❧ warnings: mentions of eye-fucking, biting kink, hickeys, manhandling, soft!tom for 0.001 seconds
❧ a/n: so i’ve decided to actually be somewhat active again but not really. i’m changing the format of my work, if you couldn’t tell. please send in more requests because i actually have no ideas anymore so yeah. in another post i’ll explain a little more why i decided to go on a hiatus. you can check it out if you want
masterlist
Tom stormed into the room, you trailing right after him.
“What was that?” He fumed, fists clenching at his sides.
“What was what?” You asked, snapping back at the man.
“You know wha-” Tom takes a deep breath to prevent himself from breaking into a violent state, “You were throwing yourself at Harrison this whole night. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“I wasn’t throwing myself at Harrison, Tom,” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in front of your chest.
“Yeah, you were throwing certain eyes at him, though,” he snapped, ears growing red with anger.
“And you weren’t?” You glared at your boyfriend.
“I’m pretty sure I’m dating you for a reason, Y/N. If I wanted to get with Haz, I could’ve a while ago,” humor slipped into his tone.
“No, Tom,” you groaned, getting frustrated, “I’m talking about that girl.”
“Analia?” He took the bitterness spreading further on your face as confirmation, “You know I have to entertain her if I want to maintain business with Boivin.”
“Well you don’t have to entertain her to the extent of letting her undress you with her eyes,” you rolled your eyes for about the fiftieth time that night.
“Undress me with her eyes?” Tom let out a dark laugh, “You were doing that to Haz tonight, and besides, I can’t control what she does.”
“You kept responding to her, though,” you feebly spat.
“Why are you so jealous? You know I only have eyes for you,” he said, sighing as if the conversation was tiring him.
His evident worn-out tone made your anger peak. Huffing loudly, you spun on the heel of your foot, exiting the tension-filled room.
“Where are you going now?” You heard his voice groan behind you.
Your feet carried you down the empty corridor, the clacking of your heels echoing as you rushed away from the Brit. Tom’s voice rang in your ears, demanding you to stop walking. You ignored him as you made your way into your shared bedroom.
Pushing the door closed behind you, you undressed yourself and changed into a comfortable, satin dress. You freed your feet from the restricting shoes, shivering as your feet touched the cold floor. Exchanging the heels for dark grey plush slippers, you made your way onto the balcony, resting your hands on the marble balustrade. You looked up at the dark sea overhead, stars twinkling in the abyss.
After some time, you heard the sound of a door clicking open behind you but decided to ignore it. A warmth replaced the coolness of your back, and a pair of hands were placed onto your hips.
“Darling,” you heard the familiar British accent whisper into the crook of your neck, “I’m sorry. Stop ignoring me, please.”
The longer you stayed silent, he progressively became more dominant.
“Babygirl, why are you being such a brat tonight?” Warm, wet lips latched onto your neck, sucking and pulling at the taut skin.
Still not able to elicit any response from you, he worked his way up your neck to your ear, nibbling at the lobe.
“If I were you, I’d respond. You’re already going to get a punishment, do you want it to be even worse?” His deep, husky voice vibrated down your spine.
“Bite me,” you smirked, tough facade not breaking.
He growled, thrusting his hips into you before his teeth connected with your neck. After getting some successful marks on the skin, he forced you to face him, throwing you over his shoulder and slapping your stuck-out ass. Pushing the doors of your room open, he threw you onto the bed, climbing above your figure and leaning down to feast more at your neck.
“Don’t enjoy this too much. I still have to punish you for your behavior tonight.”
With a whimper from your swollen lips, he began ravishing you, starting an endless night of pleasure.
List B, angst 50 “I don’t need you, I’m fine on my own.”, Fluff 50 “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”, Hurt/Comfort 33. “Talk to me. You can’t take on all of this alone.”, Mob!AU. You choose guy. Also not necessarily the lead mob guy either, could just be climbing he ranks so to speak.
“I don’t need you! I’m fine on my own!” He shouted at you, making you roll your eyes angrily.
Tom had always had a short temper, something that the mob thrived on, but you, his girlfriend and right-hand woman, hated it. He loved to remind you that you were replaceable, someone who could pack your things up tomorrow morning and he wouldn’t even bat an eye. And you resented him for it, even if you knew he were lying through your teeth.
He was stressed out, that much was clear. But for him to take out his stress on you, like he always did, was completely unfair. And you were sick of it. So, you did what the two of you always did best, screamed at each other until your throats were sore.
It wasn’t healthy, but then, nothing you’d done in the years since joining the mob to be with Tom had been healthy. You screamed things you didn’t mean, and he retorted by calling you names he normally never would. For a moment you began to realize just how toxic your relationship really was. But, of course, you knew that it was a poor time to bring that up. Even still, as the thought crossed your mind, you fell silent, tears pricking at your eyes and slipping down your cheeks. Tom, who was in the middle of a rant, paused, eyes frantically searching your face.
“Wha- wait why are you crying?” He asked quietly, reaching his hand up to wipe some tears off your cheeks before you batted his hand away with a scowl.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” You hiccuped through your tears. “I’ll take care of everything. I always do.”
He grimaced, running a hand down his face. It was his move when he realized that he’d taken it too far and made a mistake. It was showing you that he was making progress. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself before he gently tangled his fingers with yours.
“Baby...what can I do? How can I fix this?”
“For starters, you can learn to talk to me. I know you get stressed out, and I know that you think you have to keep me out of the business but, you can’t take on all of this alone. If you don’t learn how to let me in after all the times that I’ve proven to you that you can trust me, then I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”
“I know...” He whispered, hanging his head in shame and pulling you closer to him. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I’ll do better. I promise you.”
You sighed, knowing you couldn’t stay angry at him long. He wasn’t perfect. Hell, he wasn’t even close, but he was yours. And as long as he was willing to work things out with you, you’d always be right by his side. The Bonnie to his Clyde.
warnings: this one talks about surgery and cancer (again)
word count: roughly 1k
pairing: mob!tom x reader
My Masterlist
a/n: this one isn’t much better than the last one, so just be prepared
Tom was sitting next to your hospital bed, his hand loosely holding onto yours. You had just gotten done with what was hopefully your final round of chemo, and you were exhausted. You’d fallen asleep not long after the nurses brought you back up to the room in a wheelchair. Tom was waiting patiently for you to wake up, taking the free time to just think. Your scans were showing that the tumors on your ovaries were shrinking, which meant you could have surgery soon. Tom noticed how weak you had gotten, though. Your walks around the hospital were shorter than they usually were, and you slept more throughout the day. Your complexion was paler, and your hair had grown back patchy.
Tom still remembered the day he shaved it off for you. His hand was shaking as he held the razor over your head. He couldn’t quite bring himself to cut off your beautiful hair, yet. The tears were pricking at the corner of his eyes as he looked at you in the mirror. You were watching him with a sad expression. Your hand slowly reached up and rested on top of his to keep it from trembling. You led his hand closer to your head, watching as he shaved off the first strip of hair. You felt a jolt in your stomach as you watched it hit the ground. With each falling strand, it became slightly easier to look yourself in the mirror.
Tom ordered one of his men to sweep up the hair in the bathroom as he picked you up and walked into your shared bedroom. He sat on the bed with you in his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around you. He peppered light kisses all over the top over you while he rubbed circles in your lower back. He whispered assurances in your ear, telling you that you were still his darling. That night was just about two months ago, and Tom had fallen in love with you all over again every day since then.
It broke Tom’s heart to see you this way. He had already told you that you could give up if you wanted to, and that he’d try to be okay without you. You weren’t the kind of person to give up easily, though; it’s part of the reason he fell in love with you. You had told him that you were holding out for him and the hope that you two would still have a child. Tom rubbed small patterns over the back of your hand with his thumb as he thought.
Your hand gently squeezed his and he quickly looked over to you. He smiled as you started waking up. “Good evening, darling,” he whispered, giving you an award winning grin. “I went and got chinese from your favorite place.”
“Yay,” you mumbled, giving Tom a sleepy, but genuine smile. He was quick to hand you the chinese takeout and sit next to you again. It took you some time to eat, but this was yours and Tom’s tradition after chemo treatments.
After you had taken a few bites, Tom spoke, “they want to do your surgery tomorrow. I told them I would ask you and see what you say.”
“Sure, tomorrow sounds good,” you answered, not wanting to think about the surgery.
“They wanted to try to leave one of your ovaries, but they decided against it. They want to reduce the risk of relapse as much as they can,” he added, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You wanted this disgusting disease gone as much as he did, but you also wanted a chance to have more than one biological child with Tom.
“Whatever gives me the best chance of survival,” you replied, a small bit of hope dying inside your chest.
Tom knew something was wrong by the way you spoke, and he wanted to comfort you. From what the two of you had talked about in the last few days, he guessed it was the fact that you wanted to have a baby with him. He wanted one, too, but there were a lot more things at play than just your cancer. For one, Tom’s job was extremely dangerous. You were aware of the risks associated with Tom’s job and you accepted them. To you, the benefits of being with Tom and knowing who he really was far outweighed the risks. However, both of you know that a baby didn’t ask to be brought into a life like yours. “Let’s just get past the surgery, then we can talk about having a baby, yeah?” he asked, watching your reaction.
You nodded and looked over to Tom. “Wanna cuddle for old times’ sake?” you asked, softly chuckling. When you were first diagnosed and started your first round of chemo, Tom was hesitant to lay next to you. He was scared he’d get in trouble, and more importantly that he would accidentally hurt you. It took a lot of gentle coaxing on your part, but you eventually got your cuddles from Tom. From that night on, it was the best way for Tom to console you in the hospital.
He gave you a knowing smile and started kicking off his shoes. “Y’know, you give me that look that you know I can’t refuse. Then, when you do get your way, you act all surprised,” he commented, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He spoke with a smirk, so you knew he wasn’t all that upset.
“What can I say? A queen should get what she wants.”
“Of course she should,” he said, crawling into the bed with you, and being careful of the wires. “My queen will always get what she wants.” He slid his arm under your head, allowing you to rest your head on his chest. “There you go, peach. Now you can be comfy and listen to my heartbeat,” he whispered, gently rubbing your shoulder with his hand. He knew how much you loved to hear his heartbeat and how much it helped to calm your nerves. “No matter what happens tomorrow, I will always love you.”
“I love you, too, Tommy,” you mumbled, cuddling into his chest. No matter what you would face tomorrow, you knew that Tom would be by your side. As terrified as you were of what you’d be fighting, you knew you wouldn’t be fighting alone. You fell asleep in his arms, hoping that it wouldn’t be the last time that happened.
Warnings: mentions of alcohol, a little bit of angst, violence, and not giving him his money. This idea is mine.
Characters: tom, reader, and some harry
Summary: Y/N arrived at a bar, waiting for a friend, and meets a new man. When there's a turn of events, Tom finds himself doing something very out of character.
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The foul smell of the bar had Y/N gagging, twisting hopelessly in her bar stool. It hadn't even been three minutes since she had walked in, and she was already checking the time, sick to the stomach.
She looked around her. Why had her friend picked this of all places? The old looking bar, strangely isolated from the rest of the World. It was a damp area, the constant wind making it strangely eerie, and yet her she'd been told to dress like it was her last night. So, she'd shoved herself into a crimson number, an old clubbing dress paired with simple heels, and knew that charm would have to make men swoon tonight, chances there were any.
The sight of a group of men in the corner made her want to twitch. Although she wasn't sat close to them, she could feel their eyes on her, puffing away at their cigars. The room was tense, so hot that the wet mud on her legs seemed to tighten. She'd had to charge up the street, and by the time she got in the pub, She wanted to wring her friends boyfriend for suggesting this place. How he could influence her in the blink of an eye made her sick.
And she'd went through all that mud just to third-wheel.
"Are you waiting for a friend, or should I get you a drink? " Called the bartender. They seemed to always talk, she supposed it was their job to.
The bar seemed to grow quiet with a chair scrapping in the distance. She asked for a pint of beer.
Rooting around in her purse for a while, she wondered how long it would take her friend. Perhaps her mind had wondered too far to hear his voice, but she snapped out of her daydream when a man's hand slammed a bundle of change on the countertop.
"£2.50." He answered grimly.
Her nose was immediately met with a passionate scent of whiskey, the man's ginger bound of curls brushed back and a pink scar on his lip. His clothes were loose yet pulled tight in some areas. His fashion sense was old, a dark blazer contrasting with his good chain, the attire pulled together with pants and squeaky clean shoes. By his whole outlook, she seemed to sense he wasn't as prefect as he seemed to be.
"Harry." He grinned. It curled, his smirk, folding into a bittersweet Cheshire cat smile.
"I'm Y/N."
"And?" He laughed darkly. She raised her brows in question. "Y/n what?"
"Y/N Y/L/N, why do you want to know?" She turned from him, swirling her drink, deciding to let how the bartender hurried from them after giving her the drink pass.
A beat went by. The men in the corner seemed to quiet down a touch.
"You know a Kendra Hunt right?" Harry asked. His voice was cool now. Collected.
"I- yes I do." Kendra had invited her here, tonight. Maybe he was someone she'd set her up with?
The pads of Harry's fingers reached for her wrist under the countertop. Like little butterfly touches, yet each one was so warm that her stomach seemed to turn.
"She tell you why?" He looked behind him at the men in the corner of the room. His fingers latched onto her wrist, and her throat choked up. She nodded a yes. She knew that this wasn't a meet up at all, but the idea still seemed so sweet.
Another beat went by, "Where is it?"
Y/N went completely still.
Where is what?
"Tell me, now. Where about, take me there." His words seemed to shoot out, the rush of adrenaline wafting off of him.
His calm demeanour wearing away. She could practically taste his impatience.
"What? I don't understand -"
"The money -" He noticed her cold sweat, "Y/N, love, tell me, now."
Money? She was going to drop dead. Had her friend planted her in a mess she wasn't responsible for? She'd left her here, purposely, as a bait.
Harry took to silence her just in case a plea of scream would come out of her slack mouth, and pulled her closer to him by the hold on her wrist.
"Be quiet." He snapped, "She must've sent you here as a bargaining chip, or bait. Are you that stupid to think that she could afford all that stuff with what she earns normally?"
"Please." Y/ N cried. It was supposed to be a normal night.
Harry stroked her cheek with a sinister smile, "You know, my brother Sam thought it'd be funny for me to go get the pretty girl Tom's been eyeing. Poor girl, poor manipulated baby. The real bad people always act innocent."
She shook her head like a wild animal, "Kendra and I haven't seen each other in months. It was a night out tonight. Harry, whoever you are, I can't even pay my rent, I don't have time for shady stuff. I didn't even touch it, I had no idea she even owed you money. Please, please don't hurt me. "
"Your friend took money off Tom." Harry stated. He seemed to shake with pent up energy. Would he let it out on her? "She probably spent it on booze and drugs. She hasn't given it back, and her time's up. She said you would be coming to give it to me tonight, but she probably sent you here to distract us while she gets away. Do you know where she is?"
"No, please let me go."
"Its not that easy love. If we don't get that money I'll hurt you. Give me your phone."
He took her phone with his spare hand, calling over a friend, "Harrison! I've got her phone. Try and track her. "
"Are you going to kill her? Are you the boss-"
She felt heavy breath at the back of her head. Harrison maybe? He couldn't get there that quick.
"No, he's not the boss."
Harry seemed to perk up suddenly, "Tom."
Y/N turned. This was Tom. In his all drunken and god-like glory, suit tight and golden chain sparkling like the sun, his scent warm and strangely comforting. His sweetly shaped eyes that seemed as dark as coal, and the only thing except his current state that was unkempt was his brown curls.
"The Hunt girl sent her to us as bait. Tom, I thought you were celebrating tonight? It's another successful transaction between businesses. "
"This one isn't successful," Tom couldn't seem to look from her, the two of them entranced, "I don't like people not telling me about business. You told me Hunt had paid up."
" Tom -"
"Don't 'Tom' me, idiot."
"Oi, both of you. You make a scene and our reputation goes up in pretty little flames. And If either of you want the girl to live, I suggest setting a good example so no more witnesses have to die, again." It was certainly Harrison now, a fresh head of Sandy blonde hair and blue puppy dog eyes.
Tom turned to him, "You knew too didn't you? " and pulled Y/N up by the hand, pulling her after him in a tantrum.
Harry and Harrison called after Tom from behind, receiving drunken mumbles of 'lady's bathroom '.
"What are you doing?" She cried, as he dragged her into the women's.
He propped himself up on a sink, pulling a lighter and a fresh cigar from his pocket, "Silence. Sweet silence. You can pee now without your little best friend, I'll just be minding my own business. "
Y/N could run, but the threats had nearly scared her enough to make her pee on the spot. So, she cautiously entered the toilet, and began to pee.
A beat went by, "If you're wondering, my father gave me this as a present as a kid. That's why we 're here. We haven't been in years. Just back to keep our reputation fresh."
"My brother threatened you." He folded his arms and she furrowed a brow, "He talked to me about you after you left. I know you're not responsible for this. Forgive Harry, he's violent. Don't call the police on him either, they don't come here, they know better." The dark in his eyes intrigued her.
"I'm sorry. I had no idea, at all. She wrote my name down -"
" - and put you right in the middle to stall us, and then ran. Harry tried calling her. She left. Probably ditched the phone." His outfit was the same as Harry's, except darker and sharper. Clean cut. It suited him, really well.
He snatched toilet paper from a stall at the sight of her watering eyes, and handed it to her. Tom then leaned into the sink behind him.
"I'm not good with sappy, emotional stuff, forgive me. And I'm not even supposed to go into the women's toilets but I wanted to check on you. After all, I have been staring at you all night. "
A chuckle came from Y/n. He was cunning. Yet she felt drawn to the accent, the skin, the eyes and the hair. The death-threats hovered to the back of her mind for a second. The cold breeze, cold feeling, that came with him felt luring.
A predator with prey. Oh lord, she didn't want to die. Even when the silence stretched out over them, she wanted to plead for her life.
And while she stressed over pleading, his thoughts were too twisted in the feels pulling painfully at his gut. A bad feeling washed over him. He had to make decision -and quick- and hope to not feel guilty about it.
He began again, "I want you to leave, right now with no but's, and don't ever come here again. " He rushed out, "No one's gonna come after you, as long as you don't interfere with us again, understand? I'll tell Harry that you ran, and make sure he won't go after you. I'm his boss. And if you tell anybody that I let a client go without giving me my money, I'll send him. Go before I change my mind."
Her eyes caught with his brown ones. He smelt like strawberries and bourbon, and she could breathe him in all day. Perhaps on a rainy afternoon on the couch.
"Do I have to repeat myself?"
She looked at his curls. They were soft, so soft.
"What, do you want my number or something? I'll get your phone back to you in a day or so, and who knows, you might just get that number." He joked with a wave of his hand. The longing silence coming from her was his only answer.
She pressed her hands against the door and smiled at him, "Thank you. Goodnight, Tom." And set off, like the wind had swiped her off her feet.
He spun on his heal a beat after her exit. They lived around the same area, they would see each other again, right?
She hadn't given him a goodbye. She'd given him a Goodnight.
This is my first so I apologise if i have made any mistakes!
