noirflavoured

[noirflavoured]

the haunting echo of mountains wrapped around her like a shroud—ghostly fingers of regret and unresolved promises brushing against her spine. his words sliced through the dusty air between them, uninvited and deliberate. i know—she almost whispered. but silence was her armor now. at least until the ground beneath her boots felt steady. " alright. " the syllables, brittle and sandpaper-dry, rolled off her tongue with restrained resolve. his voice no longer bruised—it grazed. a flicker of something old stirred beneath her skin. a soft, shameful ripple of goosebumps flirted with her cheeks, painting them with the hue of memories best left buried. " i'm not jumpy. " a lie, elegant and defiant. arms, kissed bronze by the sun, folded across her chest in a makeshift shield. her boots—caked with earth and desperation—followed his lead, but always a few steps behind. she moved like a widow walking to her lover's gallows, head bowed in silence, not for grief, but restraint. this was temporary. this was survival. she repeated it in her head like a liturgy against breakdown. the sting of tears lingered at the base of her throat like old whiskey—sharp and slow-burning. " i know how it is. " how it was. her glance flicked, quietly, from behind her lashes. his back. she remembered it well—her lips had memorized the terrain like a map. every scar, every sigh, she once baptized in silence. " i know. " but now, now she wanted to shove him against the barn wall, make him bleed just a little—enough to remind him she still could. " after i prove myself, " she continued, chin tilted slightly higher, " i'm supposed to meet with the big guy. discuss training for his new stallions. " a pause. a beat. her voice hovered, baited and bruised. " who do I report to? " she wanted it to be him. and at the same time, she'd rather he vanish like smoke. the scent of manure and fresh hay coiled in her nostrils like an old lullaby.

for  my  sister.  those  three  words  slithered  through  him. sharp  enough  to  gut  the  pride  he’d  armadilloed  around  himself. a  drop  of  rain  hit  his  wrist.  he  didn’t  look  up,  just  flexed  the  hand  that  still  remembered  the  weight  of  her  hip.   “guest  room’s  got  a  busted  lock .”  voice  rougher  than  the  calluses  on  his  palms.  one  look  at  the  storm  clouds  rolling  in,  told  him  she  wouldn't  be  going  anywhere  for  the  night.  “you’ll  have  to  prop  a  chair  under  the  knob  if  you’re  jumpy.”  a  lie.  he’d  fixed  that  lock  two  winters  back,  drunk  on  bourbon  and  the  hollow  echo  of  her  absence. he  pivoted  toward  the  farmhouse,  boots  crunching  gravel.  didn’t  wait  to  see  if  she  followed.  “you’ll  feed  the  hens  at  dawn.  collect  eggs.  muck  stalls.”  each  chore  a  bullet-pointed  treaty  between  them.  stay,  his  back  pleaded  as  he  strode  ahead.  run,  his  pulse  snarled.  the  screen  door  whined  when  he  shoved  it  open,  the  sound  as  familiar  as  her  breath  had  been  against  his  neck.  "this  ain't  a  fuckin'  resort.  you  want  to  stay  ,  and  get  paid?  you  work."

[noirflavoured]

ooc. hit the heart button for a one-liner ! i will dm you for muses pref < 3

[noirflavoured]

PEDRO PASCAL as CLINT 'Freaky Tales' Trailer | 2025

[noirflavoured]

he caught her stare—bold, unwavering. the kind of gaze that didn’t just meet another but swallowed it whole, pulling it into the depths where light barely touched. the unspoken tension curled around them like cigarette smoke in a dim-lit bar. thick. he thrived in it. but then—she glanced away. to a pile of papers, of all things. how mundane. how disappointing. and then came darling. he almost laughed. predictable. a word meant to soften him, to place him somewhere below her, beneath the arch of her knowing smirk. women like her used it as a weapon—subtle, but sharp. but leon? he wasn’t the kind of man who bled easily. " yes, ma’am. my name is leon. well, actually—it’s leonardo maxon. " he let the name roll off his tongue like a promise, slow and deliberate. " say it. " his smirk sharpened, eyes gleaming beneath the dim overhead light. " my full name. "

claire's seen far too much to be so easily impressed. looking back in his direction, her gaze bores into his own, an avid attempt to read him; to see past the cockiness for whatever may lay beneath, before she's back to tracing the paper in front of her. "if that will help you sleep at night, darling." sarcasm touches every word, but she can't deny a specific kind of attraction. a kind that could have her tangled up in quite a mess she'd struggle to remove herself from. "i'll assume you're leon, no? i hope you understand that real hard work is required of you here."

[noirflavoured]

" do you often do this? " no, no. not yet. he wasn’t about to let her think she’d caught him off guard—at least, not this early in the game. sure, he’d play along eventually, let her believe she had him cornered. but for now? he was keeping the upper hand. " i mean—do you miss the memos often? maybe that's why… you know… they needed someone new? i don't know. " his words were slick, dipped in just the right amount of indifference, like a blade gliding over silk. and to seal the act, he added a half-hearted shrug—casual, almost childlike, as if innocence had ever been his color.

“hm,  is that so  ?”  lennon  questioned,  if  someone  had  mentioned  it  to  her  then  she'd  simply  been  too  occupied  to  notice.  “i  must've  missed  the  memo  about  our  new  asset.”

[noirflavoured]

the gum in his mouth started turning bitter. his sharp gaze flickered around the room, scanning for the perfect place to discard it—where should he glue it? but before the decision landed, her teasing answer lassoed his attention, wrapping it tight around the golden strands of her butter-colored hair. oh, now we're talking. a low chuckle rolled from his throat, deliberate, muted, like the sound of a blade slipping from its sheath. "with pleasure." the words left his lips, stamped like a sticker—sealed, sent, and addressed to her hands only. " why does the top person want to know my name? have i already made a significant impression? " oh, she was reading the so top-secret notes. leon felt the weight of her silent challenge pressing down on him, creeping along his spine like a slow, burning touch. and fuck, he liked it.

claire's lack of amusement is evident across her stern expression, lips pursing as oceanic hues pierce into his own. she leans in, as if approaching his question with any sense of sincerity, "on top." she answers within a whisper, matter-of-factly. "what's your name?" she counters again, gaze flickering towards the brief in her hands; manicured index finger tracing across the words she's reading.

[noirflavoured]

another punch—straight to the gut. she let the aftermath burn through her, let it settle deep in the pit of her stomach like a swallowed flame. he had the right to be mad... mad? no. he wasn’t mad. he was bitter. and bitterness was worse. so much worse. so delilah didn't fight it. didn’t throw another match onto the pile of regrets already smoldering between them. this moment belonged in the trash bin of her life’s mistakes. but still, her eyes clung to him, tracing the sharp lines of his posture. like a starving man surrounded by cattle, unable to catch a single one—she wanted. wanted to press her lips to the salt of his cheek, to breathe in the tobacco-laced scent of his hair. but those weren’t hers to claim anymore. " right. " her jaw slackened, tongue rolling against the roof of her mouth, restless. " look. i don’t want to cause you any… troubles. i won’t get in your way. i just really need the extra money, percy. " his name spilled from her lips, a name she had screamed a thousand times inside her head but never aloud. not until now. she threw it at him like a stone, like a punishment. taste it. feel it. " for my sister. " the words softened, a whispered plea exhaled from her chest. " i know you understand. i really hope you still do. please. " after all—he had the upper hand here. and they both knew it.

  thumb  grazed  the  frayed  edge  of  his  stetson,   leather  worn  smooth  where  he’d  gripped  it  too  tight  these  past  years.  her  voice  hadn’t  lost  that  honeyed  blade  quality.  ask  her.  ask  why  she  left.  ask  if  he  was  worth  it.  but  his  pride  reared,  wild  and  biting.  instead,  he  tilted  his  head,   shadow  of  his  hat  slicing  across  her  face  like  a  curtain. “ you  here  to  ride,  then?  or  just  reminisce? ”  he  didn’t  step  closer.  didn’t  dare.  but  his  fingers  flexed  at  his  side,  remembering  the  heat  of  her  lower  back  under  his  palm,  the  way  she’d  arch  into  a  gallop, horse  and  woman  both  trembling  with  want.  "what  keeps  me  busy  ain't  really  your  business  anymore  ,  now  is  it?"  a  mare  whinnied  in  the  distance,  high  and  nervous.  percy’s  head  snapped  toward  the  sound,  instincts  overriding  the  ache  in  his  gut.  “storm’s  coming  —”  he  muttered,  more  to  himself  than  her.  the  air  had  that  charged  stillness,  the  kind  that  made  the  livestock  skittish  and  his  scars  throb. 

[noirflavoured]

i'm selling drugs to half of your company—good enough? the thought alone curled the corners of his mouth. amused. "what department are you in, exactly?" he teased, his gaze razor-sharp, locked onto the woman beside him. the slow, deliberate chew of gum made his cheekbones cut sharper.

"no, i don't know you yet." she retorts; as poised as ever as she offers a shameless glance over, "what department are you in, exactly?"

[noirflavoured]

yes, they’d pay them to leave. hell, they’d pay them to never, ever come back. such a light, offhand comment dragged a muted laugh from row. maybe not even a laugh—just a smile. something small, fragile, like her opinion of herself. who am i? why am i here? she didn’t have answers to those questions, but she did know one thing—nic’s response had genuinely, unexpectedly made her smile. " you’re right. " she said, scratching the tip of her nose. a habit. whenever emotions got too close—too real—she found herself doing that. scratching. fidgeting. distracting.

" nic. give me a break. stop selling me this philosophical bullshit. " she shifted her weight, moving around like she could shake off whatever was creeping under her skin. her bony hands pressed against the worn-down wooden bench. it had seen years, decades. older than her and nic combined. and time? time was moving too fast. too damn fast. she had started hiding the stray grays creeping into her chocolate hair, fingertips smoothing over them like she could erase the proof of it all slipping by.

i’m always here to listen or help. that sentence never sat right with her. it unsettled something deep in her gut, made her scratch her nose again. is he, though? is he really here? and who the hell am i to him now? did he still think about her when the sun sank too low to remind him of his daily responsibilities? did she cross his mind when his fingers got tangled in some other woman’s hair? when he inhaled the scent of someone new, did it ever pull him back to her? she hated that she still remembered his touch. she hated even more that she wasn’t sure if she could blame it for her failures. maybe it was just the weight of everything else—the job, the exhaustion, the relentless need to make their son’s life better. " i’ll try to remember that. " she didn’t say same. she couldn’t.

she lifted her head sharply as he kept talking about work, refusing to slouch down. she never spoke about her job around their son—wanted to keep his young imagination as far from it as possible. " we were both meant to work our asses off—just in different ways. " the cigarette’s dying ember smothered beneath the worn-out sole of her shoes. " but it got me thinking about taking gardening classes. " the moment she said it, a chill crawled up her spine. no. a bottle of whiskey. the porch bench. that was how it started before. she couldn’t go there again. wouldn’t. " haven’t had a good whiskey in a while. " she murmured, already seeing the night play out in flickering memories. the decision had already been made. " you want to stay outside? i’ll grab the glasses. theo’s at that kid’s house— " she should be glad he was socializing, but the whole situation made her uneasy. still, it gave her an excuse to linger. " and i know i’ve been complaining about him not going out, but this kid…" she ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. " i’ll get the glasses. just… just wait here. i mean, you can sit down or whatever. give me a sec. "

more often than not, he wondered how many stars had been aligned the night they'd crossed paths. it was lust that had them clawing at one another's clothes, desire that had them muttering breathy pleas of ecstasy as the sun peeked through curtains that signaled a new day. lust had brought them together, but he would've been a liar to say that was all it'd been.

lust, desire, fate... whatever the hell it was, had been no match for the string of tests that all read the same. pregnant. it was just like him to stumble through life, no real plan ever in place, no real future in mind.

"couples therapy? shit, they'd pay us to leave," he teased, a hint of sadness weaved into his voice. he'd wanted to make it, had convinced himself that it was even possible, but things never quite worked out that way. it was a pattern with the of them — happy, tension, fight, separation, repeat. they'd take their space, raise their son under their own roofs and out of nowhere, fall back into one another as if the ending would change.

it never did. no matter how badly he wanted it.

he'd felt stuck for most of his life. even when he found his footing, something always happened to knock him unsteady again. "that's just life. it doesn't really get stuck. shit, my whole world feels like sometimes, but everyone else's world? keeps going even when my doesn't." he'd never been good at making points, most of his guidance forged on hypocrisy and bullshit others had spewed to him in times of need. somehow, when it was her own the opposite end of his raspy tone, he meant it. "point is... if you feel stuck, i'm always here to listen or help if i can. all you gotta do is ask." it was rich coming from the man who rarely asked for anything. he was the suffer in silence kind.

nic's chest tightened as she spoke about work, her stories never failing to make his stomach twist in knots. "i don't see how you do it," he countered, anger sparking in his dark hues. five minutes alone with a man like that would be enough for him to get his point across. "i can't think of a better time." theo was with a friend and knowing that kid, he'd already made plans to spend the night and any minute now, one of their phones would be buzzing with the big question. "when's your next shift? i've got a bottle of whiskey with our names on it if duty ain't calling you tonight."

[noirflavoured]

open to. anyone ! (age gap super advised)

" you probably don't know me yet. i'm the new asset to the company. "

[noirflavoured]

" i know it wouldn’t, but i simply don’t miss you. " ouch. even her own throat felt offended by the well-shaped lie, like it was trying to choke on the weight of it. " i’m not some crazy ex who’s going to stalk you or try to make you feel good again. " was she feeling good lately? that was a thought she hated. hated thinking. hated feeling. her arms folded, fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves a little too tightly. " i just simply wanted to know if… if you’re alright. " a breath. shallow. impatient. " so… are you alright? "

" ― don't sound so surprised, pretty sure that's one of the reasons we stopped seeing each other. " logan also had a hard time keeping his anger in check, though it was never directed towards her. that's one thing he made sure of. " you know you can just admit that you miss me. wouldn't be the end of the world. "

[noirflavoured]

her nostrils flared. that scent. the one she’d longed to forget, yet it swept over her again, painting vivid images across the canvas of her mind. the rhythmic sound of hooves sliding against the dusty field. the crisp snap of leather. an intoxicating mixture of fear and excitement, tangled with something far more dangerous—expectancy. " i couldn't agree more. but they also need a good rider. and i do believe that particular asset was lacking on this ranch. " he stepped back, and the wind took its chance—throwing a wild tangle of chocolate strands across her face, dust clinging to them like old ghosts. " you haven't changed a bit. good. " his words cut clean, like a freshly sharpened blade against the soft flesh of her throat. her fingers brushed the hair from her eyes, just in time to catch the shadow of the crow above them. " i see you haven’t abandoned your hat either. " a pause. " what’s been keeping you busy? "

“ horses  need  feed,  fences  need  mending.  ain’t  no  scripture  says  you  gotta  be  the  one  doing  it.”   a  crow  cawed  overhead.  he  stepped  back,  just  enough  to  let  the  midwest  wind  hustle  between  them.  let  her  chew  on  the  space.  “or  maybe,  you’re  just  hooked  on  fixing  things  that  don’t  wanna  be  fixed.  how’s  that  working  out,  anyway? ”   

[noirflavoured]

" uuuu, you're an aquarius. how intriguing. " to be honest—she didn’t know shit about star signs. nor the compatibility of each zodiac pairing. but before their honeymoon, she’d binged the latest season of white lotus, and something about one of the couples reminded her of her and tony. well… not entirely. the girl had better boobs. her chocolate-stained gaze dropped downward, following the lazy path of her husband’s hand as it caressed her thigh. husband. how funny that word was. how sweetly perfect their little fantasy could have been—if not for the fact that she had already set her sights on half his staff. by the time she was done with this game, his empire would be a little lighter, and her pockets a lot heavier. but for now? for now, she was enjoying her honeymoon. " water and air. what a combination. " his touch was an invitation—one she accepted with slow, deliberate grace. her head tilted first, then her body followed, her vanilla-scented skin gliding towards his knees. thighs parted, framing his legs as she settled on top of him, the bare silk of her skin teasing against the expensive fabric of his clothing. " so you wouldn’t even try fighting for me? " he was confident. too confident. and he had every right to be. no one—no one—who circled around her was even close to kissing the sidewalk tony walked on. the thought alone sent a slow heat pooling between her thighs. her slender arms looped around his neck, fingers threading through the hair at his nape as she inhaled him. slowly. deeply. deliberately. " alright. " her lips hovered near his ear, teasing, promising, " let’s go to this bloody party. but remember— " her mouth curled into a smirk, a whisper of heat against his skin. " i’ll be watching you. so don’t try any tricks on me. "

she was beautiful. that morning, and every day. but they always there - the women who hung around his circles, the women that men like him pursued. he’d liked her passion, her drive, her confidence. after this last job… tony feared the expanse of boredom. of loneliness, too, though he held no delusion about the unspoken nature of their arrangement. as long as the wallet remained open, she’d remain fun, chasing stage lights && adoration while he watched && admired in the stage wings. it wasn’t a bad deal to take, and tony was an open-minded man. he had the confidence that radiated from her, too. lips twisted into a smile as he reached for a cigar to light, craving the smoky burn against his own lungs. “ i don’t like telling women that. they always overreact, something about how aquarius men can’t be trusted. “ smoke held for a few moments, then exhaled through the side of his mouth. “ trust is important in a marriage, to me. “ and he’d know - scarlet was his third wife. they say three times the charm. fingers reached out without hesitation, trailing up the exposed bit of thigh warming in the sun, thumbing across her cheek after it rose. tony had chuckled in response, unoffended. “ love is for suckers and soulmates. if it’s found, it’s unavoidable. not much i can do then. “ an eyebrow quirked upwards. tony liked her- he really did, eyes dipping lower just briefly to admire what was on the surface before providing praise to within. “ and i trust you. besides. what is showbiz without networking? i’d be a piss poor husband if i didn’t do something to get your foot firmly in the door. “

[noirflavoured]

she sat close to him. way too close for a simple favor exchange. but he liked it. he liked the attention. " maybe. " his head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of her—something warm, something reckless. " who you’re sharing this with? quite a big order for you, don’t you think? " his bruised index finger lazily coiled around a strand of her raven hair, twisting it like a secret between his fingertips. " where’d you get the money, huh? " orbit chewing gum stuck to the upper row of his teeth as he chewed, slow and deliberate, waiting for her answer.

                             open     to     anyone     !     based     . 

                             “     what     was     up     with     that     weird     ass     text     earlier     ,     huh     ?     wrong     number     or     is     your     sense     of     humor     way     shittier     than     i     thought     ?     anyways      ⎯⎯⎯     you     got     my     stuff     or     not     ?     ”

[noirflavoured]

something about him had definitely changed. or maybe she was just imagining things. maybe she was reaching for something that wasn’t there, like she always had. problems at home? maybe my boss is talking to me differently. problems in relationships? maybe i should change my hair. problems with herself? no, just focus on work. work is all that matters. because work was the only thing she could give herself to fully. no hesitation. a 3 a.m. call to drive to a crime scene, even after she swore she’d stay in—no problem. work kept her sane. or maybe it was just a convenient distraction from the fact that her own life was a crumbling ruin.

his words tugged at the corners of her mouth, lifting them into something that almost resembled a smile. " they do. and it’s never a one-time solution… we should’ve tried couples therapy. " she let out a muted, bitter laugh. therapy with nick? they’d sit in silence the whole session, then go for a beer or two afterward like nothing happened. yes.

she knew he was worried. even if neither of them said it out loud, it wasn’t because they didn’t feel it—it was because they had both fallen into the same trap, the same fear of exposing too much. better to mute it all. better to handle things alone. maybe that’s why their end had been inevitable. sometimes she wondered—if not for their son, would they even talk anymore? since the separation, harlow hadn’t been in any serious relationships. just a few one-night stands after too much alcohol, when the thoughts about her life, about nic, made it unbearable to go home alone.

" yeah… but sometimes the world gets stuck and it’s… " she trailed off. no desire to finish the thought. but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit—quietly, somewhere in the depths of her intrusive thoughts—that she missed hearing him call her row. just row. their last conversations had been about money, about who was picking up their son from after-school activities. the occasional call from harlow asking nic to come over because she had work to do. nothing more. she shook her head quickly, forcing away the spiral before it started. there is nothing in the air. except the greasy, haunting smell of a hot-dog truck parked nearby.

" well… i found the fucker who buried his family in his backyard. so… nothing new. but he was fucking intense, you know— " a flicker of energy flashed in her pupils, the sudden shift like a jolt of electricity. talking about her cases always did this to her. " he decided that burying them wasn’t enough. so he took gardening classes… " a pause. her excitement dimmed just a bit. " sorry. maybe this isn’t the best time. "

part of wanting the woman before him had been attributed to just how different they were on the outside. what he lacked in drive, she made up for tenfold. he'd admired it about her, had longed to be good enough for the woman who was clearly far too good for him. he'd gotten his wish, had gotten a son out of it too, but when the excitement had worn off and they were left with nothing but reality, he often wondered if she had regret. if she could do it all over again, what would she change?

"shrinks cost a fortune," he countered beneath a teasing sigh, "and we both know parenting classes are bullshit." maybe he wouldn't win father of the year anytime soon, but anyone with a child knew that there was no real handbook on how to be a parent. kids were assholes and sometimes he swore their son tested the waters just to see how much he could push before one of them broke. hell, it was the same game he'd played at that age too.

nic choked down the emotion that had dared to claw it's way up his throat and past his lips. her words weren't sharp, no, he knew her venomous tone better than most. if she wanted to hurt him, she knew how. "all you gotta do is ask." how he got the money or whatever else she may have needed wasn't anyone's concern but his own. it was the least he could for the woman who'd stepped up and filled every void left in his selfish wake.

"of course i'm worried about him." after all, his genetics were weaved into the boy and that alone was reason enough to be fearful. neck craned and brows furrowed as he looked back at the woman who was still a mystery wrapped in a beautiful shell of rough wonder. "you know about my shit." he'd spewed some less than magical moments about his childhood, painting colorful pictures and memories that made various scars burn with angry acceptance all over him.

a quiet hum of amusement sparks past his lips as he reaches out to bum a smoke he doesn't even really want. lovebirds? were they ever really in love? "didn't know that was required." tongue poked at the inside of his cheek, her question the last thing he wanted to answer. how was he? fuckin' grand. "jobs come and go. that doesn't bother me much. i'm fine, row. the world doesn't stop spinning just 'cause some bad shit happens." speaking of bad shit, she saw enough of it for the both of them. it made his own troubles seem frivolous by comparison. "what about you? how's that gig of yours?"

[noirflavoured]

he was supposed to be an easy target. an easy pick. all the boxes were checked—old, greying, and stuffed with money. what she hadn’t planned on, however, was actually marrying him. that was never an option for the young thief. but oh, the sudden relief of security—financial security, of course—sounded like a tempting detour from her usual chaos. his money could be a golden key, unlocking the grand theatre doors she had only dreamed of stepping through. finally, she could claim the stage for herself, no longer forced to fake orgasms for every mediocre producer promising her the world. and so, here she was, wrapped in the salty tears of the ocean breeze, kissed by the sun’s hungry tongues. a thick marlboro gold dangled between the slenderness of her fingers, curling smoke into the air like an unspoken promise. " i don’t even know your star sign. it’s important, you know—so we can understand each other completely. " a slow inhale, a lazy exhale. somewhere between the lines of deception, she found herself intrigued by this new challenge. after all, he had just bought her a new dress. an obscenely expensive one. " uh, i looooove parties. " her lips dripped with mockery, but she hoped he’d enjoy the playfulness of her tongue. after all, no man had ever made her come twice in a row. " oh yeah, i can’t wait to talk to some spoiled, wannabe hollywood kid. " her vanilla-scented body shifted a little closer to him, casually, naturally—like a sin slipping into place. " and what if we fall in love? "

status -> open to all 25-35 f/nb muses *we do not have to be mutuals to reply!*

setting -> our muses have just departed on a honeymoon aboard a luxury cruise ship. my muse is an (almost) retired hitman with one last job to do while on this trip, and your muse doesn’t know. they haven’t been together long && were likely set up by a matchmaker. your muse is being unknowingly used as a pawn by my muse.

note -> could be fun to make this a love triangle where i also play the muse she is trying to distract! who will she really choose in the end? betrayal, infidelity, high stakes...

my other opens - always accepting responses!

" i know you hoped for us to grow closer on this cruise, and i do, too... but we have two weeks to enjoy the sea. && each other. tonight, i heard that there is going to be a party. a real rager, apparently. " tony was dressed casually, comfortable after breakfast in the pleasant confines of their stateroom with a portside view. for miles && miles, all the eye could see was the expanse of the blue ocean, white capped waves somewhere beneath as the cruise ship headed steadily towards the first island destination. " you like parties, right? " the smile was slick, almost-sweet, but nothing really ever managed to touch tony's eyes. his target was the host- and a scheme was brewing. " in fact, i believe there will be a young up 'n coming actor going, too. the son of the host. you'd probably like him, he's around your age or so. maybe you two could find something to talk about, while i get some business attended too. i'd hate for you to be bored, my love. "

[noirflavoured]

open to. anyone !

" oh, please. i don’t care about your husband. and we both know it. " a slow, knowing smile curled at the corner of his lips. " and that’s what scares you. "