#mob!tom x reader

“Hey, you okay?” You looked to your right and followed the sound. A blonde haired bartender with his striking blue eyes looking at yours.

It took you a second to realize he was actually talking to you. “Y-Yeah, fine” you replied, voice shaking.

He nodded suspiciously and took off serving other people coming in.

Your brain tired to remember what had happened. What was the last thing you remembered?

“Hi,” you whipped your head to the sound of the voice coming from your left, you were met with a dark eyed face, and you instantly felt uneasy.

“Do you want to dance?” He asked looking you up and down for sure checking you out and made you want to bolt out the door. “No thanks,” you replied sternly- well as stern as you could be, hoping he’d get the memo and leave you alone. Apparently he didn’t.

“Well can we at least get to know each other? If you know what I mean?” He smirked eyes locked down at your chest.

‘Was anyone seeing this?’ You thought.

“I’m Joe, what’s your name?” He finally had the decency to look in your eyes asking you.

You turned around about to cuss him out or run away which one you hadn’t decided yet,

when you suddenly froze, ‘my name?’

‘Wait a minute..’ you thought suddenly. ‘I don’t remember my name..?’ ‘Who am I?” ‘What’s my name?’ ‘Why can’t I remember my name?’ You thought and started panicking.

‘Why can’t I remember anything?’ ‘What’s happening to me?’

You didn’t know who you were, what your name was, you didn’t remember what happened, and you had no idea where you were. Yeah. You were definitely panicking.

As your breathing picked up you started looking around frantically. You didn’t know what or who you were looking for. You left the bar leaving the guy high and dry as he deserved.

What you didn’t see was the blond bartender’s eyes following you.

You tried to calm down so you wouldn’t attract any unnecessary attention but it just wasn’t happening. A gentle sob came out of you, and the tears kept coming. You were feeling so incredibly lost like a child lost their mother on the street.

You’re chest felt like it was caving in and about to break. With blurry eyes you hurried over to the corner of a wall. You just wanted to hide and wake up from this nightmare. You slid down to the floor, too emotionally unstable to stand, and drew your knees to your chest and rested your head between them, Almost trying to hide from the world and to trying to calm your hyperventilating but you were too far gone.

Meanwhile in the V.I.P. area at the back was none other than most feared mobster in London, Tom Holland. He was at the top of the food chain and anyone who is everyone knew it.

After all he owned the place and It was his first night off in months that he decided that he would gladly give himself, and he was three whiskey glasses in, having the time of his life….well that was until Harrison, best friend and his second in command burst through the back interrupting Tom in the middle of a good time.

“Mate, I’m so sorry, but you know I wouldn’t have came here if it wasn’t important,” he panted, out of breath from running up the stairs to the V.I.P section. “What is it Haz?” He asked, his eyes hard and jaw clenched.

You suddenly felt a hand on knee and instinctively recoiled, letting out a sob choking you. “Hey, hey it’s okay,” you heard a soft voice say. Well as soft as a voice can be in a bar. But the lump In your throat was too big to reply to it. Loud sobs racking through your body when someone tried to touch you again on the shoulder.

“No, don’t touch me, please don’t touch me, please, please just…” you panicked. “Same thing happened when I tried talking to her, she wouldn’t talk to me,” Harrison told Tom. Tom glanced over to Haz from his crouched position in front of you.

“Okay darling, I won’t touch you again okay?” “Can you please just look at me?” “I just want to help,” Tom explained calmly.

“No, I-I-no-“ you stuttered unable to catch your breath.

“Shh, hey look me darling it okay, you’re okay,” you stared to look up slowly but surely until you faced the person owing the soft voice of whiskey.

“That’s it darling,” he was finally able to see your beautiful innocent eyes and tear stained face. “Hi, my name is Tom”

“can you tell me what your name is?” He asked gently with a smile. “You were still taking harsh breaths but calmed a bit looking into his eyes.

“I-I don’t remember,” you mumbled, looking down, almost ashamed.

“You don’t remember your name?” Tom asked skeptically.

“I don’t remember anything,” you cried. “I-I woke up like an hour ago and I was lying on the ground in the middle of the street a-and I don’t know what happened to me and I can’t remember anything,” you sobbed, breaking once more, putting your head between your knees again.

“Okay, hey you’re okay, try to calm down okay, can I touch you?” “You hesitated but nodded nonetheless , and he immediately put his hand in your shoulder with a reassuring grip.

“Hey, look me, love.” He said stern but soft.

He looked at your eyes after you slowly raised your head. “Okay let’s take a deep breath in,” he told you as he sucked in a breath encouraging you to do the same.

“And out,” he exhaled loudly and gently not to startle you reached for your hand and placed it on his chest to feel him breathing. He did this repeatedly helping you breathe in and out until your breath finally slowed. His heartbeat grounding you.

“Do you feel better now?” He asked, you focused on his voice over the loud noise around you. “Yeah, a bit.” You croaked. “Okay, that’s good,” he smiled.

His smile quickly dissolved once his eyes caught a look at your body. Your shoulders and arms down to your thighs are a bunch of angry looking bruises. He wondered if you were aware of them.

“W-what?” You stuttered, nervous of his sudden mood change. You were still very wary of this stranger who decided to help you for some reason you couldn’t comprehend.

Tom deduced you were in fact not aware of said injuries.

He shook his head, “Nothing don’t worry, how about we go at the back where it’s a bit quieter and you can tell me what happened, is that okay with you?” He found your eyes, expression gentle. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes this time around.

You looked at him eyes hesitant. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, we can stay here but you’re already overwhelmed and I don’t want you getting stressed out from all this noise.” He reassured you.

“No it’s okay, it actually is loud in here.” You finally found your voice.

He slowly helped you up making sure you were comfortable with him being close to you and he lead you back to the VIP area, Harrison following, where it was as he promised much quieter. He was also the only one here. He really only made this area for him and friends and family or any meetings. So it was only them inside. You walked in and the loud banging instantly came to a halt.

“Ah, me too Peach,” he pressed his lips to your and turned his attention to Luca, “How’s the little monster? Not giving you too much trouble I hope.”

“He’s good, I just hanged him, he might get hungry soon,” you began explaining, “You can just grab me if you need me.”

“I can handle it,” he assured you as he scooped Luca out of your arms, “I’m sorry I made you wait love, I want you to go take a nice, long, relaxing shower to make up for it.”

You let out a deep breath and nodded, “I-I will. Just come get me if he needs something.”

“I will,” he kissed you again before he began to coo at the boy in his arms, “Come on little devil, let’s give mommy a little break,” he peaked up at you, “Go on love, I’ve got him.”

You nodded and took another deep breath before you disappeared into the bathroom. You took a long and very hot shower that left you feeling very clean and very relaxed, at least until you left the bathroom. Tom and Luca were no longer in the bedroom where you’d left them, and it instantly sent your mind into a panic. Worriedly you ran to the nursery, but they weren’t in there either. Your heart was pounding and your mind was in overdrive, you were nearly in tears when you threw open Tom’s office door. At last you found them, Tom was seated at his desk with Luca’s bassinet right beside him.

Tom glanced up at you, a frown coming to his lips when he noticed how upset you looked, “What’s wrong Peach?”

You flushed angrily and stomped over to the bassinet. You lifted Luca out of it and cradled him to your chest, “You can’t just run off with him like that Tom!” you snapped as you rocked the boy in your arms, “How could you do that?!”

He went wide eyed, “I didn’t run off with, I just brought him to my office. We were only a few meters from you.”

“But I didn’t know where he was!” tears welled up in your eyes as you yelled at him, Luca started to bawl almost instantly, “A-And you’re supposed to be watching him!”

“I was watching him love, I had him right beside me,” he stood up, a deep frown etched on his face as he approached you, “Sweetheart what’s wrong?”

“You weren’t watching him!” you started to sob and pressed your lips to Luca’s head to try and calm him, “I-I didn’t know where he is and you just left him sitting there! I need to know where he is Tom, he’s just a baby.”

“I know, but I only took him to my office,” he rubbed your arms gently to try and soothe you, “Take a deep breath love, I’m sorry I scared you so bad but I promise I was taking care of him. He fell asleep so I laid him down, I wouldn’t just leave him there if he was awake.”

You took a deep, shaky breath and tried to compose yourself, “I just don’t want you taking him places and not telling me about it.”

“And I would never take him somewhere outside of the house without telling you,” he promised, pressing a kiss to one of your wet cheeks, “I only brought him to my office Peach.”

“But I’m his mom Tom, I should always know where he is. H-H needs me for everything, he’s only a month old.”

“I know Peach, I understand,” he cupped your face carefully, “I think you’re overreacting a bit though, and you seem really stressed. Why don’t I watch Luca today? You can go relax and take a little me day.”

“I was relaxed,” you flushed and turned away from him, “But then I couldn’t find my son and I got worried.”

“(y/n), it’s okay if you need help,” he brought you close to him again, “I know this has been way more stressful for you than it is for me and you’re trying to deal with postpartum stuff too, but I’m here for you, you can lean on me if you need to.”

“I don’t need help!” you back away from him again, “I’m not having problems Tom, h-he’s my son and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of him.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t love, I'm just trying to help,” he tried again, “I want to be here for you if you’re struggling.”

“I’m not,” you glared at him, “I’m taking Luca to the nursery. I need you to put the bassinet back in our room.”

“I will,” he promised with a sigh, “I love you.”

You just pursed your lips and left the room.

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Tom decided to swing by the nursery around 2 to check on you and Luca. Luca was staring up at you while he ate, Tom watched as you cooed affectionately at him. He smiled at the sight and came to stand beside the rocking chair you were in.

“How are you darling?” he set his hand on your shoulder.

“Fine.”

“Wonderful, and how’s our little man?” he reached down to rub Luca’s cheek, “Eating lots, getting nice and strong?”

“Don’t bug him while he’s eating,” you scolded.

“Sorry,” he leaned over and kissed the top of your head, “Have you eaten yet Peach?”

You shook your head, “No, I haven’t had time.”

“You have to take care of yourself too,” he hummed, brushing some of your hair out of your face, “How about I go make you something and bring it up?”

“Will you stay and eat with me?” you blushed and looked up at him.

He nodded, “Of course, I’ll be right back.”

Tom ran to the kitchen and made a couple sandwiches for you both, he grabbed some fruit too, and a big water bottle for you. When he returned to the nursery you were burping Luca, patting his back and gently cooing at him. Tom offered to help but you refused so he sat up lunch on the floor for you instead. He pulled out a small cushioned mat and mobile for Luca and asked you to sit, but again you refused.

“He hasn’t burped yet,” you’d switched from standing to sitting with Luca laying down over your lap.

“You’ve been at it for a while Peach, maybe he just doesn’t have to burp,” he suggested, squeezing your leg gently, “Why don’t you put him on the mat for a little while so you can eat?”

You took a deep breath and nodded, “Okay, yeah.”

Tom kissed the back of one of your hands and took Luca from you. He carefully laid him on the mat and waited for you to join him. Tom had made sure to sit Luca beside him so he could take care of him if need be and you could focus on eating.

“Dig in,” he smiled at you.

A small smile graced your lips as you bit into the sandwich, “Thank you for making lunch.”

“I’m happy to do it,” he cleared his throat before continuing, “I’m sorry about earlier love.”

“It’s okay,” you sighed and blushed, “I-I know I overreacted, it’s just hard to be away from him right now. I get really anxious when he isn’t with me. I mean I’m his whole world right now, he needs me for everything.”

“I know he does darling,” Tom scooted closer to you and set his hand on your leg again, “It’s alright if you're feeling anxious or scared or anything else, I just need you to tell me so I can help you. I want to be here for you, and him. The last thing I ever want to do is make this harder on you.”

“Y-You aren’t,” you sighed, “You’re the only person I trust with him Tom. It’s just hard right now, I worry about him all the time, I just want to do everything right.”

“You are,” he assured, planting a kiss on your forehead, “(y/n) you’re a wonderful mother, it’s just like you said, you’re his whole world, he absolutely adores you. It’s okay if you're struggling with the postpartum stuff, the doctor said it can be really hard on some people, we can go talk to her about it if we need to.”

“It’s not that,” you insisted, “I’m okay, I’m just adjusting still. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I understand that you’re under a lot of pressure and you’re hardly sleeping,” he frowned, “You know we could try the bottle again.”

You quickly shook your head, “No, no, he hated it Tom.”

“I know, but that was two weeks ago. They said between two and four weeks, it might be better now,” he sighed as Luca started to cry, you tried to get up to help but he stopped you, “Eat your lunch, I’ll take care of him.”

“He probably needs a pacifier,” you suggest.

“I got it Peach, just relax,” he took the small boy in his arms and began rocking him. Quickly the boy quieted down and began to coo up at his father, “If we got him on the bottles then I could start getting up with him in the night too, that way you could get some more sleep.”

Watching Tom rock him made you smile and you nodded, “Okay, but if he doesn’t like it still I don’t want to push him.”

“That’s alright, we’ll just give it another try,” he ticked the boy's stomach, “And you’re gonna start using those bottles aren’t you brat? You’ve been keeping your mom up non stop, she needs to sleep.”

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Luca had been much more receptive to the bottles when you tried them again. It was nice because it allowed Tom to feed him at night so you could start catching up on some much needed sleep. Unfortunately the extra sleep did nothing to calm your nerves. You still couldn’t stand to be away from Luca for more than a few minutes, and you hated to see anyone but you and Tom holding him. Tom’s parents had come to visit and it took everything in you not to snap at his mom while she held Luca. You felt awful, you loved and trusted Nikki with all of your heart, but the second she picked him up your mind began spiraling to a million worst case scenarios.

Struggling so hard made you feel awful, like you were a bad mom. You thought both your son and husband deserved better, but you kept your struggles to yourself. Tom did his best to help you but work kept him very busy, and it was hard to get through to you when you wouldn’t open up to him. That’s why he had again brought up the idea of going talking to your doctor about possible postpartum struggles, but you just couldn’t stand to hear it. Everything he said just amplified your own anxious thoughts, you couldn’t handle Tom also thinking that you were a bad mother.

“I don’t need help Tom!” you snapped at him as soon as he brought the idea up, “I’m perfectly fine! You’re not even around enough to realize how fine I am!”

His cheeks flushed and his eyes widen, “I-I’m sorry, if you need me around more th-”

“No! That’s not what I said!” you pinched your nose in frustration. You didn’t want to make him feel bad, you just wanted him to think you were capable, “I’m just saying you’re not here all the time. I am perfectly fine okay? I can take care of our son, I’m gonna be a good mom. I’m just adjusting still, I can’t get used to all of this overnight.”

“I don’t expect you too, we both knew things would be different,” he reached for you, a deep frown came to his lips when you pushed him away, “It just seems like you're really struggling here and I want to help. I don’t want you to feel so stressed out all the time, and it’s alright if you don’t want to talk to me about it, but your doctor-”

“Will you stop bringing up the fucking doctor?!” you cut him off, suddenly tears were welling in your eyes and you found yourself crying again, “I don’t want to talk to the fucking doctor Tom. I don’t want to, I don’t need to, I-I can do this.”

You’re yelling had woken up Luca, causing him to start crying in his bassinet. Tom looked between you and him, his mouth hanging open as he debated what to do. Of course he wanted to reach out and comfort you but Luca demanded his attention. So he got out of bed and scooped the boy from his bassinet before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He cooed at the boy and rocked him while you sniffled alone on your side of the bed.

“(y/n)?” Tom peaked over you.

You refused to look at him, instead drawing your legs to your chest and hugging yourself tight, “What?”

“I love you.”

“Yeah, you too,” you mumbled into your knees.

“Do you wanna take him for a second?” he offered a now calmed Luca to you with a smile, “Look, he’s smiling at you, I think he wants you,” the tiniest smile graced your lips and you opened up your arms to take the baby from him. Tom wiped your eyes as he handed him over, “See? He totally adores you.”

You rocked Luca for just a moment before he started to sob once more. You felt your own anxiety spiking again and passed him back to Tom so he could sooth him again. Tom blushed as he took him, he apologized to you as he rocked the boy in his arms. He started to settle again and your heart dropped into your stomach. 

“It’s probably his stomach,” Tom tried to assure you, “I mean he ate a little bit ago, he’s about due for a new diaper.”

You felt so awful and you were already so exhausted that you just didn’t have it in you to say anything else. You didn’t want to argue with him about doctors or whether or not you needed help, and you didn’t want to stay up and watch Tom take care of your son when you couldn’t. So you rolled over while Tom climbed out of bed, deciding it would be better for you to stare at the wall until you fell asleep.

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When you woke up the following morning you were still exhausted. Tom had gotten up with Luca throughout the night in an effort to let you get some more sleep, but it hadn’t really helped. Your anxiety kept you up through most of the night.

It certainly didn’t help that Luca had been in a fussy mood all morning. Nothing could keep his attention for more than a few minutes and when you sat down to try and feed him he refused to latch. He just kept crying and you did your best to soothe him while you moved him to your other breast, hoping that would fix the issue.

You ran into the same problem of him refusing to latch and you had no idea what to do. You tried some things the doctors told you could help him latch but none of them helped. He was obviously hungry, and you were trying to help, but he just wouldn’t eat. You felt awful listening to him cry and you tried to rock him and sooth him the best you could but nothing helped. It became too much for your sleep deprived mind and you found yourself starting to cry too.

“Come on Luca, you’ve got to eat,” you tried to prompt him, “We’ve done everything else, I know you’re hungry. We’ve done it a million times, you’ve just got to latch on okay? Come on,” you tried again but he only started crying harder when you brought his mouth to you, which made you cry even harder too, “I’m trying so hard Luca, I’m sorry, please eat for me.”

When Tom walked into the nursery he found the rocking chair facing the window, gently rocking back and forth. Luca was crying and when he stepped closer he was shocked to find you were sobbing just as hard. You had him cradled to your chest, like he was about to eat, but he was just bawling.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked curiously.

“He won’t eat,” you sobbed, “I-I’ve been trying and trying and he just won’t latch on. I don’t know what to do Tom. I know he’s hungry but he won’t eat, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“You aren’t doing anything wrong,” he assured you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he bent down in front of you, “Why don’t I grab a bottle and give that a try? It seems like you could use a minute.”

Reluctantly you nodded and passed Luca to him. Tom rocked the boy in his arms and cooed at him while he warmed up a bottle. Luca calmed down a bit while his father rocked him, but he kept crying until the bottle was ready. With no effort at all Tom got him to take the bottle, he stopped crying in an instant and made happy little sounds while he ate. 

“There we go buddy. That’s better right?” Tom poked his nose with a smile, “Just wanted to be a brat huh?”

You were happy he was eating, but you hated how easily Tom had calmed him and gotten to eat. You hated that he’d taken the bottle over you. He was barely over a month old, he was supposed to love you more than anything in the world, but he’d picked a plastic bottle over you. It made you feel awful and reminded you of your failure to be the kind of mother he deserved. All you wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry.

“Tom?” you sniffled.

He smiled over at you, “Do you wanna take over?”

You shook your head, “No, I-I just really need some sleep. Could you watch him for a little while?”

“Of course,” he nodded, “Take all the time you need, I’ll stay with him.”

“Thank you,” your hands trembled as you stood.

Tom leaned over to give you a kiss, you barely let your lips brush his before you left the room. You ran right to your bedroom and threw yourself onto the bed. You pulled a pillow to your chest and ended up crying yourself to sleep there.

While you were sleeping Tom took care of Luca, but he came by your room to check on you. He found you were curled up on your bed, clutching a pillow with puffy, tear stained cheeks and red eyes. It made him feel awful, he wanted so badly to help you but he wasn’t sure how. He knew he couldn’t let you continue to feel so awful, he had to do something. Just talking to you didn’t seem like a great idea since last time he tried to get you to open up you’d just ended up fighting. Instead he ended up calling Harrison and his brothers over to help him come up with something. After a bit of plotting, Sam helped him cook a nice dinner for you and he went up to your room to wake you up. You were groggy and tired as he pulled you over to the nursery where Harrison was waiting.

“Why is Harrison here?” you blushed. 

“Because he’s going to watch Luca for us,” Tom smiled happily at you but your heart rate skyrocketed instantly, “I know you don’t like being away from him though, so we aren’t going to go far. I just thought you and I could have a nice dinner down in the garden. Harrison will watch Luca and Sam and Harry are here too in case he needs help, but I’m sure he won’t.”

You pursed your lips, reluctant to hand over the baby in your arms, “I-I don’t know Tom.”

“(y/n) you don’t have to worry,” Harrison assured you, he stepped up to you with open arms, “You two will be just down stairs, I promise I’ll take the best care of him in the world.”

“Harrison is his godfather,” Tom reminded you, “We decided we trust him enough to raise him, I’m sure we can leave him in his care for just a few hours.”

“I do trust him,” you blushed, “B-But he’s so young.”

“I could come down there with you,” Harrison offered, “If you’d rather he be close to you I could come down and sit just a few feet away with him the whole time. It’s okay if you’re anxious about it, but Tom told me you’ve been really stressed and I want to help however I can. Even if it’s just watching the baby for a night.”

You took a deep breath before you passed Luca over to him, “I-It’s okay, you can stay up here with him. Just promise you’ll come get us if he gets too fussy?”

“Of course, go enjoy your date,” he wrapped his free arm around you and kissed the top of your head, “Try and relax a little.”

You nodded and kissed Luca’s head, “Be good for Hazzy okay?”

“He will be, he wants his mom to have a nice relaxing evening,” Tom kissed your cheek and took your hand, “Come on, let’s get some food in you.”

Tom led you downstairs, Harry and Sam were busy at work in the kitchen finishing dinner and dessert for you. They greeted you happily and insisted you go sit down and let them take care of you. Outside was a small outdoor dining table and chairs you and Tom had eaten at a lot before Luca was born. The fresh air felt nice and helped ease your nerves about being away from Luca.

“It’s nice out here,” you commented, “I don’t think I’ve been outside in a few weeks.”

“Dinner’s here!” Harry interrupted, beaming as he sat a plate in front of each of you, “I hope you’re both hungry.”

“It’s not good for you love,” Tom squeezed your thigh.

“I know, but I don’t want Luca to get sick.”

You giggled while he played waiter for you both, “Thanks Harry.”

“You’re welcome, enjoy,” he winked while he walked away.

Tom chuckled, “I helped Sam with some of the cooking so I hope it’s good.”

“I’m sure it will be,” you couldn’t help but glance up at the nursery window, “Did he eat again?”

Tom nodded, “Yeah, just a little bit ago, and he’s got plenty of bottles up there,” Tom frowned as your face fell, “What’s wrong?’

“Nothing,” you bit your cheek, “I-I’m trying not to worry about him too much.”

“It’s okay if you are. We can talk about it.”

You looked away shamefully, “It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

“Not if you don’t talk about it,” he pushed again, “I don’t want to fight again, but I really want to help you, and I know you’re struggling. You spent half of today crying, I hate seeing you like that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you tried again, “I’ll be okay Tom.”

“It is a big deal, you’re my wife, I want to take care of you,” he scooted his chair closer to yours so he could take both of your hands, “I can tell you're struggling but I need you to let me in so I can help you. I feel awful (y/n), we’ve never had problems like this, I-I don’t know if I did something or what but I just want to fix it.”

Your bottom lip started to quiver and you felt your eyes starting to water again, “It’s not you Tom.”

“Then what is it? Please let me help, I’m your husband, I love you so much. I just want to give you, and our son, the best life I can.”

“I-It’s Luca,” you mumbled, sinking into your chair to try and hide, “I feel so anxious all the time. I hate it when I’m not with him, I hate it when anyone else holds him. I feel like I can’t trust anyone but you with him, and I just don’t know what to do. I feel like such a bad mom. I don’t understand why I’m struggling so much, a-and then today I couldn’t even feed him!” you were sobbing at that point, “He’s just a baby, he’s supposed to need me still.”

“(y/n),” he pulled you to his chest so you could sob against him, “You aren’t a bad mom, it’s alright to struggle. And he absolutely does need you, he might just prefer the bottle sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything, you’re still the one providing for him.”

“What if I never get better? What if I’m just terrified all the time and I smother him and he ends up hating me.”

“You won’t, I promise you won’t,” he rocked you in his arms while he spoke, “There is nothing wrong with needing help with this, struggling doesn’t make you a worse mom. The doctor told us lots of people struggle with postpartum, remember? And I’ve been doing a little research on it, it’s a lot more common than you think. You just had a baby, your hormones are crazy right now, and your body is trying to heal. It would be unfair to expect you to get better overnight,” he let out a deep sigh, “I know a lot of this is on me too. I haven’t been there as much as I should be, I shouldn’t be working right now. I should be taking time off so I can take care of you and Luca, I’m sorry I haven’t been carrying my weight here.”

You blushed and shook your head, “It’s not your fault Tom, I know you’re doing what you can.”

“I haven’t been doing enough,” he kissed the side of your head, “Look I talked to Harrison and my brothers and they’ve agreed to take charge for a while so I can take a step back and focus on you and Luca. It’s what I should have done from the beginning, I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“You don’t have to do that Tom.”

“Yes I do, you’re my wife, and he’s my son. You two are my whole world, I need to be there for both of you,” he wiped your eyes while you sniffled and tried to calm yourself again.

“I-I’m sorry Tom,” you choked on your own words as you spoke.

“Sorry?” he frowned, “Darling you have nothing to be sorry for, I’m the one who fucked up.”

“B-But things have been so different,” you looked away from him, “I’m always tired and I look like shit all the time. My bodies all fucked up annd we can’t even have sex anymore, y-you deserve better than that.”

“Don’t ever say something like that to me again,” he said sternly, “Your body is not fucked up, your body just gave us our son, and now it needs time to heal, you need time to heal. I’m so sorry you’ve been feeling so bad about yourself, but I hope you know I still think you’re the most gorgeous person in the world, and I promise I always will. There is nothing on earth I would rather have than you and our son, I’m the luckiest person in the whole universe,” he pulled you back to him and you buried your head in his chest, “Now it’d be stupid for me to say I don’t care about sex, because I obviously like having sex with you, but I don’t expect that from you, and I never will. If you never wanted to have sex again it wouldn’t make me love you any less.”

“I wanna have sex again,” you mumbled against his chest, making him laugh and squeeze you again.

“Yeah I do too, I’d like to give Luca some brothers and sisters,” he sighed and rubbed your back gently, “But you know if this is too much and you don’t want to have any more kids after this then that’s okay too. All I want is for you to get better so we can enjoy our son together.”

“I just wanna be normal and be able to do things with him without freaking out.”

“You’ll get there darling, it’ll get better,” he promised, “And I’ll be here every step of the way for whatever you need.”

“Thank you Tommy,” you pulled back from him just enough to press your lips to his, “Luca’s really lucky to have you as his dad, and I’m even luckier to have you as my husband.”

“Are you crazy? We’re obviously the lucky ones,” he nuzzled his nose against yours, “I know you’ve been pretty against going to the doctor, and I don’t want to upset you by bringing it up again, but I really think you should think about it. She knows how to help you with this, and as much as I love you, I don’t have that. She'll be able to help you better than me, or anyone else, can.”

You flushed but ended up nodding, “I-I want to go see her Tom, I want to feel better. I want to be able to sleep more and take him out places and let other people hold him.”

“You will, I promise you will. We’ll call her first thing tomorrow so we can get in as quickly as possible,” he placed one of his hands on your cheek, “There’s nothing wrong with needing help, and there’s lots of people around you that love you and want to help you. I mean just look at tonight, Haz and my brothers dropped everything so they could be here for you. We all wanted to give you a nice night and help you relax for a little while. I promise we’ll all be here to help you get better too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his neck. For the first time since you’d come home from the hospital you finally felt at peace. You knew it would still take time to get better, but it was a start. It was comforting just to know Tom would be there with you from now on, that you could lean on him until you were better.

“Thank you for doing all this Tommy,” you mumbled against his neck.

“You’re welcome Peach,” he kissed your head and squeezed you against him, “You really don’t have to mention it though, I’m just trying to be a good husband.”

“You’re the best husband.”

“You’re perfect,” he nuzzled his nose against yours again before he kissed you, “I love you.”

“And you’re the best wife,” he chuckled, “So how does my gorgeous wife feel about finishing our dinner? Then maybe we can talk about something that won’t make you cry for a while?”

You nodded, “That sounds perfect Tom.”

You smiled wide and pressed your lips to his again, “I love you too.”

Taglist: 

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

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

"So… when were you gonna tell me?" 

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

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

"You're staying with me." You scoff, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No." He scoffs,

"You still fucking love me." 

"That doesn't matter anymore-"

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

"I can't have her used against me-" 

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

"I'm scared." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Evelyn Nicole." You admit. He smiles, 

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

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

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

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

"She deserves the world." 

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

Tom sat behind his desk, eyes bored as his men come up with excuses. "Boss, it wasn't intentional we-" Tom raises his hand, they know to stop talking.

"You both told me the building would be empty, an easy job. But I sent my men in there, and they were compromised. Explain how this happened." Tom's voice is calm, but the thickness in his accent makes the room filled with unease. Not everyone would be leaving this alive.

"Boss, the tip we got, it was airtight they-" Tom raised his hand again.

"This tip, it was from the Anderson brother, correct?" The men stiffen at the name mention of the name.

"Uh- yeah," one of them, Mark, says lowly.

Tom nods, "Interesting, 'cause I talked to them the other day. We actually had a good talk, and they said they had a mole, someone streaming money to some other organization, somewhere down the line my name came up," Tom leans his elbows on the table, "So why don't you stop lying and explain to me why the two of you were associating with the mole in the Anderson organization."

The expression on Mark and Paul's face fall, and they exchange a look before turning back to Tom, Paul being the first one to speak up. "They said they'd pay us. We reached out to the mole, and they want you dead. Our job was to lure you to the building. We figured you'd have enough balls to go there yourself instead of sending your minions." There was no reason to lie. They got caught. There was no way they would leave alive.

"But you know, boss, there are some things we're even more interested in now," Mark speaks, "Why didn't you go?" Mark asks suspiciously, "You haven't been leaving lately. And why so obsessive over you're house?" Mark leans up, trying to be intimidating, "What else is behind that door, Tom?"

Tom stares at them unamused, his eyes flickering to Harrison, who stands in the corner of the room next to two of his assistants. A smirk grows on Tom's face, "My whereabouts, my office, what's behind lock doors is in no concern to you." As Tom finishes his sentence, the phone on his desk rings, and usually, he would answer during something like this, but when he glances at the name, having to do a double-take when he sees it labeled as "Home."

Tom had phones (landlines) throughout your part of the house that went directly to his office phone and his office phone only. You couldn't have his office number on your phone, and he couldn't be taking phone calls on his phone during the day. So if you needed to reach him for any reason, you could use one of the phones to contact his office, but that usually meant it was something important.

Nonchalantly he picked up the phone, pressing it to his ear. "Hello?" He uses his usual work tone, not wanting Mark and Paul to suspect anything and knowing you understood why he'd speak differently over the phone. The other end of the line is quiet, and it gives him an uneasy feeling in his gut. Before he can say anything else, he hears your voice. Your weak voice calls out his name quietly. He keeps his expressionless face, waiting for you to say something else.

When you don't, when the line stays quiet, he swallows hard, hanging up the phone and standing from his desk, walking to the door and gripping the handle to turn and open it, trying to keep his composure. "Kill them," he says simply to the two men next to Harrison, then turning his gaze to Harrison and nodding to follow him. Mike and Paul stood from their chairs, wanting to protest, but not in time. Tom and Harrison were already out of the room and many feet down the hall.

Tom and Harrison strolled past the many guards standing in the hallways. Harrison didn't know what was going on. He could tell by Tom's behavior that it was important enough for him to leave what they were in the middle of, plus when he noticed Tom's headed toward the door that separated his office and your part of the house, Harrison knew something was wrong.

When they got to the door, the only part of the office with no guards around it, he opened it right away, pushing it and rushing through the home. "Y/n!" he shouted through the house as Harrison closed the door behind him. Tom moves through the home, waiting for a reply but earning none. Each room he passes, he looks at the phones to see if he can see which had gotten picked up, knowing you hadn't hung up, meaning it wouldn't be on the hook.

When he reached your shared bedroom, he saw the bathroom light on, quickly moving inside the room and opening the bathroom door. Tom felt like his whole soul, all the blood in his body, everything, completely drained from him he saw you laid on the ground. He could tell you fell when you tried to get out of the tub, hitting your head on the counter.

Tom ran to you, kneeling down, stopping himself from grabbing you when he saw the small puddle of blood under your head. His hands ghosted over your body, his eyes wide and chest rising and falling fast as he tried to stay calm. "Haz call Mya," Tom said frantically. Mya was the medic Tom hired to see you, and she was the only one outside of his family and Haz who knew about you. He trusts her and pays her a lot.

Tom gently takes your face in his hands, looking for any sign of you being awake. "Love? Love, open your eyes. Can you do that for me?" Tom asks softly, putting his hand to your forehead and stroking it a few times. For a moment, he brings his attention to your stomach, examining it, making sure there wasn't a wound or damage from the fall. You're nine months pregnant, due any day now, and Tom was doing his best not to think about that part, or else he would've gone insane.

He slowly took your head in his hands and turned your head, looking to see if you were still bleeding. He couldn't tell, so he slowly picked up your head, placing it in his lap as he waited, hoping Maya would get there soon. Tom takes a nearby towel, putting it over your naked body, wanting you to be warm and hopefully drying you off a little.

"You should get her off the floor," Harrison says from the door. Tom nods, slowly taking you in his arms, not caring that he's basically sitting in your blood, ruining his suit. As he moves you, you start to stir, feeling the familiar feeling of being in your husband's arms.

"Tom," you say weakly.

"Hi," he says softly, smiling, "Gonna try to stand, ok love?" Tom uses his strength to pick you up and help you stand.

If it's any other time, Tom wouldn't have made you walk, he would've picked you up himself and carried you, but since you had the extra weight of being pregnant, he knew he couldn't. He helps you stand, taking as much of your weight as he can as you lean on him. Tom wraps his arm around your shoulder and holds the blanket around you. "Walk slow, love. I got you. I called Mya already. She should be here any moment," Tom says as you shuffle slowly out of the bathroom.

"Tom," you say, whimper, "Feel weird." Tom stopped when he felt you moving. You moved your hand, resting it on your stomach, which felt weird and not a good weird.

"Ok. Ok, don't worry, you need some rest. We'll sit down for a moment while we wait for Mya, ok?" Tom keeps walking with you, getting you out the door. He would've left you lay in bed, but it was too high up, and he knew you probably couldn't make it, so we led you out of the bedroom to the couch.

He sat you down, squatting in front of you and checking your head. "Lay down. I'm going to get another towel," Tom says, helping you stretch out on the couch and lay your head comfortably on the pillow. Tom stands, turning around to Harrison to walk toward the kitchen, but pauses in his tracks, his eyes widening. Harrison looks confused at why he's looking at him like that, but he continues to walk closer to him, getting out of your earshot.

He stops in front of Harrison, leaning to his ear and speaking quietly. "Why is the door open?" Tom's eyes trained on the open door that separates his office and his home, starring directly down the dark hallway where anyone could walk in. Harrison's eyes widen, and he turns around, cursing when he sees the open door. He turns back to Tom, and they exchange eye contact and have a silent discussion and agreement. Harrison turned and left out of the room, closing the door behind him and rushing down the hallway while Tom went back to caring for you, but now on extra high alert.

Tom knew Harrison had closed the door. He heard the click as they walked through, so he wasn't blaming him. Therefore that would've meant someone else opened it, and someone else was potentially walking through the house right now. But Tom needed to keep his composure, keeping you calm, and everything would stay under control.

Tom walked to get you a towel and the first aid kit. He sat next to you, bringing the towel to dap at the blood patch on your forehead. You hiss and pull away slightly, not getting very far because of the state you're in and because the couch wasn't wide enough. When Tom finishes whipping away some of the blood, he props the towel under your head, letting it catch any other blood that comes out. He kneels next to your head and places a gentle hand on your forehead, rubbing it softly as you close your eyes, wanting to get a second of rest. Everything in Tom's body says not to let you close your eyes, but he goes against it, putting his index and middle finger on your wrist and holding it, making sure he can feel your pulse while your eyes are closed.

It wasn't long before Harrison rushed back into the room, making Tom's head snap in his direction. Harrison nodded his head in a way that told Tom he needed to get up, that whatever Harrison had to say, he didn't want you to hear. Tom put your wrist down, standing up and walking to Harrison, leaning in to hear whatever he says. "Mike and Paul got away. There are no guards in the hallway. You and Y/n need to get out of here. It's not safe."

Tom doesn't respond, only turning and walking back to you. "Y/n," he touches your cheek, trying to wake you, "Y/n, we have to go. Something happened. We have to go." You weakly open your eyes, letting out a whine, not wanting to get up. "I know, love, I know, but it's not safe here." Tom pulls you up, helping you stand and clutching the towel from the bathroom around your still naked body.

"Wha- what happened?" you ask weakly.

"I'll explain later, love, come on," Tom says, walking you toward the door that led to the outside.

When you get to the door, Haz goes to turn the handle and open it, but he can't. He uses more strength, trying to force it open, and still nothing. Haz turns around, wanting to keep his composure, but a growing panicked look in his eyes.

"It's being blocked from the outside." Tom sucks in a breath, nodding slowly.

"Ok. We can go through the other door," Tom says, his voice unsettlingly calm.

"Are you sure?" Harrison asks, giving Tom a worried look.

"Yeah. Yeah, you said the guards are gone. It should be fine." Tom turns and helps you shuffle toward the door separating his office areas and your home. When you reach the bedroom door, he pauses and tells Harrison to wait with you. He comes back seconds later with one of the shirts that were too big on him, knowing it'd fit across your swollen stomach.

He removes the towel from your shoulders, Harrison awkwardly looking away, and Tom puts you in the shirt, buttoning it up and then moving to keep walking. Tom has one of his arms around your waist, and he nods his head for Haz to step closer and help you also, wanting to move a little quicker and get out of as fast as possible. Harrison wraps his arms around your shoulders, taking more of your weight as you move to the door.

They move as quickly as possible, moving you toward the door and into the office area. Tom made it clear you could never go through the door if he wasn't with you, and even now, this was your very first time seeing the section of the house. They open the door, showing a dark hallway. You walk through, taking in as much of the scenery as you can, knowing you'll probably never see it all again.

As you walk, you feel another weird pain, stopping in your tracks and biting your lip. "Tommy," you whimper, slightly hunching over.

"Love? What? What is it?" he turns to you, looking over your face for a sigh. You open your mouth, nothing comes out, but then you feel it, and they see it. Your water broke, making a puddle around your feet.

Tom's eyes widen as he looks down. "For god's sake," he sighs. You lean over, holding on to Tom as your knees threaten to give out.

"Mate, we have to go back," Harrison says. "We won't make it out fighting, especially not like this. She's having this baby here, and now, we have to go back."

Tom sighs in frustration and closes his eyes for a second before nodding and adjusting his grip enough to turn you around so you three can walk back toward the bedroom. It's less you walking and more them basically dragging you. Your legs are jelly, and you're in intense pain.

Fortunately, you make it back to the bedroom without any additional problems. Tom and Harrison lay you on the couch, and Harrison runs to get towels from the bathroom.

Tom stands and takes the towels from Harrison. "Do you know what you're doing?" Harrison asks quietly.

"Not a clue. But how hard can it be, right?" Tom half shrugs, trying to hide his nervousness and fear. Tom goes to you, kneeling next to the couch and putting his hand on your forehead. "Love, I know it's not ideal, but you'll have to have the baby here," Tom says softly.

"No," you whine, "Tom, what if- what if-"

"I know, I know, but we don't have a choice, ok?"

Does Tom know what he's doing? No. Will he try to wing it with the minimal knowledge he got about birth and deliver the baby anyway? Absolutely. Tom's no idiot. He knows the basics. He's lived life. But knowing about it and actually doing it are very different. However, he has no other choice. He isn't going to let you suffer, and he can't exactly get you out of the mansion at the moment. He has to step up.

Tom goes to your feet, spreading your legs and putting them up so he can get a clear view. He immediately goes pale. Birth is a beautiful thing, but this's the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen in his life, and he'd seen a lot.

"O-ok, love, um, you need to push, alright?" Tom tries to sound confident and not gag as he gets into position between your legs, a towel in his hands ready to catch the baby. Harrison walks up behind Tom, ready with more towels.

Harrison takes one look and immediately walks up to where your head is, offering to just hold your hand. You accept and start pushing, screaming from the pain that you’ve never felt before. “Ok, ok keep going, love I see the head,” Tom says, glancing up at you for a moment. He moves his towel-covered hands around, trying to find the right place to keep them.

You keep pushing, tears running down your face as you hold on to Harrison’s hand hard enough to break it. Tom sees your little girl coming, her head fully out, plus her shoulders and almost her full torso. Tom holds her head and gently pulls as you push, doing one last big push and her coming all the way out in his hands, filling the room with cries.

“You did it! Hey, you did it!” Tom smiles and wraps the towel around the baby, bringing her up to you, setting her on your chest. You remove your hand from Harrison’s, wrapping your arms around her and watching her, tears continuing to fall, but from happiness. “So proud of you,” Tom whispers and kisses your head.

Tom starts to pull away, and you look up at him with wide eyes, suddenly feeling clingy. “W-where are you going?” you ask.

“Not going anywhere, Darling. I’m right here. I’m only going to clean up a bit, but I won’t leave the room,” he assured you.

You nod and watch as he goes back to your feet, looking between your legs again, relieved when he sees that it’s not too much bleeding and you don’t need stitches.

Tom isn’t 100% sure of how much he should try to clean and what he should let go back on its own, not wanting to do something wrong and harm you. He ends up cleaning around your legs as much as he can and then getting a clean towel to wrap around your waist.

After you get a few minutes with your girl, Tom says he’ll help you move to the bed so it’s more comfortable. You hold your baby close to your chest as Tom helps you up and carries you to the bed. He has you sit up for a moment so he can remove the shirt you have on, giving you a new and clean one.

He settles you in the bed, your baby still in your arms as you get let down, laying on your side being the most comfortable position right now. You lay your girl next to you, she’s wrapped in a towel and not crying anymore, her tired eyes looking at her minimal surroundings.

Tom slides in behind you, having removed his own dirty clothes, not wanting to get it all in the bed. He wraps his arm around you and you both look at your little girl, love in your eyes. Harrison travels back and forth from the bathroom to the bedroom, cleaning up the couch and letting you guys have your time. 

It’s quiet and peaceful. You and Tom act without a care in the world, happy you’re ok, happy your baby is ok, knowing, hoping, nothing will ruin the moment. At this time, you don’t think about why you’re here, about the fact there are people looking for Tom right now, two individuals wandering his mansion looking for his secrets. But there you both are, in bed with your newborn, as if you don’t have a care in the world.

»»——⍟——««A/n: yeahhh a lot happened here. This took really long for me to finish and I still didn’t technically do it how I want, butttt if you guys really liked it and stuff I’ll do a part 2

Masterlist

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!!