#like a group of people film him over the course of a couple years since he is kind of an anomaly being a half-monster & all

[raiiny-bay]

:-)

[shubblelive]

— NOT MUCH LONGER

summary : wilbur has always been dedicated to his viewers, sometimes too much. his fans are aware of this, you are aware of this, and he is aware of this. so when you go multiple days without seeing your boyfriend because of how hard he's working you take matters into your own hands, not realising that thousands of people are there watching you do it.

genre : fluff

warnings : mentions of eating/food, a few swearwords, wilbur not taking care of himself, very small panicky moment

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader

pronouns : she/her, reader is called wilbur's girlfriend/wife

featuring : cc!wilbur soot

requested : Could you do a fic where the reader isn’t a very public person (in regards to the internet) and one day, wilbur’s streaming and she goes in and brings him some food and kisses him, not knowing he was live, and when she notices, she just gets all red and embarrassed and wilbur goes out of frame with her and its just all fluffy, and the chat goes craaazy

word count : 1.3K

note : hi lmao. i know, i know it's been nearly 2 months since i 've posted anything. school really caught p to me, i was so stressed out i was crying like multiple times a day for a few weeks. i wanna thank you guys for your patience, i have one more week of classes before spring break and then exams are right after that so i am really unsure of how much free time i'm gonna have until like mid-november.

There was a lot of things that you loved about Wilbur. Of course there was, the two of you had been together since university, nearing on 5 years. Knowing for someone that long, though, and there were obviously aspects of your boyfriend that you were less than fond of. There weren’t a lot, but the main one was the fact that he was a major workaholic. 

You were completely understanding of how important his job was to him. He had been doing it longer than you’d even known each other and you’d never want to do anything to make it seem like you were anything less than supportive. 

But the last couple of weeks had been driving you crazy. 

He’d be out all day filming for twenty different videos or in the studio - that was fine, you had your own work and hobbies to keep you occupied. But then he’d get home and it was straight to editing, or writing, or meetings for merch, album art, new videos. It had gotten to the point where you hadn’t even seen him in two days. You knew he’d been home, you vaguely heard the shower running while you were asleep, so tired you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head. Clothes had been added to the laundry hamper, and water glasses had been added to the sink. He’d messaged you, of course. You were high on his list of priorities, it being a no-brainer that whenever he got a free minute he was texting you to let you know where he was going, promising that he’d be home soon.

When you got home from work, you were pleasantly surprised to find his docs at the front door, neatly kicked to the side so they were out of the way along with the rest of your collective pile. You put your stuff down and practically floated around the house, searching for your boyfriend. Not in the kitchen, though the dishes had been done for you, left to dry. Not in the living room, though there was a coat draped over the back of the couch that you picked up and deposited in the bedroom (also empty, but his side of the bed was rumpled like he’d fallen straight on top of the blankets). 

You were walking down the hallway when you finally heard him. He was talking softly, not outside of the norm for him. His office wasn’t soundproof, and you often heard him through the walls as you went about your day, whether that was laughing loudly as he streamed, or the muffled sound of him strumming his guitar, trying to write a new song. He was being quiet, probably editing a video. You knew he had his own room in the group office, just for him to edit, but he liked to bring them home sometimes. 

You went back into the kitchen to dry the dishes for Wilbur and you noted that there weren’t any new plates added to the pile. You knew that Wilbur had eaten while he was gone, he’d texted you every time they ordered food, but you also knew that it had been a couple of days since his last home cooked meal. You, admittedly didn’t have much in the pantry, but it was made with love, which was the thought that counts. 

That was the thought on the tip of your tongue as you knocked gently on the door, a plate of mac and cheese and a glass of water in hand, smile breaking out at the sight of your boyfriend at his desk. 

Wilbur’s viewers had always been aware that he had a girlfriend. He mentioned you for the first time after you guys had been together for a year, and since then you were a sporadic presence in his online life, maybe a mention every couple of weeks or months. They didn’t know anything else though, not even your name. His viewers, over the past couple of years had developed their own nicknames for you. It started from one of the first streams you were mentioned in, someone in chat asked if you were Wilbur’s wife. He’d laughed, said no, and then tried to say you were not his wife, and instead pronounced it “wiff.” It got slightly out of hand over the years, with most people lovingly referring to you online as wiffleball. Wilbur had apologised profusely for the slip up, but you found it too funny to actually care. It was definitely weird for you to see, though, the phrase ‘Wiffleball’ randomly trending every couple of months. 

So, they didn’t know your name, and they definitely didn’t know your face. Wilbur was usually on high alert for even your footsteps outside the door, let alone you wanting to come inside. He’d yell that he was live, and you’d wait dutifully at the door for him to come outside. It was more for your sake than his, but he cared just as much about your right to privacy as you did. But today, he was so preoccupied with the fact that he hadn’t seen you in nearly three days that he completely forgot to. 

The monitor with his own face in it was tilted away from the door, and you were so entranced by the smile on his face that you didn’t notice until it was too late. He was standing to meet you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hi, lovely, I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Wil,” Your hands were on his arms the second you placed the food down, and you were right about to kiss him properly when you saw a fast movement out the corner of your eye. His chat was whizzing by so fast that you almost couldn’t read it. You backed out of frame immediately, almost out of instinct, wide eyes meeting Wilbur’s. “You’re streaming?”

“Fuck,” Wilbur made sure that you were definitely out of the frame before putting his stream back on the loading screen and going back to check on you.

Your breathing was much faster than usual and he could all but see your heart jumping out of your chest. “I am so sorry, darling, I was too busy being happy to see you that I completely forgot that I was even streaming. Are you okay?”

Your hands found Wilbur’s shirt, clenching it between your fists and burying your face in the fabric across his chest. His hands were securely on your back as he held you while you calmed your breathing. You weren’t crying no, he could tell you just needed to slow your breaths down and you’d be alright. He was whispering reassurances in your ear and within a few minutes your heart had calmed down. “I’m alright.”

“I’m so sorry,” Wilbur launched immediately into apologies again but your vice grip on his shirt stopped him.

“I’m alright, Wilbur.” You strangely were alright. What you could see on the chat were all nice things, they were all so excited to see you. “Never want to go back on your stream again, but I’m okay with them seeing me.”

“You don’t have to be okay, love, if you’re not. I’ll get the VOD taken down when I’m done and edit you out and say something about not circulating the video, I am so sorry-”

“I’m fine, Wilbur.” You pulled the fabric closer to your chest, the movement effectively silencing him. “Like I said. I am still good not showing up on your streams and stuff, but you can leave the video up. I’m alright with it, I promise.”

He softened at your determined face. “I love you,” he said in place of another apology. “I love you, and I am still sorry that I forgot to tell you. No more until you say so, I promise.”

“Thank you,” you said earnestly, loosening your grip on his shirt. “I’ll let you finish up now, do you think you’ll be a while?”

Wilbur kissed you softly before sitting back in his chair and looking up at you full of love. “Trust me, I definitely won’t be much longer.”

[luvkyu]

what are we? ( park jongseong/jay )

jay x male!reader

jay and his best friend define their relationship.

content : 1.5k words, fluff, high school!au, bub pet name toward reader

a long, drawn out yawn left y/n's mouth as he looked out of the window in his last class of the day. his closed palm supported his chin on top of his desk, completely spaced out.

"y/n?.. bub!"

y/n snapped of his trance to see his friend standing by his desk now.

"class is over?" y/n asked as he looked around to see everyone gathering their things. jay snickered and nodded.

"daydreaming again? you can borrow my notes again if you need to," jay offered. y/n clicked his tongue as he stuffed his books carelessly into his bag. jay smiled to himself, watching him struggle with the tetris game that is fitting everything into one bag.

"sorry that i don't really care when some not-really-that-important person in history took a shit in 1875 or whatever," y/n responded with another yawn.

jay rolled his eyes and stuck his hand out for his friend to take. y/n finally stood up from his desk before seeing the gesture. he happily took jay's hand as he swung his bag over his shoulder. jay then led the way out of the classroom, following other eager students who were ready to get home.

y/n felt his heartbeat intensify just like it always did when jay held his hand. no matter how many times he silently scolded himself, the feeling never went away. the pair had been friends since their first year of middle school, and y/n's feelings seemed to grow by the day. it didn't help that their peers would ask frequently if they were dating yet, as they were usually holding hands or displaying other kinds of affection. y/n always assumed jay just didn't care what others said or thought, but he was starting to grow desperate to know if the male really only saw him as a friend.

"oh hey, i forgot," jay's voice cut through the noise of the hallway while the two stopped at their lockers, "tonight is the film festival i told you about like a week ago. i know it's short notice, but do you wanna go with me?"

y/n's eyes brightened in excitement at the invitation. there was nothing he'd rather be doing on his friday night than spending time with jay.

"of course, that sounds fun!" he replied. jay nodded, turning his face away from the other to hide his smile.

"cool. well, i have a study group i'm meeting in five minutes, but i can pick you up later and we can go together?"

"sure, that works!"

jay closed his locker while nodding again at the reply. he ruffled y/n's hair fondly before putting his newly filled backpack on.

"i'll text you, bub."

y/n nodded and watched him turn to head toward the library. his nerves, as usual, were left a mess from the nickname jay frequently used. he finally looked away when jay turned a corner, out of sight. he then resumed moving the rest of his books and materials into his bag and closed his small locker door.

before turning to leave, he saw another friend skipping toward him energetically.

"woah, this is the first time i've seen you not with your boyfriend, y/n!" sunoo exclaimed, stopping in front of him. y/n rolled his eyes.

"not my boyfriend, sunoo."

"tsk, sure. not yet."

y/n scrolled through his instagram feed as the opening credits of a film began to play. he was now sitting on a blanket that jay had brought along to the festival. the male had just left to get them snacks and drinks, insisting that y/n stay and relax.

the weather was perfect for a movie night. there was a large screen set up and fairy lights streamed in a few places. many other people were scattered across the grassy hill with blankets and comfy chairs. y/n couldn't help but notice all the couples. he hadn't thought about the fact that the film festival would be filled with couples on dates. the idea of this being a date with jay then seeped into his mind, and it made chills go up his arms.

"okay, i got popcorn and some candy and drinks!" jay's eager voice brought the other out of his thoughts.

"oh, thank you," y/n responded. his cheeks now glowed with a bright pink, which didn't go unnoticed.

y/n watched jay sit down closely next to him, getting settled with the snacks. jay took another large blanket and draped it over their legs while y/n decided to brush off his thoughts for now. if he focused on such things, he knew he wouldn't be able to really enjoy their night together, date or not.

"you okay, bub?"

y/n looked at him and gave him a convincing smile.

"i'm fine!"

jay grinned at the cute response and nodded before the duo turned their attention to the screen and began eating.

throughout the movie, they managed to finish their popcorn and naturally move closer to each other without a thought. jay's arm soon hung around y/n's shoulder while the latter's head rested on his chest. this was nothing abnormal for the pair, having cuddled many times before, but something felt off. something different was in the air between them tonight and y/n couldn't decide if he was crazy or if jay could feel it too.

"open," jay said quietly as he held two pieces of candy in front of his friend's mouth. y/n smiled and obliged before jay fed him one piece and popped the second into his own mouth. y/n looked up at him, but jay's gaze was already turned back to the film.

y/n's line of sight suddenly landed on his other friend from a ways away. sunoo was comfortable with sunghoon on their own blanket, but sunoo's view was trapped on y/n and jay, making kissy faces toward them. y/n felt his anxiety rise, hoping jay wouldn't see.

to y/n's relief, sunghoon saw sunoo's teasing. unsurprised, he simply turned sunoo's head back to the screen and pat his head as if saying, 'now stay'. y/n made a mental note to thank sunghoon later.

eventually, the film finally ended and chatter filled the area. jay yawned lightly while y/n stretched in his arms.

"there's another one playing right?" y/n asked.

"yeah, but i think there's a small break before it starts."

y/n nodded and sat up to stretch a bit more. jay gazed at his friend, a little disappointed at the loss of closeness. he watched y/n run a hand through his hair and then check his phone for any notifications. jay felt mesmerized by the view, but could feel nervousness sprout in his chest. he didn't think this was how just friends were supposed to feel. he'd been unable to decipher his feelings in the past, but lately they'd become much clearer.

jay's thoughts were cut off as y/n set his phone down and went back to cuddle him. he now laid on top of jay with his head on his chest again, jay's hands going to play with his hair.

jay couldn't stop a smile from curving on his lips. he somehow felt his confidence bubble up in that moment, deciding to finally go for it. but before he could speak, y/n beat him to it.

"jay?"

"hm?"

"what are we?"

jay's heart skipped a beat.

"oh.. well," he paused. what exactly were they? y/n meant the world to him. he was the first person he thought of in the morning. he was the first person he shared good news with. y/n was just everything.

"we're best friends," jay finally said. he couldn't quite read y/n's reaction, but decided to continue anyways.

"but i'd like to be more."

y/n's face brightened now, a little shocked.

"really?? like.." he stopped while jay smiled again and nodded.

"like boyfriends," jay finished for him.

y/n's whole face went red, unable to stop his own smile now.

'boyfriends', he thought. the simple word ran on repeat in his head for a minute. this couldn't possibly be reality.

"boyfriends.. jay's boyfriend. y/n and jay boyfriends," y/n mumbled in awe. jay laughed lightly at his disbelief.

"you're so cute.. is that a yes, then? ..boyfriends?" jay asked. y/n finally looked at him again and nodded happily.

"boyfriends," he replied as he tightened his arms around him. jay quickly hugged him back as they laid on their blanket in content.

"y/n?"

the male looked up again at the sound of his name, meeting jay's gentle eyes.

"can i kiss you?" he asked. y/n's smile somehow grew even bigger. he nodded again before jay moved to press their lips together softly.

once separated, jay pulled their second blanket back over them as the next film's intro began playing. y/n's head rested on his chest again, not really caring much for the film as nothing could quite amount to the comfort of his new boyfriend.

[automaticpizzahologram]

Hi I don't speak German so sorry if I translate wrong.

Part 2

Y/n and Billy are both 16

I tie my apron around my waist and clip on my notepad and slip some pens in my pocket on my apron. My waitress uniform is a plain black pencil skirt, a white shirt, ablack tie, black apron, and black high heels.

I quickly put my hair up in my butterfly clawclip and walk in to the kitchen of the small restaurant. I work for work experience and some extra pocket money. I get 10 per hour and I work 3 hours so I get 30 every time I work which is awesome.

The restaurant is a cozy place that always smells nice, there's under fifty seats which is good for me because I normally work with one other girl, I get the impression that she doesn't like me that much because she gives me dirty looks. To be honest I don't know what I've done I met her a month ago when I started working here.

The restaurant is a Italian restaurant called Angerlos and luckily for me it's just a few streets away from where I live.

"hey y/n working again tonight."

" Hey Nelly , yeah I need the cash" Nelly is our chef, he's pretty cool. Nello is a big, balled, buff man, he looks quite intimidating when you first meet him but he's actually really sweet when you get to know him.

" well I hope you good luck"

"thanks" Nelly turns back around to what ever he's making, it smells heavenly, I walk out of the kitchen doors and into the dining part of the restaurant. I immediately jump into work finding a table to serve straight away.

I carefully bring a tray of hot food, hoping that I don't drop it, to a table.

"here you go one Italian style pizza and one sweet chilli chicken wings with salad and sour cream and chiv dip. if your not pleased tell me and I'll take it back for you. Enjoy" I place the two plates on the table and tuck the round tray under my arm. I gave the couple a smile and turn around and head back to the kitchen

" Hey y/n, apparently there's going to be a group coming in soon in about 15 minutes we've been old that they'll be recording some stuff, I don't know what it's for though"

"OK. Thanks Nelly" I place the tray back on the counter.

I spot some new people come in so I walk over to them and direct them to an empty table, I give the trio some menus and tell them I'll be back soon to take their order if they have decided.

I finish cleaning down a table when I hear the door open, I turn around and look at the door seeing what I presume is the group that's going to be filming. I see the other girl, Amanda, go over to the group, lead them to the biggest table we have, give them the menus and lingers at the table for a little too long.

I turn back around and Potter back on with my work

After about 14 minutes I hear the door open and shut. I turn around and see my best friend of 7 years standing at the door with a big smile on her face. I walk over to her and try to be as professional as I can, but with Pheobe it's hard

Pheobe is 5'2, with shoulder length curly ginger hair. She has freckles that cover almost all her face, her green eyes go well with her hair.

S

he really likes art, that's actually how we met in art class in primary school, i was new and she was the first person who was nice to me, we have been best friends since. I wouldn't swap our friendship for anything.

" I would like your finest table madam" she says with a rather bad posh accent.

" of course only the best for you , right this way milady" I say back in a terrible accent back. Pheobe bursts out laughing grabbing the attention of a few near by tables.

I lead Pheobe to the last empty table which happens to be right next to the table of the group

Pheobe, not so grateful, Sits down and looks at the menu for a split second before ordering.

"I would 3 a cowboy burger please with chips and onion rings please and for my drink I would like a diet coke, thanks "

I quickly scribble down her order, blowing a piece of hair out of my face I look up at her.

"I'll get it to you as soon as possible"

But before I could go and take Pheobes order to the kitchen a man from the table next to us gets my attention

" excuse me but we haven't been see yet and we have been waiting for a while to order"

"I'm so sorry I thought that Amanda was serving you, I'll take this order to the kitchen then I'll be right with you, I'll be just one second "

I quickly turn around and walk to the kitchen and through the doors, I clip the order onto the stand and walk back out.

As I'm walking back to the group I get my note pad out and click my pen open ready to take their orders.

"Hi, I'm so sorry for the wait what can I get for you" as I look at the group I spot two familiar faces but I can't remember where I've seen them from.

" would we be able to get these Please" the man hands me one of the restaurants order menus where you can write what you want instead of telling me, in big groups like this it makes my job much easier.

"of course you can, I'll give this to the chef and I'll get your drinks for you now. And again I'm so sorry for the wait" I turn around and walk back into the kitchen and put the sheet on the counter.

"nelly, can you make this one as soon as possible please, its the big groups and I thought Amanda was serving them, in fact I haven't seen her for a while. They have been waiting for over 15 minutes and the wait to be served has never been that long"

Nelly looks around for a quick second and nods his head.

I go to the bar and get there drinks, Four diet cokes, and 3 lemonades. I put the drinks on a large-ish round tray and walk back over to the table.

"here's your drinks. Your meals won't be to long. If there's anything wrong please don't hesitate to tell me"

"thank you" this time it wasn't a man but it was one of the people that look familiar.

"no problem, as I said your food shall be with you shortly until then enjoy" I walk away from the group and as I'm walking I catch Pheobe looking at me then at the group then at me again, I think nothing of it.

I hear the bell that signals that an order is ready, I look over my shoulder and see that it's Pheobe's burger. I walk into the kitchen and pick up her burger and star to carefully walk over to her table. I take the plate off of the tray and on to the table.

" here you go, one cowboy burger with chips and onion rings, enjoy"

"why thank you, this looks delicious"

I glance at the table next to Pheobes and quickly make eye contact with one of the members of the group. I give him a quick smile and and he smiles back his eyes lighting up, it suddenly clicks.

Thats why they look familiar their the two kids from the park from the other day how could I not remember him. I spot the camera it's a small black video camera and it's pointing to the 4 younger ones. They probably have a YouTube channel or something .

I turn my head away from the table and look at phoebe who's happily munching on some chips. "my breaks in like 6 minutes so save me some chips will ya.

I place the plates on to the table.

" here you go, again I'm so sorry about the wait, if there's anything wrong please tell me and I will sort it out" I make eye contact with Bill again and he's the one to smile first, the only lady of the group says something in German, and the man laughs, bill has a look on his face and the 3 others laugh as well.

I take of my apron then placing it on the back of the chair while I sit down on Pheobes table, taking the couple of chips she saved me and shoving them in my mouth.

"so who's that" she says in a hushed voice, leaning slightly over the table.

" who's who?" I say back in a hushed tone

"the one who keeps looking at you all the time, longish black hair"

"oh him, I met him in the park the other day as I was leaving I dropped my waterbottle and he picked it up for me"

Pheobe stops leaning over the table and stops talking in a hushed tone.

"how longs your break for?"

" 10 minutes then I have to go back to work for another half hour until I can go home"

"Not bad, I would stay till your shift ends but I need to be home in 15 minutes."

"that's OK"

We talk until my break ends

" I'll probably see you tomorrow for our weekly video call?"

I tie my apron around my waist again. "yep, 7 pm" I say picking up her plate

"I'll see you then, bye"

"bye"

I turn around and take her plate back to the kitchen then going back to cleaning up, out the corner of my eye I spot Amanda sneakily taking a picture of Bill and his group, they must either be pretty famous or she's a creepy stalker.

I turn to look at her and she gives me a discusted look as if I were the one taking the picture of them with out their permission, which is illegal. I roll my eyes and turn back around and continue to clear a table.

After about 15 minutes I quickly glance at Bill's table and notice they have finished eating and have stacked the plates, gosh I love when people do that, I walk over to the table.

"hi did you find everything alright"

"we did, thank you. Actually can we have 3 waters please"

"of course just let me take your stuff away and I'll get them for you straight away"

I pick the plates up and take them away to the kitchen. I walk over to the fridge and pick 3 bottles of water out, I grab 3 glasses and place some ice in the them . I pour the water into the cups and then place them on a small round tray.

I use my hip to push open the kitchen door because I have both my hands on the tray trying not to spill the drinks.

Carefully I walk over to the table, I manage to successfully not spill the water.

"here's your water" I place the drinks on the table and pick up the other cups and take them away.

It's five minutes until my shift ends, I'm cleaning down a table when I feel a tap on my shoulder, I straighten up and turn around to see who it was

"hi, i wanted to know if you wanted to go somewhere after your shift ends"

"oh Um sure I finish in about 5 minutes"

I look at the clock to see thay my shift has ended, I go into the kitchen and hang up my apron and pick up my bag.

"bye nelly. See you Thursday"

I walk back into the dining area and spot bill on his table, his group left about 10 minutes ago, looking down at his phone, his back was facing me so it was pretty easy to sneak up on him. I creep up behind him and peer over his shoulder. My face is next to his right ear

"what ya doing"

Bill jumped ever so slightly, I was expecting more of a reaction but its still a reaction.

I laugh slightly, Bill stands up from the table and slides his phone into his back pocket of his baggy jeans.

[bl00dst41ned]

Can you do jobe × a model or actrice

Bye ly

Have a nice day 💋

*.·:·.✦ internet sensation ✦.·:·.*

pairing: jobe bellingham x actress reader

summary: in which two people from two different worlds seem to be the next it couple

author's note: requested, most likely doing a part 2 to this. also did not proofread so yeah sorry

face claim: anais lee

word count: 717

Newest movie star Y/N L/N is said to attend Pharell’s Louis Vuitton Show tonight

You walked where the paparazzis were, flashes immediately blinding you as you tried to keep your eyes open and a smile on your face. Once your time was done, you walked off to the interviewers on the side.

“Y/N L/N, you’ve been on top of the world ever since the release of your newest movie, how does it feel to be here?” The interviewer asked.

“I feel perfect, it’s my first fashion show so I’m really excited about it”

“We have seen some fellow English celebrities, mostly football players”

“Really ?! Oh, I’ve never met them before, this might be the occasion”

You finished the interview, going to find your seat. You ended up around many celebrities that you had only seen on your phone, making you nervous. Your eyes met with Jadon Sancho. You two spoke before on Instagram, following your movie came out. You waved a bit awkwardly as he motioned for you to come. You did so, not wanting to be alone around all these people.

“Hello, guys” You greeted the group of people he was with as you side-hugged Jadon.

He introduced you to some of his teammates, Marcus, Trent, Jude and his brother Jobe who was a bit more silent. He stood on your right, hands in his pockets listening to his friends’ conversation.

Now was the time you all had to go to your seats. You looked for a few minutes not knowing at all where to go.

“Come, you’re next to me” You heard a deep voice behind you as you turned around only to be met with Jobe.

You followed close behind him zigzagging through the people. Once you got to your seats, he let you in front to sit down before taking the seat behind his brother.

During the entirety of the show, your legs, which were crossed came in contact with Jobe’s right leg, not bothering either one of you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was now the show’s after-party where you met some of the biggest stars in the world.

“I loved your performance, you’re undeniably talented” Zendaya spoke to you making you extremely proud. “Stay as you are  and I know you’ll make it far”

You almost wanted to cry hearing these words come out of your idol’s mouth.

“Thank you so much, this means the world to me” You thanked trying to keep your composure in front of her.

You and Zendaya hugged each other before you left to go back with the boys, Jobe in particular. You got to know each other more after the show, realizing you shared common interests.

“I see you meeting with big names” He teased with a smirk on his face. “Rihanna now Zendaya”

“Stop I tried so hard not to scream and cry”

“Nah but you deserved it, the film was elite” Jobe complimented your film as you looked at him surprised.

“You watched it?”

“Course, film of the year, I’m not missing that”

You two went on to talk for some time until it was time for you to go. You greeted all the boys finishing with Jobe.

“It was nice meeting you, Jobe, I hope I’ll see you again”

“Of course we’ll meet” He put his hand over your shoulders holding him close to him. “Hey, give me your number so we can talk”

“Talk huh ?!” Jude chimed in the conversation, grinning at his younger sibling.

He immediately caught on to his game, compared to you who was oblivious. Jobe sent him the harshest death glare, making Jude quietly laugh trying to be discreet.

You took his phone, typed your number and called yourself to have his.

“Here, see you Jobe”

“See you Y/N”

Young actress Y/N L/N and football player Jobe Bellingham seen entering together at the LV Show After Party

yn_yln

liked by jobebellingham and 447, 591 others

yn_yln thank you @louisvuitton for the invite, had the best fun ever

zendaya was so nice to meet you

↳ yn_yln tysm 🥰

badgalriri pretty gyal

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[logically-asexual]

i do believe that thomas is enthusiastically working on sanders sides and i think that the long time it has taken for the video to be made is due to other problems, and i get why people who don’t agree with criticisms of thomas think it’s weird to assume that thomas has given up on sanders sides, since even though his updates are vague as hell and come like thrice a year, they’re still updates.

however. i do think the other side is also understandable. mostly considering what the past couple years have been like.

so if you’re someone who thinks it’s crazy that people think thomas has given up on sanders sides here’s a hopefully helpful explanation. i’m not looking for an argument, i just want to explain this in good faith because i’ve seen people confused.

so in the past couple years the discourse has been a lot of -> people being upset that there’s no videos -> people arguing in defense of the waits with different arguments -> the first group not accepting these arguments and still being upset -> and so on.

first the argument was like “he has a small budget and small team, so it makes sense to take a while to make a good quality video!” and like… fine.. he did put out working through intrusive thoughts which had a bunch of cool effects and props and equipment etc and showed that there was a lot of work going into the video that justified a few months of wait. (it was still annoying because it was supposedly “just an Asides” and it clearly did take time away from working on the next actual episode.)

but then he had the patreon and by this point the budget couldn’t really be an excuse? the idea was that with patreon not only videos like WTIT would exist, but that every video could be like that and they could come out just as often as before, because such a big production shouldn’t get in the way now that they had the money and the people to get it done efficiently. that is, unless thomas has a terrible business model where he still spends more than he earns despite probably earning enough to pay a good enough team if the money was well managed? i don’t know how much he earns but he was able to make putting others first and working through intrusive thoughts with no problem and the patron amount has only increased since then right? so that excuse didn’t really last.

then the main episode still didn’t come so the defense was “the pandemic obviously makes it harder to film.” which. of course it did. but then there were vaccines, restrictions were mostly over and thomas started putting out content where he did film with others, just not the main episode. okay. this excuse is now cancelled and then it must be something else.

then we have “thomas has health or personal issues that make him feel uncomfortable in front of the camera.” very reasonable. if he was in the filming stage and so the production of an already-written video had to be paused while he recovers. however. we later found out he is still in the writing stage, after three years.

and writing doesn’t need in-person meetings, it doesn’t need a huge budget further than what they pay for rent at their office and paying the writing team., it doesn’t need thomas to attend scheduled meetings and show a fake-happy face to thousands of viewers. personal issues could get in the way of thomas feeling motivated to write but he still has an entire team of writers and also it’s been three years… and he did make other scripted content in between and didn’t seem to have a problem with that. if it was an issue that made him sad enough to not want to write then after stretching the writing stage a few months then ,, by that point it would probably have been more productive for him to take a full break (letting the audience know) before coming back ready to work.

so. these excuses, mostly thought by the fans trying to justify the lack of videos, are actually very reasonable on their own. but when compared with the reality that time has shown us they seem to be just. excuses. and not actual reasons for the main episodes to come out. so two different conclusions can be taken from this:

1. there’s another problem* that we haven’t figured out yet (and in this sense it would be nice if thomas told us a bit more so we could at least have an idea of what this mysterious problem is. a lot of people in the ts criticism tag only wish thomas was more honest about whatever is going on).

*i personally believe this and i think the problem is simply that they’ve bitten off more than they can chew, which is something that thomas and joan do have a record with. like with the puppets episode. but they always have solved those problems that come with having ambitions bigger than their abilities and the result is always great so thomas’s team keeps doing it. but without thoughtful planning it might reach a point where this style is no longer sustainable and i think that’s what has happened with the finale. also made worse now by the lack of joan to improve the writing of the show. but that’s my own guess.

or 2. thomas is straight up lying with his updates. and he’s just. not working on the finale or working very slowly because he barely pays any attention to it. this is the conclusion (from what i see in the ts criticism tag) that a lot of people have come to. because they feel like every other reasonable explanation has been proved wrong and thomas’s lack of more explanations and defensiveness when anybody asks about sanders sides makes them think that he’s not willing to admit something, and that that something is that he doesn’t want to do the show anymore, despite still wanting to earn money and sell merch and leave the possibility open in case he does feel like doing the episode later.

again. i personally don’t believe this. but i understand where the idea comes from. i think thomas isn’t responsible for everything fanders assume about him but there is some blame to be placed on him for the distrust these fans now have on him. because he’s let actual years go by without a word about why writing the finale has taken so long, and because he’s so defensive when people ask about it. he can’t control everything fans think but he could have handled it better. he still could. but i don’t think he’s going to change anything and he’s just hoping to put out the video as soon as possible and let it speak for itself, and he’s hoping that with that people will just naturally come back and let the past go once it’s done. not a good idea imo. but that’s how it seems to be.

anyway. again i’m not looking for an argument. but you can comment your opinion if you like.

[denimini]

What is going on with Jimin, Jungkook and Jikook?

Warning: long post

I've been a BTS fan since early 2017. Back in the day, I ran this blog here, analyzing a lot of Jikook moments, but life sort of took over, and I stopped having the time for it. However, I never stopped being a fan and observing BTS and Jikook through the years. There's a lot said and written already about the supposed video of JK, but here are my two cents.

To me, the most logical explanation for that video is that this really is Jungkook. The layout of the apartment matches (yes, even the position of the security system, if you have ever watched JKs lives, you'd know that it actually is at his shoulder height, just like in the video), the dog looks like Bam, the couch is the same and this definitely looks like JK. There's also another video of the man in this apartment, alone, shirtless, and having a whole tattoo sleeve on his right arm just like JK. Obviously, we don't know for sure, but it looks like it's him. People say it was filmed in late Feb, early March, and I agree. JK had the same hair then, the outfits look warm, like winter clothes and not to forget, that when JK was stalked in his gym (late of February) there were a lot of fuss about a girl being there with him, so it all checks out in my book.

Now, what the video shows isn't that scandalous. A boy hugging a girl from behind and them playfighting/tickling each other or whatever. It isn't overly explicit. It could mean a lot of things, but it's clear the people are at the very least physically comfortable with each other. It's a short video. We don't know if they're even alone, but it looks like it. There are a number of possibilities for whom this person is to JK: a long-time girlfriend, a casual hook-up, a one night stand, or just a friend.

We'll probably never know for sure. What we do know is that this is an unacceptable invasion of privacy, and the person who took those videos should be sued for all they are worth. I hope we all agree on that, yes?

Now, if this girl is someone JK is dating/has dated/has slept with, where does that leave his and JM's relationship?

In my eyes, as someone who's observed them for literal years now, there's no way JM and JK have always had a strictly platonic relationship. Too much just doesn't add up. Sure, technically, they could be bestest friends with great chemistry, but as someone who is now 30 years old, I don't think I've seen this type of chemistry between people ever be just platonic. At times, it looked too much like sexual tension for it to easily be dubbed as "friendly".

My theory is this (keep in mind these are still just assumptions):

In 2017-2020, pre-Covid era, JM and JK spent A LOT of time together, basically all of it. BTS were super active, they didn't have any breaks. They were always working. Always on tour and doing smth else. JM and JK were pretty young back then (20-24) and this is typically the time when someone discovers their sexuality and starts experimenting, and I believe that at some point they did this together. They were best friends but also had this weird tension and air around them and I think they could've started a physical relationship back then. The members teasing them hear and there about being a couple, also kind of supports this, though of course, it doesn't prove anything.

Contrary to other people, I don't belive they only just fucked. It's very hard to have sex with someone who you are very close to otherwise, who you love and admire as a person, and not catch romantic feelings for them, so I think they did more than fucking. Whether they had a serious relationship or decided not to label it much, due to MS coming up, the group being in jeopardy or other reasons, I tend to think that other than sex, they also had feelings.

Side note: In any case, they were figuring thinks out about themselves as individuals, as well as a pair. I think maybe this is the time JM realized he is definitely bisexual (which he proudly expressed in his photobook of last year in my opinion). Idk what Jk figured out for himself, if anything.

Anyhow, by 2020‐2021 it seemed they had some sort of agreement about what/who they were to each other. At times they could have been on and off. There might have been other people/partners in-between, but I think they were mainly together by this point. It even looked like they lived together for some time. The fact they always took the same car and they were together on JKs birthday night when they first had number 1 on hot 100 sort of proves it. JM's birthday live in 2021 was also sus af (the way he was blushing while mentioning JK and their whole convos, very sus).

I think before Covid they had smth somewhat stable but then Covid hit. Their schedules changed, it was a tough period overall. Suddenly, they were not working and traveling so much, they were staying in SK. I think this was the time things started getting much more real and different. MS was also in the near horizon. Maybe one of them wanted a more committed relationship, and the other wasn't ready. Maybe they were both afraid. Maybe they tried and it didn't really work out. Maybe one finally realized his sexuality and the other had doubs. Whatever it was, the feelings of affection were still there. Chemistry as well. Proof: JM bday live in 2021 was just crazy, the way he blushed when JK was mentioned and the way the spoke to each other... man. Also, the way the were at PTD L.A. The way JK answered questions about JM etc.

So , all that connected them as people was still there, but I think their relationship come late 2021-early 2022 was definitely more unstable. Who knows what happened then. Personally, I don't believe in the theory that they opened their relationship, rather I believe by the second half of 2022, due to whatever reasons, things were simple mostly off between them. I believe they stayed this way all through the second half of the year and at least the first 4 months of 2023. They were friends, their families still loved and supported each other (JK's mom made seaweed soup for JM's bday, which one does for family) but that's about it. They weren't living together anymore, as well.

The beginning of 2023 we saw a very busy JM and a very not busy JK. Sure, they still commented on their welives but it seemed they didn't meet each other that often. Jm was working, JK was at home and occasionally with Tae. Yeah, JK watched a lot of JM content and often invited him over, but he also didn't know when his promotions will be over and it seemed they haven't seen each other for some time and JK was missing JM. I think if they truly were a serious couple back then, they would still have found the time to meet each other no matter how busy one or the other was, especially considering they live in the same city, and it wasnt the case. I don't think JK would have to resort to watching hours of JM's content just to satisfy his need-for-JM thirst, if they were a couple back then.

So, yeah, I think they were not more than friends by this point, for sure, which also ties up pretty well with the timing of the recent leaked video (February-March). To me it seems that JK and JM probably saw other people in that period, at least JK, JM was pretty damn busy then. Maybe they had some serious partners even, maybe just hook-ups here and there. Maybe this was JK's time to explore more of his heterosexual side, who knows. I don't think he stopped caring for JM in some capacity. In fact it kind of looked like he longed for his company but for one reason or another, they were simply not that much in each other's lives in the first quarter of 2023.

But then something weird happened around June-July. First JM is all scratched up from something (presumably Bam) indicating he saw JK and spent time with him. Then Seven came out and JM flew to NY. There they spend a long, fun weekend amid promotions. It wasn't a secret but they seemed to want to keep private and didn't really want to talk about it , judging by the way JK answered the question about JM being in NY as well. JM was practically silent. Then they returned and that welive happened. The one where they openly flirted, JM said he could handle JK naked, JK blushed like a school girl and tried everything in his power to get to JM but JM said "I'm not that easy". That welive. Idk about you, but that welive didn't seem platonic to me at all and if I had been JK's partner at the time, I would definitely be very angry with his behaviour. I don't think JK is disrespectful and a cheater, and neither is JM for that matter, so I believe there's no way any of them had a partner when that welive happened. I simply refuse to belive they are that type of people.

So, my conclusion is they were both single then and something definitely happend in July and NY. They returned somewhat different and they still kind of are. Jk posted pics of NY to Twitter for the first time. Jm shared a pic from then for JKs bday (shirtless, as we all know) and then recently another pic from a boat that could have been from back then, as well. The whole way they're acting offline and online strangely reminds me a lot of the time after their trip to Tokyo, actually. The way JM has been posting about JK very much give me nostalgia about the way he used to post Jikook often in 2017-2018 before he withdrew from social media. But maybe that's just me 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, to finish this long post I will say this. I don't know what Jikook were and are to each other and unless, it is explicitly denied the person in the video is JK, I will believe that it's him. But also, unless it is confirmed he currently has a girlfriend, I will have my doubts. The video is old and in any case, it doesn't prove much other than the fact JK is maybe into women (solely or also into them). This video though doesn't automatically negate everything I've seen between Jikook through the years. In some ways, it confirms what I've been thinking for a long time now. Unless JM and JK personally shut down any rumors about them and deny any romantic connection or confirm a relationship with someone else , I still believe that at some point in their lived their relationship crossed the platonic line.

Whether that was in the past or is currently true, I only can guess, but to me there's no way these two were always, all these years, just only friends.

For now, I will observe how JK, JM and Hybe are acting after the leaked videos and go from there. It will also be indicative.

Peace.

[bil-daddy]

Hi Bildad. I know this isn't at all what your Tumblr is for, but I don't have anyone IRL to talk to about this, and my husband reads AITA. If you want to just leave this in your inbox unanswered, that is ok.

Today during an argument, my husband told me that he has not been attracted to me since we got married (20 years ago!) Around that time I started on antidepressants and they caused me to gain some weight and then I gained some more weight. Currently I am 5'6" and 190lbs.

He has hinted at this a couple times over the course of our marriage and frequently turns me down for sex (one time we went a whole year without any sexual activity). He said that he has never been completely honest about this before because it would hurt my "fragile ego" and send me into an "emotional spiral".

When we were first married, he was in good shape, but about ten years ago, he started putting on weight, too. He is currently 6'0" and 260lbs. He says that he knows that it's not fair, but he's just being honest about how he feels.

Currently I'm considering getting bariatric surgery, vs trying to do my best to diet and exercise while working full time and raising three kids with him, vs calling it quits and trying to find someone who likes my body the way it is. I have a fairly high sex drive and I'm feeling very frustrated.

Again, sorry for venting here. Not something I'd be willing to admit to family or friends but just needed to get it off my chest and this seems like a safe space.

Hi, anon. Sorry you're going through this.

Now, to paraphrase AITA (and r/relationship_advice, and r/relationships) You don't have a weight problem. You have a husband problem.

It shouldn't take a midwife to know that bodies change after giving birth and it seems you've done that three times. And that's not even getting into the normal weight gain that comes with aging. Nobody looks the same as they looked 20 years ago (well, unless you're an immortal being--which I am definitely not by the way, 100% totally human shoemaker obstetrician right here)

Your husband knows this. He's aged and gained weight, too. And not to get all Freudian, but I'm betting his criticisms of you are actually projection of how he feels about himself. (Especially the "fragile ego" and "emotional spiral" part. Such classic projection it might as well be an old silent film.)

He probably didn't mean what he said about not being attracted to you for your entire twenty-year marriage, if you two were arguing when he said it. It was just something he knew he could say to hurt you in the moment.

That's not an excuse, by the way. Every relationship is gonna have fights (don't ask me how I know), but you shouldn't be fighting dirty against the person you love. Fuck nasty, sure. But not fight dirty.

Speaking of which, sex drives often wax and wane over the course of lifetimes, and relationships, and a group of two's respective shifts don't always line up. Still, if there's an ongoing mismatch then the couple should do their best to figure out a compromise that works for both of them.

Is your husband doing this?

Is he doing half the childcare so you have the free time to exercise?And relax, too, because you won't have the energy to exercise if you're too tired from work and childcare.

Is he doing half the grocery shopping, meal planning, and cooking so your whole family can eat a healthy diet?

Is he trying to get back into shape and lose weight himself?

And finally, the hard (pun intended) one--is he cutting back on "pornography!" (to quote Sandalphon) so he can direct the majority of his sexual energy towards you? Has he checked with a doctor about his testosterone levels? Blood flow?

You don't have to tell me, but the answers to these questions might tell you whether your husband is putting enough effort into your marriage to make it worth saving, versus calling it quits and finding someone who will appreciate your body the way it is--and there are many people who will (just ask @mrazfellco about my obsession with his belly and thick thighs)

But the most important person who needs to appreciate your body the way it is isn't your husband or a hypothetical post-divorce boyfriend. The most important person who needs to appreciate your body is you.

And so you need to do whatever it is that will make you feel good about yourself. That might be diet and exercise. That might be bariatric surgery. That might just be losing 260 pounds of husband.

But whatever it is, it needs to be for you.

Hope this helps.

Good luck to you, and have an ox rib (platonic)

[sounwise]

“Inner Beatle Secrets: From Paul” (interview with Alan Freeman in Rave Magazine, April 1966 issue)

[Full transcript beneath the cut:]

-

No doubt, pop-pickers, millions of you would flip at an opportunity to entertain Paul McCartney in your home for a few hours. Well, if you ever do, take my tip . . . move the piano out first. Because Paul makes straight for it the way other people head for a good-looking chick.

“You eat, sleep and dream on it, don’t you?” I said. Paul grinned and rippled out another string of tuneful thoughts, the melody just growing from his fingers. Then he tried it over again, this time adding a jumping bass pattern that suddenly brought the whole thing to life. He stopped halfway through.

“That’s all I’ve got so far,” he said. “I must work on that a bit more.”

It took me half-an-hour to get Paul away from the keyboard and sit down and relax. I could see why the Beatles rarely run short of great new numbers. If someone invented a way of composing in your sleep, McCartney would be on to it like a shot.

It was nearly a year since I’d had a Heart-to-Heart with Paul, here in the same room at my London apartment. We’d met often since then, of course, on shows and in TV studios. But now, with a rare day free just to laze around and sip a long drink and chat about whatever came into his mind, you could see a big change in him.

In the old days Paul, like a lot of genuinely sensitive and creative people, used to cover up a little under a dry, wise-cracking front. Today he’s fizzing like a firework with all sorts of thoughts and theories about music, films, books and art.

People used to ask, “What happens when the time comes that the Beatles break up and go their own ways?” I don’t think we need to worry. I reckon their individual talents are possibly even greater than their achievements as a group. Even if the Beatles had never made a single disc, the Lennon-McCartney songs would have been a glowing milestone in pop anyhow.

So, if you don’t mind, Beatle-diggers, this is Paul the person talking of his ideas, his discoveries as his mind matures and the mad, hurtling pace of the world’s idols steadies down to a saner rhythm.

The phone rang outside, but I wasn’t letting anybody cut in on this revealing session with Paul. “No calls for the next hour, no matter what,” I said to Carolina, my secretary.

And Paul began to talk.

“It’s hard to know whether the Beatles have changed much in the past year as the public sees them,” he said. “But I know we have. I know I have, as a personal, internal change. I don’t mean things like getting the M.B.E. I think after the first couple of weeks we forgot about that.

“I’d say the really big change is in our tastes, in finding out about things we didn’t know before. For instance, George spends all his time now, listening to Indian music. He’s joined the Asian Music Circle. He’s really serious about it, too. It started when he got a cithar [sic]—the Indian instrument we used on ‘Norwegian Wood’.

“It’s the same with all of us. We’ve all got interested in things that just never used to occur to us. I’ve got thousands, millions, of new ideas myself. What I really want to do now is to see whether I could write all the music for a film. Not just to write tunes, but the music of the film itself.

“I want to read a lot more than I do. It annoys me that so many million books came out last year and I only read twenty of them. It’s a drag.

“What I’m reading at the moment is everything I can get on the assassination of President Kennedy . . . all the evidence, all the reports. I’m convinced that the real truth about that hasn’t come out. And I’m reading a French writer—Jarry. He’s great, weird.

“I’m reading plays like mad, too, I don’t know if I’ll ever want to write one. But there are so many things I’d like to have a try at.

“Painting. I’ve done quite a bit and I enjoy it. I’d like to do a lot more, find out if I might have a talent for that.”

Caroline brought in tea and passed the cups. “Paul,” I said, “how would you say all these new interests of yours might affect the Beatles’ music?”

He grinned, stirring his tea. “Well, if you mean are people frightened that we might suddenly go all sober or play stuff like Mantovani, they needn’t worry about that. We’ve got no intention of trying to rehash old things. The whole point is that we’re learning about new things all the time.

“Like doing ‘Yesterday’ with the string quartet instead of the big sweeping orchestra, which was the old way. But it would be a pity if we change the way which we think is better but everybody else doesn’t. It’d be a pity—but that’s the only way we’ve ever worked.

“We’ve only made the records which we think are good, and that’s the only standard we’ve ever gone by. Eventually we may get a bit too way-out. I hope not, but I don’t know.”

I pointed to the stack of newly released discs standing by the record player and said, “But if you go through those, for example, everyone can see that pop music is getting more and more way-out. People are going for it, all the same.”

Paul nodded. “Yes, to some extent it is. But there are still too many groups who are trying just to keep up. That’s no good. That’s what makes the whole pop thing dull in the end. You ought to be able to move on a bit further with every record, like The Who.

“And what’s more, they’ve got every chance. The equipment in most British recording studios is much better than it is in the States. But there’s some extra bit they get to the sound over there that we haven’t quite got. I don’t know what it is yet, but you get the sensation of that little bit more. The Stones always tell us we’d be better if we recorded in the States, but we never have. We probably will eventually.

“You put a record of ours with an American record and don’t alter the volume, and you’ll find the American record is always that fraction louder. And it has a lucid something I can’t explain. Funny, because as I say, I believe we’re technically better in Britain.”

Paul shrugged. But he had the contented look of a young man who has just come up with something else to investigate and find out about.

There must be many a group starting out now who are spurred along by visions of what life at the top must be like when you finally get up there in the Beatles class. But Paul said that although you obviously pick up the luxuries, you also discover that you’re going short of a lot of things that less successful people have more time to enjoy.

“I suddenly realised that because of the Beatles, as far as my own life was concerned, I’d got in a very severe sort of rut. And we all had, because we all just seemed to be working only towards trying to get pop things done. And we saw that obviously we must have missed out on quite a few things.”

He grinned and nodded towards the piano in the corner. “Only the other day I was working out a number and I stopped and thought, ‘What a drag. I’m twenty-three and I’ve never learned to read music.’ And I found I was thinking to myself as if I was finished. So I said, ‘Why don’t I?’ And now I’m doing it.

“Sooner or later it hits you that the average span of the British male is seventy-five years and you’ve had more than twenty of them, so you better make the most of what’s left. Then the brain starts working, and John and I rush out and buy loads of books.

“I’m lazy, but I don’t like myself being lazy. So the only way out is to do something about it. Like I made myself listen to classical records, though nobody in our house ever liked them. When one came on they’d just turn it off. But I thought, ‘I’d better sort this out for myself and see whether I like it or not.’

“And in fact I don’t like a lot of it. It’s too fruity and sentimental. But from that you get on to what the modern composers are doing. And it’s suddenly great, because you discover that there are all these things going on.

“Then I play them to John and he says, ‘What a drag—all these millions of records coming out all the time and we’ve not been getting on to them.’ Then we rush out and buy loads of modern compositions.

“The only thing to do is to listen to everything and then make up your mind about it.”

And that’s the best advice you’ll ever get on this planet, friends. Because it works, not just in the world of music, but in every profession they ever invented. I know people with no special gifts who’ve made fortunes just by listening. Not eavesdropping . . . listening. And when you know, then you can really start moving.

Paul shares with Pete Townshend of The Who a taste for the music of Stockhausen, one of the modern German composers. “His ideas are fantastic. It’s the farthest-out music yet. He uses electronic stuff that nobody else has got round to. And his records are listed under the classical section in the catalogues. So if you’ve got it in your head that you don’t dig classical music, look what you’re shutting out.”

He shook his head. “You can’t go putting music into little categories like serious and Merseybeat and so on. The great thing is that it’s music, whatever label they try to stick on it.”

Paul said with quiet intensity, “You see, you’re going to have trouble getting but unless you have fairly solid opinions on things. You live in a muddle. as soon as I noticed myself saying ‘I don’t know’ I thought, ‘Well, you’ll have to try. Why don’t I know?’ Unless you get at it, by the time you do find out you’ll be ready to die.”

The Beatles have obviously been the single influence on pop for decades. But Paul admitted that this influence would never have come about if he, John, George and Ringo hadn’t been excited and stimulated by other people’s thoughts and ideas.

“The whole thing is about trying to contact people all the time. And with everything . . . plays, books, music. Even cooking. Anything that breaks down any kind of barrier and lets you get through to another human being . . . that’s it, that’s what valuable, that’s what matters.

“I think that’s why the whole being-English explosion has been such a success in America and everywhere else. It’s a genuine effort, and it’s working. Everybody in England has suddenly got just a little bit more interested in everything and everyone else. Britain has just climbed up on to another level, and it’s a wonderful thing.

“You ought to hear the people who come over here, the ones we talk to. They’re knocked out, because the idea they had of England before was just ridiculous. They believe the whole bowler-hat thing, thought the English were very reserved and very cold. When they go to a few parties and see what we’re really like, they’re amazed.

“Oh, sure, there’s been a change in us, all of us. But there’s a lot of people who’re still apathetic, who’ve got one fixed opinion. You know, the kind who say ‘I just like pop music or rhythm-and-blues or Edmundo Ros and don’t ever tell me about anything else because I don’t want to know’. They’re still scared to lay themselves open to any new influence. And they stay in the don’t-know rut for ever.

“As far as the Beatles are concerned, we can’t just stop where we are or there’s nothing left to do. We can go on trying to make popular records and it can get dead dull if we’re not trying to expand at all and move on into other things. Unless you’re careful you can be successful and unsuccessful at the same time.”

The next the Beatles do a television film, Paul said, they want to use many more of their own ideas instead of leaving it to the network’s camera crews. “The one they did while we were in America could have been so much better. It needed just that little extra bit of imagination.

“Instead of getting someone in to do the music and the sounds, we’d like to do it ourselves. Spend a long time on it and really work at it.

“We’re getting something that’ll really give us some experience with mixing up sound and film in that sort of way. It’s a gift Capitol Records gave us in the States, and it’s the greatest little present event.

“It’s a television recorder. You just plug it into your set and you record the programme straight off, just like on to a tape. You can record the BBC while you’re watching ITV and show the film on your telly at one o’clock in the morning if you want to. They said we’ll be the first people in England to have them.

“So what we’re going to do when they come is go out and shoot film, weird shapes and patterns and light, and record special weird music to go with it and then come back and play it at home on the television. And we’ll be able to find out what works and what doesn’t, so that when we do a proper full-scale film we’ll know exactly what to put in it.”

The telephone shrilled in the other room. I looked at my watch. Our quiet hour had ended. “It’s Brian Epstein’s office for Paul,” said Caroline.

If you’re a Beatle, the world doesn’t leave you alone for long. While Paul was on the phone, the chauffeur arrived to pick him up for another business meeting. And for another while at least, all the schemes would have to wait while Paul the person made way for Paul the star.

As we shook hands on his way out, I wondered how far he would have carried his plans, what new excitements would be gripping him, the next time we have the chance of a Heart-to-Heart. More than likely, he would have come in from the bachelor cold by then and followed the other Beatles into marriage.

One thing for sure, I thought. No kid of Paul McCartney’s will turn out to be a don’t-know.

I looked at the piano guiltily as the lift hummed down to the ground floor. After all this time, I should be able to play that machine with the best of them. Why can’t I? I sat down and got a little chord shape going.

“Alan,” said Caroline around the door. “Fred Thing wants to know if you can come over.”

One note out in the bass somewhere—that’s got it.

“Tell him I’d love to,” I said. “But I can’t now. I’m working on an idea.”

Till next month—stay bright!

[sesamie]

i saw midsommar but didn’t form a strong opinion about it i’d love to hear ur thoughts!

welllll!!! i am always flattered to be asked my film opinions... it's been some time since i've seen it, and i did have to cover my eyes at a couple parts, so take this all with a grain of salt. first of all, it was a GORGEOUS movie - even if it had no story and no dialogue or music or anything, i would have liked it just for how nice it was to look at. even the most horrific scenes were so marvelously colored and composed!! now i have some caveats about the cinematography because there were a lot of times where they pulled the same mirror trick over and over which was very boring to watch once you started noticing it, like, it was cool the first time, but once they kept doing it and doing it, i sort of understood that they KNEW it was cool and were showing it off too much. an argument could be made for symbolism via repetition here but i'd have to see the film again to talk on that! the acting is of course very celebrated and i think they did a great job - the method acting florence pugh employed for her most emotional scenes is both impressive and worrying. now as for the content of the film itself, it didn't do a whole lot that was new? like i watch a lot of random uncelebrated horror movies and the whole greasy cult deal is very well-explored by now, so much so that i have accidentally confused scenes from other movies with scenes from midsommar. not a lot that it did with the story was special, but the way in which it was presented was very shiny and polished and that does put it a small step above. i liked the may queen dancing scene, it was done very well. the old couple's suicide made me nauseous and have to stop watching for a little bit. now i am always hesitant of stories that are like "there's this group of people and the way they conduct themselves is so savage and barbaric and horrific, not at all like our pure, normal, safe ways of life <3" for good reason, and midsommar is not an exception to that, but what it did with the elements it had at play were good. it wasn't really about the culture, it was about the individuals, specifically pugh's character's emotional and mental state and decline.

now i will say as far as horror films go midsommar was one of the best i have seen (but i also haven't begun my jordan peele foray that i am meaning to do all at once over thanksgiving break this year, and i know he's amazing) but as far as films in general that go for the type of tragedy that midsommar did, it wasn't my favorite execution. it's not a bad film by any means, it accomplished most of what it wanted to accomplish, and i had a good (read: very viscerally upsetting) time watching it. what mostly bothers me about midsommar is the general response to it? like and of course yes my interpretation is not everybody's interpretation but i think you have to be watching a completely different film to believe the ending was a happy ending and not a deliberate and succinctly executed tragedy. i don't like when people call it a good breakup film or a win for feminism or anything like that. it's a story of a young woman who is taken advantage of by every single place she turns to, and eventually her entire sense of self crumbles to that. her killing her boyfriend - while he was an ass and i definitely liked seeing him die - was not a win for her. she may have found absolution by the end of the film, but we as the audience are not meant to be finding that with her, we're supposed to be disturbed by what she is considering absolution. if that makes any sense???

[apollo41writes]

Goodnight prompt 29/∞

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends Ship: Jayce/Viktor AUs/Tropes: Youtubers Au, Getting together Prompt: Jayce and Viktor are students at the same university but they never actually talked to each other. They are also both youtubers, but they are in completely different niches, so they have no idea who the other is. Everything changes after they each end up in the background of each other's videos.

Extra details: Basically, Jayce's channel is all about fitness and eating healthy and shit like that. Viktor's channel is more focused on pop culture, maybe he does in dept analysis of movies and tv shows, sometimes about games as well. Very different content then.

Like I said, they study at them same university/college, and maybe they even saw each other around, but each has their own group of friends and they actually never interacted.

The way they actually find out who they are (at least online) is when Jayce is filming something outside (most likely a work out routine) and Viktor is doing maybe a vlog on his second channel (maybe the one where he talks about his health issues?).

And a fan that follows them both points out in a comment the other in both their videos. Which is also how they find out that there are actually a lot of people that follows both of them and that's how the idea of a collaboration pops into their minds.

Maybe Jayce already did a collab with Vi, since she is into somewhat of the same content niche. So he knows that doing collabs can be hard, but also rewarding.

I imagine him being the one that actually suggests it to Viktor, and Viktor being kind of reluctant to agree because, WTF are they even gonna do together. Which kind of sends Jayce in a rant about how he binged Viktor's vlogs about his health issues, and doing some research about exercise that would help him feel better and things like that.

Again, Viktor is a bit reluctant, but agrees. Still not sure what they are gonna do for his channel. Maybe he can ask Jayce if he wants to play with him one of those games that you absolutely must play with a partner.

They absolutely don't expect to have such a good chemistry, but even their fan notice and... They kind of start hanging out together a lot. And the on collab actually ends up being a series of collabs. They kind of ignore the fans in their comment that mention them looking like a cute couple.

Jayce is absolutely in denial about being bi. Viktor is ace and doesn't think Jayce would ever be interested in a relationship with him even if he swings that way. Of course they don't really talk about it in person. Even if their friends kind of tease them about it.

They decide to move in together after maybe a year of actually knowing each other. It just make sense for them to share an apartment; they could probably afford a nice enough place on their own, but it's less expensive like this. And by this point they are best friends. So of course they want to hang out together all the time!

Don't know exactly how they end up together. Maybe one of those green-eyed realization. Maybe Jayce was already dating Mel and Viktor decides to go on a date with someone just to prove to himself that he can get over Jayce. Maybe Viktor's date doesn't understand that Viktor doesn't really want to be intimate with them and Jayce is the one that drags them out of their apartment.

And right then Jayce realizes that he can't keep being in denial. He likes Mel, sure. But he's kind of in love with Viktor. A lot in love with Viktor actually.

I kind of think Jayce would ask Viktor if they keep it private, but like out of social media, not pretending that they are not together in front of their friends. It's harder than they thought, but they manage for a while.

There's lot of potential for how they relationship becomes public knowledge, but I kind of stopped here for now.

[priestessofspiders]

Dead Man's Brains

It was such an incredible party. Genuinely, if I had to pick out the most happy and wonderful moments of my life, that Halloween party would have been one of them. That's why it hurts so much to remember it. It makes me want to break down crying whenever I think about the terrible, awful thing that happened right under our noses, and how none of us even noticed. It feels so obvious, looking back on it now. Hindsight is 20/20 I suppose.

I wouldn't say I'm a particularly unsocial person, I think I get along with people quite well once I've gotten to know them, but something about making that first step of initial contact just always seemed so difficult. I always felt incredibly awkward being introduced to strangers, and while I can mask that discomfort fairly well, it does mean that I tend to adopt a slightly stilted and formal attitude whenever I'm meeting new people.

As a consequence, and also in part due to the pandemic, much of my socializing for the past few years has been online. The awkwardness is still there of course, but it feels so much less uncomfortable when the people I am being introduced to are just text on a screen. However, this does mean that most of my friends tend to live quite far away. A handful of them do live within about an hour's drive of me, so we tend to hang out whenever possible, at least we used to before the party. Nowadays it just feels wrong.

It was on one such meetup with three friends of mine that we discussed the possibility of a throwing a big party of some sort. We all navigated the same general social circles, and we had considered for a while inviting down the myriad online friends we had acquired over the years, at least the ones we trusted. It was I who suggested we host the party on Halloween. From there the discussion swiftly turned to themes, since what kind of Halloween party wouldn't have a theme?

Jessica suggested that we host something inspired by mythology and ancient history. She had always been quite interested in legends, myths, and classical literature of all kinds, and I recall fondly our discussions of Beowulf, the Epic of Gilgamesh, and the Romance of the Three Kingdoms. As much as I would have liked to indulge her, the others pointed out it could be somewhat of a niche topic, and so the discussion continued.

Sadie, Jessica's girlfriend, suggested something themed off of horror films. Sadie had, partially at my encouragement, been on a bit of a horror movie kick as of late, and we had all enjoyed spending time rewatching some of the old classics together. It seemed like a solid theme, and Jessica and I were almost set to agree on it, but it was then that Jake suggested his idea.

In any given queer friend group, there is typically one straight member who has been deemed "safe" by the others. Jake was that friend. We all considered him trustworthy and never really had to worry about him putting his foot in his mouth whenever the conversation veered towards a rainbow hue. I had half-expected Jake to suggest a historical theme, given his degree in military history, but instead he advised that we go for a traditional sort of Halloween party; bobbing for apples, carving pumpkins, that sort of thing.

The rest of us immediately agreed this would be the best course of action. Not only would it mean that none of the attendees would have to adjust their costumes for the occasion, but also none of us had ever actually attended such an event, and the novelty of something simultaneously nostalgic yet alien was the perfect combination. Instantly there was discussion of activities, decorations, and whether or not we should pool together our funds to get a fog machine.

Now, obviously the four of us didn't plan out the entire party in one night. We still had to figure out who we trusted well enough to give Jessica's address to (it was decided early on that her house would be the most suitable for hosting), send out invitations, and even put up a couple of online fundraisers to try and get plane tickets for some of our more distant friends. Over the months that this process took we soon found that what had started out as mere idle discussion was rapidly taking shape into what seemed would be a rather excellent celebration.

Now, each of us were to contribute some sort of activity that we would watch over and purchase the necessary supplies for. Sadie's medical background gave her the rather ghoulish idea of setting up a pumpkin carving table themed after an autopsy, which while strictly speaking wasn't traditional, fit so well with the whole aesthetic of the party that we all found it delightful. Jessica set about acquiring an old style wooden barrel for the purpose of bobbing for apples, putting her artistic skills to good use with paintings of various Halloween spooks on the sides of it. My idea was somewhat silly but still wound up being put to use. I couldn't find if the game had a real name, or if it was just called "The Mirror Game", but I'd heard it alleged that if you stared at your own face in the mirror for long enough your mind would distort the image in a rather frightful manner, so I was going to set up the bathroom with candles and a chair, the lights turned off.

Jake decided he was going to set up a game of Dead Man's Brains.

If you've ever read Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, you've probably heard of this game. You set up a series of boxes with bits of cloth loosely covering the opening, and place within each box some nasty object that feels like the body part of a dead man. Peeled grapes for eyes, a bowl of diluted ketchup for blood, a mushy tomato for the titular brain, etc. There was a sort of pseudo-poem that was supposed to go along with it, but Jake didn't really care to stick too close to the traditional version, he said he would put his own twist on it. We all thought it was a great idea, and that it fit the theme perfectly. Jake even went about making some custom boxes for the affair, each labeled with the "body part" in question, deciding that his version would consist of eyeballs, guts, heart, fingers, and of course, the titular brains.

The months until the party turned into weeks, then days, until finally it was time for the night itself. I arrived early, along with Sadie, so we could set up our activities in advance of the guests, but Jake was nowhere to be found. We texted him, but received no response, which was a bit worrying, but we tried to work around it, assuming that something had come up that was occupying his attention for a bit.

In terms of costumes, Sadie and Jessica had decided to go as Carmilla and Laura from Carmilla. We had recently watched the film Dracula's Daughter which was loosely inspired by the novella, and while the film itself was so-so, it had inspired the two of them to read the source material, which they quite enjoyed. Given Sadie's relative short stature in comparison to Jessica, it was somewhat amusing to observe a Carmilla who would need a step stool in order to successfully suck out her victim's blood.

As for me, I had chosen to dress as the witch Keziah Mason from Lovecraft's tale Dreams in the Witch House. It was a simple matter of getting some puritan-esque clothes, a ragged gray shawl, and a small toy rat with the bearded face of an action figure swapped for the head. All in all I thought the effect was rather good, though I didn't go to the effort of attempting to age myself with makeup.

Jessica's apple bobbing station and Sadie's pumpkin autopsy table were set up quickly, and I went about preparing all the necessary alterations to the bathroom. At this point, the first guests were expected to arrive, and we were all growing increasingly concerned by Jake's continued absence. We tried calling him, but were directed straight to voice mail. Of the four of us, Jake was usually the most punctual, so this was a very strange change of character. We decided we would have to start without him, not that we had much choice in the matter, as soon as we had said this, our first guests began to pour in.

Our first visitors of the evening were Ashley and Dawn, fresh from their honeymoon in British Columbia. Dawn seemed dressed like something out of a World War 2 propaganda poster, with a plaid shirt and open welding mask. Ashley's costume seemed to be a character out of some cartoon or video game which I wasn't familiar with, pink hair in a punk style with large mechanical boxing gloves of some sort. Regardless of my unfamiliarity with the subject matter, the costume did seem to be quite well made, and despite the lack of matching with regards to their costumes, the two of them made quite the cute couple.

We had only just managed to finish introductions when Sock and his boyfriend arrived next. Sock is quite the artist, with talents in more mediums than I can count, one of those people who is less a jack of all trades and more a master of all trades. It seemed he had turned his artistic skills towards papier mache most recently, as the costume he wore seemed primarily made using the technique. It was some sort of monstrous beast, all fangs, claws, and scaly skin, and though it was quite impressive I couldn't quite discern if it was meant to reference something else or if it was an original creation of Sock's. Sock's boyfriend, whose name I can never recall, simply wore a cheap mad scientist outfit, complete with goggles and long black gloves. He was a rather short, anxious gentleman, a mycologist by trade if I recall correctly, and while he did seem to enjoy himself as the evening progressed, he tended to just hover around his boyfriend nervously.

Next came Carlos and Elizabeth, the two of them sharing a ride to save money. Both had just landed after extremely long flights, Carlos from Brazil and Elizabeth from France, and it was clear from their bleary eyes and occasionally spacey looks that they were jet-lagged to Hell and back. Carlos hadn't really had time to get any sort of costume ready, so simply wore some nice tweeds and a sign hanging from his neck reading "I am a human puppet". Elizabeth meanwhile had managed to put on some clown makeup. In spite of their tiredness, the two of them seemed to perk up quite quickly, as this was the first time any of us had the opportunity to meet up in person with them, and our enthusiasm was infectious.

Second to last arrived Astra, clad in the garb of a Napoleonic soldier, and I knew even without asking that every aspect of the uniform was sure to be as accurate as possible. Within minutes of her arrival, Astra, Carlos, and Elizabeth were instantly locked in conversation regarding the intricacies of lightweight tabletop role playing game design, a topic they continued to discuss for much of the party.

Finally, after every other guest had long since made their way to the party, did Jake show up. There was a knock upon Jessica's thick wooden door, and since everyone else was otherwise occupied in conversation, I went to answer it. I found myself standing face to face with a gas-masked infantryman of the Great War, complete with Brodie helmet and a replica Webley revolver which I lent him. Next to him were a series of wooden boxes. I greeted him with a hug, which he responded with silently and stiffly. Something was wrong, but I didn't know what.

He pressed a piece of folded up paper into my hand, which I read immediately. It said, Sorry for being late. Couldn't find the card for the train. I've got a cold and I've lost my voice. I'll probably have to leave early, but I figured I should at least show up as long as I can. Would have told you earlier but my phone stopped working, I think the battery gave out.

I apologized profusely for the hardships he had experienced and ushered him into the house to the cheers of our friends, carrying the boxes he had brought for him. Each box was made of dark stained wood with an opening covered in black cloth, with a label burned above the openings stating which "body part" was contained within each one. It was really quite impressive, and I complimented Jake on his handywork, to which he simply nodded.

I helped him set up the game of Dead Man's Brains on the table we had set aside for it, and the rest of the party continued as planned, though the distinctive absence of Jake's voice was noticeable.

Everything about the party was perfect. Legitimately, I do not think I have ever had a happier occasion in my entire life. There was laughter, jokes, at some point or another Ashley and Dawn broke out some card games, Elizabeth ran a quick session of a horror TTRPG of her own design, it was a truly magical evening. The theme of the classic Halloween party didn't go unobserved either. Plenty of time was spent bobbing for apples, staring into the mirror by candlelight (though it did admittedly devolve into chanting of "Bloody Mary" rather quickly), carving pumpkins, and everyone in the party adored Jake's rendition of Dead Man's Brains. He accepted each compliment with a polite nod and a tip of his helmet.

There were five boxes, labeled "Eyes", "Guts", "Fingers", "Heart" and finally, "Brain". I've always been somewhat squeamish when it came to rotten fruit, raw meat and other such inedible foodstuffs, and what I felt in those boxes quickly triggered that latent disgust. I only managed to get to guts before I had to dip out, laughingly explaining that I would vomit if I had to undergo the whole thing. There were many jokes about me being a pussy, but I wasn't pressured into doing the rest of it.

We had already planned to make the party into a sleepover, since we didn't expect anyone to shell out the money for a hotel. As the evening wound down, out came the air mattresses and pillows. As soon as it was clear that the more active part of the evening was coming to a close, Jake quietly excused himself, handing a note to Jessica thanking her for hosting the party. We all gave our fondest fairwells to him, each of us hugging him in turn, and he left with a final wave and a cheerful salute.

We all slept soundly that night, happy from the company of friends and tired from a night of childlike, innocent fun. It was such a perfect party, and despite what I know now, I still find myself reliving that night over and over in my head, remembering how happy and content I felt.

Everything changed in the morning. I had woken up earlier than usual, nose wrinkling due to an unfamiliar stench. I got up to investigate, more intent on getting rid of it so I could go back to sleep than getting up for the day proper.

The smell came from the boxes, a rotten, sickly odor. The scent of meat just beginning to spoil. I remember mentally kicking myself for not reminding Jake to take them with him when he left. I put on a pair of rubber gloves and reached inside, trying not to gag. I started with the box labeled "Eyes".

I must have woken up the whole neighborhood with my screaming.

The police were there within 15 minutes to take our testimony. They kept asking everyone for a description of the suspect, what he looked like, and we just had to shake our heads and tell them we didn't know. That we couldn't tell who he was underneath the gas mask. Hell, we didn't even know if "he" was a he. We didn't see their face after all.

They took the eyes, the intestines, the severed fingers, the heart, and the severed head with the top of the skull neatly removed as evidence, but I imagine Jake's family were swiftly given custody of the remains shortly afterwards. It's not like forensics would be able to get any usable fingerprints off of them, given how many of us had touched them.

[broadphilly]

Brian...

Over the years, I built certain principles of dating that's helped me avoid my mistakes of the past. For instance, don't swipe right on a profile where his photos are just himself (no friends?). Also, avoid the ones with a bio that's only their instagram handle... please tell every college student this. Of course, as we age we keep self-selecting down to a more narrow group of individuals. This isn't new, but what becomes new over time is the *type* of guy you add to the list. A new genre of gay men that's recently come about since the pandemic was exactly that: the guy that is stuck in summer 2020 of urban outfitters tops and jeans, posting pictures enlarging the length of their legs, and having that one filter that aims to be retro but actually comes across as disturbingly fried. I unknowingly met this type and thus became the catalyst for the creation of this blog. Meet Brian.

I met Brian over tinder a week ago when I first downloaded the app to try and meet new people, though my intentions and motivations are to be discussed another time... Brian was a 21-year-old college student who was more direct than others in going on a date to get to know someone rather then gradually do the cat-and-mouse chase of tinder to following each other on instragram to FaceTime to finally a date if you're lucky. Brian seemed nice, he was one of the more rare individuals you meet on tinder that actually asks you questions about yourself on top of the conversation you're having. We met at Rittenhouse Square Park over wine I brought.

Brian showed up in a white crochet short sleeve short, long brown corduroy pants with black platform converse. He also brought a tote bag that also wanted to come across as diy but the aesthetically-saturated pattern immediately screamed Urban Outfitters to me. Looking nothing into it at the moment, I tried the basic tactics of first dates: how was your day, so where is your family from, do you like your neighborhood? I knew it was going to be a bad date when every answer he gave was "yeaaa..." or "no..." and his eyes would divert to a tree behind me but his eyes clearly not focusing in on anything. So you said you're from Haddonfield... I work around there. Do you like the shops on Haddon Ave? I ask. I hate New Jersey, he says. That sucks, why do you say that? It's boring. Another conversation looked like this: I ask, are you a film buff if you go to an art school? I don't know. I don't know any movies really. I couldn't help but sit with ten seconds of silence, just for him to realize how utterly monotone he was. I thought to myself: is this going to be the first date you actually walk away from mid-date?

We already made plans to go to a bar after the wine finished, which I quickly drowned down in hopes of not finding the shortness anymore annoying as it was to sober me. I offer we go, thinking the night will result in an awkward hug after a couple vodka sodas. I already pulled out cash before heading into Dirty Franks, since my debit card snapped in half and I've yet to order a new one. It's been broken for 5 weeks, but the chip still works. Brian didn't bring any cash... but I was quick to cover our two vodka crans at $12 plus tip. The conversations only picked up here, where I suspected he was more drunk and maybe less nervous. For some reason, I thought that was cute. We both ended up having the same favorite albums: Folklore by Taylor Swift and Norman Fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Rey. Adding Lorde and Clairo to my list, he seemed to be drawn in. I looked into his face more tentatively in the loud bar, his jawline looking sharper. The 1970s pornstache he was going for looked more developed and attractive. I knew then I was going to take him home. We finished our second drinks and he ordered the Uber home, for which I was going to hit myself if I really had to pay for the Uber, too.

At my apartment, Brian somehow found a glass in a cabinet and helped himself to water. I found that rather invasive, but I chalked it up to the inhibition following our Moscow mules. We chatted over tv shows back at the bar, agreeing to finally introduce Sex and the City to him via my laptop in bed. I always offer my guests shorts or sweatpants before getting in bed, offering looser clothes I won't be mad at getting ripped. Brian took a pair of black lululemon shorts, slipping into my covers next to me as I turned on the pilot episode. Quickly the episode ended, and he was quick to turning onto me, wrapping his leg around me to get on top. It was rather intense sex, with his pornstache being rough against my chin and lips. We flipped and turned over each other about three times before he went down on me, being surprisingly slow and wet with it. I did the same in return, putting both my hands around it and just being glad it wasn't as square as the guy before him. The sex became freaky to me, for a first date and all. With him sitting on top, his hands were warm around me before fitting it in. Never really having bottomed (or at least liking it for longer than 2 seconds), I'm also sure to be as gentle and deep as I can inside someone. It didn't take us long, and I tossed a towel to wipe everything off his stomach. Then the sleep came quickly and quietly, we didn't say goodnight.

The next morning, Brian had woken up earlier than me and I heard him get up at least three times for the bathroom before I actually checked my phone. 8:34 AM, I had work at 11. He suggested getting breakfast, and since he lived near where I work, I offered to drive us to a cafe in Haddonfield. On the way there, I tried my best to be cool again by curating music to play on the 30 minute car ride on a rainy, humid day. Andromeda by Weyes Blood, Spring by Angel Olsen, Sometimes by Faye Webster. There was a terrible accident over the Ben Franklin, causing all traffic to merge right, where we needed to take the left exit. I'm hungover. My head and my stomach, not good, he says. I'm sorry, I think some coffee and a sandwich will help, I say. We didn't really talk in the car, which bothered me. Even the questions like did you sleep okay only resulted in a yea... As we approached Haddonfield on Haddon Ave, he said in his very monotone voice: I'm going to throw up.

5 minutes away from the cafe, I thought he was just being dramatic since his face didn't read as urgent as his statement. Are you okay, do you want me to pull over? I chuckle. Yes, like now. I pull into the parking lot of a bank and as I'm putting the car into park he reaches for the handle before I could park and vomits on the side of my car and into the road, the car not even parked into a parking spot. I didn't see it, but it sounded aggravating, and splattered heavy. He stops after I ask if he's okay and needs anything (I had nothing but my laptop and tote bag), and I softly say, let's get you home, we'll worry about the coffee shop another time. As he closes the door, we drive to his address. Not 1 minute into the drive he says I'm not done and I park just on the other side of the parking lot before he expels everything left in him. I need to be motionless for just one minute, he says. I offer to get him water and he says okay in a way that says "Thanks, but no." At this point I wonder where to go from here, if he's even going to make it from to his house or if we're going to have to sit for a half hour while he sleeps it off. He gives a thumbs up to me as he picks his head up from the side off the car, and we drive away from what felt like a crime scene. The cafe will probably always be there, I say in an attempt to lighten the mood. He apologizes, and tries to make it up by asking me if I'm free Saturday. In my head, I could only think: please do not try and make up for this. Let's just be honest and take this as a lesson for the future.

Yours: know your limit if you're going to be driving back after a night of drinking. Mine: don't prolong a date with a guy who's taste you're not exactly of a fan of. It's not that I think the aesthetic is shitty or people who shop at Urban Outfitters are close-sighted, tacky assholes, but I think the fast fashion loving, calculated yet depthless aesthetic Brian put together reflected exactly the type of person who would present themselves as such. I actually work both mornings this weekend, 9-11 AM, I say. It was true, but I suggest maybe next weekend to be nice. As I pull up to his destination, he makes it worse to me by adding sternness to taking the offer: Okay, we'll see each other next Saturday. I would kiss you, but I don't want to be gross. It's okay, I- I would also give you a kiss if I could, I shyly say. He closes the door, and I proceed to the coffee shop we were supposed to go to.

[criticalbennifer]

Ben Affleck on ‘Air,’ New CEO Gig and Those Memes: “I Am Who I Am”

The actor, filmmaker and budding mogul on the disruptive production company he launched with Matt Damon, why he’s done with D.C., getting Michael Jordan’s blessing for his new film and the advice wife Jennifer Lopez gave him for this interview.

By Rebecca Keegan

March 16, 2023

It’s been 25 years since Ben Affleck became the youngest person to win the Oscar for best original screenplay at age 25 for Good Will Hunting, which he wrote with Matt Damon; 16 years since he directed his critically acclaimed first feature, Gone Baby Gone; and a decade since he won best picture for Argo, a film Affleck directed, starred in and produced. His four features as a director — all thrillers and dramas instead of the kind of franchise films that drive the modern box office — have made nearly $450 million worldwide.

It’s an enviable filmmaking résumé, and one that pretty much nobody brings up when you say the name Ben Affleck. But while the world has been scrutinizing his marriage, his mood and his coffee order, Affleck has been quietly building a new production company, Artists Equity, with Damon, founded on the premise of profit-sharing among not only directors, producers and actors but also crewmembers such as cinematographers, editors and costume designers.

Affleck and Damon obtained at least $100 million in financing from investment firm RedBird Capital Partners to start and made their own financial contributions to Artists Equity, with Affleck, 50, serving as CEO, and Damon, 52, as chief creative officer. “Ben and I have both been making movies for over 30 years,” says Damon. “We know the things that actually matter to people — but ask Ben to see the spreadsheets.”

Their company’s first movie and Affleck’s latest as a director, is Air, the story of how Michael Jordan’s family and a group of executives at Nike revolutionized the business with one historic sneaker deal. Air, which Amazon will release wide theatrically April 5 ahead of its premiere on Prime, stars Viola Davis as Jordan’s mother; Damon, Chris Tucker and Jason Bateman as execs at Nike; and Affleck as Nike co-founder and former CEO Phil Knight. Making Air was “an unbelievable experience that me and my husband and even my hair and makeup team still talk about to this day,” says Davis, whose husband, actor and producer Julius Tennon, plays Jordan’s father in the film. “Ben’s an auteur and so unbelievably kind and respectful. It was one of our top experiences of being treated the way we felt we deserved to be treated.”

Over the course of two wide-ranging interviews in March, Affleck spoke with THR about what he’s learned from his ups and downs — from a tearful moment in 2007, when he realized his career wasn’t actually over, to the agony of almost wishing that it was, on Justice League. Affleck describes what it was like to wear the Batsuit once more for this summer’s The Flash, how he secured Jordan’s blessing for Air, what advice wife Jennifer Lopez gave him for the movie and this interview, and what it’s like to be a walking meme: “At a certain point,” says Affleck, “I am who I am.”

You recently had COVID. How are you feeling?

I’d had it a couple of times and been asymptomatic, and so I got kind of cavalier and a little bit like, “Wow, COVID doesn’t really actually affect me. I’m one of those people.” And then I just got annihilated. I had the no-energy COVID, where it was too much work to pick up the phone to play Octordle.

To play what?

Octordle. It’s just Wordle with more words. Don’t be impressed, it’s not harder. I was invited to join a cool little red velvet rope celebrity Wordle group. Matt [Damon]’s one of them. Jason Bateman and Bradley [Cooper], and … Actually, the first rule of Wordle is don’t talk about Wordle. Unless you get it in three guesses. I used to do the crossword compulsively in the mornings and think I was good at word games. And let’s face it, going up against actors, it’s not a high bar. I expected to do fairly well, so I was seriously humbled. You have to do the Wordle, the Quordle and the Octordle, and add up your score, and then whoever gets the lowest score wins for the day. It’s fiercely competitive, and there’s a lot of mockery and derision. So I’m in training.

You and Matt Damon are starting a company together more than 40 years after you became friends. I’m curious about the longevity of the friendship and the business relationship, and how that works.

I suppose the reason it works is that I trust him and love him, and I know that this is somebody with integrity. In this business, failure is hard, and success is confusing and can make you lose your bearings. Having that friendship as a touchstone over the years was really meaningful. One of the things we reflected on when we did The Last Duel that caused us to want to do this company together was the fact that we wished we’d kept working together more over the years. We fell prey to this idea that, “Well, if you don’t individuate your careers and do your own things, people will always associate you together. That will be limiting.”

Was that advice you got?

That was advice we got. And also just a function of the fact that our goal was to work as actors. The motivation behind making Good Will Hunting was to serve as an acting reel so that we could get jobs as actors, not because we wanted to be writers. So when we became successful and had the opportunity to do movies, we took them. And it’s very hard to let go of that hand-to-mouth mentality you have as an actor. The phone could stop ringing at any time, and especially where Matt and I grew up pretty modestly, it was almost irresponsible to not take a job where they were going to pay you a lot of money. My mother made, I don’t know, $30,000 a year as a public school teacher in Boston. And I remember making $600,000 for Armageddon and thinking, “This is 20 years of my mother’s salary.” It just seemed absurd that you would pass on that opportunity, no matter what it was. A thing that you have to learn — one of many things we helped one another with — is that at a certain point, it becomes very meaningful the things you turn down, in terms of the kind of career that you create.

There’s a version of your life now where you direct a movie every couple of years, go to your kids’ basketball games and hang out by the pool with your wife. So why are you adding this new role of running a company?

My wife doesn’t have a lot of downtime. But that does sound great. You’re making assumptions that I wish were true but aren’t, which is … I’ve had a number of movies I wanted to direct that were like, “Yeah, we want to do it in Bulgaria.” And I’m like, “In Bulgaria?”

One of the reasons I did it was, I’m divorced. I share custody. I don’t want to go to Austin and New Orleans and Georgia anymore and not see my kids. It just doesn’t work. These years are too important. If I miss them, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. And then I thought, “OK, well, if I’m in Los Angeles and I’m in an office and I’m doing this work, I can step out for the basketball game or the jazz performance.” So I protect those things.

Is that working?

I’ve found that people are taking me quite seriously. As an actor, people look at you, like, “He doesn’t really mean that.” But [in business] they treat it as sacrosanct. They’ll go, “Yeah, well, we were going to have that meeting with the heads of the Five Families, but you had your kid’s basketball game.” Now, my parents never came to one Little League game ever, once. But in the modern era of raising children, with three kids, 11, 14, and 17, and three schools with their individual activities, it turns out that is in and of itself a total full-time job.

You’re launching this company at a time when the movie business is changing.

When The Way Back came out, I knew. It came out the weekend they shut the theaters down with COVID. But that’s not an excuse. Because I knew as it was coming out, just the tracking, I was like, “OK, here’s a movie about a guy, son dies, gets divorced, alcoholic. Nobody’s going to go to the theater to see this fucking movie. They’re just not.” I felt it. Succession is on. Ozark. Narcos. Game of Thrones. You’re not competing with [1980s crime drama] Simon & Simon on an 11-inch black-and-white TV. There’s really beautiful stuff being made. My daughter is 17. She lives her life largely in opposition to the work her parents have spent their lives dedicated to, where she’ll say things like, “I’m not sure film is really … Do you think it’s a genuine art form?” I like the fact that she has this silver rapier tongue. But anyway, I went into it going, “OK, these movies aren’t fucking working anymore. And these are the ones I like.”

As opposed to —

The Justice League experience, the fact that those stories became somewhat repetitive to me and less interesting. Yeah, I did finally figure out how to play that character [Batman], and I nailed it in The Flash. For the five minutes I’m there, it’s really great. A lot of it’s just tone. You’ve got to figure out, what’s your version of the person? Who is the guy that fits what you can do? I tried to fit myself into a Batman. And by the way, I like a lot of the stuff we did, especially the first one [Batman v Superman].

But not Justice League. What went wrong there?

Justice League … You could teach a seminar on all the reasons why this is how not to do it. Ranging from production to bad decisions to horrible personal tragedy, and just ending with the most monstrous taste in my mouth. The genius, and the silver lining, is that Zack Snyder eventually went to AT&T and was like, “Look, I can get you four hours of content.” And it’s principally just all the slow motion that he shot in black-and-white. And one day of shooting with me and him. He was like, “Do you want to come shoot in my backyard?” I was like, “I think there are unions, Zack. I think we have to make a deal.” But I went and did it. And now [Zack Snyder’s Justice League] is my highest-rated movie on IMDb.

Isn’t that because Zack Snyder’s fans are so intense online?

Say what you want, it is my highest-rated career movie. I’ve never had one that went from nadir to pinnacle. Retroactively, it’s a hit. All of a sudden I was getting congratulated for the bomb I’m in. But I was going to direct a Batman, and [Justice League] made me go, “I’m out. I never want to do any of this again. I’m not suited.” That was the worst experience I’ve ever seen in a business which is full of some shitty experiences. It broke my heart. There was an idea of someone [Joss Whedon] coming in, like, “I’ll rescue you and we’ll do 60 days of shooting and I’ll write a whole thing around what you have. I’ve got the secret.” And it wasn’t the secret. That was hard. And I started to drink too much. I was back at the hotel in London, it was either that or jump out the window. And I just thought, “This isn’t the life I want. My kids aren’t here. I’m miserable.” You want to go to work and find something interesting to hang onto, rather than just wearing a rubber suit, and most of it you’re just standing against the computer screen going, “If this nuclear waste gets loose, we’ll …” That’s fine. I don’t condescend to that or put it down, but I got to a point where I found it creatively not satisfying. Also just, you’re sweaty and exhausted. And I thought, “I don’t want to participate in this in any way. And I don’t want to squander any more of my life, of which I have a limited amount.”

So if DC came to you now and said, “Do you want to direct something?”

I would not direct something for the [James] Gunn DC. Absolutely not. I have nothing against James Gunn. Nice guy, sure he’s going to do a great job. I just wouldn’t want to go in and direct in the way they’re doing that. I’m not interested in that.

I heard you say recently, “Fifteen percent of movie budgets are waste.” Which 15 percent are you talking about?

I don’t believe in the whole “I get paid even in failure” thing. It always struck me as bizarre that I walked away with so much money from Gigli and everyone else got flattened. Seems a little bit like I was not aligned quite with the investors in that regard.

The studios and the people who make the movies are increasingly separate, from different worlds. They don’t understand one another’s values, and there’s suspicion. And it creates conflict. I was on [my 2016 movie] Live by Night, and they were dressing an extra — it must have cost $700 to dress this extra in the period. Five hundred feet away from the camera. And we were waiting while they did the touch-ups. And it was just like, “Guys. This is not meaningful, but it’s taking away from the time and the resources we have to do something authentically enough that it moves the audience. They don’t care if the curls are 1930 or 1920.”

How did you approach Michael Jordan about the story you’re telling in Air? Did you know each other?

I periodically play cards sometimes with Michael, and we’ve got mutual friends, and … None of it sounds good, OK? And it’s not like he’d be like, “Oh yeah, Ben’s my boy.” (Imitating Jordan’s voice.) He’d be like, “Yeah, I know him.” Jordan is — he’s a hero to me. And I know how important and meaningful a figure he is, in particular in the African American community. If you’re going to fuck around with talking about Michael Jordan, do it respectfully. Nobody’s asking you to do a hagiography, but get it fucking right. I’ve never known anybody with that kind of charisma and power who walks into a room and it just reverberates. And is it him or is it the way people treat him? Is it your memories of him? I don’t know, but it’s powerful. I said, “Please, can I come out?” And he was great. “Yeah, no problem. Come to the golf course.” Went out, met with him. I waited for him to finish playing. I don’t golf myself. Because I just feel like it eats people’s lives up.

Golf?

I look at golf like meth. They have better teeth, but it doesn’t seem like people ever come out of that. Once they start golfing, you just don’t ever see them again. So anyway, I waited. I have to be very clear, this is not the authorized Michael Jordan story. He was not compensated in a way that would be appropriate if this were that. If you’re going to do a Michael Jordan story, they should back the fucking truck up. This was me saying, “Mike, I’m not going to make the movie if you’re not cool with something about it. I just won’t do it. I want to know what’s important to you.” He was very clear. He was the one who told me about [Nike executive] Howard White, who wasn’t in the original script, who’s played by Chris Tucker. And I said, “Any anecdotes about your dad?” And without going into any more detail, he actually talked about his mom, who wasn’t really in the script. That’s when I understood what the movie was. Talking to him about his mom was incredibly moving, and I realized, “Oh, this isn’t about Nike.”

I said, “So, do you have any ideas about who would …?” And immediately I was like, “Oh, fuck.” Because I’m about to ask him who to cast. And if I don’t get them, it’s going to look to him like I ignored him. It’s actually hard to get actors. And I knew who he was going to say because it was the same person that I’ve wanted to direct for so long, who I think is … I don’t think there’s an objective best actor. But I do think there’s a group of people who you can say, “These are the best actors in the world.” And Viola’s quite obviously among them. And [Jordan] looked at me real straight and — by the way, there’s one line for the mother character in the movie at this point — and I’m thinking, “Oh my God, he wants me to offer this to Viola Davis. How am I going to offer Viola Davis a movie with one line? That’s not going to happen.” But he was like, “That’s my mom.” He was dead serious. “Viola Davis, that’s my mom.” And that was it. Discussion was over. However it happened, it wasn’t his problem, but it was going to fucking happen. And I was like, “OK, Mike.”

How did you get Viola Davis?

Begging. I’m sure it was because I said, “Michael Jordan wants you to play his mom.” It certainly wasn’t “Ben Affleck wants you to be in his movie.” She’s not comfortable with sycophancy or obsequiousness. You can tell it chafes her. I just treated her with respect, which is to say, “When you’re ready, let me know. We’ll be here.” I want what she does in the movie to be a surprise — because as I started writing and working with Matt, and Jen [Lopez] gave me some great lines too — it just started getting better.

What was Jen’s input on the script?

Oh my God, she’s brilliant. She is incredibly knowledgeable about the way fashion evolves through the culture as a confluence of music, sports, entertainment and dance. She helped me in talking about the way in which a part of the reason why Jordans [the shoes] were so meaningful is because culture and style in America is 90 percent driven by Black culture. Black culture has historically pioneered music, dance, fashion, and it’s then been stolen, appropriated, remarketed as Elvis or whatever. And in this case, [Nike], a white-run corporate entity, was starting to do business with African American athletes in an identity affiliation sales thing. They were really taking value from what Michael Jordan represents and who he is. I don’t think the meaning can be overstated. They’re going to switch from “Hey, guys, we are a nice shoe,” to “If Mike has it, you want it.”

What you expressed about white America using Black culture, as a white filmmaker telling this story, do you risk replicating that dynamic?

I wouldn’t make a movie whose central premise is the appropriation of Black culture for profit by white Americans. That’s not my film to make. I’m telling a story that’s about a combination of things, and this is one aspect of it. I’m not going to omit it because to omit it would further compound the disrespect. What I am going to do is talk to people who understand it better than I do and who can help me contextualize it, and that was [costume designer] Charlese [Antoinette Jones], that was Viola. Chris [Tucker], he gave me monologues, he gave me scenes, and it was very organic. And that’s why I was like, “I want Chris paid as a writer also. I want to be very clear that he is a contributing voice to this movie.” We [Affleck, Damon and Tucker] didn’t end up asking for [writing] credit on the movie. But it’s important for me to say Chris Tucker is a fucking really good writer.

Why did you make the choice to never show Michael Jordan’s face in this movie? You cast a body double and you shot him from behind or in profile.

Jordan is too big. He exists above and around the story, but if you ever concretize him, if you ever say, “Yes, that’s Michael Jordan,” we know it’s not, really. It’s fake. I thought if the audience brought everything they thought and remembered about him and what he meant to them to the movie and projected it onto the movie, it worked better.

What kind of conversation did you have with Nike about how you would portray the company?

I did not have a conversation with Nike because I didn’t feel the same sense of personal responsibility [as I did to Michael Jordan] because it’s not a history of Nike. There’s interviews and books about that.

The operating principle of Artists Equity is that people who work on a film have an ownership stake in it. How did that work on Air?

I was talking to [cinematographer] Bob Richardson. He’s a genius. And I said, “Bob, what if I gave you a million bucks to save me five [million]? Could you do it?” And he goes, “Fuck, I’ll save you 10.” There are people who just have their hand on the wheel in ways people don’t understand. Your editor, producer, DP, first AD, production designer. The idea is you get really good people, and you say to them, “Look, if we’re able to accomplish what we set out to accomplish, you’re going to participate in a very significant way in the delta between what the movie costs to make and what we sell it for.” The people who were bonused on this movie, like Bob and all the crew, their bonus was a piece of the pool of the sale [to Amazon]. Almost all of them are, on a weekly basis now, the highest-paid crewpeople in history, by a multiple.

Do you want Artists Equity to stay independent or do you want a studio deal?

The first-look deal is going to be a dinosaur very soon. It’s a horrendous deal. You’re restricting yourself in unimaginably disastrous ways for a few shiny trinkets. The experiment for me is to say [to the studio], “Don’t worry about what the budget is. That’s my job. I’m going to do my best with the budget. I’m going to guarantee you and cover all the overages. And, by the way, director, actor, company, all on the hook for overage.”

So is there a scenario where your DP would have to pay money if you went over budget? Crews usually don’t assume that kind of risk.

They’d make much less because we’d go, “We went over, guys, so you’re going to get paid like a scale movie.” So the compensation is, if we do very well, Bob should do galactically well, so should our first AD, and so should Chris Tucker, Viola Davis, Matt Damon, who are driving the value. At studios, historically you’d go in, pitch, and then they’d quietly go back to marketing and distribution and say, “Well, let’s run the numbers.” And they’d go to the territories and talk about genre and stars. Now, it’s a much more coarse process. They say, “Well, we have 118 categories [for content]. We know X works and Y, and so we’ll pay Z for that.” But there’s no formula for something being good. At Artists Equity, we have a joint venture with a data research AI-modeling company that has a lot of consumer information. We can reach out to people and go, “What are you watching? Do you like this?” The inscrutability around the streamers is very frustrating because you go, “Are people watching this or not?”

Do the streamers give you data on your movies?

No, they won’t.

Let’s say one of your old movies is a hit on a streaming service and —

Well, last year, [my 2010 movie] The Town licensed for $15 million again. Because it streams. That’s the other big tenet of our company: We seek to retain the negative, to be the copyright holder, which we share with the artist. Being the copyright holder, even if it’s in 15 years when it reverts — and it should revert — you should own it because if it works, if it’s Shawshank Redemption, they’re still fucking watching it. The biggest thing on Netflix is Friends. There’s enormous value in libraries. And the streamers have overreached and recaptured too much value. The old gross days, you could really make money. They’ve taken away some of that value, so I need at least to be able to know, “Hey, look, I know people are watching. I know what this is worth to you.”

Amazon is releasing Air in theaters. When you started on this movie, did you envision it for streaming or theaters?

I assumed it would be a streaming movie because I thought maybe dramas would never come out again in theaters. The Way Back, when they pulled it, I was so heartbroken. And then [former Warner Bros. Pictures chairman Toby Emmerich] was like, “We’re going to rush it onto iTunes.” And then I got all these emails and calls and people saw it. That was the day I thought, “Well, shit, I’d rather people see the movie. I like a theater as much as the next guy, but a tree falling in the woods.” And now there’s an enormous pressure that I feel here. I mean, I hope that it works.

Why aren‘t you on Instagram? Your wife is very good at it.

My wife’s a genius at that. I don’t know if there’s anybody who understands Instagram better than her. In fact, she gave me a talk this morning before this interview. She thinks that because of experiences that I’ve had, I’ve become very guarded. And she’s right. I view these things as land mines, where if you say one wrong thing, your career might be over. I had a really painful experience where I did an interview where I was really vulnerable, and the entire pickup was something that was not only not right, it was actually the opposite of what I meant.

This is when you were on Howard Stern and you talked about drinking toward the end of your marriage to Jennifer Garner?

The idea that I was blaming my wife for my drinking. To be clear, my behavior is my responsibility entirely. The point that I was trying to make was a sad one. Anyone who’s been through divorce makes that calculus of, How much do we try? We loved each other. We care about each other. We have respect for each other. I was trying to say, “Hey, look, I was drinking too much, and the less happy you become, whether it’s your job, your marriage, it’s just that as your life becomes more difficult, if you’re doing things to fill a hole that aren’t healthy, you’re going to start doing more of those things.” I think I was pretty articulate about that. It was the New York Post who deliberately mischaracterized it in order to make it clickbait, and everyone else then picked it up, and it didn’t matter how many times I said, “I do not feel this way. I’m telling you, I don’t blame my ex-wife for my alcoholism.” So, yeah. It’s hard. But anyway, so [Jennifer Lopez] tells me today, “Relax, be yourself. Have fun. You’re actually a fun guy who is real and genuine and you just seem so serious.” Do I seem serious? But as in many things, she’s really right. And she loves me. She’s looking out for me. She’s trying to help me. So it’s like, maybe I ought to fucking listen to her.

Yesterday there was a news cycle devoted to your parallel parking.

Dude, you know how many people can get in that spot? That was world-class Boston finesse. Granted, I did decide maybe I’m not going to bump these people anymore because it’s the Pacific Palisades and they may view bumping the bumper differently than we did back home, but it was so fucking snug. I’ve never gotten a spot that good. It was not parking assist either. It wasn’t blocking anything, but I’m sure it was like, “Ben Affleck blocks traffic.”

Did you mind the “Ben Affleck having a bad time at the Grammys” meme?

No. I had a good time at the Grammys. My wife was going, and I thought, “Well, there’ll be good music. It might be fun.” At movie award shows, it’s speeches and, like, sound-mixing webinars. But I thought this would be fun. I saw [Grammy host Trevor Noah approach] and I was like, “Oh, God.” They were framing us in this shot, but I didn’t know they were rolling. I leaned into her and I was like, “As soon they start rolling, I’m going to slide away from you and leave you sitting next to Trevor.” She goes, “You better fucking not leave.” That’s a husband-and-wife thing. I mean, some of it is, I’m like, “All right, who is this act?” Like, I don’t keep up. My wife does, obviously. And yeah, it is your wife’s work event. And I’ve gone to events and been pissed off. I’ve gone and been bored. I’ve gone to award shows and been drunk, a bunch. Nobody ever once said I’m drunk. [But at the Grammys] they were like, “He’s drunk.” And I thought, that’s interesting. That raises a whole other thing about whether or not it’s wise to acknowledge addiction because there’s a lot of compassion, but there is still a tremendous stigma, which is often quite inhibiting. I do think it disincentivizes people from making their lives better.

How has talking publicly about your alcoholism impacted you?

I became — out of no desire of my own — one of the poster boys for actor alcoholism and recovery and the whole thing. And the best part about that is that sometimes people call me up and they’re like, “Hey, can you help me out?” And it makes me feel so good to do that. The big trick of 12-step is the reason they want you to help other people is because it actually helps you more. And often what I’ll say to people is, I would avoid [your addiction] coming out if I were you. You don’t need to be anybody’s poster child. You don’t need to fucking tell anybody. That’s why there’s two words on the front of the book. They’re just as important, both of them: Alcoholics Anonymous. It’s always anonymous.

Can you tell me about your performance in Air as Nike founder Phil Knight?

Phil is an interesting guy. I got really interested in Buddhism because I have a difficult time with the theistic aspects of AA. I’ve just always been a skeptic. One of the things I like about Buddhism is it’s like, believe what you believe. If this doesn’t seem true to you, don’t believe. We’re not going to burn you alive. Anyway, so here’s this guy [Phil Knight]. He talks about Buddhism, Eastern philosophy. He also talks about being a ruthless capitalist. So right there, I think this is a guy of many contradictions, which is fun to play. There’s a tension between having once been the entrepreneur, the guy selling shoes out of your car, and now running a big company, being responsible for everyone’s jobs. That’s a real change. And how do you reconcile that? The way he vacillates [about spending to sign Michael Jordan] but in the end goes for it. When we tested the movie in Vegas, people cheered. I was happy because I thought, “Good, they get it.” But I did not expect the audience to stand up and cheer for Phil Knight. I think it speaks to the fact that in this culture, we venerate capitalists. It’s our version of the divine right of kings.

I showed it to Paul [Thomas] Anderson, my favorite director of all time. He knows I really look up to him. And he was like, “This is just a fun movie. I like this movie.” And I’m thinking, “Is it a masterpiece?” Because I think he really is a genius. This guy knows how to do this. Sometimes I get a sort of a [Antonio] Salieri feeling around him. Yeah, I’m good enough to know how great you really are. See, this is me being myself. Let’s find out if it becomes clickbait.

[duskholland]

Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

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

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

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

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom slows down the car.

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

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

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

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

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

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

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

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

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

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

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

“Step away from the door.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They reach the gym.

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

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

“Holland. Time to go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

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

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

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, lovie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The visit is over far too soon.

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, man.”

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

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

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

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

The prison guards don’t agree.

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

It’s still worth it.

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

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

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

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

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

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

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N? Where are you?”

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

“In here, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When was this?” he whispers.

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

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

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

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

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

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

“I really don’t,” you agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The air between you shifts.

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

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

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

“What have you got planned?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

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

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

“Please do.”

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

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

“Say please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

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

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

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

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

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

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

[pancakehouse]

Girl Dads

this is a fluffy little fic I wrote for @fortheloveofmundanity as part of a Secret Santa exchange :)

set in the sweater weather universe - credits to @lumosinlove! hope everyone is having a lovely holiday <3

*****

“Hey Re! Can you bring down Claire’s–” Sirius cut off as Remus appeared in the doorway and eyed the phone in his hand suspiciously. “What are you doing? Still spamming the fam group chat?” 

“It’s baby’s first skate! This needs to be documented!” 

“Quoi? Baby has been skating for years, actually. You may even recall baby making an entire career out of it,” Sirius grinned from where he was crouched, zipping up Claire’s jacket with a flourish. “A fairly successful one too, from what I hear.”

“Booooo,” Remus stuck his tongue out at Sirius, causing Claire to burst into giggles and wiggle her own tongue around in an effort to copy him. 

“Oh tres bien ma petite! So good! Did you get that on video, Re?” 

“Of course I did! I told you, our baby’s first skate! I’m not missing a second of it,” Remus grinned, holding his phone up as Sirius grabbed Claire and held her tightly against his hip.

“Our baby,” Sirius whispered, brushing a soft curl from her face as she reached her hand out to pull on his ear curiously. 

“Our baby, baby,” Remus walked over to the two of them, heart squeezing at their matching Gryffindor beanies.

Sirius’ eyes were wide, shining with something like awe as he looked at Remus. It had been nearly two years since they brought Claire home with them. Two years of diaper changes, middle of the night wake ups, and more love and happiness than either of them could have imagined. 

Remus leaned their heads together, eyes soft. “We’re doing good, yeah?” 

Sirius swallowed thickly, nodding with a smile. “So good, mon loup. So good.” 

They stood quietly for a moment until Claire, squirming impatiently in Sirius’ arms, reached out her hand to poke at Remus’ cheek three times. “Hi Daddy. We go skate now.” 

*****

They’d planned on waiting for family skate in two weeks to introduce Claire to the ice, but after months of watching her dads from the stands (and wearing her tiny custom jersey to sleep every night) her begging had become relentless. 

And anyway, Sirius and Remus had a rare weekend off so it seemed like the perfect opportunity for a quiet afternoon with just the three of them. They purposefully chose a small outdoor rink a few miles outside of Gryffindor in the hopes they wouldn’t be recognized, but they only made it a few steps from the car before people started glancing their way.

Almost immediately, Sirius tried to pass Claire off to Remus. 

“Oh no, no, no. I’m filming. You’re on princess duty.” 

Claire pouted for a second before nodding solemnly. “Princess.” 

Sirius sighed, pulling his hood completely over his head, nearly obstructing his face from view.

Remus cracked up, making the phone shake in his hands. “Not gonna work, baby. You don’t exactly blend in.” 

“Let’s just walk fast,” Sirius hissed, quickening his strides so that Remus needed to jog a little to keep up. “And pull your hood up too!” 

Remus acquiesced, with a laugh, but it was clearly too little too late as several people were already making their way over to them. 

However, after signing a couple autographs (respectfully declining photos like they always did when Claire was with them) and joking with some fans, it quickly became apparent that two NHL stars were nothing compared to the draw of their adorable little baby bundled up like a marshmallow with a pair of tiny skates on her feet. 

They cooed and fawned over her, Oh she’s just precious! And Claire was more than obliging with her fans, a perfect little ham, offering up bright smiles and waves and basking in all the attention. 

She remained happily in Sirius’ arms, never much one for walking (read: wobbling) around on her own when this method gave her the added benefit of a much needed height advantage. And Sirius was always more than happy to indulge her. 

Remus kept the camera trained on them as they slowly made their way to one of the empty benches in the corner of the rink, laughing softly as he could tell the precise moment Claire began to get impatient with the crowds of people and her happy smile faded into a remarkably familiar frown. 

“Uh oh, is that Cap’s media look I’m seeing? C’mon Fruit-Loop, how could you let him teach her that?”

Claire clapped her hands together excitedly, smile returning. “Pots!” 

“Hi munchkin,” James planted an exaggerated kiss to the top of her head, “Are you ready to tear up the ice out there?” 

Sirius and Remus looked at each other, both frowning in confusion. 

“Uh, James, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Well excuse me for not wanting to miss my goddaughter’s—”

“Reg is actually—”

“—first time skating! Jules texted to invite me, how could I say no to that? You two should have invited me yourselves, but in the spirit of Christmas I’m going to be generous and try to forgive you.”

Remus sighed. “Is this why Lily sent me a text just saying ‘I’m sorry’ and nothing else?” 

“Pardon…Jules invited you,”  Sirius raised his eyebrows doubtfully, “from Wisconsin?”

James shrugged. “It’s all in the subtext, boys. Maybe what he sent was a forwarded picture of Clairebear wearing skates and her little Lions jersey. But I know what he meant was that the baby would never forgive us if we didn’t come out and show our support.” 

“Wait,” Remus started, frowning at James, “What do you mean us?” Then he froze, looking over Sirius’ shoulder and mouth dropping open in shock. 

Sirius started to turn when a hand smacked against his butt. Hard. “What the fu—”

A dramatic gasp and a burst of red hair. “Language, captain!” And then: “You were supposed to wait for us, Pots!” 

“Jesus Christ,” Remus muttered, looking at Sirius with a look of exasperation. 

“Nope! Just us!” Finn grinned, throwing a punch to Remus’ shoulder then leaning forward to scrunch his nose against Claire’s. 

Leo shrugged his shoulders and offered an apologetic smile, “I begged them to at least give y’all a warning we’d be crashing your family outing but—”

“He was overruled,” Logan threw an arm around Leo and Remus each, lifting up slightly on his toes to do so.

And then there was a flurry of commotion as the people around them slowly began to realize just how many hockey players were in their midst. 

“Oh my god,” Sirius heard a teenage girl whisper to her friend, “Is that Kasey Winter and Alex O’Hara?” 

Her friend smirked back, “Fingers crossed Thomas Walker shows up.” 

Sirius looked over his shoulder towards the entrance, and sure enough…He sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his nose into Claire’s head, breathing in deeply. 

When he looked back up, Remus caught his eyes and shrugged his shoulders with a smile. Love you, he mouthed. 

Sirius didn’t stick his bottom lip all the way out in a full pout, but it was a near thing. “Fine,” he sighed, gratefully accepting the hot chocolate that Lily handed to him with a kiss to her cheek, “Lace up, you menaces. Allez.” 

*****

“Cold!” Claire frowned at Sirius. She continued to puff out her cheeks and exhale hard, just to watch her breath float through the cold air.

“Oui, tres froid! That’s why you’re all bundled up, c’est winter,” Sirius said, adjusting her beanie so it fully covered her ears before clipping an old helmet under her chin at Remus’ insistence.

“Like blizzy?” She stared across the ice to where Kasey was in the midst of a very serious push-up contest with Logan while Alex and Finn sat comfortably on their backs, adding weight.

Sirius laughed. “Ouais, ma fille. Just like Blizzy. But don’t worry, once we start skating you’ll warm up quickly.” 

“We go fast! Like Daddy!” 

“D’accord, d’accord we’ll go fast like Daddy,” Sirius set her at his feet and grabbed under her arms so he could skate for them both. 

“Are you sure you can manage that?” Remus snuck up from behind and began skating slow circles around them. “Haven’t seen you beat my time yet.” 

Sirius smirked. “You want to race, mon loup?”

Remus raised an eyebrow, “You think your legs can handle it? We had a tough game on Thursday, you sure you’re not too sore?”

“A little sore,” Sirius’ lips twitched as he let his gaze drag purposefully slowly over every inch of Remus’ body. “Just not from the game.” 

Remus gasped dramatically. “Not in front of the baby,” he hissed, biting his lip in an (unsuccessful) attempt to hide his grin. 

Sirius leaned down, using his hands to cover Claire’s ears - ignoring the confused look she sent him - and threw a wink over to Remus. “Quick, we’ve got three seconds, say something dirty!” 

Remus opened his mouth with a smirk and then: “Ready, set, go!” He took off, sprinting down the ice while Sirius and Claire let out identical screams of indignation. 

Remus was halfway across the rink when he heard the familiar scraping of skates coming up behind him, the sound of Sirius’ smooth, effortless glides as recognizable to him as the tone of his voice. He spun around to face them, laughing at the matching pouts on their faces. 

“Daddy, no fair! Papa too slow!” 

“Quoi?” Sirius slowed them to a stop, “Slow?!” He immediately and relentlessly began tickling Claire’s sides and under her arms, making her giggle and squeal, twisting to get away from him. 

“No! No! Daddy help!” 

Remus laughed, attacking Sirius’ own sides and wrapping his arm around Claire to drag her towards him in one fluid motion. 

This time Sirius took off first, racing full speed to the other side of the rink, easily skirting around casual skaters and families who froze in awe to watch. Remus settled Claire in front of him and sprinted after, pushing fast to catch up, and grinning at Claire’s uncontained shrieks of glee. 

They continued on like that a few more times - until Sirius and Remus’ legs really did start to burn - and they gratefully passed Claire off to Lily and Natalie who held onto a hand each and let her swing between them as they glided slowly down the ice. 

Sirius guided Remus over to the boards, breathing heavily and a grin lingering on his mouth.

“Mon dieu loops,” Sirius pressed him softly against the wall, hands finding his hips, “you’re such a hot dad.”

“You’re such a hot dad,” Remus said, nudging their cold noses together. He tangled his hands through Sirius’s hair, tugging gently and dragging him down for a slow kiss. Their lips parted, Sirius let his tongue brush softly against Remus’ once, then twice, before pulling back. 

He let his forehead drop against Remus’, both breathing quietly, puffs of air hitting each other’s mouths on each exhale. 

Sirius looked down, meeting Remus’ eyes and they were shining, made even brighter by the lines and lines of tiny golden lights strung all around the rink. Christmas music was playing on the speakers and the sounds of Remus softly humming along filled the air between them. It was so, so peaceful. 

That is, until a nearby shriek made them jump. 

They broke apart, immediately looking around for the source of the noise. Claire was a few feet away from them, she had hot chocolate smeared across her chin and her too-large maroon helmet tipped crookedly on her head. She was plopped on her butt, straight on the ice, where she’d clearly just fallen after letting go of Lily’s hand in an effort to skate on her own. Her brown eyes were wide and bewildered, her mouth popped open in a wide ‘O’ shape.

“Daddy! Papa! I fall!” 

“Yes sweetie,” Remus was shaking lightly, clearly trying to hold in his laughter, “We can see that! Are you alright?” 

“So fun! I go again?” Claire lifted her arms up, allowing Remus to pull her up and into his arms. 

“I think maybe it’s time for a break, you’re doing so well though! We’re so proud of you,” Remus licked his thumb and used it to wipe the chocolate from her face then pressed his hands against her cheeks in an effort to warm them. 

“No break! Again,” Claire looked to Sirius pleadingly, eyes wide and imploring and altogether too similar to another pair he’d never been able to say no to. 

Sirius sighed, “D’accord, but you have to promise to be careful! One of us will hold onto you—”

“Nutty come! Nutty, Nutty, Nutty!” Claire yelled, wiggling happily in Remus’ arms when Leo immediately skated over looking equal parts pleased and terrified to be summoned by the (nearly) two year old. 

Remus passed her off to him and then leaned back against the boards to watch them rejoin the others. 

Sirius followed, turning his body slightly to face Remus. “Hey,” he whispered, nudging his side, “you happy, mon loup?” 

“So happy,” Remus nodded. “I wish my parents were here, they would love this.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius squeezed his hand gently, “But they’ll be here for family skate. And Jules will be on break from school and Reg’s coming up. And in the meantime we have—”

“Half of our team packed into a local skating rink,” Remus finished with a laugh. 

“Exactement.” 

Remus sighed, resting his head on Sirius’ shoulder as they stared across the ice. Claire was on Leo’s shoulders now, while Finn yelled and ducked as Logan tried to crawl up onto his. Lily and Nat were sitting on the opposite wall, sipping casually on their hot chocolates as they watched Alex, Kasey, and James who’d managed to insert themselves in a pick-up game with a few local kids.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Kasey yelled across to them, from his spot in the makeshift net. “You really going to trust the Cubs with your precious little miracle?” 

“Quoi? Cubs? We haven’t been rookies in—” Logan cut off abruptly as Finn grabbed him by the stomach and tackled him down to the ground. Claire, from her perch on Leo’s shoulders, clapped excitedly and cheered them on. 

“Mon dieu,” came a familiar laugh from behind them. “I should have known Julian’s message would bring everyone running.” 

Sirius and Remus grinned in unison. 

“It’s all Re’s fault for spilling where we’d be!” Sirius smacked Remus’ waist. “We were supposed to have a nice, quiet, family outing and instead—”

“We’re having ourselves a nice, decidedly not quiet, family outing,” Remus laughed, retaliating with a smack of his own. 

“You know,” Pascal put a warm hand on each of their shoulders, “she might not remember this exact day, but she’ll never doubt how much she’s loved. And part of that is thanks to a ridiculous group of overgrown boys.” 

“I hope so. She just..she deserves all of the love. All of it,” Sirius took a slow, deep breath. “I really need her to know that.” 

Remus pressed his body closer to him, lacing their hands together and squeezing tightly. “She’ll know, baby,” he whispered, “We’ll make sure of it.” 

“You already do,” Pascal smiled, watching as a tiny marshmallow pointed at them eagerly and used Leo’s hair as reins to carry her over to them. 

“Daddy! Papa! Dumo here!” Claire was rosy-cheeked from the cold and her curls were dripping, filled with melted flakes of snow, but her grin was bright as ever. Pascal strode forward to give each of her cheeks a kiss and whisper a few words in her ear before continuing on to join the others. 

Shouts of Dumo! and You’re late! and Joining the game, old man? Need one of us to help you lace up? filled the air. 

Claire watched him go for a moment before yanking on Leo’s hair again, making him wince slightly, guiding them the rest of the way over. 

Once they got in range, she immediately made grabby hands for Sirius and his heart almost burst from fullness as he grabbed her. “Salut ma fille, did you have fun?” 

“Ouais Papa,” she pressed their cheeks together. “Is Daddy tired?” 

They turned to see Remus rubbing at his eyes, wiping quickly to hide the tears that had formed, wearing a sheepish smile. “I’m not tired sweetie, just happy.” 

Sirius opened his arms, pulling Remus as close to his chest as he could get with Claire in between them. “Love you,” he whispered. 

“Love you,” Remus whispered back. 

“Me too,” came a whisper from between them. 

“I love y’all, too,” Leo grinned widely, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m just gonna…” he trailed off, shoving a thumb in the direction of the others. “If you want to sneak out real quick, I’ll distract them.” 

“Bye, bye nutty! We go sleep now,” Claire let out a big yawn before burying her head into Sirius’ neck, eyes softly closing. “Daddy’s tired.” 

Leo laughed, waving them off as Remus quickly grabbed all their stuff. 

“Ready?”

Remus reached over, yanking Sirius’ hood up again before pulling on his own. “Should we make a run for it?” 

Sirius peered back over his shoulder, grimacing when Finn noticed them trying to sneak away and Leo sped over to cover his eyes. “Go, go go!” 

They sprinted all the way to the parking lot, laughing and picking up the pace as they heard the shouts of indignation fade behind them. 

By the time they got Claire buckled up in her carseat she was passed out cold, mouth slightly open with a bit of drool sliding down her chin. 

They both sat turned in their seats, gazing adoringly at her. Remus sighed, “She’s just the best thing, isn’t she?” 

Sirius hummed in agreement. “Yeah,” he nudged his chin against Remus’ shoulder, “just like her Daddy.”

“And her Papa.” 

“Love you so much, mon loup,” Sirius turned his head to kiss Remus softly. “Let’s go home?” 

“Yeah,” Remus sighed against his lips, “let’s go home.”