch at how close he was, his breath hitting your face, his fingers threading through your hair that was on the bed. “Do you want to sleep with me that bad?”

“N-no. It’s nothing,” you managed to stutter out and Hawks rolled his eyes slightly. Being in this position with Hawks was starting to become too much for you, you were excited to be here, to be with him. To forget about everything for a while, to just soak in his presence that made you feel like you were the only person in the world, that you were actually important to him. But were you? Was he just trying to buy you, buy your feelings? The longer you thought about it, you started to feel anger course through your veins and Hawks noticed that you had a different look in your eyes.

“Keigo…” You started and he stopped his teasing, knowing that you were serious whenever you said his actual name. “Are you… are you trying to buy me? My feelings, I mean.” You managed to say and Hawks leaned back to fully look at you.

“(Y/N)... of course I’m not.” Hawks said and your heart fluttered at the way your name left his lips. That was the first time he had called you by your name, he normally always called you ‘baby bird’, ‘songbird’, or ‘baby girl’. “You make me the happiest I’ve been in a very long time. I… like you a lot, and when I like something, I can go a little overboard with my affections. Being a pro hero has its perks, and I just like to spoil you. You’re the only one I’ve ever cared for this much, so it’s pretty new to me. I-.” Hawks was cut off when your lips met his, his hand automatically tangling in your hair. Your tongue came out to brush against his bottom lip and you heard him moan, his hand tightening in your hair while his other hand gripped at the sheets before he found the willpower to pull away.

“Wait, (Y/N). Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked sincerely and your heart warmed at the way he looked down at you, his golden eyes dark with lust but you could tell he was holding back, for your sake.

“Of course, Keigo,” you said and he smiled before leaning back in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

“Buckle up, baby bird. I’m going to have so much fun with you,” Hawks mumbled against your lips and you felt a shiver run through you at his words. Hawks hooked his fingers in your jeans before shimming them down, placing you further on the bed before removing your underwear as well and you watched as his eyes lit up at the sight before him. “You look good enough to eat. In fact, I may just take a bite,” Hawks said before diving straight into your cunt, his tongue licking a stripe up to your clit before he nibbled at it with his teeth. A moan escaped your mouth as your hands found his hair, your legs going to rest on his shoulders as Hawks sucked at your essence.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” Hawks groaned, golden eyes looking up at you as your back arched at his tongue develing deep into your folds. He chuckled slightly, the vibrations sending chills through you as Hawks pulled you closer to him, his hands gripping at your thighs. You felt him pause and you looked down to see that he was making sure you were watching him before he pursed his lips, his saliva dripping down onto your clit as he inserted a finger inside you, causing you to tug at his hair as a whine left your lips. You moved your hips slightly, hearing Hawks let out a chuckle as you continued to try and fuck yourself on his finger.

“You want my cock that badly, baby girl? You want me to fuck you with my cock, make you scream my fucking name as you cum for me?” He teased and you could only nod, too embarrassed to say it outloud, but Hawks tsked.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes! Please Keigo! I want you to fuck me, I need you to fuck me so badly. I need your cock inside me,” you begged and you felt as Hawks removed his finger, hearing as his belt unbuckled before the soft thud of his jeans hit the floor. Hawks gave himself a few pumps as he licked your juices off his other hand before he slowly inserted himself into you, a slow string of curses leaving his mouth as he let you adjust to his length. Let’s just say that Hawks had big dick energy, and rightly so.

“Shit, you feel so fucking good. So fucking tight for me,” Hawks said, his voice low as he started to move, his cock brushing against your walls perfectly as you let out a moan.

“Keigo…” you moan out, pleasure coursing through your veins at the way that Hawks was grunting in your ear, his hand tangled in your hair as his thrusts picked up the pace.

“Yeah, say my name (Y/N). I love the way you say my name, shit.” Hawks said, his teeth biting at the supple skin of your neck. His tongue came out to soothe the red marks now on you as he continued to thrust into you, heavy breathing filling the room as Hawks’ thumb ran across your bottom lip, his golden eyes staring down at you. “Open your mouth,” he commanded and you did so without hesitation. He pursed his lips again like earlier and spit into your mouth, his thrusts never slowing down as he took hold of your jaw with his thumb, index and pointer finger.

“You like that? Dirty girl,” Hawks said and you felt heat rush through you at his words, his dirty talking and the way that he was hitting against your g-spot causing you to come dangerously close to releasing. “Are you about to cum? Cum for me, cum all over this cock.”

Like he willed it, you came all over him with a loud moan, your pussy fluttering against his cock and you could hear Hawk grit his teeth as his hips stuttered against yours.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.” Hawks said before his seed filled you up, dripping a bit onto the sheets. He slowly settled down on top of you, still inside of you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Keigo?” You started, hearing as he let out a ‘hmmm?’. You slowly flipped over until you were on top of him, taking in the way that his chest moved up and down as he regained his breath, the way that his skin was glistening from the sweat he had worked up, taking in his body that seemed to have been molded by the gods themselves. You took in the way that his golden eyes drank you in, his hands on your hips as he licked at his lips. You leaned in close to him, inhaling sharply when his hips moved upwards slightly.

“I didn’t want us to be done,” you admitted against his lips before moving your hips against his, his moans sounding like music to your ears. You moved your hips faster, relishing in the way that Hawks slapped your ass as he brought your lips to his. You moaned at the way that he bit down at your lip, sucking at it slightly as he brought another slap to your ass.

“You look great riding my cock. This may be my new favorite position, kid.” Hawks said teasingly and you felt another shudder run through you at the way his voice dropped as his eyes took you in. His hands gripped at your hips, fingers digging into the skin as you rocked back and forth as a moan left your mouth at the way that his cock dragged against your walls deliciously. You felt as he moved his hips against yours, his pubic bone giving you friction against your clit. The equal friction caused your head to fall to the side as your tongue lolled out, the pleasure overwhelming you as you came for a second time, crying out Hawks’ name as he held you steady while you rode out your orgasm. Hawks thrust into you with a growl, spilling his seed into you for a second time before you laid down on him, head against his chest as you listened to his heartbeat.

“Get some sleep, baby bird. We have plenty of time on this boat,” Hawks said as he placed a kiss on your temple as his hands ran through your hair.

Needless to say, you guys broke in the jacuzzi and made sure to ‘sunbathe’ on the deck the next day.

#wing hero hawks #hawks fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #bnha smut #mha fanfic #mha smut #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #mha keigo takami #keigo #keigo x reader #hawks smut #keigo tamaki #keigo tamaki x reader #bnha thirst #mha thirst #hawks thirst

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chubbymoongoddess · 3 years

Text

Confidence Gained ch.1

This is super short I noticed and I probably could have just made this whole thing a one shot but whatever. The second chapter will hopefully be longer.

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All throughout his life, Jimin had looked up to his best friend, Kim Taehyung. Yeah, Jimin was the older of the two, but Taehyung was more outgoing. He always made friends much easier than Jimin and never really cared what others said about him. Jimin on the other hand was shy, reserved. He only had three friends growing up and that included Taehyung. The older boy was soft-spoken and mostly kept to himself and he liked it that way..well.. Mostly. As the two got older, Jimin yearned to be like the younger. Taehyung was going out almost every night with his other friends and if he wasn’t, he usually got invited out somewhere while Jimin was stuck at home watching movies or reading. There of course were times where the younger man asked if Jimin would like to come with him, but Jimin had started to turn him down after the first time he went out with Taehyung and his friends. He felt out of place, like he didn’t belong with them. Of course he didn’t, they were the popular kids and Jimin was the shy, quiet weirdo that everyone made fun of. It was like this all through high school and sure, Jimin hung out with his friends from time to time, but it wasn’t the same as how Taehyung was living his life. The older was.. Well rather jealous of Taehyung.

Sometime during college, Taehyung had started to go out with other men that Jimin had never met and came home late at night looking like he was pregnant. His shirt had usually ridden over his stuffed belly and the skin around his navel was usually red. During this time, Jimin had always helped the other out of his clothes and into his bed, giving him belly rubs until Taehyung would fall asleep. This would happen every single night and it eventually started to show on Taehyung. His belly started to peek out of the bottom of his shirts which were now way too snug on him, his pants hugged every curve of his bottom half and when he wasn’t wearing jeans, his ass would jiggle just a bit more when he walked, his arms had gotten softer as well as his thighs and a small double chin had started to show. Hell, his once flat chest had even started to soften, which Jimin found kind of cute. He had even noticed stretch marks showing up on the younger’s stomach and hips whenever he’d undress to shower.

On top of an always stuffed and growing stomach, Taehyung would come home with loads of money too. It was enough to where he had quit his job and was able to pay for his and Jimin’s tuition and still have money to spare. He never told Jimin what he was doing to have so much money, but the older was rather curious so, one night, after Taehyung had gotten home and Jimin was undressing him and getting him into bed, he asked.

“Taetae? I’m a little curious.. Can I ask how you’re getting so much money? I don’t mean to pry but.. It’s just you know, a lot?” He really didn’t mean to pry, but they went from struggling to well off in the matter of just a few weeks.

Taehyung hummed, sitting up just enough so he could see Jimin’s face. He did look a bit worried..Maybe he thought that Taehyung was selling his body for money?

“Well, I met a few people at a party who said they’d pay me to let them stuff me to my limits with food nightly-”

Jimin gave the other an incredulous look but before he could open his mouth to say anything, Taehyung continued.

“Don’t give me that look. Hear me out.. I get free food nightly, I don’t have to touch these guys and I make bank so I can take care of myself but also you. I’m being safe, I promise.. And besides, I like it when you give me belly rubs.” Taehyung joked, making Jimin hit him with a pillow.

“As long as you say you’re okay and safe.. And you don’t.. I mean you don’t mind that you’ve gotten, well, thicker?” The elder ended his sentence with a small poke to Taehyung’s belly. His finger didn’t even sink in with how stuffed it was.

Taehyung shook his head with a small hum. “At first I was a little concerned but.. I’ve started to like it, Minnie. It leaves me feeling so sated and being so full it hurts.. I can’t explain how much I like it.”

With a nod, Jimin continued to rub over Taehyung’s engorged belly. He ended the conversation there. If Taehyung liked it, then that was all that mattered. Money didn’t matter to him, his best friend’s safety did and he didn’t seem like he was in any danger, as long as the younger was happy.

Thanks to Taehyung paying his tuition, Jimin was able to focus more on his studies. When the time came, both he and Taehyung had graduated with honors. The two moved into a house together after graduation as Taehyung couldn’t bear to leave Jimin alone. The elder was thankful for that. He was independent, sure, but he’d rather live with someone than live alone. Despite Taehyung telling him that he didn’t have to work, Jimin wanted to put his degree to use. He majored in veterinary science and thankfully there was a veterinarian office not too far from their new house that needed doctors. Now that he was working, he would be able to contribute to any bills they had to pay or food they had to buy for themselves which ended up being a lot more than it used to now that Taehyung had gotten bigger.

Jimin still kept to himself. Usually, people would make friends with their coworkers, but he focused more on his work. Besides, he was able to look forward to getting home and waiting up for Taehyung to walk in. there were times where the elder would wait up until 3am for his best friend to walk in, holding his stomach and groaning. Each time he walked in, he seemed bigger than the last time. Taehyung continued to grow over the passing months. His face had grown round and none of his clothes fit him anymore. The biggest shirt he had fit him like a crop top and it was still pretty snug thanks to his moobs. His thighs had grown massive and if his belly wasn’t in the way, Jimin would have been able to easily curl up and sleep comfortably on them. Taehyung’s ass was a spectacle though. They were two massive, wobbling globes of fat. When the younger sat on their couch, it spread out behind him and took up almost half of it. There was just enough room left for Jimin to curl up with him whenever they’d order in and watch movies.

You’d think the massive changes on Taehyung would have brought his confidence down but no. It seemed to have boosted it. Even when he had to call out for help when he got stuck in the door frame one night, his confidence never faltered. Jimin had to go out the back door and around to the front to push the younger through, hands singing into the fat of his ass. Even then, Taehyung laughed it off and joked about them needing to widen the doors. Everyone still loved him, he still went out with his friends when he wasn’t being stuffed to the max by strange men that Jimin didn’t know. It made Jimin a little jealous, he wasn’t going to lie, though he was thankful to the men that stuffed Taehyung every night. The fatter Taehyung got, the more Jimin would have to rub and massage. He started to wonder, if he gained weight, maybe he’d become more confident like his friend? He’d have to ask.. But it would take some time.

Jimin hyped himself up over the next few weeks, telling himself that Taehyung wouldn’t find it weird if he asked. He had to remind himself that the younger was his best friend and would be his best friend until the end of time, that Taehyung would always be there for him. When he finally decided to ask, he took a day off of work so he could be focused on asking Taehyung about it. When the younger finally walked through the door around 1am, Jimin peeked up from his spot on the couch and gave him a small smile.

“Hi, Taetae. Let me um.. Let me help you into bed but.. I have a question to uh.. To ask you after, if that’s okay?”

Taehyung hummed quietly and reached out for the elder who immediately got up to help him into his room, undressing him as usual. “You know you can ask me anything, Minnie. Come on, you undress too. We’re gonna snuggle while you talk to me.”

As Jimin nodded and started to strip himself, Taehyung got into bed, sitting back against the pillows as he waited for the elder. A moment later, Jimin snuggled up next to his best friend and pulled the covers over them. He hugged onto Taehyung, nuzzling his face against his chest for a moment. This was normal for him, he was gathering the courage to speak so Taehyung patiently waited until he was ready, brushing his fingers through the elder’s hair. It took another few moments of silence before Jimin looked up at Taehyung, blurting his question out.

“Do you think if I got fat like you it would boost my confidence?”

Taehyung was quiet for a long moment which unnerved Jimin. But, he stayed quiet, knowing that Taehyung was thinking and he’d eventually get an answer. He wasn’t being judged, the younger was just trying to find the right words to say.

“Do..Do you really want to do that? It might actually help, I have people you can meet and I can talk to some of the guys that take me out. They’ve been talking about fattening up another sugar baby, but Minnie, I want to make sure that this is really what you want to do first.”

Jimin thought for a moment. Actually trying to hang out with these people Taehyung knew might help bring him out of his shell.. And if he found out he didn’t like it, he could always stop before it got too bad, right? He exhaled softly and looked up at the younger, determination in his eyes.

“I’m sure. I want to do it. If I find out it’s not for me and it’s not helping, I’ll stop before it gets too bad. I wanna be like you Tae. You’re so confident and you always have been, but I’ve noticed that since you’ve gotten fatter, you’ve been even more so and I’m.. well I’m jealous? You have all these friends and you’re-”

He stopped himself right there. There was no way Jimin was going to admit that he thought Taehyung was hot. Not right now. That was a confession for a different time. A confession that would take way more courage to say.

“You’re just.. You’re so confident and I wanna make friends like you, you know?” Good save, Jimin.

Taehyung smiled down at the elder, giving him a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the forehead.

“Alright then! I’ll talk to my guys in the morning, okay? And Jimin?” Taehyung cooed.

“Y..Yeah?”

“I always thought you’d look cuter with a tummy.”

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kitsunesakii · 3 years

Text

Experimenting, had fun writing this!

I wouldn't have it any other way:

"Great" I muttered, looking into the dingy hotel room, Onix pushing past me into the room. This day couldn't be any worse. Stupid hero agency. Most people would be happy to be in my position, I was stationed in a stake out with a local villain that was trying to prove that he had changed. A massive operation. My problem with it?

First of all I was only chosen because I was the most expendable since I was not only a sidekick, but I didn't have a drastic power. He was a telepath, and since I was an empath, I was the only one that could be sent in that could keep certain secrets about the agency. But that's not why they chose me. I wasn't considered a super hero, barley looked at as a sidekick. People laughed when they heard about me, a girl who could distort emotions? Stupid compared to someone who could move brick and stone, or shoot lightning. I was the one they sent when there was a possibility of death. The only upside was Onix, he was the reason why I accepted the mission. He could switch from playboy to gentlemen to evil in three seconds flat. And while I can hold my own, it was easy for him to make my heart melt. Which was only slightly annoying.

"Ah, we seem to have a problem"

I was pulled from my thoughts as his voice echoed through the small room. "Only one bed dearest" he cooed. I stared at the room's bed. It looked cute, with a baby blue blanket with white pillows. In the corner of the room was a comfy looking chair. I tried to force down the red that was growing on my face, letting out a nervous chuckle instead.

"I'll sleep on the chair" I stated, giving him a forced optimistic smile. This day was just getting better and better. He raised an eyebrow, folding his arms in front of his chest. Instead of watching him I pulled out my laptop and started hacking through the main frame of the building next door. I don't even know why they sent me, I'm no hacker, at least, not skilled like "Cypher" or her sidekick. And I was getting a headache, brought on by the lecture I had given before I was assigned this case. Don't forget that the only reason your here is because you are lucky enough to be able to force him out of your thoughts. It's the only thing your useful for. I grimaced at the memory, I wasn't really in the mood for being stepped on. And I was reaching my breaking point. Fast.

"I'll just sleep on a chair" he mocked, a playful smile dancing on his features. It had been a while since I had seen him. The last time was when I worked with an insufferable hero people called "bolt" he had been the only one that took me on and only because I didnt outshine him. We had been assigned with a bank robbery, Onix had been there, along with about three other people. He had gotten the upper hand, just my luck, taking me into a room for interrogation. The minute I figured out that he could read minds I had shut him out. Instinctively fogging all my thoughts.

That was the moment the agency realized I has some ounce of worth, Keeping the secrets safe. But Onix hadn't gotten angry, didn't hurt me, just stared at me in wonder, in awe, a sight I never got to see. It made my stomach turn in knots.

"Your gonna sleep on a chair, for 3 nights?" He sat on the edge of the bed, his teasing smile growing by the second.

"Yes" I deadpanned. The heat in my face steadily rising. I guess it wasn't all bad, he didn't look down on me like everyone else did, or at least he pretended. I couldn't know for sure because he also instinctively tuned me out of his subconscious.

"I know I'm irresistible to look at but I'm even more fun to sleep with" he hummed.

I dipped my head below the laptop screen. My face was burning, I wasn't used to someone speaking to me like that. And it was a bit annoying, it wasn't that I didn't enjoy it. it was that it could all be fake, and I was simply setting myself up for disappointment. I typed away at the computer, ignoreing his comments, it had been a while since I was asked to hack into something so complex, this was going to take me a while. I felt a hand drag down the length of my scalp, onto the base of my neck. I went rigid. "W-what"

"Shhhh, you get so tense, just relax"

He traced a finger lightly through my hair, sending ripples throughout my neck. The pleasure ripped through my back. That was enough.

I forced myself to stand, shaking free of his hold and moving to the other side of the room. "Don't, just don't" the surprise on his face was evident, as he also jumped to his feet, confusion seeping through his eyes. I felt the anger bubble under my skin.

"Everybody treats me like crap, and you come in here and pretend and I just have had enough!" I tried to breathe, tried to see reason, but I was so tired of it all. "I put up with it because I feel like I can maybe make a difference, and everyone looks down at me because I'm a bloody empath" I covered my face with my hands, feeling a hot tear make it's way down my cheek. "And you come in here, and treat me with pity" this shouldn't of been happening, I shouldn't of been here. My stupid emotions, his stupid good looking features. Two hand hit the sides of my shoulders, gently drawing circles on my skin. I wiped away the angry tear that had fallen, leaning into the touch, too tired to argue.

"Do you think I'm giving you the time of day out of pity?" His voice was a whisper, and it was straight into my ear, I stiffened. "Over this past week I've gotten to learn a lot about you, I learned your power, how your looked down apon. But mostly, I learned that when you put your mind to something you won't let anyone lead you astray." He moved a hand, placing it under my chin. Tilting it so our eyes met. "Your beauty comes from the determination coursing through your veins. Your kindness comes from experience. And you patience is one of your greatest virtues." He paused, his gaze burning through my eyes. A dangerous smile resting on his smooth face. "And, I also noticed, that when your around me, your thoughts do this thing. Almost like a low hum. Almost like," he lowered his voice to a purr "you get flustered around me, and dearest? You have no idea how hard it is to keep my hands off of you~"

with that he pressed his lips into mine, taking my breath away. His hands met my hair, and he combed through my scalp. Sending more shivers down my spine. I let the wall behind me support me, feeling all my strength leave with every small tug at my hair. One minute his lips were pressed against mine and the next they traveled down my cheek, riding the length of my neck. My breath hitched as his cool tongue grazed my exposed skin. He paused, moving back up to meet my gaze. I had held onto his shoulders, desperately trying to fight against gravity.

He smiled. Looking at my fire coated cheeks. Tracing the tip of his thumb against my lip. His other hand still hypnoticly playing with my hair. "If you really think I'm going to let you sleep on the chair, then you don't know me at all" he teased, once again closing the distance between us. Nibbling at my ear. I let out a tiny squeak, unsure at what I was reacting too since his other hand was running up and down the length of my back, each time going a little further, causing goosebumps to creep along my skin.

I moved my hands, gliding them down his shirt, feeling the grooves in his chest. My mind was hazy, all common sense and reason leaving me with every sigh. I didn't really know what to do, and he wasn't making it easier. Skillfully making every shift of his hands, every flick of his fingers, melt my brain more than the last. His lips met mine and I could taste the salt of his lips, feel the satisfaction rolling off of him. His hands moved down my front, rewarded with another small squeak from me, before slowly making his way to my hands, that were still absentmindedly tracing his chest. He held them in his, only then I was realizing how big his hands were compared to mine, suited with little cuts and bruises here and there. I breathed, taking a moment to pull his hands up to my face, studying them closely. Forcing my brain to stop spinning. He stayed quiet, watching me closely as I brought his knuckles to my lips, brushing against his hands, moving them to brace against my cheek.

"There so warm" I whispered, feeling him shape his palms to fit against my face. Still wearing the same smile that dug it's stare into my own. He stayed there a moment, his chest rising and falling quickly, sucking in a breath before settling his lips against mine once again. His hands moved, one taking residence behind my neck, and the other flew against my side. Making it's way to my hip, gingerly tracing circles over top of me, dragging his fingers slowly.

He pulled me fully off the wall, startled, I braced myself against him even more. using his neck as a way to keep myself up, stretching flush against him. His lips were still planted on mine, I wouldn't have it any other way, especially considering I couldn't bring myself to speak. Instead, he hummed into my gasps. Skillfully holding me, just enough to feel his own heartbeat thrumimg rhythmically to mine. He lifted both his hands back up to my shoulders, fiddling with the front of the T-shirt I had on. The fabric smooth under his fingers. He said something, but I didn't hear it, between my heart ringing through my ears and my own breathing, I couldn't bring myself enough to hear.

"Dearest? Did you hear me?" He didn't sound out of breath, making me jealous. I could barely speak. Instead, I shook my head, thanking God that I could at least have enough sense to do that. His smile only got wider, "I said, this is going to be a fun 3 days. "

#writing snippet #writing #villain x hero #hero x villain #romance #a little more than fluff

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

For Your Love

Prompt: A/B/O Dynamics Relationships: Jaskier/Valdo Rating: E Content Warnings: A/B/O, Omega Jaskier, Alpha Valdo, smut, heat/mating cycles, anal sex Summary: Having been contained all his life by overbearing parents, Jaskier is determined to take Oxenfurt by storm, starting with one Valdo Marx.

Beta’d by @wolf-and-bard, written for @dani-dandelino who wanted horny Valskier with a side of fluff.

Part of my @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo card. One left!

This is also inspired by the song ‘For Your Love’ by Måneskin.

Oxenfurt, a city unlike any other. It was buzzing with life, music, and people. The university itself had a small campus in the middle of the city, contained behind beautiful golden gates that were lavishly decorated and extravagant. The designs themselves were Elven, a tribute to the ancient history of the city. It had been a long time since the Continent had seen any pureblood elves, the last had died out a couple of centuries ago.

Jaskier’s ancestors were amongst them. The young, budding musician was a quarter-elf, if the rumours were to be believed, but of course the House of Lettenhove would never admit to such scandal. They were nobles of the twattiest kind, and Jaskier hated it. They’d only let him study at Oxenfurt because he’d promised that he would stay on blockers and present as a beta for his time at the university. It wasn’t unusual, a lot of omegas preferred to hide their true nature until they were mated.

But Jaskier was bored of hiding.

It was the twenty-first century and he was eighteen. He’d suffer through enough heats on his own. Fingers and toys were poor substitutes for an alpha’s knot, well, he assumed as much. He’d never experienced the latter but his body needed more. It knew that the toys he stuffed up his arse weren’t the real thing, and he was left sobbing into his sheets, desperate, weak and wanting.

So the first thing Jaskier did when he arrived at Oxenfurt was sell his blockers. He thought about dumping them down the drain, but he’d been cut off from his parent’s bank account whilst he was at uni. He had to survive on the budget they’d given him, and it was measly. His parents clearly didn’t want him to have any fun whilst he was at university.

The joke was on them.

Jaskier was going to find the hottest alpha on campus and make them his. It didn’t take him long to put his plan into action. After a couple of days of being off the blockers, his natural omega scent had come back and he could already feel the prickle of pre-heat under his skin. Jaskier had identified his target. Now he just needed to woo the man.

But Valdo Marx wasn’t going to be an easy goal. He was a tall, slender man with long dark hair and molten chocolate eyes. He was cocky beyond compare, an easy arrogance that came with being an alpha, but he lacked the brutishness that Jaskier would usually associate with alphas. In fact, to look at the man, one might think he was an omega, or a beta at a push. He strutted around with his shirt open, tattoos on displays, black nail polish on both hands, and dark make-up around his eyes. He was fucking beautiful, but most importantly he was an alpha.

And Jaskier knew he had to have him.

The bastard smelled absolutely divine, and he had a wicked tongue that cut down anyone that stood in his way. Jaskier was completely smitten. With his heat incoming, he knew he was running out of time, but Valdo would be out on the town that night and it would be the perfect opportunity to seduce him. So, Jaskier pulled out his sluttiest outfit, a sheer black shirt that really hid absolutely nothing, unbuttoned down to his navel for extra hoe energy. He matched it with his cutest booty shorts that his parents had absolutely forbidden. There was a pretty gold chain around his neck, drawing attention to his unmarked scent gland, and his finest golden, jewelled rings on his fingers. The final touch was blood red lipstick.

He knew he looked obscene.

If Valdo didn’t want him then he had no doubt some other feral alpha would be lured to his nest, but he wanted Valdo. He hadn’t spent all morning making his nest perfect for some second rate alpha. Jaskier deserved the best, and only the best.

The alpha was surrounded by his posse of second years. All were music or English students, just like Valdo, just like Jaskier too. The music thrummed through Jaskier’s body as he made his way across the room, drunk on Valdo’s scent alone. It was a risky move coming out in pre-heat like this, even Jaskier wasn’t idiotic enough to not realise the potential danger he’d put himself in, naive perhaps, but not totally clueless. He didn’t miss the way a few of the other alphas’ eyes followed him, a dark hunger in their eyes.

No, Jaskier would not be going home alone tonight.

It was just a question of who with.

Jaskier bared his neck as he approached Valdo, presenting his scent gland and letting out a low purr. Having been sheltered most of his life by his overbearing parents, he was mostly just following his instincts and what he’d seen in the films he’d sneaked off to see with Essi. He wasn’t sure if this was the best way to flirt but he was determined.

Valdo finally looked at him, catching Jaskier under his heated gaze. It was almost enough to bring Jaskier to his knees. He could already feel the slick in his panties, they would almost certainly be ruined. Jaskier bit his lip and brushed past the betas surrounding the alpha, they parted easily as he waved them aside. His scent was strong enough to affect betas when he was nearing heat. It didn’t turn them into the mindless animals that alphas could be, but it definitely made them pliable.

That was the thing most alphas and betas, i.e. Jaskier’s darling family, didn’t understand. Omegas weren’t weak-willed and fragile. They didn’t need to be protected by a big strong alpha. They weren’t helpless. Omegas simply had different talents, and seduction was one of them. It was a weapon in the hands of an omega, even one as innocent and inexperienced as Jaskier. With just a few words he knew he could have this entire bar in a state of chaos. The alphas would be fighting over him and the betas would be forced to flee for their own safety.

Luckily for them all, Jaskier had already made his choice.

“Julian,” Valdo growled, his eyes lingering on Jaskier’s neck, “you shouldn’t be out smelling like that. It’s indecent.”

Jaskier just pouted at the older man. “Oh but darling, you were out tonight.”

Valdo’s nostrils flared, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his chair. “Your point, omega?” he sneered, but Jaskier could see the burning heat in his eyes.

Jaskier smirked, leaning forward to brush his lips against Valdo’s cheek, one hand resting on the alpha’s shoulder. “I want to be the first man you look at tonight,” he whispered, his fingers running down Valdo’s chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos. “I want to be stuck in your head and make you go wild.”

The alpha growled and gripped Jaskier by his collar, pulling Jaskier onto his lap with an undignified yelp. “You’re trouble, Julian. Why should I go to your bed? You’re not the only slutty omega in this city.”

Jaskier pouted, wincing under Valdo’s sharp words. He bristled slightly, taking advantage of position to grind his arse against the alpha’s lap. “For your love, alpha, I'll do whatever you want,” he purred, running his nose under Valdo’s jaw and pressing his lips against the alpha’s scent gland. God, it smelled so fucking good. Better than Jaskier had ever imagined, and Valdo visibly shivered under his touch. “So baby why don't you please me now, I've got so much I can give to you.”

“Pretty little omega whore,” Valdo snarled, pushing Jaskier from his lap, long fingers wrapped around Jaskier’s wrist in a firm grip. “I’ll take you, if you’re a good boy, but I don’t like to share, understood?”

Jaskier nodded eagerly. “Yes, alpha.”

The walk back to the dorms was possibly the longest walk of Jaskier’s life. He almost ran in front of two different cars in his eagerness, and it was only Valdo’s grip on his wrists that saved his life with a quiet “patience, omega” growled into his ear.

But Jaskier was beyond patience now. The close proximity to his desired alpha was messing with his heat, and he was tumbling from pre-heat into a full blown mess of lust at breakneck speed. He whined, pulling Valdo’s wrists against his scent gland, pressing kisses to the alpha’s palm. His shorts were drenched in his own slick and he felt so fucking empty. He needed… he needed…

“Alpha please,” he whimpered as he was pressed against a wall. The stone felt cold against the burning fire under his skin, but it wasn’t enough. His heats had never felt like this before. It was intense, overwhelming, too much.

“Tell me what you want,” Valdo snarled, his teeth grazing against Jaskier’s scent gland, making him whine as he bucked his hips. “I’ll give you what you want, omega.”

“Your knot, Valdo… alpha,” Jaskier panted. He’d never felt this desperate before, not even when he’d been days into his heat without an alpha to look after him. “I- I…” Jaskier broke off with a moan as Valdo bit his neck, just shy of his scent gland, a tease of what a mating bite would feel like.

“You beg so well, pretty little thing,” Valdo hummed, there was the click of a door and they stumbled inside.

But it was wrong.

This wasn’t his room.

Jaskier keened, tears welling up in his eyes. “No-no… my nest, alpha.”

The alpha growled and pinched his nose. “Where’s your room, Julian?”

“C block, Bardling Flats,” Jaskier stammered, barely able to focus but this wasn’t right. It didn’t smell right, he’d made a perfect nest for his heat. He needed his nest. This wasn’t right.

Valdo scruffed the back of his neck and he melted into the alpha’s embrace. “Shhh, omega, I’ve got you. It’s not far.”

And despite his slender frame, Valdo scooped Jaskier up into his arms, whispering reassuring words in Jaskier's ear, running his fingers through his hair. It was all very tender, not at all what Jaskier had been expecting from the alpha, but it calmed the sobs that wracked through his body.

“I knew you were trouble, Julian,” Valdo chuckled.

Jaskier whimpered and whined all the way back to his dorm, pressing his body up against his alpha’s, kissing the exposed skin under Valdo’s shirt, tracing the lines of his tattoos with his lips, his tongue. Valdo’s scent was driving him mad, lust and want surrounding Jaskier in a haze.

“Alpha,” he stammered as Valdo finally let him down. Jaskier was barely able to get his key into the lock. His hands were shaking too much, but the alpha took the key from his hands with a soft growl, unlocking the door with ease.

They were home.

And his nest was still perfect. Jaskier lunged for the bed, shedding his clothes as he went before diving under the sheets. With a helpless whine, he shoved two fingers into his hole, desperate to end the empty ache deep inside of him. Slick covered his hands and thighs, and he instinctively got onto his hands and knees to present to his alpha. He would be the perfect omega.

“Oh, Julian, look at you,” Valdo snarled, “so eager, so pretty. My little whore!”

“Yes, alpha, yours,” Jaskier gasped. “Fuck me, knot me, mark me, please!”

The words made something inside of Valdo snap. Any scrap of control that he had left was lost, a growl tearing from his throat, feral and possessive. Jaskier whimpered, his hand wrapping around his cock in a pitiful attempt to dampen the fire, precum was already leaking onto his blankets. He wanted more. He needed more. Valdo’s hands were on Jaskier’s hips and Jaskier cried out as the musician’s long fingers pressed inside his hole with little resistance, expertly finding that sweet spot, and making sparks fly in front of Jaskier’s vision. He whined and pushed back onto his alpha’s hand, it wasn’t enough.

“Alpha,” he sobbed helplessly, stroking his cock as he writhed on Valdo’s fingers. If he had been alone then he would have already had his toys deep up his arse, and he really wasn’t enjoying the teasing.

“Oh darling,” Valdo growled, one hand stroking down Jaskier’s spine, “my pretty little omega, I want to fuck you till you scream and cry.”

Jaskier keened at his alpha’s words, rutting into his own hand, a mess of slick and cum as he half collapsed onto the bed. “F- fuck, alpha, I - I…”

He didn’t have the coherency or the time to finish his sentence, his words dying on his lips as Valdo’s fingers were replaced by something else, soft and wet lapping at his hole. Jaskier sobbed and buried his face in the blankets and pillows, still rutting helplessly into the nest, but his alpha held him down. He licked around Jaskier’s rim, cleaning up the mess and coaxing Jaskier into another blinding orgasm, but the fire still hadn’t abated. Jaskier writhed and moaned, begging for more. He’d never had a heat quite like this, and all he knew were his alpha’s hands on his, the aching fire at his core, and the desperate need to be filled, knotted, bred.

When Valdo finally slid inside him it was like a dream. His cock was larger than the toys Jaskier played with, and, even without his knot, Jaskier could feel the stretch. Every thrust of his alpha’s hips pushed that wonderful cock deeper into him, pounding his prostate and making Jaskier sing. It was a stream of babbling nonsense, a mess of “alpha”, “fuck”, “please”. Jaskier came twice more on Valdo’s cock before he finally felt the press of his alpha’s knot against his rim. Exhausted and desperate, Jaskier sobbed, his fingers clinging to the sheets beneath him, now covered in cum and slick and sweat. His nest reeked of sex, of them; Valdo and Jaskier… together.

“K- knot me… please,” he whimpered, his voice hoarse and wrecked.

Valdo’s hands threaded into Jaskier’s hair, pulling his head back as his knot forced its way inside Jaskier, locking them together. “I'll give you what you want, my omega,” Valdo snarled, “my omega.”

“Yours,” Jaskier whimpered, too fucked out and exhausted to argue. They weren’t bonded, and Valdo had made no attempt to bite him, but in that moment Jaskier belonged to the alpha. “Mine,” he slurred, trying to adjust their positions so he could curl up to his alpha until the knot went down. It had only been the first day of his heat, and there would be more to come, but the first wave was finally sated. He purred as he rubbed his scent gland against Valdo’s chest.

The alpha laughed and pressed a kiss to his hair. “Yours,” he agreed, “Now sleep, little omega. I want to hold you in my arms tonight.”

Jaskier giggled, pressing a kiss to one of Valdo’s tattoos before nipping gently at the glistening skin. “Only until the next time, Marx. Think you can handle it?”

There was a low growl that rumbled in the alpha’s chest, and Valdo’s fingers pinched at Jaskier’s neck. “Trouble, Julian. Go to sleep, omega, you’ll need the rest,” Valdo purred, a trace of his alpha voice leaking into the words.

Jaskier sighed happily, a low purr in his own chest, as he let the exhaustion overcome him, and he fell into a blissful sleep.

#the witcher #jaskier x valdo #Jaskier #valdo marx #a/b/o au #wolfie's witcher writing

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meowdymista · 3 years

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For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that’s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”

#rdr2 reverse big bang #rdr2 #rdrbigbang #rdrreversebang2021 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #tilly jackson #arthur morgan #sunspott

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